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Part 2 of The Last Hope for Westeros Saga
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Tempus et Spatium (Time and Space), Reread these Promising Works when Complete 📖, To_read_main_rom, Da_leggere
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Published:
2018-06-16
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2023-09-19
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809,761
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84/84
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The Last Hope for Westeros

Summary:

The White Walkers have won. All hope is lost. The gods decided to grant a second chance by sending Jon back in time before all hell breaks loose in season one. Jon decides to go to Pentos to find his true love, Daenerys Targaryen, and save her from her marriage to Khal Drogo, who wanted to rape her. The main plot is Jon reclaiming the Iron Throne with Daenerys and uniting the Seven Kingdoms for the impending return of the Long Night. Yet consequences made from changing time’s past cause new threats to arise.

(Longclaw1-6 added as co-writer 10/25/2019)
(CastleColin added as co-writer 10/28/2019)
(BlackLight2181 added as co-writer 6/6/2021)

Notes:

Pls, note there is still Canon plot in this fic but anyway your ideas and opinion is always a great way to help and improve this fic so don't be shy. Please note this is my first fic so don't judge. Comment down below to give your opinion and ideas in order to improve this fic thank you. Now sit back, relax and enjoy this new fic. This story was inspired by the following fanfics Held Captive, A time for Dragons and Home.

Chapter 1: Love Always Finds a Way

Notes:

Please note this is canon in some form from the tv show and books. Your opinions and ideas are always appreciated. Just note English is not my first language Afrikaans is but anyway the first 6 chapters were horribly done by me I do plan to edit them in time when I have the chance but I'm really busy ATM so maybe in the future because I'm so much busy with writing the upcoming Chapters but I promise you this story is a wild ride. From Chapter 7 it really starts to develop its chapters when my Co-Writer started editing the story so please read till chapter 7!! It's how the story is truly written. 😊 this chapter was badly edited so please forgive me but every chapter the editing keeps getting better and it starts getting its prime when my co-writer edits my work which should be from chapter 7.

7/29/2021: Hey, it's Longclaw. Just letting people know that I've finally gone in and made the long overdue edits to clean up the language. I've kept the tenor and spirit of Reuben's original as best I can though. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Jon Snow

 

Jon was sleeping soundly in his chambers when he was suddenly jolted from his slumber by the sounds of someone urgently pounding on the door. "King Crow!" he heard his oversized ginger-haired Free Folk friend holler in his deep, hard voice. "Ya needs to wake up!"

 

Eyes snapping open, the King jolted up. “Aye, I'm awake!” he yelled angrily in response. Expression sour - it was always sour these days - he rolled out of his bed, walking to the door and pulling it open. 

 

"Jon! Come on, we need to leave NOW!" Tormund exclaimed before Jon could even open his mouth. When he noticed that Jon was not following, with a muffled curse the ginger grabbed the smaller man by his tunic and practically hauled him out into the hallway. "For fuck's sake, King Crow!" Tormund held him by the folds of his tunic and looked him in the eyes. "Jon, I know what happened is a tragedy but we have to move on... We need to leave now!” 

 

Blinking, it was then that Jon noticed the absolute panic and disorder rocking the large castle overlooking the harbor of Pentos. The few remaining fighting men of the Army of the Living under his command were all dashing about, men donning their armor and weapons while officers barked commands left and right. They are coming. No other explanation, given that there were no other threats left. He exhaled, striding back to his room in a steely silence to retrieve Longclaw before returning to Tormund...  and shoved his precious Valyrian Steel sword into the other man's chest. "I'm done fucking fighting for this fucking war, Tormund! You cannot even begin to comprehend what I have lost!!" Eyes and voice filled with fury, they suddenly took a broken tone. "I have nothing left to fight for," he muttered, barely audible.

 

Tormund could see the mixture of emotions on Jon's face - fear... anger... sorrow. Could he truly blame him? Others might within their own army, but the two men had been through so much together - Tormund was one of the last people left alive who truly cared for him besides as a King and Commander. Sighing, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "Look, Snow, I know what you have lost... Your beloved wife and siblings all perished in the hands of those undead cunts." It had been many moons ago, but the mere mention of it brought obvious, fresh pain to Jon. "I can understand that you want to give up, but we need you... We need you to keep fighting for the living!"

 

Feeling tears streaking down his face Jon snapped, the bitter stoicism that formed his façade cracking. "Tormund, I lost Rhaegar... My son is DEAD and I was not even there to protect him!" Too busy fighting on the front lines, he hadn't been there for his son... for his family. "He's gone! Ghost is gone! Drogon, Viserion, Rhaegal..." He closed his eyes - the beautiful green dragon and he had only just formed their bond when he was taken from Jon. "Sansa and Arya killed without even a glimpse of happiness after the hells they went through. And Dany... the love of my life...my wife... My everything... my Dany, the Night King took her himself!" There was more, so much more, but he couldn't even speak of it. Such would shatter him.

 

A hand clasped his shoulder. "Let it out, King Crow, just let it out." Tormund was heartbroken, seeing just how Jon had lost all hope. A man who watched everything and everyone he held dear to his heart be ripped away piece by piece in front of him. 

 

Pausing briefly to wipe away the unfallen tears welling in his eyes, Jon took a steadying breath. "What purpose in life do I have left all my loved ones are gone? Face it, we've lost, Tormund. The dead are on their way to Pentos!" He pointed west, across the Narrow Sea to a continent devoid of life. "What else do we have left to fight for? Gods..." Jon buried his face in his hands. "I am tired of fighting."

 

Before the Freefolk warrior could find more words to encourage his friend, another voice broke the silence. "You cannot give up now, Aegon Targaryen." There were only a few who called him by his Targaryen name anymore. "There is still one last plan we can use... one that can use that will change all of the shit we have endured."

 

Jon looked to where to voice came from and was surprised to see Tyrion. He had not seen the dwarf since the death of his Queen. "Do you have a plan?" Jon asked as he wiped the remaining tears from his face.

 

Tyrion smiled. This surprised Jon because Tyrion hadn't smiled since Daenerys had announced she was pregnant - it was the last time the dwarf was actually happy. That any of them were "I do actually," Tyrion said as his smirk began to stretch across his face. 

 

The battered King gave a scoff in return. "Alright. What's you're amazing plan, Lord Tyrion?" he asked sarcastically.

 

The smile fell from Tyrion's face, replaced with a scowl. "I'm in no mood for your sarcasm, Jon. I know what you have lost... seven hells, we all lost them! Your wife was my Queen as well, joined in death by my brother and friends. They were also my loved ones!" 

 

Staring each other down for the briefest moment, it was Jon that shook his head - realizing his mistake. Tyrion also has been going through hells in this war, they all did. He sighed. "I'm sorry Tyrion. I'm just... I'm sorry."

 

Tyrion exhaled gave a nod and a forced slight smile. "It is fine, your Grace. By the gods if this plan works, then nothing we feel right now will matter worth a damn." He motioned for them to join him in his destination. "Follow me. We do not have a lot of time before the dead will arrive." 

 

"Just what is this plan you are so eager to put into effect?"

 

His Hand's grin only deepened to the point that Jon would've been sure he was drunk. "All will be explained after you follow me and Tormund." 

 

After hearing what Tyrion has said, Jon was more and more curious. "Fine, Tyrion. Show me the way." The dwarf was more cynical than even him, so if it brought him confidence then Jon would trust it.

 

As they quickly made their way though the halls, they could see more soldiers of the living running past them. "How long until the dead arrive here in Pentos?" Jon asked, seeing Tormund still held Longclaw in his left hand, the right hefting a large battleaxe.

 

Tormund turned his face towards Jon. "They are already inside the city, Crow... " he grunted, completely resigned to the likely eventuality. "They are killing all of our fucking men like we are nothing."

 

"Fuck." They were weak, but he didn't think this weak. Tyrion, you better be right about this plan of yours.

 

As if reading his mind, Tyrion turned his gaze around. "Don't worry, your Grace," he said reassuringly. "You just need to keep following me and the focus on the plan."

 

Anger rose in Jon as they briskly walked. "Focus on the plan? How can I focus on your plan when my people are being slaughtered!? How can I focus on your plan if I don't even know what it is!?"

 

Tyrion chuckled sarcastically. "I always forget how stubborn you are, Jon Snow." After Tyrion said these words they apparently reached their destination. A large, wooden double door guarded by two Unsullied hoplites - part of the last that remained of the once powerful legion. Once Tyrion nodded at them, they turned around and opened the doors, letting the party inside.

 

When they stepped inside the chamber the doors were quickly closed, Tormund grabbing a large beam to bolt them fully shut, apparently this being where they would make their last stand. Turning away from that unpleasant image, Jon took in his surroundings and was surprised to see Bran and Melisandre were there - in the middle of a deep discussion around what seemed to be a pool of water. For swimming? A fountain? Jon couldn't be sure. Peering at it, he noticed the water wasn't the normal fresh spring water pumped into the wealthy manses of the city but some sort of steamy green liquid. This is Melisandre's doing, for sure. 

 

When the two finally noticed his arrival, their conversation halted and they both turned to look towards Jon. "Aegon Targaryen, please come forth." It wasn't Bran speaking... Jun wasn't sure that he even existed anymore - or if he did was melded with something else. No, what called to him was the Three-Eyed Raven, though a hint of emotion in his normally monotoned voice suggested Bran was in there somewhere. "We need to start now, before time runs out. The Night king knows of this plan and is on his way to stop us." 

 

"Bran!" The King exclaimed, not having the patience for this. "How the fuck do you expect me to do anything if I don't know what the fucking plan is?!" He normally didn't like to curse, but his dragon was awoken.

 

Eyes shifting to Bran, who nodded, Tyrion cleared his throat. "We're giving us a second chance, your Grace. Specifically, you are."

 

That hadn't been expected. Jon was even more confused. "A Second chance? What are you going on about?" 

 

"Jon, this is a chance to save everyone. A chance to save all those you have loved and lost... to start over." 

 

Bran looked at Jon, blue eyes piercing his soul. "A chance to save Daenerys." 

 

At the mere mention of her name... all the grief and guilt filled his heart. "How?" He breathed out, knowing that he failed to keep her safe. "How can I save her?!" he practically yelled. "She is dead, Bran!" 

 

Raising her head, Melisandre began to speak. "Our plan is to send you back in time." She paused as Jon gaped in pure shock. "To a just before the time Robert Baratheon arrived in Winterfell. To where this all started, the slow slide to the end of the world."

 

Waiting for Jon to say something, when Tyrion realized that the slack-jawed expression on the King's face wouldn't change he walked over and placed his hand on his lower back. "Jon, don't you see, this will give you a chance to save everyone. To save Daenerys, your Stark family, our allies... everyone." 

 

Looking at him... to Bran and Melisandre, Jon's expression gave away nothing. "How?" he croaked out.

 

"When you return to the past, you have to remember only you will know what has happened in the future." Melisandre clasped her hands together. "Only you can change the future and save the living from the dead."

 

Jon's eyes finally snapped up to look at his brother. He walked to where Bran was sitting and looked in his eyes. "Bran, are you sure this will work?" Jon asked softly.

 

"Yes, Aegon, it will work." His brother tried to force a slight smile. "You can prevent all of this from ever happening. Save my father, your uncle, from his fate and our siblings from ours. You can save Daenerys, prevent many of the horrible things she endured. You and Daenerys, together, can take back the Iron Throne for House Targaryen and unite the Seven Kingdoms. You can prevent this fate from ever happening."

 

Tempting, so very tempting... toying with a resurgence of hope in his heart. Did he think it would work, no? But in his desperation Jon was willing to try. Especially when picturing what he could do for those he loved. Uncle... Robb... sisters... Dany... He would save them, make sure they lived in happiness even if he died while doing so. "Let's go," he simply said. 

 

Melisandre walked towards Jon with a knife in her hand. "Take off your shirt, my King." Jon complied and removed his shirt.  

 

After he removed his shirt he turned to look at Tyrion, surprised to see him just standing there observing. "Tyrion, why aren't you taking your shirt off? Aren't you also doing this with me?" 

 

Tyrion looked at Jon with sadness in his eyes, but before the Imp could answer Bran spoke. "Only you can journey into the past, Jon."

 

Jon was surprised and confused by Bran's words. "Why can't Tyrion come along on this crazy plan the two of you have come up with?" Jon asked as he looked between Melisandre and his brother, unsure which one of them would answer his question. "Can anyone?"

 

"Because, my King, you are the Prince who was Promised. Only you can change the future and bring the White Walkers to their true end." 

 

Hating the prophecy - hating all prophecy - still Jon didn't say anything. Only nodding. Nothing is easy in this life. If he had to do this alone he would. Kill the boy and let the man be born. Melisandre then took his hand and cut his flesh of his palm open with the sharp knife. Blood flowed freely from the wound she inflicted.

 

Melisandre took his wounded hand and gathered the flowing blood in a copper bowl. "Enter the pool, my king." Jon nodded and entered the hot green water, guided to lay down.

 

Shaking from the torrent of emotions coursing through him, Jon looked at Bran and gave him a hesitant smile. A smile that was returned. “Aegon, remember you need to find Daenerys. Only the two of you can bring victory against the white walkers… Only together can you bring the dawn." His brother had more emotion on his face than since Jon last saw him before his accident, mirroring Jon. “Do you want to know where she will be?" 

 

"Aye, do you know where I can find her when I am returned in the past?"

 

Bran quickly warged, looking into the past. Something that lasted only moments, but when he returned he looked almost staggered. At Jon's worry Bran waved him off. “No, I do not matter here... When you wake-up, you will be in Winterfell. It will be five days before the execution of the Night’s Watch deserter and the day we found the direwolf pups. Immediately after finding the pups you must leave for White Harbor and set sail for Pentos. Look for a man named Illyrio, for Daenerys and Viserys are staying as his guests under his protection.” 

 

Jon smiled at his brother. "Thank you, Bran.”

 

The green pool hazy and hot around his bare chest, Jon heard Melisandre began chanting words in High Valyrian… a language he knew only little of. If this works, Dany or Missandei can teach me and I will listen. She threw the bowl of Jon’s blood into the green hot water with him.

 

Just before he closed his eyes he heard Tyrion call, "Save them, Jon Snow. Save us all.”

 

"Give those fuckers a fight, King Crow.” Classic Tormund.

 

He closed his eyes... and opened them after he heard a strange noise… A dragon's roar... Drogon's roar, just not Drogon. A malevolence filled it. He's here...

 

And just like that... a flash of white and Jon felt a lurch - as if shoved hard by a charging bull. Eyes flying open he shot up… no longer he was in a green pool assaulted by the Army of the Dead. No, he was in a bed. Not just any bed… he was in his old bedchamber in Winterfell, the spartan décor unmistakable. Grabbing a tiny looking glass that had been gifted to him, he saw his reflection. By the gods above, he was younger. Seven and ten. 

 

Heart beating out of his chest, at that moment Jon could hear familiar voices outside his bedchamber door. With half-eagerness and half apprehension ran towards the door and flung it to find Arya and Robb in the middle of a conversation. 

 

Robb flinched a bit while Arya yelped, only for her to blush at having been startled. Oh, sister, I missed you. But laying eyes on Robb, seven hells Jon had to fight to keep from bursting into tears. "Good morning, brother!" Robb said with his beaming smile. "I see you're finally awake.”  

 

Jon couldn't speak... the words wouldn't come out, everything so surreal. Robb and Arya were breathing and smiling just in front of his eyes - both still as young and innocent as ever. He then knew Bran and Melisandre’s plan had worked. It worked... it fucking worked! They had given him a second chance to change everything……

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: The Return of the King

Summary:

Jon makes decisions on what he will do next.
Ned and Jon finally have the discussion what we have all been dreaming of since season 6.

Notes:

Before the chapter starts I just wanted to thank you for all your support. I am so glad that all of you enjoy my fanfiction. Anyway like a said before relax and enjoy the chapter. Like always your opinion and ideas are always appreciated.

Editorial note from Longclaw, 7/30/2021: Hey guys. Same stuff as in chapter one, making edits to the grammar and stuff. Everything still proceeds as it did in terms of plot, but a little cleaner and clearer. Enjoy.

Chapter Text

 

 

JON SNOW

 

It was surreal... almost unbelievable. There before Jon Snow - Aegon Targaryen - was his cousin in blood and brother in spirit, Robb Stark. Robb Stark was alive. Robb Stark was breathing and standing just in front of of him as if all that Jon remembered was simply a false nightmare.

 

By the gods above, Jon had truly transplanted himself back in time... or else this was a dream. He vastly hoped it wasn't the latter.

 

Assuming the former, Jon simply walked over towards Robb and pulled him with a clasped hand for a strong, brotherly embrace. He heard a surprised grunt from his brother, but Robb returned the hug. Out of the corner of his eye Jon saw Robb shooting Arya a look of confusion, to which she replied by simply shrugging her shoulders because she was clearly also bewildered by Jon’s sudden strange behavior. He found it amusing and endearing. They're still young and innocent... I have to protect as much of that as possible.

 

“It is good to see you again, brother," Jon finally muttered, voice hoarse, as he breathed out - trying to bottle his emotions as he broke apart from the embrace. 

 

“Well... same,” Robb chuckled awkwardly. "But we saw each other at dinner last night. Did you have that nightmare of being sent to the Iron Islands again?"

 

Jon pulled back, grinning genuinely. "Something like that." His eyes shifted to Arya, feeling a surge of emotion in his heart. He quickly made his way to her and simply lifted her high in the air to a startled yelp.

 

"Jon! Put me down!" she hollered, lightly cuffing his shoulder.

 

She's really here. The hidden King - at least now he was hidden again - could still remember having burn her body so she could finally rest in peace. I had no choice but to destroy her mindless body in order to save my Rhaegar. Didn't matter in the end. He pushed the horrible memories out of mind and willed the tears not to fall as he choked out. "Seven Hells, Arya! It is so good to see you breathing again!" 

 

Arya quirked an eyebrow in confusion as she looked her brother in the eyes. “Breathing again? Seven hells, must've been a bad nightmare.”

 

The urge was strong, to tell them everything and spare Robb his death and Arya her journey of suffering on both sides of the Narrow Sea... but he wasn't a dumb kid. He wasn't the honorable fool that got himself killed by his own men. I am the Targaryen King. Aegon, Sixth of my Name. Jon needed to play it smart. His uncle had to be the first on to know the truth about everything. It was only proper since of everyone alive, apart from Howland Reed and perhaps Benjen, only he knew Jon's true identity. Looking back at Arya, he simply ruffled her hair and changed the subject. “What're you doing away from the others? Normally you'd be chasing Bran or trying to splatter mud on Sansa's dress?” Arya and Robb were like a balm to his shattered soul, but he needed to all of them - watch them talking and breathing to reassure himself that the Three-Eyed Raven and the Red Witch were in fact successful in sending him back to past.

 

Crossing his arms, Robb let out a deep laugh. "He has you pegged, sister." Arya simply stuck her tongue out at him, which made Robb laugh harder. "Well Sansa is busy completing her lessons with Mordane, while Bran is probably scrambling over some wall to get out of his lessons with Luwin. Rickon... I think he's not feeling well. Saw mother going into his chambers with some soup. Seeing you would probably cheer him up.” 

 

"I'm sure it would." As much as Jon wished to see Rickon - the image of Ramsay's arrow piercing him through the heart he wished to blot out from his memory forever - he would rather not experience again being calling ‘bastard’ from Lady Stark again. What he knew now... Jon didn't know how he'd take it. He shook the thought from his spinning mind. "I'll drop by him later. Where is un-farther?" He fell back into his old vernacular quickly, but hoped that they did not hear him almost call Lord Stark 'uncle.'

 

Thankfully they didn't seem to notice. "Father is in his solar, writing letters to the noble houses," Arya said, though rolling her eyes. "Sansa told me she hopes it's over betrothal offers, ugh."

 

I won't let what happened to you occur, sister. I promise. Gods, he had so much to do. His family, whole and happy in the glow of peace... at least peace on the surface. They needed to grow and prepare themselves but not how it had been done. Never that way... and Daenerys... Heart clenching at the thought of what she was likely going through at the moment, it only hardened his resolve. "Jon... Jon..." He snapped out of his daze to find Robb staring at him. "Even for you, that was some serious brooding early in the morning... come on. Let's go to the Great Hall to break our fast?”

 

“Mother's with Rickon. She won’t be there to glare at you,” Arya quickly added. As always, she knew him so well.

 

There was nothing Jon would more to eat with his siblings again - gods only knew how hungry he was, and with everyone alive he could finally enjoy meals again - but knew such moments weren't the reason why he was given a second chance against the white walkers. I need to talk to uncle while he's alone... or I won't get the chance for a long time. Since he became Lord Commander, Jon gained a newfound appreciation for just how busy a Lord of a castle was. - testament to his uncle's effortless competence at it, making it seem like nothing. "Thank you for your offer, but unfortunately I think I have caught Rickon's sickness. Perhaps another time? Dinner most definitely if I'm feeling better."

 

He waited for Robb and Arya to answer after a few seconds. "Of course brother," Robb finally answered. "Take all the time you need." Jon only nodded and turned to his chambers and closed the door behind him. After noticing their footsteps growing fainter through the door, he took his black cloak and snuck out of his chambers - specific destination in mind.

 

Passing through the hauntingly familiar corridors and hallways of Winterfell, catching glimpse's of people that he hadn't seen in years but also hours, surreal as it was, Jon's mind raced a mile a minute. 

 

I cannot waste this opportunity. My chance to save everyone. A chilling thought came to mind. Will uncle even believe me? Fuck, what do I even say?  Perhaps he'd start with his heritage and work his way up with that... a better plan than anything else he could come up with.

 

It was the only plan he could come up with in truth. 

 

After what seemed like hours but was likely only about fifteen seconds, Jon finally knocked on the door three times in quick succession. "Come in." The voice shook him to his core. Last he heard it, he was going to the wall while his uncle journeyed south to his death. Well, uncle Ned, you're going to keep your promise it seems. Heart pounding, Jon steeled himself and opened the door, finding his uncle sitting at his desk still writing dispatches. Ned noticed him there and looked at him seemingly waiting for Jon to talk. But he couldn't, merely closing the door as he stared at the man once dead who was now alive again. He is still the man who raised me. The truth changed nothing for Jon, he just realized, just the names he'd use.

 

Finally, Ned broke the silence. "Jon, did you wish to ask me something?"

 

"I'd rather not impose..." Jon stopped. Gods, don't act like a bastard. He was the trueborn nephew of Eddard Stark, and he needed to act like it.

 

Shaking his head, Ned motioned to the seat across from him. "Nonsense. You're never an imposition, my son. Please, ask away."

 

Taking the proffered seat, the love Ned obviously felt for him steadied his nerves. Best out with it then, and unlike before when he asked this question he would be as blunt as the dragon of his sigil. "Lord Stark, who was my mother?"

 

That was clearly something Ned hadn't expected. Blinking in surprise he cleared his throat. "Jon, you know that you can always call me father," he said softly, not answering the question.

 

Not always... not when Lady Stark is around. But an anger welled inside Jon - even now his uncle was still lying to him. Never would have the bastard Jon Snow challenged him, but he hadn't been Jon Snow for years. Not since he met his love and she saved his soul. "Are you ever going to stop lying to me in my face?" Jon said this with anger and sorrow in his voice. "Tell me the truth... please."

 

"I'm not lying, Jon. What is this all about?" asked Ned curiously.

 

Time to swing the sword. "I know you aren't my father, Uncle Ned."

 

For once, the proud Lord Eddard Stark was lost for words... His mouth opened, only to close, and then open again. "I... you are my son, Jon... my blood."

 

Jon held up his hand. "Aye, I am your blood. You raised me, uncle, and you were the only parent I've ever truly known and until I die I will always love you for it... but stop with the falsehoods, please." Angry as he was, he still loved his uncle and wanted that made clear. "I know who my mother is. Lyanna Stark, your sister, making me your nephew and you my uncle." Before Ned could speak - not that his shocked expression could handle words for the moment - Jon continued. "I know all about it. Her marriage, my birth... I suppose that makes my true father Rhaegar Targaryen and my true name Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of my Name." Rhaegar... the name of my father and my son. He never met the former and only held the latter in his arms for mere moons, but he loved them both regardless.

 

Ned's eyes were wide open - he couldn't believe what he just heard. "Who told you that?" said Ned angrily, rising from his seat.

 

"That's not important for you to know at the moment," he replied, holding his ground. "Wwhat is important is that you would have just now kept lying to me until you have found your death when Joffrey beheaded you." Jon was so furious he couldn't care what he just told to his uncle. It just blurted out, ruining his more... elegant strategy.

 

Rocked by what Jon had revealed, the secrets he had buried for over a decade and a half, what was now coming out made Ned stare at Jon as if he sprouted two heads. "Beheaded by Prince Joffrey... by the old gods and the new you're not making sense." The reveal of his being Lyanna and Rhaegar's son was within the realm of plausibility, while his speaking of the Prince...

 

Sighing, Jon knew he would have told him eventually. Don't think me mad, uncle. "You wanted to know how I knew my parentage. I'll tell you now." Seeing his uncle sit, Jon clasped his hands together. "Do you believe in the gods, uncle?"

 

More and more this seemed to puzzle Ned, but he seemed to just indulge his cryptic tone. "Aye, you know I do." A raised brow. "Did you see some vision? Some of our blood are known to have them."

 

Greensight and/or dragon dreams. "I wish it were that simple... I..." He took a deep breath. "I am Jon, but not the one you bid goodnight the night before, uncle. I am... gods, this is hard because I don't understand it myself - I am from a time not our own, but one that could become it."

 

"Wait a moment." He may have been naive at times from Jon's recollection, but his uncle wasn't stupid. "Are you suggesting you're from the future? Is this some jape?"

 

"It's a long story, uncle. Do you have time?"

 

"I'll make time. Talk."


 

Eddard Stark was apparently only marking half an hour to write his dispatches when Jon spoke to him. Half an hour became an hour. An hour became two. When Jory poked his head in to say that Catelyn and Luwin were both looking for him, Jon heard his uncle dismiss him and say that he was to be indisposed for the entire morning. Each story Jon spoke of left Ned more invested... more pain and fear and agony written on his face. For Jon told him everything. Everything, leaving nothing out. The night's watch. The War of the Five Kings. Jon Arryn's death, Ned's death, Robb's death and Catelyn's death - the Red Wedding particularly shocked him, and Jon was sure his uncle was on the verge of tears. He also told Ned of how he was betrayed by his brothers and was murdered, which led to actual tears. Only the tale of killing Ramsay Bolton, a memory that Jon did hold in pride, manage to bring a nod to Ned's face. 

 

The topic of Daenerys came up, and the reverent way in which Jon talked of her seemed to bring some joy back to his uncle. The joy turned to sorrow when Ned was informed of the death of Daenerys and Jon's son Rhaegar Targaryen. He took it pretty well. "I think I'm going to throw up." He buried his head in his hands, elbows perched on the table. "What did I do? What have I done? All of this... all you've told me..." What could he say? 

 

" I know what I just have told you sounds mad, Uncle Ned, but it's the truth. I can understand if you don't believe me." He waited until his uncle would say something.

 

"Jon... I would be lying if I told you that what you said wasn't fantastical... but I believe you." Never one for drink, he nevertheless picked up a goblet of Arbor Gold that Catelyn sometimes imbibed when working late nights and poured himself a glass to steady his nerves. "After what you have told me of everything that happened at the Tower of Joy... only Howland Reed and Benjen know, and I know Ben wouldn't tell you and you've never met Howland." Half the glass went down his gullet. "And no one knows what your mother's last words to me were but I... and you apparently." Promise me, Ned promise me. "You're telling me Bran told you?"

 

A nod. "Your children are all destined for greatness, Uncle. Each made their mark in their own way." They will do the same, but live to a ripe old age if I have anything to say about it. "Listen to me, uncle Ned - there is another way you can be sure of the truth. Just for peace of mind." His uncle was listening intently. "In five days, Ser Rodrick will inform you of a deserter of the Night's Watch. He will claim to have seen the white walkers beyond the wall - he is correct, but that is another thing entirely. What happens next is that we will travel back through the Wolfswood after you behead him, and that's when we will find six direwolf pups."

 

"Direwolf pups..." Of all the things to be awed by after what Jon said... "You wish for me to give them to your siblings and yourself?"

 

"You'll know which ones to give by instinct, trust me." Jon allowed a smile. "But I can only stay till then. After we find the wolves, I must leave and sail for Pentos." 

 

"Pentos... why..." His eyes widened in understanding. "Daenerys. You wish to spare her fate."

 

He nodded, a tear in his eye. "I love her, uncle. I love her still... she may not wish to be my wife or lover, but I will not let my aunt suffer the same fate she did in my past. Had I known then what I know now, I would've rescued her from her vile brother and the rapist he sold her to." Jon clenched his fists, knuckles going white. "I have my second chance so you are not stopping me."

 

But his uncle shook his head, smiling sadly. "My gods, you are just like your mother." The anger left Jon at that and the tears were unavoidable. As he cried softly, his uncle was up and hugging him close, crying himself. "She loved you, Jon. I'm sorry I never told you..."

 

"I know uncle, I know why you did it." He held to Ned tightly. "You're my uncle, but you're still the man who raised me and I love you as a father."

 

"And I love you as a son."

 

They held each other for a while, but eventually all the tears were shed and they pulled apart. "Uncle Ned, I'm going to need a few northerners when I leave for Pentos."

 

"Don't worry, I will send a raven for White Harbor. Lord Manderly will provide you with whatever men you need." He suddenly frowned. "You mean to fight a Khal of the Dothraki by yourself."

 

A chuckle left Jon's lips. Ned sounded just like a worried father. "Thank you for your concern, uncle, but I'll be fine." Something else came to mind. "There is one more thing I wanted to ask you."

 

"You don't want me to tell Arya and the others that you're leaving for good." Jon could see Ned was sad when he said this.

 

"Aye, that's right. There is nothing for me here in Winterfell... at least not now. However, I need you to tell them of the future after I have left." He winced. "There is much I need to do, but one thing that has to be fixed is House Stark's fate. All of you suffered and I'll be damned if I let it happen again." 

 

"I share your sentiments... nephew." It felt strange on his tongue, but also felt right. "I know Robb or Arya would try and stop you..."

 

"More afraid of Arya stopping me to be honest. She's a fierce one."

 

They both laughed at that. "She gets it from your mother." A pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll tell them. Worry about saving my gooddaughter..." Before Jon could reply, Ned held up a finger. "Boy as good as you, she'll jump in your arms." A thought came to him. "There is something I need to give you, Jon. Meet me at the crypts." 

 

It was a long walk to the crypts but it passed by quickly. Soon, Jon entered them and saw Ned making for a particular statue... his mother's statue. Mother... "Jon come here."

 

Jon walked towards Ned. His uncle ducked behind the tomb and rummaged back there... suddenly a panel in the base of the tomb fell over, revealing a secret compartment. Jon was surprised at what he saw - two swords seemingly of Valyrian steel. "What... what are those?" Were they in Winterfell this whole time?

 

"The Valyrian steel sword on the left is called Dark Sister. It was the sword of Visenya Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Brynden Rivers, and finally your father. Rumors have it that you're father went beyond the wall and found it in a cave before Robert's Rebellion. I found it in the tower where you were born." The Valyrian steel sword had the famous twisted hilt and ruby pommel. Jon picked it up, feeling like he was holding his past in his hands. "This sword isn't Valyrian steel, but similar. It was Arthur Dayne's sword, one of two. I took one, Dawn, and I gave the other, Dusk, to Howland Reed."

 

"They'll wonder why I have two very famous swords... we could always disguise Dawn, though. Put a wolf's head on the pommel and call it... Winter's Wolf or something."

 

"Aye, that can work. I'll have it done, since you'll need both swords to fight against Drogo." Ned grinned. "Lya's son, my nephew, dual weilding. Can't believe it, though you had the best of your parents I always knew."

 

Jon beamed at the praise. "Thank you, uncle."

Chapter 3: The Dual Sword Master

Summary:

Ned experience Jon sword skills first hand.
Jon looking back in the future.
Robb and Jon have a heated discussion.

Notes:

Thank you for all of your support. I'm glad you all enjoy my fic. In this chapter we will enter the main plot of this story. So sit back relax and enjoy as always your opinion and ideas are always appreciated in the comments.

Editorial note (8/2/2021): Hi all, Longclaw here. Same as before, edited up the chapter to clear out some grammatical errors. The flow, plot, and tenor are the same, enjoy.

Chapter Text

 

Eddard Stark

 

It had been four days since the events that changed everything, culminating in gifting his son... no, nephew with the two swords hidden in the crypts. Standing atop the balcony overlooking Winterfell’s training yard, his Lady wife Catelyn by his side, Ned still felt a surreal haze over him as Jon and Theon sparred down below. Being the boy's sole caregiver given Catelyn's feelings for him Ned had always watched over the boy, but now... Ned had been giving him a closer look ever since the revelation. Observing just how Jon and Theon moved during the sparing session, unable not to compare the different skills, strengths and weaknesses of the two boys as well as Robb.

 

Ned knew that Robb was very good with his sword - the boy fought the same way as he did, with honor in the Northern style, without a shield and focusing on a more fluid attack of slashes and stabs. Theon was also a good swordsman... ruthless and unforgiving, yet also impatient... The former could be quite proper against an opponent, putting them off balance and leaving them reacting to you rather than the other way around. However, the latter led to overconfidence and threatened destruction. Such had happened to Jon Connington at the Battle of the Bells, overconfidence in the initial successful assault being countered by Robert.

 

Then there was Jon... Granted, Ned always found that he was the best of the three boys in spite of his efforts to not incur Catelyn's wrath by winning, but since their conversation it was almost a transformation. Jon was graceful with a sword, a sense of gift that Ned found utterly wonderous. He was patient, taking the time to learn his opponent's way of fighting and quickly finding that foe’s weakness and using it to his advantage. Striking fast and efficient, eschewing showing off to disarming or cutting down an enemy as quickly as possible. Ned could tell that Jon was holding back against his opponents. This intrigued him - he wanted to see just how much the boy’s skills had improved. If the stories Jon had told him about the future were true were true, he would be able to fight with two swords just like Ser Arthur Dayne. Already he could notice just how dexterous the man's wrists and arms were and it brought him back to that day in Dorne... 

 

Ned was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sounds of someone disarmed, sword clattering to the ground. "How did you get so good, Snow?!" Theon roared out so loudly that he could probably be heard all the way in the kitchens. "You were not this good the last time we were sparred and that was only a week ago!"

 

Jon only smiled. “I have always hold back when sparring with you, Greyjoy," he said mockingly. "Thought you might become better with a little confidence, but now I see that your ego needs some humbling. Namely laying down in the dirt and crying about the 'Bastard of Winterfell' is kicking your arse... or are you going to get off your arse and try again?" Tilting his head, Jon let the challenge hang.

 

Ned could tell that Theon was starting to lose his temper. His face was red and he was actually speechless. 

 

Jon wasn't finished though. "I tell you what, Greyjoy... I will make things a little more fair by letting you and Robb both face me at the same time."

 

Theon only laughed while Jon’s face showed a look of seriousness and determination. One that the Ironborn noticed and his amusement fell into incredulity. "Snow, are you mad? You would not stand a chance against the two of us!” Jon’s smile only grew wider.

 

Robb came towards him and pulled Theon up from the ground. After he helped Theon to his feet, he turned to his brother. "Jon, I'm going to have to agree with Theon. I don't think this would end the way you hope it would."

 

Still listening - alongside his wife and most of the onlookers that were drawn in by Jon's rather loud challenge - Ned heard what Robb said and thought that this would be the perfect way to see Jon's skills. Clearing his throat, he called out to the three of them. "Robb, Theon, stop saying that you would beat him. A real warrior doesn't boast but displays their prowess through actual deed - show me that the two of you together can defeat Jon in a spar.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jon smiling because of his words.

 

"Ned, what are you doing?" Catelyn asked. 

 

"You shall see, wife," he merely replied.

 

Robb, clearly being swayed by his father's words, sighed and nodded. “Alright, Jon. Theon and I against you.” Jon merely smiled and nodded in confirmation.

 

Theon and Robb then took their fighting stances and Jon took his, all the while spinning his sword. More and more like Ser Arthur Dayne each passing moment. Ned remembered the fight, how Arthur did that to always keep himself ready - if Jon was the same, the household would be in for quite the show. Already he heard Arya call out for her siblings to join her. To Ned's surprise, even Sansa had stopped to catch a glimpse of it, quietly observing the scene while Bran, Arya, and Rickon laughed and loudly cheered words of encouragement towards Jon and Robb both. Beside him, Catelyn seethed. Ned sighed as he directed his gaze back towards the three boys in the training yard below. 

 

I truly should've told her. Something he planned on rectifying. May the gods grant her a change of heart.

 

The Lord of Winterfell observed as Jon patiently waited for Theon to make the first move... an eventuality that did come to pass. Theon charged with a shout, blade swinging wildly in an attempt to disarm in the first shot. But Jon was too quick, darting out of the way and parrying the blow once it lost some of its power. However, he was forced to give more ground as Robb came towards his left side. The thrust was more calculated and a rather good one, but Jon was better and quickly deflected Robb's attack, forcing his son and heir back.

 

And so it went for what seemed like hours but was likely but a minute or two - Theon and Robb attacking him with their training swords while Jon kept deflecting their attacks, as if toying with them to simply drag it out. Ned's eyes were wide with surprise, unable to believe that Jon could be so fast. Skills needed where he came from.

 

Finally though, he seemed to have enough. After Robb unsuccessfully tried to thrust in at Jon's center, Jon parried but suddenly swung his fist and caught Robb in the chest. It wasn't a staggering blow but it caused the heir to Winterfell to slip fall to the ground. Clearly seeing Theon taking the opening to attack his unprotected right, Ned watched as Jon spun around on one leg, twirling his blade into a thrusting position after Theon's swing went wild, and dove forward. The Ironborn stepped back precariously, allowing Jon to kick forward and trip Theon, sending him crashing to the ground beside Robb. 

 

While most had been cheering Jon, the sheer shock of such a clear and early victory left all of them speechless. Even Arya, normally so effusive in praise, and Sansa, normally so disinterested in such things. Could Ned blame them? He was shocked himself. As for Catelyn... "Where did that bastard learn such skills with a sword?” Her gaze was directed at Ser Rodrick.

 

"I... I don't know, my Lady," the Master at Arms replied as he shrugged his shoulders. "Lady Lyanna was said to have trained on her own... perhaps that's what he did."

 

Catelyn snorted at that. "Typical for a bastard."

 

Feeling his anger rising at her words, Ned opened his mouth to tell her to stop when he heard Jon call for him. "Lord Stark, I have defeated Theon and Robb. I presume that vanquishing the heir of the keep entitles me to face the Lord himself," noted Jon with a smirk. To anyone else he would sound arrogant, but to Ned it was an inside jape given everything.

 

"Listen here, bastard..." Catelyn began to hiss, only to gape when her husband began to remove his brown fur cloak, clearly accepting Jon's challenge. "Ned... you can't be serious," said Catelyn, more confused than angry.

 

Ned did not even look at her as he responded. "It's fine Cat.”

 

"Go father!" Arya clapped her hands while Sansa, Bran, and Rickon gaped - their father rarely sparred, but when he did he was undefeated. "Good luck Jon!" his spirited daughter called out, reminding him of Lyanna. It warmed his heart, how close they were.

 

Walking towards Jon and taking a training sword from the table, an idea came to the Lord of Winterfell. His nephew had long earned scorn for his status - guilt of which ate at Ned for such occurrences - so it was only fitting for Ned to completely put that to bed. "Jon, I'll spar with you only on one condition."

 

Normally in control, at this he looked puzzled. "Name it," said Jon.

 

The normally dour Eddard Stark smirked slightly. "You seem to be able to handle more opponents at once, so I want you to go against me, Robb, and Theon."

 

If the whole keep hadn't been called to witness the spar when the Lord himself accepted a challenge, children were already running to call on the rest to bear witness to it now. While many thought it, it was Robb that walked towards Ned first. "Father, I know this seems like good fun but Jon could get hurt."

 

"It is fine, Robb. I will manage against you three." At Jon's words, a hushed murmur went through the crowd. While some had been excited to see the Lord fight his bastard son, even Arya at this point seemed to look worried for her favorite brother.

 

"Are you sure Jon?" asked Robb. "You do not have to accept this challenge from father... no one will think less of you." But Jon only shook his head and motioned for them to face him. "Your funeral, I suppose."

 

Chuckling at that, the lad in question made his way nonchalantly to the training swords and removed a second longsword. Stretching with it, as if testing his arms. He must've liked what he found since Jon then spun them. "When did he learn to dual wield?!" Ned heard Arya gape behind him, though from her tone it was in astonishment.

 

Theon - still smarting over his earlier defeat - laughed when he saw this, though a more halting, nervous laugh. "Snow, are you mad? You'll hurt yourself with two swords." 

 

Jon cocked his head. "If you're so sure that I'll hurt myself, come closer, Greyjoy."

 

Apparently having learned nothing, Theon's expression became incensed as he ran towards Jon. His swing, though, was more calculated and he even tried feinting - appeared to have learned something after all. But Jon anticipated this, keeping one sword level with his arm to block while the other lashed out, forcing Theon back. The defending sword spun around just in time to deflect Robb's slash, coming into Jon's right. Ned could not believe it. Dear gods, the boy fights just like Ser Arthur Dayne.


Judging his own entrance as he hefted the blunted greatsword, Ned looked at Ser Rodrik, who was standing next to his nephew Jory as well as three other members of the Stark Household Guard. Each were riveted to the scene, as if knowing they were watching one of the greatest swordsmen of all time in action. I witnessed two of them... hmmm... Remembering that Ser Arthur Dayne could take more than four men at once, Ned felt a bit devious for once. Let's see what my nephew can really do. "Ser Rodrik, Jory," he called out, drawing their attention. "Take a training sword and join in!" The two of House Cassel, disciplined warriors both, simply nodded and each grabbed a blade.

 

"Whooo!" By now Arya was fully into it. "This is gonna be great!"

 

Preoccupied with the renewed vigor of Theon and Robb, Jon nevertheless looked to have good instincts and with a flourish he kicked out at his brother, missing Robb but forcing him back enough to turn and meet the attack from Ned himself. The greatsword swing was nevertheless powerful, forcing Jon to break off and disengage. Ser Rodrik and Jory joined in right then, surrounding Jon on all sides. Tension mounted as the seconds passed, none of the six participants making any move. Flinches and false lunges were common for the attackers, while Jon's head mounted on a swivel. He spun his two swords, never resting and getting ready for the first attack. The entire crowd watched with baited breath - even Catelyn and Sansa.

 

Finally, Jory broke the stalemate and attacked Jon from behind. The lad heard the charge and quickly spun around, blades parallel and easily bashing aside the attack of the Head of the Household Guard. Jory was nimble and just managed to leap back before a counterswing could slash across his front. Jon would've pursued but Theon used the distraction and thrusted at Jon's right... soon all four of Robb, Theon, Ser Rodrik, and Jory engaged the supposed bastard of Winterfell in a fierce melee. Only Ned hung back in reserve, watching as Jon parried and deflect every attack with his swords.

 

Soon you could only hear the sounds of training swords In the courtyard battling against each other.

 

Jon was an indefatigable machine, dodging or parrying all attacks brought upon him. It didn't matter how fast his opponents were, Jon was just simply faster, wrists fluid and swords almost an extension of his body. He also didn't fight as some tourney knight, throwing in kicks and punches clearly honed from a lifetime of war, one clearly the most brutal of ones if his recollections were to be believed. Ned could tell, seeing every time Jon attacked that had the perfect opportunity to kill his opponent.

 

Ned was amazed - if this was a real battle and Jon was facing real enemies, all four of his opponents would've been long dead. Gutted or beheaded upon the ground. Even Arthur Dayne had a weak spot, though. Best Jon learn it before he faced up in a real fight. Slowly putting himself into position as Jon battled back a renewed assault by Robb and Rodrik, Ned knew it wasn't honorable to strike one's opponent as such but he needed to see what Jon would do in such a situation... What has foolish honor gained me in Jon's horrible future, anyway?  Waiting for exactly the right moment, Ned then charged, angling his blade and aiming right for his nephew's neck...

 

Only for a quick parry darting over Jon's shoulder to shove aside the greatsword, forcing Ned to skid to a stop. Oh, he's the best I've ever seen bar none. Surprise filled Ned, but a good kind of surprise. One of pride... only one cut short as Jon turned and slashed at him, causing Ned to retreat several paces.

 

 

"This ends, Snow!" Tired and sweating, Theon threw one last furious strike. It forced back one of Jon's arms and for a moment Ned could tell there was hope in Theon's eyes of a hard-fought victory... not until a sharp punch rang out. Theon pitched back with a bloodied cheek, collapsing on the ground. He did not get up, merely shouting "Yield!" 

 

Grinning, Jon turned and focused his gaze on Ned. "Lord Stark, do you really think I wouldn't find a way of defending my blind spot?" Not waiting for Ned's response, he spun his two swords and met an assault by Robb, countering the heir's preference for thrusts with slashes of his own. Robb was forced back, allowing Jon to focus on Rodrik, but the lad redoubled and charged in.

 

Darting to the side, Jon used Robb's momentum against him by spinning around and shoving him headlong into the Master-at-Arms. Both went down in a heap, out of the fight and with bruised egos but otherwise unharmed. Jon quickly turned and went on the attack for the first time in the fight, lashing out furiously with both of his blades at Jory. The boy was good, but not as good as he valiantly tried to block the lightning-fast strikes. It was not long until Jory hollered “I Yield! I Yield!”

 

Nodding and accepting the surrender, Jon turned his gaze towards Ned. Both of them standing their ground as the tension hung. One could hear a pin drop in the courtyard, everyone watching in interest... only for Jon to toss one of the blades to the side. "Fair fight, Lord Stark."

 

Ned smiled, proud of his nephew - even after all he had been through, he still held honor. "Are you ready?"

 

"Aye!” said Jon with a smile, just as eager to do this as the others were in watching it.

 

"Go father!" Bran called out, clapping his hands.

 

"Go Jon!" That was Arya, who looked sheepish as Ned glanced at her. "Sorry father..." Though from her excitement she didn't look like she really meant it.

 

Learning from Theon and Robb's mistakes, Ned planted himself on the ground and waited for Jon to make the first move - he had the larger blade, and rushing headlong was a good way of expending his energy. Sensing this, Jon obliged. For once he spun his sword in intricate flourishes, showing off his prowess to the rest of the keep... and to Ned as well before finally attacking. Even after so many years since his last war, Ned was no slouch. He met each attack with power and skill, his two-handed grip more than a match for Jon's direct attacks. But as it was for Arthur Dayne, the more fluid style was simply overwhelming, never allowing Ned to attack and always out of reach. Tiredless.

 

It took its toll. After what had to be minutes, Jon slashed. Ned countered, only for Jon to spin and slash again. Again, Ned just barely parried but it put him off balance and his hands not as tightly gripping. Smirking ever so slightly, Jon twirled his blade in his hand and then hacked down... Ned lost his grip and the sword fell on the ground... leaving him defenseless just as he had been at the Tower of Joy. The Lord of Winterfell knew if this were not sparring and without help, he would be dead.

 

"I yield," said Ned, knowing he has lost, chuckling at the hushed murmurings from the crowd... none from his own family, for they were just gaping. "You are truly a great swordsman, Jon."

 

Jon only smiled, though in his eyes there was... affection? Pride? "Thank you for the spar, Lord Stark. Such praise means the world coming from you." Ned said nothing else, only pulling Jon in for a hug, thumping his back. “Lord Stark, may I be excused to my chambers? I would like to bathe," said Jon after they broke the embrace.

 

"Of course, Jon. I'll send some handmaidens to fix it for you." The lad merely bowed his head and walked towards the keep, returning his blades to their racks.

 

When Jon left, his young children mobbed him. "Father, can you have Jon teach me to fight!" Arya peppered him. "He's so amazing at it! Wasn't it glorious!"

 

"Me too, can Jon train me?! I'll be a knight for sure!" Looking down at Bran, Ned sighed - hopefully they could avoid the fate Jon told him would afflict Bran.

 

As for Robb, currently trying to guide a dazed Theon to sit on a barrel until his head stopped spinning, he still gaped in disbelief. "My gods, father... where did Jon learn those moves?"

 

"I've seen him spar and he was never that good," Sansa mused.

 

Arya looked at her sister. "You watch them spar? I highly doubt you do."

 

"Sometimes I do," was the response.

 

Himself putting away his training sword, Ned saw Ser Rodrik approach him. "My lord, I have lived long and trained many proud warriors of the North... yet I have never seen someone - let alone a boy - using a sword with such effortless skill. You must be proud of your bastard son... he could be the greatest swordsman of his day."

 

Ned smiled, letting out a deep sigh. "Aye. He already is."

 

 

 Jon Snow

 

"You are blood of the Dragon." 

 

Jon laughed, "I may be a Targaryen but I am no Dragon."

 

Giggling, Daenerys snuggled closer to him and kissed his scars on his chest. "So what are you then? " she murmured. "A wolf?" The Valyrian goddess looked at him in the eyes.

 

He sighed. "I have always considered myself to be a mistake. However my fath...uncle told me that I may not have his name, but that I shared his blood… I suppose I always considered myself to be a wolf… That is all I ever really knew. I am a wolf." He played idly with her silver hair. Letting her calm him.

 

"Hmm no, not a wolf. You have Targaryen blood and Stark blood running through your veins. You're a dragonwolf," she mused as they both smiled.

 

"A Dragonwolf, you say?" 

 

"Yes, you are." Dany leaned closer and kissed his lips as she started to moan. " So what do you think will our child be? A dragon or a wolf?" She waited for his reaction.

 

He moved his gaze upwards to meet hers. He could not believe what he just heard. "Daenerys are you...?" He trailed off, hands trembling as he touched her stomach.

 

Tears brimming in her lids, Dany beamed as she nodded. "I saw Maester Wolkan today and he has confirmed that I am with child." 

 

Letting out a gasp, Jon quickly claimed her lips, forcing his tongue inside her mouth causing her to moan. Never had he felt so happy at being with the love of his life carrying his child. "For how long?" He asked her, pulling away after air became an issue.

 

"A moon turn." She turned in his arms, grinding her arse against his erect cock he snaked both of his hands on her stomach. 

 

"Didn't I tell you that witch wasn't a reliable source of information?" She laughed turned her gaze towards him and kissed him. "Do you think it's a boy or girl?"  

 

"It's a boy." 

 

Jon raised an eyebrow. "and how do you know that?"

 

Dany chuckled. "Let's call it mother's intuition." 

 

Not having any argument with that, Jon nuzzled the nape of her neck. "Alright, if it is a boy, what would we name him?" 

 

She was silent for a moment. Mind deep in thought. "What about Eddard Targaryen?" she finally asked. "If it wasn't for your uncle, you would not be here." 

 

"Hmm… my unborn nephew, Robb's child, was going to be named Eddard. Perhaps for a grandchild, but I wouldn't want that reminder to follow our child for his days." Suddenly, t ears began to course down her eyes, grief overcoming her once joy. "Daenerys, what's wrong?" Jon hugged her close.

 

"Jon..." she sobbed. "My love... I'm sorry that I couldn't save Arya or Sansa." The thought of Robb's death, it only drew them further into more recent tragedy. "There was too many of them... and now our child won't know his aunts..."

 

While he felt grief just as she did, Jon had to be strong for her. "It's not your fault Daenerys. You saved thousands of lives that day, don't blame yourself." He leaned in and kissed her tears away. 

 

"Jon..." She melded herself to him. "I can't lose you. All that I've lost... I won't be able to live without you." 

 

"You're strong and you can... if I have to sacrifice myself for our family..."

 

She thumped his chest. "Shut it... I won't raise this child without you." 

 

"Daenerys..." she cut him off before he could say anything else.

 

"No. Jon, we either live together or die together, do you understand?" She looked into his eyes. "Together."

 

He nodded. "Together."  There was a silence, them just holding each other... until he laughed. Taking in her quizzical look, Jon kissed her brow. "I've thought of a name for our son."

 

Her eyes were eager. "Please tell."

 

"Rhaegar... Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."  

 

Daenerys thought of it. "Rhaegar Targaryen, trueborn son of Aegon Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen, heir to the iron throne... I like it." She turned and kissed him... desperately so.

 

"I love you, Daenerys," Jon murmured against his lips.

 

"I love you, my dragonwolf."

 

"Together?" 

 

"Aye, Together." 

 

"Jon!" Jon... pulled away from the bittersweet memory, jerked back as his brother raced towards him and yanked him the rest of the way. As his hand had been in the bathwater placed there by the maids at his request and to his specification, some splashed out and sprinkled Robb's hand. He grunted. "Seven hells that's hot!" Waving his afflicted hand, the other reached out. "Jon give me your hand!"

 

"Robb... leave it be..."

 

"Just give it!" Robb snatched up Jon's hand and saw nothing was wrong. He gaped. "How is your hand not burned?!" he asked incredulously.

 

Jon did not know what to say. Marrying Dany in his past... her Targaryen customs had been much adopted by him, including a love for scalding hot baths that with his dragonblood he could endure. Not planning on having told Robb, he only wanted to change the subject. "Why are you here Robb?" 

 

His brother - cousin rather, though they would always be brothers in Jon's eyes - stared at him. "What do you mean, Jon?! After that stunt you pulled? Seven Hells, where did you learn how to fight like that?! Arya can't shut up about it and I think even Sansa was impressed... but how?"

 

"I practiced on my own in the godswood..."

 

His excuse was met with a furious shake of the head. "Fuck that, I'm not stupid. First, I would've found out eventually, and second, that couldn't be done alone. You had skill in fighting, not just form." Catching Jon's glare, Robb sighed. "I came here to talk to you, see where you picked up those skills... forgive me for yelling, but when I saw your hand immersed in scalding water..."

 

 

"It's just a bath, brother... and before you ask, yes. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."

 

Deep down, he knew his brother wouldn't make it that easy for him and true to form, Robb didn't disappoint. "No, Jon. You are most certainly not fine." Robb was clearly not backing down. "Ever since that nightmare you had four days ago you've been different. All these secret meetings with father, a more assertive attitude - which to be fair is something both Arya and I are happy to see, but still - and now you fight like how they always described Ser Arthur Dayne... not to mention you're brooding."

 

A snort. "You always complain that I'm brooding."

 

"Aye, but your normal brooding is tolerable. This is different." Jon hung his head, knowing why he brooded… something he'd rather not burden his family with. He already did so with his uncle. "And now your hand didn't get burned in scalding hot water. What the fuck is going on?"

 

Jon did not know what to say. "I'm fine Robb really."

 

"If you tell me 'I'm fine' again I will sock you in the nose." The two glared at each other for a moment before Robb sighed. "Don't lie to me Jon… We are brothers, and brothers should not keep secrets from each other."

 

By the gods... hanging his head, Jon did not want to lie anymore. He wanted to tell Robb the truth, but didn't know where that would lead. Uncle and I came up with a plan... should I follow it or not?  "I can't Robb… you wouldn't understand."

 

Incredulous, Robb smacked his hand angrily against the wall. "Then help me understand rather than shutting yourself out!"

 

Angered himself at Robb's verbal accusation, it just slipped out. "You are not my brother, Robb!" As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back.

 

As Jon expected after he said it, Robb reacted as if struck. "Yes, not full-blood brothers. Forget what mother says though... we're half-brothers and that's enough for me."

 

Sighing, Jon decided to simply tell him the truth. Perhaps it could save Robb from his fate. "I see you as my brother, Robb... never think I do not, but we aren't half-brothers. By blood, I am your cousin. Father is not my father."

 

Blinking, Robb didn't know what to say. "Cousins? What in seven hells are you saying? That father isn't your father?" Thinking on it, only one came to mind. "Uncle Brandon... are you his bastard?"

 

"No, Robb, my name cannot be Stark... but rather Targaryen." He saw Robb's eyes widening. "My real father was Rhaegar Targaryen and my mother was Lyanna Stark, your aunt."

 

"It can't be... did Father tell you this?" Jon nodded, which floored the heir to Winterfell even more. "Father says that he found his sister in Dorne… So if you were born in Dorne then you are really Jon Sand… Oh, gods." Robb was starting to put two and two together. "Then you were born of rape... fathered by that monster..."

 

Without knowing it, Jon punched the wall. His hand was throbbing, but it got Robb to shut up. "Never call him that again." His voice was in a growl, defending the name of his father and his late son from the lies. Seeing Robb slightly frightened, he took deep breaths to calm himself down. "Sorry, but don't say that. Rhaegar didn't rape my mother, nor kidnapped her. They married out of love."

 

Robb was speechless. "Then you're trueborn... Targaryen?” 

 

Hearing his true house's name said aloud along with his northern name made him chuckle. "No. My name is Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name - the true heir to the Iron Throne." A throne that he would need to reclaim for the fight ahead... that he and Dany would reclaim.

 

"You're the heir to the Iron Throne?" Jon nodded, which nearly caused Robb to collapse. "Seven hells... my bastard brother is the heir to the fucking throne..." He looked as if he had ran all the way from Castle Cerwyn in a day. "Why did Father lie?" 

 

This was an easy answer. "Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys... my siblings, you know their fate at the hands of Tywin Lannister and king Robert. If Robert found out, he'd have killed me. Fuck, if he found out now then all of you, including your father, mother, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon... all would be at risk." Sighing, Jon remembered a vision Bran had showed him "'Aegon will die if he finds out. Ned. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me.'" The words drove him to tears. Mother... mother...

 

As for Robb, he looked at his suddenly teary-eyed brother with confusion. "Who’s words was those?" 

 

Jon looked away. "They was my mother's last words."

 

"Did father... well... my father tell you that?" asked Robb, believing Jon - he'd need to confirm this with his father, but Jon knew that between that and the tolerance of scalding water that Robb would know it was true.

 

But that was the easy part... now there was more. He steeled himself. "No he didn't, Bran did," said Jon. 

 

If his Targaryen identity confused Robb, this was liable to send him into mental circles. "Bran? How could Bran have known?" 

 

"Do you have time, cause it's a long story?"

 

"No way in seven hells am I missing this." Robb sat against the wall, hands on his lap. "Spill.


 

It went much like how the conversation went over with Ned. At first Robb was utterly confused... then dismissive, thinking it was a jape... then such thinking faltered and he was left a mix of horrified, disgusted, and just plain numb. 'If true,' he had said. 'If true...' Truly it had to be fantastical and devastating to comprehend. The death of his wife and child. The end of house Stark. The dead living.

 

"Do you believe me?" Jon asked, guarded.

 

Closing his eyes, Robb shook his head. "Not even in the deepest of nightmares would you envision this." Robb had always been a spiritual sort, even with his youthful arrogance. The machinations of the old gods left him... predisposed to accept Jon's claim, if so quiet as to approach death. "Forgive me... but while I trust you I will await if we find those direwolf pups to be confirmed of your accounts."

 

"I wouldn't expect you not to."

 

Taking all of the new information in, suddenly Robb grew pale. He covered his mouth and rushed to an open window, retching his guts out of their lunch onto the empty courtyard below. Jon rushed to his side, grabbing his back to steady his brother. Finally, after several dry heaves, Robb managed to croak out. "I'm sorry, Jon." 

 

Jon looked up after he said this. "For what? None of this was your fault." 

 

Grimacing, Robb let Jon lead him to sit at the lip of the bathtub. "Some isn't... I doubt I can command the white walkers, but from what you said it is because of my selfish ways our house lost all of our allies. The Boltons betrayed us. The North was vulnerable." He smacked his head with his palm. "Stupid, fucking idiot!"

 

"Brother, stop it." Jon grabbed his forearms, halting Robb's self-harm, but the normally confident heir to Winterfell didn't lose his self-loathing introspection.

 

"I didn't follow my duty. I died and I left you to clean my faults by becoming King in the North." Eyes haggard with grief, he gripped Jon's shoulders. "I am sorry, brother. If I had not been so reckless I could if lived and won the war. We could have faced the threat beyond the wall together, let alone all else you faced..."

 

Pursing his lips, the rightful King sighed. "Robb, the welcome thing about learning about your future is that it's the future. You have the chance to change it, as do I. Never will I know why you did what you did, but now there is an oppertunity to shirk off the same mistakes and change your fate. Do you feel up to it?"

 

"Aye... I suppose I have no choice." Looking at Jon, he chuckled. "My brother... kept saying he would die a maiden to spare the world his bastards, apparently married to a gorgeous Targaryen Princess." Realization came to him. "You lost her though... I'm sorry."

 

Every time someone mentioned the death of his wife and child, he wanted to cry - the pain of thinking of what happened to them too painful. "Thank you, Robb."

 

"Remember what you said about second chances then." Encircling his shoulders, the two of them sat there in a brotherly half-embrace. "So... you slept with your aunt?" 

 

Jon snorted. "You do realize that I am a Targaryen, right?" 

 

Robb laughed. "That's true." He grinned. "Tell me about her." 

 

Closing his eyes, her image was seared into his memory - something done at a time where he never thought he'd see her again. "She was... no, is the most beautiful women in the world. Silver hair that shines by the firelight and purple eyes either so light as to sparkle or so dark as to look the deepest nights - a smile that could light up an entire castle." He chuckled, smile widening on his face. "She was stubborn as all the seven hells but also the strongest person I have ever known. She cares about people that others would simply let rot, but is fierce and never allows anyone to walk all over her. When we met we hated each other at first," the memory brought him both amusement and warmth. "But as the time went by we were drawn to each other. She was meant for me and I was meant for her." 

 

His brother was giving him a look of pure shock. "Gods... never would I think I'd see this side of you." It was nice for him to see his brother like this and not the scared little boy he knew who didn't want to father a bastard. "You remind me of those knights in Sansa's books.

 

Groaning, Jon looked away. "Don't say that to her or Arya. I'll never live it down." The two brothers dissolved into a fit of laughter at that.

 

Recovering, Robb smiled. "I'm glad she was there for you Jon. Thank you for telling me about her." Jon nodded. "So what's your plan... wait, you and father hatched one out, didn't you?"

 

Jon knew Robb would've found out eventually, the emptiness felt at having to leave them all again after finally being reunited only doubling now that Robb knew. "Robb I'm sorry but I'm leaving Winterfell." 

 

He was shocked. "Why? Because of my mother?" Even though Jon knew the truth he still hated Catelyn for how she had treated him.

 

"No, Robb I'm leaving Winterfell because there is nothing here for me. My duties are elsewhere."

 

It took a moment before his brother realized it. "Your duties are in the south aren't they? With Daenerys?" Jon only nodded. "When are you leaving, then?"

 

"Tomorrow," said Jon. "That's when the deserter is executed and we find the pups. Your conformation I suppose."

 

"I trust you... but wait, Daenerys is about to be sold to Khal Drogo around this time if you are correct. So what's your plan Jon? If you kill Drogo, what of his Khalasar? They will kill you Jon." His worry was self-evident.

 

"The Dothraki only follow the strongest." He had learned much of them from ruling with Dany. "When I kill Drogo, then I'll become their new Khal."

 

"Just as simple as that, then?" He laughed. "I admire your confidence... but what of Daenerys?"

 

"I will never let anyone harm her," Jon hissed, fire in his voice. "I will claim her as my own Khaleesi before anyone even tries." Sighing, he felt his anger dissipate. "And then it truly begins. Taking back my birthright, our birthright. The Iron Throne." He smiled warily at Robb. "I'll need allies, Robb. Can I count on my Warden of The North to be by my side?" 

 

"Future warden, heir to father." Robb grinned. "You know I will follow you in any war, Jon, which is why I have to do what I have to do."

 

Now it was Jon's turn to blink in confusion. "Excuse me?"

 

Robb stood, cracking his knuckles. "I'm leaving with you."

 

"Robb. you can't..."

 

"Don't give me that crock of shit... you're my brother no matter what and I am not going to sit up here like a spoiled ass." He wore a look of pure determination, Jon knowing he was looking at the famed 'Young Wolf' from the wars of his past. "I'm going with you. I'm going to help make sure you save her, and you will not stop me." 

 

Jon was stunned, happily so, when Robb said this. He knew he hadn't lost his brother, even if they were now cousins. But still... "Robb, I can't let you die or risk your life for a woman you've never even met before."

 

"She's your woman and that's enough for me... besides, I don't plan on dying. Not this time. Who else will need to care for your weak ass."

 

A snort. "Thank you, Robb, for your concern but I can take care of myself."

 

 

Robb laughed. "Oh I know I have the bruises to prove it." That brought them both chuckles. "So, I'm going to ask you again - Jon, when do we leave for Pentos tomorrow?"

 

The day was singed into his memory for all time. "Tomorrow, when we are in the courtyard at Bran's archery practice, Ser Rodrick will announce that there is a deserter who has claimed to see the threat beyond the wall. Uncle will be forced to behead the deserter and after is when we find the direwolves."

 

"Still shocking that they return."

 

"Aye, and each of the stark children will retrieve a Direwolf pup - even me." That particular memory was a good one. "You name yours Grey Wind."

 

"Grey Wind? I actually like that. You?"

 

"You'll see when we find them." His expression turned serious again. "Robb, as soon as we retrieve the pups then we will have to leave unnoticed."  

 

"We won't have time to return to Winterfell." It wasn't a question. "I suppose father will arrange everything, even telling our siblings."

 

"Aye. I doubt Lord Stark would allow you to come along on my adventure, though." 

 

Robb gave a devious smirk. "Don't worry, I have no intention of him stopping me. I'll leave a letter in his solar letting him know I went with you." 

 

A silence hung between them, the true magnitude of what transpired hitting them. "So it's settled. Get everything that you need for our travel. We will leave tomorrow for White Harbor." Robb nodded and stood up. "Just make sure to get some rest." At Robb's acknowledgement, something else came to mind. "Robb!" Robb turned and looked at Jon. "Thank you for doing this with me." 

 

Without a word, his brother hugged him. "Jon, it doesn't matter who your father was. You're as much a Stark as I am and you'll always be my brother. I'll do anything for you, especially recreate our games where you're Daemon Targaryen and I'm Cregan Stark... this time for real."

 

"I did love doing that." Jon patted his shoulder. "Thank you, brother." 

 

"See you on the morrow, brother." Nothing had changed between them... no, it had changed for the better.

Chapter 4: Saying Goodbye is Never Easy

Notes:

Alright, guys, I'm happy to report that Ser Arthur Dayne's canon sword is in this fic. Ser Arthur's Dayne sword Dawn is at the moment known as Winters Wolf. Jon will later find out of the swords true origins. So woohoo were back to canon. Anyway, thank you again for all the support it makes me so happy that you guys enjoy this fic. This Chapter will be extremely long because of everything that will happen to start getting into the plot so sit back relax and enjoy the chapter. As always opinions and ideas are always appreciated in the comments. Enjoy. Ps I made sure that this chapter is in perfect condition and will continue so with every upcoming chapter. Please know I'm really sorry how poorly edited the previous chapters were. I just finished editing them in 100% condition. Again I'm really sorry but I promise every chapter from now on will be in 100% condition so, please forgive me anyway hope you enjoy the chapter.

Editorial note: This is Longclaw. As of 9/7, this chapter has been revised to clean up grammatical issues.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arya Stark

 

Arya Stark hated her life at the moment. Buried under the furs to ward off the early morning chill in spite of it being summer and the roaring fire in the hearth, her mind couldn't escape the fact that she and her beloved brother Jon hadn't had a conversation in days. No sparring practice, no rides in the Wolfswood... barely even a dinner together like countless times in the past. She would've thought it was her - that she did something wrong - but truth be told it wasn't just that.

Jon was different, of this Arya knew.

The incident in the courtyard came to mind. At the moment it was something that awed her, but questions kept formulating in her mind since. How did he do that? When did he learn how to use two swords? Why was he so aggressive in fighting? Some older warriors such as her father held a hardness that came with experience, devoid of the youthful flourish and showing off common in Robb or Theon, but Jon didn't just posses that. There was a rage in him, a deep desire to win at all costs even Arya could see. Punching Theon and the unabashed way he simply hurled himself at his foes scared her. And he wouldn't talk about it.

Even with her. 

Groaning in frustration and hunger, Arya swung herself out of the bed, grabbing her cloak. There was no use in trying to sleep, so she might as well get something to eat. No one's gonna be awake this early in the morning anyway. She'd get in and get out quick.

However, Arya was wrong in that assumption. Reaching the kitchens, she walked into the kitchen to see Robb rooting through the barrels of food, grabbing apples and dried meat to stuff into a saddlebag. What is he doing? Is he going somewhere? First Jon and now Robb? She decided to announce herself. "Robb, What are you doing?"  

Robb jumped, dropping the saddlebag. Turning to her, shock turned to irritation. "Seven Hells, Arya! were you trying to kill me?" 

Arya couldn't help but laugh. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes, you did!" He placed a hand on his heart. "Why are you up so early?"

"I was hungry so I came here to get something to eat." She peered at him. "Why are you here?"

Now, he started to shift on his feet, looking a bit nervous. "Same as you."

"Sure you did..." Arya didn't buy it. "Why do you have a saddlebag with you if you only wanted to get something to eat Robb?"

His shifting grew more pronounced. "I wanted to go riding to see the sunlight... needed a snack."

She saw he was hiding something. "May I come with you?"

"No Arya you may not."

Arya pursed her lips in anger. "And why is that?"

"I have my own reasons, and you don't need to know them." He was firm.

"I'm not an idiot, Robb. You're taking too much food just to go see the sunrise. Are you going somewhere?"

Robb rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not. Go back to sleep before you get cranky."

Balling her fists, Arya narrowed her eyes. "You're lying Robb."

"I'm not Arya."

"Robb..." She dropped her anger, pleading. "I'm worried, please tell me what's going on. What are you keeping secret from me?"

A sigh. "It's not my secret to tell Arya."

Arya blinked. "Then whose is it?"

Robb sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jon's" 

Stiffening, Arya's dread grew. "Is something wrong with Jon?"

Silence. "He's not the same Arya."

"What's wrong with him. Tell me!" she begged.

"It's not me to tell." He wasn't budging.

Her ire got the best of her. "Fine! I'll go ask him myself." Arya moved to storm out of the kitchen.

"Arya!" She turned and looked at Robb. "He needs rest. Wait until he's awake." Acknowledging this, she nodded and left for her chambers.

A voice stopped her just as she reached the residential wing. "Arya? Why are you awake so early in the morning?"

She turned towards the voice calling her. "Good morning, father." Arya met Ned's eyes. "I was hungry so I went and got something to eat."

Her father gave her a curious look. "Where is Robb? I need to speak with him."

"I saw him in the kitchen."

"Was he eating?"

"No." Arya wasn't about to lie. "He was putting food in a saddlebag."

For a moment, her father's eyes widened, but it was gone soon after. "Thank you, Arya. Now get some sleep."  

As he was leaving, her curiosity and worry got the better of her. "Can I ask you something, father?"

Ned stopped and turned to her. "Yes, Arya. What is it?"

"Is Robb going somewhere?"

Ned didn't say anything for a while. "Yes," he finally admitted. "Arya... he and Jon..." He gulped. "They're leaving Winterfell."

Arya was shocked. "Why?"

"They have urgent duty in the south, all I can say."

She made up her mind right then and there. "May I go with them?"

"You may not." Her father was stern. "Their mission is too dangerous."

"Why are they going?"

"It's Jon's quest."

Arya stared at her father. "Are you sending him away because he's your bastard son?" she asked hesitantly.

"No." His answer was immediate, though for the rest he took some time to answer. "Arya, he's leaving on his free will.''

"But why?"

"I promised him I would tell all of you after he had left." She turned around and walked towards Jon's chambers, needing to know. "Arya!" She stopped, looking back at Ned with tears welling in her eyes. "Do not ask him to stay."

"Why?" He couldn't leave... he couldn't. They were family. 

A hand rested on her shoulder. "He needs to leave Arya. He isn't the same Jon who you knew."

"No... I refuse to believe that." If he wasn't the same Jon, would he love her any less?

Ned seemed to read her mind. "He's your brother and still loves you, but there are things he needs to do now that I will only tell you about when he is gone. He made me promise."

There was no changing his mind, this she knew. "When will he and Robb return?"

"Robb maybe a few moons or a year even, but Jon... Jon is leaving for good." His voice was resigned, sad.

Arya felt like an arrow pierced her heart. "Is this mother's doing?"

He shook his head. "No, your mother did nothing. This is simply Jon is finding his place in the world. I... I really can't say any more on it."

"Jon... Jon can't leave father!" She let out a sobb.

"Arya, sweetling..."  Ned kneeled and hugged her. "We all have to leave Winterfell at some point. Like how your mother had to leave Riverrun to become Lady of Winterfell." He kissed her forehead. "When Jon wakes up don't try to stop him, Arya, his duties are not here. They're in the south." 

Arya looked at her father for awhile and then simply nodded. "I won't try to stop him but can I at least say goodbye to him?"

Her father smiled. "Of course you may."

She smiled in return and gave her father a hug. "Thank you, father."

"Aye, now get some sleep. I'll send a handmaiden to wake you when he leaves."

Arya nodded immediately went to her bed and crawled under the furs, tears inevitable as they fell down her cheeks. Please don't leave, brother. Please...


 

Robb Stark 

 

Filling several gourds with water and ale, Robb hoped it would last the trip to White Harbor - horses could drink river water, while the last time he did it ended with three days of his stomach wanting to kill him. Not an experience he wished to repeat. 

Sighing, he moved to fill another gourd when a shadow appeared in the door. "Arya, go back to your..." Turning, he did a double take. "Father, what a surprise." Seven hells. He was caught.

His father didn't attempt to move, only looking into Robb's eyes. "I know you're going with Jon." 

Robb narrowed his eyes. "You knew? Who told you? Was it Arya?"

"No one told me. I heard you and Jon discussing it in his chambers."

Could be true, but what did it matter? "Are you going to keep me here?" 

"No." That surprised Robb as he blinked. "I want you to go with Jon actually. I'll need you to keep an eye on Jon in case he does something foolish." Ned hung his head. "He's not as patient as he once was."

"Why wouldn't he?" Robb replied, defending his brother in spite of his father being right. "He lost everything. Us. His wife and child... from what I've heard the future is hell. Do you believe him?"

"Aye, I do. Jon may be different but I still raised him. He's honorable - he won't lie, at least not to us."

"So you think he does have to go south? To Essos?"

His father smiled "He made a vow to protect her and he's keeping it... as I did with his mother." Sorrow crossed his father's face and Robb understood. The pieces fit together so easily. "We might not know her but he loves her and love is a powerful thing. It can sometimes make you do stupid things, my son."

Given what he knew of himself from Jon's future, Robb understood why his father was asking this of him. To watch his brother, a man in love and desperate to right the wrongs of the future. "I understand. I'll keep my eye on him, don't worry." He took the bag and placed it on his back. "Are you going to tell mother?"

"Yes, but not until you're gone. She wouldn't allow this to happen otherwise." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Robb, just promise me you'll keep your eye on him and protect him."

"Aye, I promise... but what we've seen he doesn't need anyone's protection he can protect himself." He grinned a bit.

Ned grinned back. "Aye, you're right... but still."

"Don't worry, I promise - same as you did Aunt Lya for him." His father wasn't shocked when his son said it. "She's his mother right?" Ned nodded. "Jon told me... I hate that it happened for him and for our family, but you needed to protect him from Robert."

His father rubbed the back of his neck. "There were no easy choices. Sometimes you'll be faced with one, so be prepared to live with the consequences."

Robb took a deep breath. "Jon intends to take back his rightful throne and had asked me to be his Warden of the North - a request that I accepted and I accepted it. I will fight with him with or without the support of you nor the north and make sure he takes back his throne."

He gazed at his father and waited for a disapproval but to his surprise, his father only sat next to him looking at the window. "Aye I know you will. While I don't intend on dying any time soon, I stand behind you and Jon. We will help you take back his throne." 

"Really?" It still shocked him. "What about Robert? From what everyone says, he is practically your brother as Jon is mine."

His father only sighed. "I cannot say I have no loyalty to him. He was practically my brother growing up and I wish those times had never left... that being said, it was the greatest of follies that I tried to get him and your aunt to be married. He was a whoremonger and Lyanna... gods, she never would've been able to live with that. It would've destroyed her and I don't blame her for running off with the Prince."

"Jon's father, Prince Rhaegar." It still seemed so surreal to Robb. "Do you still hate him?"

"I blame him... at least somewhat." Ned was honest. "Aerys deserves most of the blame, as does my brother for being a reckless idiot... poor Brandon. But regardless of that, from what I know about the future it's how Robert ran the realm that allowed the Seven Kingdoms to destroy themselves, and if not him then his mad tyrant bastard son will take over. Joffrey cannot be allowed to rule, while Jon... your cousin will be the greatest King the Realm has seen since Aegon the Conqueror, this I am certain. I hope Robert understands but it doesn't matter. House Stark must stand with Jon... for the dawn."

"For the dawn," Robb nodded just as the sun rose. "You must speak to him before Ser Rodrik announces the capture of the deserter. After that there won't be any time for any private conversations." They both stood up and Robb gave his father a hug. "Please tell my brothers and sisters I love them. I left a letter for each on the desk in my chambers."

"I will, my son," his father murmured, hugging him tighter. Both knew that this would be the last time they will speak privately before he has left on his quest with, Jon.....


 

Tyrion Lannister

 

Tyrion was entering the room where his royal kin were breaking their fast. "Good morning, dearest sister," he announced with a flourish. He walked over towards Cersei and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She averted her gaze with a scowl, which made him laugh. Across the table Tommen and Myrcella giggled at him so he rounded the bench and gave them a hug. "My beautiful niece and nephew... and Joffrey. How was your sleep?" They both giggled, while Joffrey glared with irritation.

"Good, and yours?" asked Tommen.

"Fine, thank you. I had a wonderful dream until that stupid city bell ranged." He walked at the table and saw what food he could eat. Bread, cheese, and a few plump, hot sausages called his name. "So, my dear sister, usually when the bell rings in Kings Landing it means something terrible has happened. May I ask since you are the Queen of the lovely King, might you know what has happened?" 

Cersei's scowl didn't change. "Jon Arryn is dead."

"Really?" This surprised Tyrion greatly. He knew the man was ill but would never have suspected him to die. "When did this happen?"

"At the hour of the wolf. The commotion would've waked you, but you're usually too drunk to be roused." Her insults were biting yet she remained composed.

Joffrey, on the other hand, held no graceful airs. He laughed uproariously. "Good! The old man was getting on my nerves... always asking questions of uncle Jaime and when my father and mother keep each other's companionship."

Tyrion turned his gaze towards Cersei. "I wonder why he would do that, may the Seven bless his soul?" Tyrion could see a smile behind her face trying not to show itself.

"I presume it was his illness that made him ask strange questions. Some vapors can rot the brain." Tyrion couldn't understand if she were serious or not.

He decided to change the subject. "And what is our lovely king doing at this moment?"

That did not help Cersei's mood as she scoffed. "He's busy."

"Busy? Are you sure you don't mean... drunk?" He smiled at her, amused as she started to lose her temper.

"No actually," she ground out. "He's busy planning our trip to the North." 

Hmmm... odd. "May I ask why you're going north?"

"To meet the Warden of the North in Winterfell, I presume. To ask him to be his Hand." She snorted. "Think of it, doltish Ned Stark over our father. My husband says they did always have a close relationship before his rebellion, but who is better than the great Tywin Lannister."

"Few people, I believe." He couldn't fault his father's competence. "So when are we leaving."

He could see the disappointment on her face. "We?"

"Well of course, sister. I would very much like to see the castle of House Stark, not to mention the Wall. It keeps us safe from white walkers and giants."

"You don't honestly believe that do you?" That was Joffrey.

"I don't believe the wall was built for nothing, nephew. It is protecting us from something." Joffrey just shook his head and toyed with his porridge. "May I ask, is the King going to Winterfell only to ask Lord Stark to be his Hand or does he have other plans?"

Cersei gulped, looking at Joffrey. "He will ask for Lord Stark's consent to a betrothed between Joffrey and his eldest daughter, Sansa Stark." Tyrion looked at the boy and felt sad for anyone who would ever have to marry him. "I'm not sure if she's right for my sweet boy, but her pedigree is likely without fault."

Finishing off his sausage, Tyrion rose. "If you would excuse me, I'm going to go look for our dear brother." He could see she was happy that he was leaving and simply dropped another kiss on her forehead and left looking for Jaime......


 

 Jon Snow

 

"Do you think?" He kissed her swollen stomach before moving upward. Lips ghosting over her nipple and then sucking her neck.

"Think what?"  She started to moan, hands weaving in his hair.

Smirking, he placed one hand between her legs and worked a finger past her lower lips, sheathing it. She moaned louder and searched out his mouth. Kissing him hungrily. "Do you think," she mumbled against his lips. "If we found our way to each other sooner, before I had met Drogo, would we have been together?"

His smile widened as he kept kissing her. "In that time I was a shy boy and thought a bastard vowed to father no child... but I couldn't have resisted you, my love."

She began to kiss his scars on his chest. " I wonder what you would have done if you ever had met my brother Viserys," said Daenerys. He rolled them both so that he could be on top, sucking on her nipple. She started to moan as he lavished attention on her breasts.

"Firstly," Jon replied breathlessly. "I would have asked your brother what would give him the right to sell his sister to a rapist... if his answer didn't please me, I would have killed him... not before I revealed that he is not heir to the throne...."

Dany fisted the sheet beneath her at his sensual attack. " Nnnngh... and .. Drogo?"  Pulling on his hair, two legs wrapped around his shoulder - begging him to enter her. 

Growling, Jon removed his fingers. "I would have killed Drogo by my own blade and would have asked you if you would like to live with me in the North."  She moved her body down words trying to find his cock so that he could enter her. "As my wife."

"Oh yes, Jon. I would have accepted your offer... my gallant Northern warrior." He smiled and entered her, never breaking their passionate kiss...

"Jon! Wake up." He opened his eyes and saw it was his uncle.

"I'm awake. I'm awake." He stood up groggily and went to the table, pouring water for them both in two cups. The dreams were often bittersweet, but not this time. Now they just filled him with apprehensive excitement. She's alive... He handed the cup to his uncle and they both drank. "Did you want to talk about something?" 

"Aye, I know Robb is going with you." 

Jon blinked, surprised. "And... you're fine with that?"

His uncle simply smiled and nodded. "Even if I wasn't, I don't think that would stop him."

"I see." He cracked his back, working the last tendrils of sleep out of his system. "I thought I had to tell him."

"No one's blaming you, Jon." Ned took a deep breath. "I know it's been awkward between us ever since you revealed the truth to me." Jon sat quietly, listening to his uncle. "I just want to tell you that..." Grief filled his eyes. Grief and guilt. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry that I kept your true parentage from you. I'm sorry that I carried that secret to my death. I'm sorry for sending you to the wall without you knowing... Perhaps you would have gone to Essos to find Daenerys rather than the Wall, changing all of our fates. I'm sorry for not being a good uncle and letting everyone treated you like dirt." For the first time Jon had ever seen, Ned Stark's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry and I hope you can forgive me..." 

Jon steeled his heart and looked at Ned. "I cannot say you were right to keep this from me, uncle. I believe I should've known... or at least been raised without your wife treating me like dirt. But I forgive you." His father was surprised by what he said and looked at him. "I might not have known my mother, nor my true father." Jon grieved them both, wishing he could've known them. "But you raised me and you are my blood... I'm glad you raised me and also glad that I can call you my father." Ned said nothing but wrapped Jon in a tight hug, one Jon returned. "Do you think my mother would have been proud of me?" At that moment, Jon saw his father started crying. 

"Aye... she would be extremely proud of you. So am I." Wiping a tear, Ned patted him on the back, smiling proudly. "You're a true Stark, but you're a dragon too." 

"Thank you, father." He could see Ned was happy hearing his words. "I'm planning on retaking the iron throne and unite the Seven Kingdoms. Only then can we fight the threat beyond the Wall. However, in order to do so I'll need allies." He waited for his father to answer him.

He took another sip of water and finally heard his father speak. "When you retake the throne, you can expect the North backing your rightful claim." 

"Even against Robert?"

"You're my family Jon. I would never fight against you...  and Robert. He is not the same Robert I grew up with. Not from what you've told me and what I've seen My brother was forever lost to me as soon as he accepted your siblings' deaths with a smile on his face."

"Then there's Joffrey," said Jon.

"He isn't a Baratheon but a Lannister. All Royal children are Lannisters of Ser Jamie and Queen Cersei... gods, I still can't believe it." He shook his head. "I won't let that mad Lannister boy be King. No other King but you, nephew."

Jon took in everything what his father just told him. "Thank you, father, for your kind words."

His father could see there was something bothering him. "What's bothering you, son?"

"How will you change minds of the Lords of the North? How will I? I doubt they will follow a Targaryen into battle."

"They may be stubborn but when they learn of your true parentage then they will follow you. I'll make sure of it. You're a Targaryen and also a Stark. They will follow you knowing that your Lyanna's Stark only trueborn son."

"Thank you." His father nodded. "Alright, I need to get ready for the trip." 

"Arya knows that you're leaving. She wants to know why."

Shaking his head, Jon felt a weight on his heart. "I can't tell her the truth - she would want me to stay and I can't stay. I need to leave but I'll say goodbye to her." 

Ned understood. "I'll tell her that you're looking for her when I leave your chambers." He nodded.

"Remember as soon as Robb and I have left, there will be a raven announcing the King traveling to the north with the Queen and his children."

"Aye, I know. I will not accept his offer to be Hand. Not again."

"He will also ask for a betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa."

Twin grey eyes hardened into ice. "I will never let Sansa marry that... vicious fool." Jon nodded.

"This is the last time we speak privately before you leave." He smiled and they both stood up. He gave his father one last hug...


Jaime Lannister

 

"There you are, sweet brother!" He turned around and saw Tyrion walking towards him.

Jaime laughed. "Tyrion, good morning." 

The Imp didn't waste any time before speaking. "Our dear sister has informed me that Jon Arryn is dead. Is it true?" 

Raising a brow, Jaime nodded. "Yes, it is true sadly. It happened last night. Hour of the Wolf. Poor cunt."

"Such a shame," Tyrion shook his head. "He was a good man. One of the few noble ones."

"Yes, he was." Their father often mocked Lord Arryn for it, but he lasted far longer than most had a right to.

"I guess the king took the news well."

"Not really... he's drunk at the moment. He had two whores in his bed last night so I don't think he even knows." I could accept Cersei marrying someone decent, but that oaf? 

"Eh, he must know something cause we're going to the North."

"Yes, I heard. We?" Oh hells... "Brother are you coming along on this short adventure?" While Jaime was one of few who actually enjoyed his company, Cersei clearly didn't and family harmony was hard enough to find with Robert there.

Brow rising, Tyrion gave him a curious look. "Yes, of course, brother. I wouldn't miss the chance to piss off the edge of the world." They both laughed. "So, you've met the great and honorable lord Stark once. Do you think he would accept the King's offer?"

Jaime shrugged. "Yes, I think he would. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark are like brothers and Eddard Stark would do anything for his family, honorable bastard." The last was muttered.

If Tyrion noticed, he didn't say it. "They aren't family, though. What will happen if he doesn't accept either of our king's offers? Who will be the Hand of the King?"

"If the honorable Eddard Stark doesn't accept, my guess is that father would finally get the pin back." 

"Not the king's brothers?"

"They both already have positions on the small council.  Renly Baratheon isn't interested in power as far as I know and Stannis Baratheon is still on Dragonstone and refuses to return to the capital. Robert doesn't like him anyway..."

"Great." Tyrion gave a chuckle. "We will be seeing father a lot more I would gather."

"I wouldn't be surprised if father rejected the offer." They shared a serious look for a moment before both started laughing...


Arya Stark

 

Arya was still in her chambers under her furs, waiting for Jon. Her father has told her that Jon was awake and would come to her chambers after he was getting ready for the day. Though her tears had long ended she was still sad, knowing that her two brothers would leave Winterfell for Jon's quest. Not about to question her father, the truth of why were going still bothered her. What could be so important that you'd need to leave? It couldn't be going to the Wall since why would Robb go?

There was a knock at the door. "Arya it's me, Jon. May I come in?" She jumped out of her bed and ran to the door and opened it. Jon was there, and both smiled at each other. "So, may I come in?" He raised an eyebrow. She only laughed and nodded. "Good, now quickly close the door I have a gift for you." 

Her eyes brightened. "A gift?" 

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, Arya now quickly close the door." Shutting it, Arya swiveled around and saw him place a large, wooden chest on the bed. "Come here." He opened the wooden chest and took out a small sword. "I had asked Mikken to make this sword for you."

Gaping, Arya took the blade in her hands. It was feather light. "I... I don't know what to say." The widest smile came to her face. "Thank you!"

"Anything for my favorite sister," he chuckled. "This will be your first weapon before many to come." 

Simpering with glee at the blade, reality came back to Arya and her smile fell. "Jon, why are you and Robb leaving?" She looked at him with worry. "Is someone forcing you? Is it mother?" she spat.

Jon only sighed, sorrow in his eyes. "No, no one is forcing me. I'm going of my free will." 

"Why?"

He sat on the bed and motioned for her to join him, which Arya did. "Father will tell you why once Robb and I depart from the keep, but before I say goodbye to you I have spoken to father - he has made the decision that you will be trained under Ser Rodrick, to learn how to fight with a blade as my m... as Aunt Lyanna reportedly knew how to. A true warrior." 

Everything simply stunned her. "I... I... thank you, Jon."

Before she hugged him he quickly stopped her. "All good swords in the world have a name. What will yours be?"

"Its small, thin and it can't kill a person but sure can pierce him until he bleeds. It's more like a..." 

"Needle." He laughed. "Remember first rule of fighting is you stick them with the pointy end." His eyes danced with mirth.

"I'm not dumb, I know that," Arya chided, only to vault into his arms. "I love you, Jon."

Arya felt him press a kiss to the crown of her head. "I love you to Arya. I'm going to miss you so much." They both smiled and he left a kiss on her forehead. "Just promise you'll be nice to Sansa while I'm gone."

She rolled her eyes. "I make no promises."

"Please, for me?"

Not knowing why he asked, Arya nevertheless humored him. "Fine, I won't start anything with her."

"Best I can hope for." He pinched her cheeks and and left her chambers. 


Daenerys Targaryen

 

"I made a vow that I would protect you didn't I?" Someone was smiling down at her, one that made her heart swell with warmth.

"Yes... yes you did."

"So where have you been all day?"

"Giving orders out," Dany replied, placing a hand on his chest. "Making sure everyone is following them and training... what have you been doing the whole day?"

He chuckled at the turnaround. "I've been seeing Sam and Maester Wolkan. Drogon and Rhaegal needed some attention so I gave it to them. Rhaegal misses you by the way."

The thought made her smile. "Perhaps we should take them out for a ride tomorrow - it would be good for them to spread their wings and exercise their skills."

The man nodded. "Aye, I think that would be fun - a day with just the two of us. No burdens of ruling."

Daenerys was already excited for it. "I would love that."  She kissed his lips gently. "I talked to one of the Dothraki midwives today about our child." Dany took his hand and rested it on her stomach. " They confirmed that our little one is in excellent health." 

The man let out a ragged breath and started kissing her. The kiss made her moan, ever so passionate. "I love you..."

She awoke in her chambers, out of breath. Placing her hand on her stomach, there was nothing there. "Only a dream..."

Already the sun shone through the gossamer curtains of the Pentoshi manse, making further sleep impossible. Stretching her arms, Daenerys climbed out of her bed and the handsome man in her dreams kept flashing in her mind. Who was he and why do I keep dreaming of him?

Her thoughts disappeared when she heard her brother calling her. "Dear sister your finally awake." She turned and saw her brother Viserys walking down the stairs. He smiled and she kept a blank face. "I have great news from Illyrio. The Khal has excepted my request. He will ride for Pentos and meet us here." He smiled and touched her breast. "Best behave, sister, our first meeting with the great Khal will take place in a month."

"I don't want to marry him." Dany's words were a murmur. 

Before another word, Viserys slapped her hard, causing Dany to pitch backwards on the bed. His temper was getting worse. "I don't care what you want sister! You will behave and obey your King... it is your duty."  Viserys left her on the bed, storming off to wherever he went during the day.

Daenerys clutched her cheek and reflected on what was to happen to her. I just want to go home...


Jon Snow

 

Robb, Jon, Bran, Theon, and Ned were all riding on their horses. Two Stark bannermen galloped on there horses towards Ned. "My lord we have found the deserter. We tied his hands in order to make sure he doesn't escape." Ned nodded.

"Show me where he is." 

"Please follow us, my lord, we will take you to him."

They rode for a while and finally, Jon could see it was the deserter... the same face he had seen so many years ago. Dismounting, he made sure to conceal the two blades under his cloak. Wouldn't want any of those not in the know to get the wrong idea.

He watched his uncle approach the deserter. Jory forced the man to knee before a large rock, neck out. "Anything you wish to say?"

"I know I should have returned to the Wall and warned them of what happened and what I've seen. The white walkers... they've returned." 

He grabbed Ice and closed his eyes, saying the words. "I Eddard of house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence this man to die." The omission was crystal clear to his two eldest sons.

Jon leaned over to Bran "Don't look away. Father will know if you did." Bran nodded.

Without flourish, Ned hacked down, cleanly slicing the neck. "You did good Bran, he spoke."

Bran took a deep breath. "Do you believe him what he was saying about the white walkers returning?" Ned looked at Jon and Robb and Jon nodded.

"Aye, I do." Bran was shocked after Ned said this to him.


They were traveling through the Wolfswood. Jon knew exactly the where the direwolf pups were and made sure to surreptitiously guide his uncle there. Luckily, it didn't take too long to find the dead female... Jon still winced at the sight.

"A direwolf," said Robb.

"A dead direwolf actually," said Jon

"There is no direwolves south of the wall," said Theon, shrugging. "We best be killing the pups then," said Theon. Jon kept his hand on his blade in case Theon got closer this time.

But the scene played out like in his memories. "No don't," Bran shouted.

"Put away your blade," Robb insisted.

Jon jumped in that moment. "Stand down Greyjoy."

"I take neither my orders from the two of you - especially you, bastard," he sneered. "Only from Lord Stark."

"Lord Stark there are five direwolf pups. One each for my siblings. They were meant to have them." He saw the smirk on Ned's face.

"Yes, father can we please keep them." Bran looked expectantly at him.

"Fine," he remarked, grinning. "You'll feed them yourself and if they die you bury them yourself - if you let them die, bread and water for a year." The Lord of Winterfell met Jon's eye and it was clear what they needed to do. Time to go.

Robb leaned over towards Jon.

"Jon which direwolf was mine in the future?"

"The grey one," he chuckled.

"There are two." Pointing towards the two in Theon's hands.

"One of those two is a boy. Yours were a boy," Jon smirked towards Robb. Robb looked at Theon.

"Theon what are the genders of those two direwolfs in your hands?" Theon was confused.

"Ahhhhh.... The left one is a girl and the right one is a boy." 

"Give me the pup in your right hand." Theon handed the direwolf pup to Robb.

"Great what did I name him?" 

This was greatly amusing. "Greywind."

"Nice name." Robb was then worried. "Where's yours? We need to find it and leave quickly."

Jon smiled and turned around and went behind a tree. He grabbed a white direwolf with red eyes just where he remembered.

Theon laughed. "That one is yours, Snow." Jon's smile only widened.

"Why are you smiling." Asked Theon.

"No reason." Jon looked at Robb and nodded, tickling little Ghost's belly, which made the pup squirm and nuzzle into his touch. I missed you too, boy.

"What will you name him?" asked Robb quietly.

"Ghost." Ghost peered up at his new poppa. "Alright, we lost enough time as it is we need to leave now." Robb nodded.

"I forgot my sword at the beheading," he announced, drawing a laugh from Theon and a stern look from Rodrik. "I'm going back for it. Jon care to join me?"

"Of course brother," said Jon with a smile.

"Let me come with you." 

"No, Theon we will meet with them at Winterfell. Help us take these direwolf pups home," said Ned. 

The brothers mounted their horses and galloped off with their direwolf pups in their arms. When they finally returned to the tree stump where the deserter was beheaded, Jon was angry at Robb "I still can't believe we used my excuse."

Robb rolled his eyes. "We both knew that was our best option without anyone being curious."

"But still we lost a lot of time."

"You're right." Robb grabbed two bags. "Here take this."

"Why do we have two bags?" 

"Open the bag."

Jon was curious and opened the bag a letter was inside of the bag. He opened the letter and started reading it.

 

Dear Jon,

I hope your quest will be successful. Please write to me after when you have fought against the Khal and remember, if you ever need any assistance of the North, send a raven and I'll see what I can do.

I'll send a raven letting you know of how Robert's visit in the north went. Look in the bag I left a gift for you. Your father would have wanted you to have it. I thought it would be best to give it to you when you left.

I love you, son.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North

 

Jon took his hand and went through the bag. He felt something and took it out. He couldn't believe what he saw. A grey dragon egg. He looked at Robb, who only laughed.

"So that's why you went with my excuse... You told father who took the opportunity to give me my dragon egg."

Robb nodded "He was very specific on how we should leave." 

"Alright, its time to leave." He took the dragon egg and put it back into his bag what was given to him and got on his horse.

"Alright on towards White Harbor." Jon nodded.

"We best be on our way we lost a lot of time as it is." They both started galloping on there horses with the direwolf pups in their hands and went on there way to White Harbor.......

Notes:

I thought it would be cool if Jon had his own dragon egg the same colours as house stark and not use one of Daenerys Dragon eggs and have one of his own. Anyway as always Ideas and opinions are always appreciated in the comments below.

Chapter 5: The White Necklace

Notes:

I would like to thank all of you for all of your support I have an confession to make this chapter was online like for an hour one day ago I didn't post it. It got online somehow so I deleted it and quickly rewrote it and my beta read through it so it should be fine now and hopefully in 100% condition we read through the chapter a lot of times to make sure it was in 100% condition anyway its back online. This chapter is short compared to the previous chapter. I promise next chapter will be extremely long so don't worry. Opinions and Ideas are always appreciated in the comments. Like I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter. Pls, read the endnotes when you're done with the chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

 

Ned, Theon, and Bran galloped back inside of Winterfell. When Ned entered the courtyard he saw his wife, Catelyn on the balcony who seemed disturbed. He walked up the stairs and stopped in front of her.

"Ned a raven arrived while you were gone beheading the deserter." Ned signed knowing the raven's letter announced the King and Queen are on their way towards Winterfell.

"The king and queen are on their way to Winterfell we best be getting everything ready for them," Catelyn was shocked.

"How did you know the raven just arrived?" Ned looked at maester Luwin who stood right next to his wife, who also seemed confused.

"Maester Luwin, find my children and tell them I wish to meet them in the Godswood."

Maester Luwin was surprised but bowed down, "Of course my Lord."

"Let's go, Catelyn." He grabbed her hand. She was surprised by his action.

"Why Ned what's going on?" He didn't answer her but she kept on following him. She walked after him and they both entered the Godswood.

"Let's wait for the children to arrive, it's time you all knew the truth." Catelyn was still confused and wanted to question him.

"What's going on Ned. Where is Robb? I didn't see him returned with you. I only saw Bran and Theon with you when you returned."

"I'll tell you everything what you want to know when the children arrive."

When he said this, Sansa, Bran, Arya, and Rickon entered the Godswood with Maester Luwin beside them.

"Thank you for your help Maester Luwin." Maester Luwin bowed and was about to leave.

"No stay Maester Luwin, I want you to hear this. You're a loyal servant to House Stark and I trust you with my life."

Maester Luwin was surprised and bowed, "Of course my lord it would be my honor." Ned smiled and nodded.

They were quiet for a moment and finally, Catelyn started the conversation.

"Alright we are all here Ned what is going on?Where is Robb?" Ned signed not really knowing how to start with the conversation.

"You asked me where Robb is, well he went to Pentos with Jon." They were all shocked except for Arya.

"Why Ned why is our son going to Pentos with that bastard?" Ned was getting angry when she called him a bastard but calmed down and took a deep breath.

"Robb went with Jon in order to save Daenerys."

"Daenerys who's Daenerys father?" asked Sansa.

"Daenerys Targaryen." They where all shocked. Maester Luwin started talking.

"Daenerys Targaryen, the child who was born   which became the death of Rhaella  Targaryen, the wife of the mad king?"

Ned nodded.

"Aye, she is." This information shocked all of them.

"But my lord I heard the last sighting of the Targaryen girl was when Viserys Targaryen her older brother took Daenerys Targaryen and fled across the Narrow Sea and hasn't been seen since."

"Aye that's true but apparently Viserys Targaryen wants to sell his sister to a Khal of the Dothraki in order to claim his khalasar which will grant him an army to retake his throne."

"If this is true, Ned why would Robb ever go to Pentos with that bastard of yours?" Ned couldn't let her say that word again.

"Jon is not a bastard, Catelyn!"

Everyone was shocked. Maester Luwin was speechless, he couldn't believe what he just heard and finally started talking after a few moments in order to understand the situation.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"He's not a bastard he isn't even really my son." Arya couldn't believe what she heard. She wouldn't believe what her father just told her.

"Of course he is... He's my brother."

Ned sighed, he didn't know how this information will effect his children.

"No Arya he's not your brother... He's your cousin." Everyone was speechless.

"What do you mean Ned? Is he your brother, Benjen's child?" Ned was quiet. He knew if he told them the truth now there would be no turning back.

"No, not my brother's son but my sisters, Lyanna." They all were completely shocked. They didn't know what to ask next.

"Aunt Lyanna?" asked Arya.

"Yes, Arya your aunt," said Ned. Measter Luwin tried to find words in order to understand everything.

"If Jon's mother was Lyanna Stark, your sister, may I asked who was the father, my lord?" asked maester Luwin.

Ned took a deep breath knowing this would change everything, forever.

"The father is Rhaegar Targaryen." Arya was still surprised the fact that he wasn't her brother, but her cousin. Also, because he was the child of the prince of who's to been said raped their aunt.

"So he was born of rape?" asked Sansa.

"No, Rhaegar didn't kidnap nor rape my sister, that was built on a lie of Roberts wrath. They loved each other and my sister left on her free will with Rhaegar Targaryen."

"So he is Rhaegar's bastard?" asked Catelyn.

"No Rhaegar annulled his marriage with Elia Martell and married my sister. I found the documents in the tower of Joy where my sister died of childbirth which proved this."

Ned could see this information was hard to take in. Catelyn only had wide eyes with her mouth openend, similar to maester Luwin.

"My lord, your sister died of giving childbirth of the boy and not from fever?" Ned was feeling the uneasyness of talking of his dead sister.

"Aye, she did." said Ned quietly.

"So he is Jon Targaryen I presume?" asked Catelyn.

"No, I named him Jon in order to make sure Robert wouldn't be suspicious. My sister told me his true name before dying giving birth to him. His true name is Aegon Targaryen, he is..." Before he could say anything else, Maester Luwin cut him off.

"Heir to the Iron Throne," said maester Luwin with wide eyes, still trying to process what he just heard. None of the children could believe what was said. The fact that Jon wasn't their half brother but in fact their cousin and heir to the throne, shocked them to the extreme.

"Aye, he is," said Ned. He could see everyone needed time excepting the new information that was given to them.

"Ned, how could you lie to me?! Do you have any idea how badly I treated that boy thinking he was your child with another women? If you had told me the truth I could have treated him as my own child!"

Ned could see her eyes tearing up.

"Catelyn, if Robert ever had known the truth, he would have killed Jon. I had to make sure that only I knew the truth. If rumor ever got out, Robert would have sended his assassins after him and killed all of you. It would have raised suspicions if you had treated him like your own child." Her tears was on the edge of being released and master Luwin started talking.

"He's right my lady disguising Jon as your husband's bastard was the best way to make sure that no one ever knew the truth about the boy's true heritage."

Sansa was still shocked, she couldn't believe how badly she treated Jon. She felt the sadness taking over her, a pain she couldn't describe.

"Father, you still haven't told us why Jon and Robb went to save Daenerys," said Bran.

Ned sihged and told them everything what Jon had told him about what happened in the future.

Finally, after he had spoken all of them were quiet, shocked, speechless, they all had mixed feelings over the matter.

"The reason why Jon went to Pentos was in order to save his wife, Daenerys, who is also his aunt?" asked Bran and Ned nodded. He knew this information must have been strange for his children. Not knowing what the tradition of House Targaryen was.

"Yes, my lord she may be his aunt but it is commonly known in Westeros that the Targaryen family married inside their family, in order to keep the bloodline pure," said Maester Luwin.

"Is that true, father?" Asked Sansa.

"Aye, it is true," said Ned.

"I still don't like it that you let Robb leave without him saying goodbye to me," said Catelyn.

"Aye, I know but I know if you knew the truth that he was leaving you would never allowed him to leave with Jon." Ned had a smirk on his face.

"Yes, he should have stayed, the south is no place for a Stark."

"Aye, I know but we both know Robb would still have left going against our wishes because of his strong relationship with Jon." Maester Luwin nodded.

"Yes, my lady it's true of what Lord Stark is saying, Jon and Robb may be cousins but they see each other as brothers. They would do anything for each other." Ned nodded towards master Luwin.

"My lord, does Jon have any plan for the threat beyond the wall?" asked Maester Luwin.

"Aye, he does. He intends to fight against Khal Drogo in order to protect Daenerys. If he defeats Drogo, he would gain the Khal's khalasar and claim Daenerys as his Khaleesi. He will then return to Westeros with an army and unite the seven kingdoms by retaking his throne in order to fight against the White Walkers and Whights what lies beyond the wall," Ned stated. Catelyn wanted to say something but was interrupted by maester Luwin.

"My lord, I know that a khalshar of more than hundred thousand Dothraki is strong but it won't be enough to win the war against all seven kingdoms. He will need allies." Maester Luwin raised an eyebrow with a smirk and Ned smiled.

"Aye, he will have the full support of the north behind him." Maester Luwin smiled.

"Wait master Luwin you want my father to help Jon retake his throne?" asked Sansa.

"Of course I see Jon as one of the Stark children even if he is a Targaryen. He retook Winterfell from the Bulton's and was crowned as King in the North against his will even when they thought he was a bastard. He isn't power hungry, only cares for his people and family and makes the best decisions for his kingdom. We need a king like that against the threat beyond the wall. I've seen greatness in that boy since ever since he was an infant and now I am glad to see that I was right. Westeros needs him in order to survive against the threat beyond the wall." said maester Luwin.

"Firstly, before we claim war against Robert, I would first like to know why is he coming north, Ned? I presume Jon told you why before he left on his quest," said Catelyn.

Ned was surprised that Catelyn was starting to call him on his name and not boy.

"King Robert is coming north to ask me to be his hand."

They all wanted to ask questions but kept quiet.

"Ned we both know you can't except his offer, not while your nephew declares war against him."

"I won't except after I heard what kind of king Robert has became." Said Ned.

"My lord, is that the only reason why king Robert is coming North?" asked master Luwin. 

Ned sighed and replied, "No, he will also ask a betrothed between Joffrey and Sansa."

"I don't want to marry him father, not after what he did to you in the future!" said Sansa while her eyes filled with water.

"Ned, I will never let that mad Lannister boy marry our daughter."

"Aye, I will decline that offer as well. The royal children aren't even Baratheons but are only Lanisters of Ser Jaime and Queen Cersei."

"My lord, if I may say we can use that to our advantage." They all looked at maester Luwin.

"What do you mean Maester Luwin?" asked Catelyn.

"When Jon returns to Westeros with his army, we can use that to our advantage to put Dorne on our side when war arrives," said Maester Luwin.

"He's right Ned, Prince Oberyn will be on Jons side if he learned that Jon wanted revenge against the Lanistes for what they did to his dead siblings. He would be an ally to us in the war for the throne."

"Lord Oberyn could ask his brother Doran Martell if they could assist Jon to help him take back his throne." said master Luwin.

"Aye, your right. I'll send a raven to Jon but before we allied with Dothraki and Dorne, we first need to make sure Robert doesn't find out that we are trying to overthrow him," said Ned.

"Your right we must use caution when they are here," said Catelyn.

"My lord, what will we do with Theon? What Jon has told you is that he betrayed the Starks and took Winterfell when it was the war of the five kings," said Maester Luwin.

"Aye, I know we will not say anything to him. He will remain here for the time being." Said Ned which Catelyn and Maester Luwin nodded.

"I best be getting everything ready for the arrival of the King and Queen. Sansa, would you care to come and help me?" asked Catelyn, which made Sansa smile and nodd.

"Alright, you all may go except for Arya," said Ned. They all started to leave the Godswood until Arya and Ned remained.

"Do you understand why Jon didn't want to tell you before he left?" Ned asked emphatically.

Arya nodded and replied, "I know I would had tried to stop him."

"Aye, you would have. Do you see him differently since you know the truth?"

"Of course not, it doesn't matter who his father or mother is, he will always be my brother." He smiled and bowed to his knees.

"Aye, he knows you would still see him as a brother and he still sees you as his loving sister."

He grabbed something behind him and gave it to her.

"Your brother told me to give this to you." She was confused and opened the letter.

"What is it?" asked Arya.

"It's a direwolf necklace that he carved," said Ned.

It was a necklace with a white direwolf with a red eye, the same sigil as their House.

"Thank you father for giving it to me." He smiled and hugged her.

"Now turn around, let me put it around your neck."

She smiled and turned around after it was on her and turned her gaze back to Ned.

"Its beautiful. Now let's go find Ser Rodrick so that you can start with your training."

She smiled and nodded... 


 

Jon Snow

 

"No! No, Daenerys please don't leave me!!"

Jon held Daenerys in her arms as she screamed at the pain.

"Jon it hurts!" She coughed blood out of her mouth.

Jon turned his gaze towards the army.

"Don't stand there you fucking idiots, get a maester." One soldier nodded and ran.

Tears started to come down his face. She also had tears in her eyes of the pain.

"Daenerys you can't leave me." He cupped her face and kissed her. The soldier ran towards them.

"My king, I'm sorry but Maester Wolkan is dead." He looked at the man.

" We need to find Melisandra now!"

"Jon, it's fine, leave it." He looked down at her.

"No, Daenerys I won't let you die." Tears rolled off his face and fell on her face.

"Its fine, Jon. I'm dying in the arms of my husband. My true love. The father of my child."

"Please Daenerys..." 

"No, I need to say it Jon."

"When I die, take care of Rhaegar for me."

"Be quit Daenerys... You need your strength, I'm not letting you die!" He placed his hands on her wounds.

"Jon its fine... Look at me." She grabbed his face which made him look at her.

"I never knew that I would love someone again after Drogo died but I soon realized after meeting you .. What I had with Drogo wasn't love, it was pleasure. I wanted to use Drogo in order to get the Iron throne but after meeting you being so stubborn and kind you taught me what love truly is. "

Tears came down her face.

"Daenerys, stop talking please."

"I love you, Jon." She took her final breath.

"Daenerys?.... Daenerys please answer me." He kissed her on the mouth.

" Daenerys don't leave me. Daenerys!!!!!" He looked in the air and screamed.

"Jon, wake up!"

He woke up and it was light. They have travel two days to White Harbor and camped for the night before.

"Where are we?" asked Jon while he was taking deep breathes.

"We're right outside of White Harbor. Jon, you had another nightmare. You keep on having nightmares ever since we left Winterfell."

Jon knew that wasn't true, he had been having nightmares ever since Daenerys died. He was still out of breath and stood up.

"Im fine Robb, really." said Jon.

"No you are not! It was a dream of the past, wasn't it? "Jon took a deep breath ond nodded.

"Aye, it was." said Jon.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Asked Robb.

"No Robb, I don't want to talk about the shit past. We lost enough time as it is. It's time to go see Lord Manderly." He looked at Robb and Robb had still concern on his face but nodded.

"Aye, let's go."

They both packed up and placed there bags on their horses. Ghost ran and tackled Greywind and they where both playing.

Jon grabbed Ghost while Robb grabbed Greywind. They both climbed on their horses and galloped towards White Harbor, they could already see the docks and the castle and this made them both surprised. They couldn't believe they were this close to White Harbor but the previous night was too dark and misty. They couldn't have known that they where this close.

They both stopped in front of the castle doors and two of House Manderly bannerman stood before its gates

"Who goes there?" Asked one Bannerman.

"I'm Robb Stark and this is my brother Jon Snow. We have urgent business with Lord Manderly." The two Bannerman looked at each other and nodded.

"Our apologies my lords, we didn't know it was you. Lord Manderly is waiting inside. My lords, you best be seeing him quickly." Robb nodded.

"It's alright," said Jon.

One bannerman turned around and shouted to the guards, "Open the gates!'" The gates opened and Robb smiled at Jon, "After you brother."

Jon smiled and rolled his eyes and they both walked on their horses inside.

They both got off their horses and put their Direwolf pups down on the ground. Ghost and Greywind started playing again.

They both turned around and heard a voice behind them "My lords sorry for keeping you waiting." Robb smiled.

"Its fine Lord Manderly its good to see you again." The man smiled.

"Aye the feeling is the same, my lord," said Lord Manderly.

"My father did send a raven to you lord Manderly did you receive it," asked Jon.

"Aye, he did. He requested that I give you nine of my best men and a ship which takes you to Pentos." Said Lord Manderly.

"Is everything ready my lord sorry to rush you but we are sadly on a timed schedule," said Robb.

"No its fine my lord. I understand your father said that you did have an urgent quest in Pentos. Everything is ready for your Journey milords but the ship still needs its supplies which shall be ready for tomorrow. I suggest you spent the night here and set sail when the sun has it's first light in the morning." They both looked at each other and nodded. Robb looked at lord Manderly

"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord."Lord Manderly smiled.

"The honor is all mine, my lords. I'll send handmaidens to show you to your chambers. If you would please excuse me, my lords, I have a visitor from Horn Hill."

Jon was surprised by this "a visitor from Horn Hill. May I ask who it is?" Lord Manderly laughed.

"He calls himself Samwell Tarly but I presume he is a liar because he is almost as fat as I. Lord Randyll Tarly would never let one of his children be so fat." Jon couldn't believe his best friend from his past life is here.

"Sorry to bother you lord Manderly but may we please meet this Samwell Tarly?" asked Jon. Robb was confused by this and looked at Jon. Lord Manderly was surprised and nodded.

"Of course. If you would follow me, my lords." They both followed lord Manderly and the Direwolf pups followed after them. Finally, they entered a hall where he saw his best friend reading a book.

"Sorry to disturb your reading my lord." Sam looked up and was surprised.

"Sorry my lord for reading it's not my place to take a book without asking." Lord Mandey smiled.

"Its fine no one really read those books anymore so I'm glad someone was reading them." Sam was distracted by the two men behind lord Manderly.

"Oh, this is Robb Stark and his brother Jon Snow." Sam was shocked he stood up and bowed.

"Sorry, my lords for my badly manners." Jon only smiled it was great to see his old friend again.

"Its fine ...." said Robb but Sam cut him off.

"Sam just call me Sam your grace." Robb nodded and Lord Manderly started speaking.

"I have good news my lord the carraige what had all of your belongings what was stolen will be replaced and will be here less in a moon after that then you may leave for the wall." Sam smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, your grace.'"said Sam. Lord Manderly smiled.

Jon looked at Sam and wanted to talk to him privately.

"Lord Manderly is it fine if you could give me and Sam a moment of privacy I would like to speak with him alone." All of them were surprised but lord mannerly smiled and nodded.

"Of course my lord I'll see you at the feast tonight." Robb and Jon smiled.

"Of course my lord thank you again for everything." Said Robb.

Lord Manderly smiled and walked away. Robb pulled Jon away from Sam in order to have a conversation without Sam hearing them.

"Jon what are you doing?" asked Robb quietly after Sam was still confused but started reading again.

"He was my best friend and brother at the Night's Watch we need him," said Jon quietly.

"He's not a fighter Jon."

"He is extremely smart Robb. He can help us find a way to fight against the white walkers."

Robb signed "Jon I thought you said that Dragonglass and Valaryian Steel can kill the Wights and White Walkers."

"Aye that's true but last time we didn't have enough time to find more ways to defeat them now we do. We can send him to the Citadel and find more ways to defeat the White Walkers and Wights."

"Fine," said Robb. Jon and Robb walked back over to Sam.

"Sam I presume you would like to be a maester?" said Jon.

"Yes your grace but my father..."

"'Your father said if you didn't join the Night's watch and strip all of your titles he would hunt you kill you even and say it was an accident." They both were surprised.

" How did you?" said Sam confused.

Jon smiled "Sam this may be hard to believe but what if I said to you we know each other just like brothers because we were both in the Night's Watch and I'm from the future?"

Sam was shocked "I have heard of such spells in the books of mages of time travel but never thought they were true."

"But they are actually," said Robb.

"He told us things that would happen before it ever did." Sam was surprised.

"I know this is hard to believe Sam but ask me anything about your life and I can answer it."

Sam smiled "I believe you actually... I never told anyone about what my father had told me and I would guess that my father is too ashamed of me he would never even told someone that I even lived."

Jon smiled "Good glad we sorted that out. Sam, I will ask again would you like to be my maester?"

Sam was surprised "I'm sorry my lord.."

"Please call me Jon," said Jon.

"I'm sorry, Jon but I thought Winterfell already had a maester who was named Luwin?"

"No not Winterfell I need a maester when I take Kings Landing." Sam was surprised.

"Why would you take Kings Landing Jon?"

After Sam asked this Jon told him everything about what happens in the future. He told him about the threat beyond the wall.

Sam was shocked "You're... your... Aegon Targaryen??? Trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark heir to the Iron Throne?" Jon simply nodded.

"How did you find out?" asked Sam.

"You told me actually. You found documents at the Citadel which proved that I was born as the crowned prince."

"I did?" Jon nodded.

"So you're retaking your throne and you want me to be your new maester?"

"Yes, your a man who I trust Sam I know you don't know me but I know you and I know I can trust you. You may not see me as a brother or friend yet but you are my best friend and a brother."

"Thank you for your kind words. I would like nothing more to be grandmaester but I doubt my father would ever allow that," said Sam with a frown on his face.

"You don't need your father's permission Sam he tried to kill you," said Robb.

"Yes but..." before Sam could say anything Jon cut him off.

"If he ever tries to hurt you again I'll kill him myself," said Jon.

Sam smiled "I doubt that. He is really good with a sword." Robb smirked and patted on Jon's shoulder.

"You would be surprised how good Jon is with two swords." Sam was surprised.

"You can use two swords?" Asked Sam.

"He can't only just use two swords his great with two swords," said Robb.

Jon hated it when people were acting this way towards him.

"I'm ok I guess." Said Jon looking down at his feet which made Robb laughed.

"He fought against me and four other men on the same time and get kicked our arse trust me you have nothing to fear Sam. I'll send a raven to my father telling him he should send a raven to the citadel notifying them that you will be training as master Luwin's apprentice and he will send a raven to your father asking him if you could be House Starks new Maester and we will wait for your father's response after that we'll take it from there. Alright?" asked Robb.

Sam smiled "Alright."

Jon sat on the chair and Robb sat next to him and Sam sat across them from the table. "Sam you'll go to the Citadel and be trained as my maester. I need you to do a few things for me while your there."

"What do you need?" asked Sam.

"I need you to find ways on how to defeat White Walkers and how to hatch Dragons." Robb and Sam were both surprised.

"You're not going to?" asked Robb.

"Yes, Robb I am we need Dragons in order to defeat the others."

Sam smiled "You told me that your wife Daenerys was able to hatch three dragons."

"Yes, I know she did but the problem is the thing what motivated her to do something like that will never happen in this world after I have killed Drogo. She will never become pregnant and lose Drogo and her child which was her motivation to hatch her three dragon eggs."

"Wait she never told you how to hatch dragons," asked Robb.

"No, I never asked her. I never knew that I would go back in time Robb I would have asked her if I knew I was," said Jon.

"Well I did read a book of old Valaryia which was written by a Targaryen," said Sam.

"And?" Asked Robb.

"The book said that a person can only hatch a dragon if he had old Valaryia blood in his veins."

"I'm half Targaryen," said Jon.

"In the book, it also said that the person who had old Valaryia blood must imprint on the egg and use a human sacrifice in order to bring forth the dragon. The human sacrifice must be placed in a huge bonfire and the egg must be placed in the middle of the bonfire," said Sam.

"So you're telling me I have to stand in the middle of the bonfire," said Jon.

"Well that is what the book said," said Sam.

"That can't be true," said Robb.

"It can be actually Daenerys did tell me once how she got her khalashar," said Jon.

"How did she?"

"She threw fire on the Khal which burned the entire hut down. The Khal and bloodriders who followed him was burned to death."

"And she survived?" asked Sam.

"Aye, she did. She didn't even get a burn mark," said Jon. Jon saw Robb's smirk he knew Jon could only confirm this if he saw all of Daenerys. Jon rolled his eyes.

"I have read of this before Targaryens do have the ability to be unburnt," said Sam.

"Like how the Starks can warg?" asked Jon.

"Yes precisely Jon have you ever put your hand in something hot before did it ever hurt you?" asked Sam.

"Aye he did he put his hand in boiling water and nothing happened to his hand but mine burned like hell," said Robb.

"But that still doesn't make any sense when I first fought against a wight I burned my hand when I took a light candle an threw it towards the wight which kilked it."

"Yes but back then you only thought you where a bastard of Lord Stark a wolf now...Now you believe you are a dragon and a wolf."

"You cant be serious?" Said Jon.

"I am actually you have accepted your true heritage which allowed you to access your Targaryen side," said Sam.

"I still don't understand." Robb was getting annoyed.

"Let's test it out, Jon." He took a candle which was on the table and took Jon's hand and placed it right above the candle but Jon felt nothing. Jon was surprised and saw the fire what was burning behind Sam he got out of his chair and placed his hand inside of the fire. Nothing happened to him he didn't feel any pain.

"So it's settled you are unburnt." Jon saw the smirk on Robb's face after he said this.

"You do realize you could have burned my hand Robb!" said Jon angry.

"Jon I knew when your hand wasn't burned in that boiling water, fire wouldn't even compare to that," said Robb.

"But still Robb."

"I know I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Sam let's get back to that human sacrifice. Does the person have to be dead or alive?" Sam was surprised.

"Well, the book said the human sacrifice can be dead or alive." Jon smiled and Robb knew what he was thinking.

"You're not going to..." Jon cut Robb off and started talking.

"Why not Robb? Drogo was used before to hatch three Dragons. Why not use him for the same reason but this time for only one dragon. I will use his body as the human sacrifice after I had killed him. If what Daenerys said is true if the Dothraki see that I'm unburnt and also brought a dragon to life they will cross the Narrow sea for me and help me take back my throne." This surprised Sam and Robb.

"That could work," said Sam.

"The Dothraki will see you as the rider who mounts the world." He smiled at Robb who rolled his eyes.

"We have one problem though if we meet Daenerys and she has her three dragon eggs who will be the human sacrifice then in order to hatch her dragons?" asked Robb.

"That is where my dear horrible uncle Viserys comes in. He sold Daenerys to Khal Drogo who raped her. I will kill him for how he treated her." said Jon.

"Wait you already have a Dragon egg?" asked Sam.

"Yes, it's in my bag. Why?" Robb and Jon were both curious.

"May I see it?" Jon nodded he took his bag and took out his grey Dragon egg and hand it over towards Sam.

"This is no ordinary Dragon egg," said Sam.

"What do you mean?" asked Jon.

"Your Dragon egg isn't turned to stone," said Sam.

"Aye, so what does that mean?" Sam smiled and got more excited.

"It means that this Dragon will grow much faster and will be a lot bigger than an average Dragon." Jon was surprised.

"Why is that?" Sam laughed.

"Because your Dragon egg hasn't turned to stone yet. It means that your Dragon was one of the last eggs that was lied before the Dragons went extinct." Robb and Jon were still confused.

"Your Dragon egg is a lot younger than an average Dragon egg. That is why Dragon eggs turn into stone because of old age. When a Dragon egg turned to stone it also makes the Dragon take longer to grow. Your Dragon will grow a lot faster and bigger than a stone Dragon egg." Jon was surprised.

Daenerys had told him her Dragons eggs were turned into stone and he couldn't believe how big Drogon was and now he heard his Dragon had the potential to be even bigger and faster than Dragon.

"Sam, where did you learn all of this?" Sam smiled and handed his Dragon egg back to Jon which he placed back in his bag.

"Like I said I read a book about old Valaryia and it had information on everything about Dragons."

"You never told me in the past that you can read high Valaryia?"

"I can't that book was written in the common tongue," said Sam.

"Where is this book?" asked Jon.

"Sadly it was lost when our library was burned down."

"Do you know where it was found?" asked Jon.

"Yes, my father told me that my great-grandfather sent a merchant to old Valaryia. He had been told there were old treasures there. A crew of fifty men was sent and only one crew member returned." said Sam.

"What happened to all of them?" asked Robb.

"They were all turned to greyscale," said Sam.

"What did they found?" asked Jon.

"They found the valaryia book and a Valaryian Steel sword which became our house sword."

"What was the sword named?" asked Robb.

"It was named..." before Sam could finish Jon finished his sentence.

"Heartsbane," said Jon.

Sam smiled "Yes your right." Jon smiled.

"Alright,t I best retire. I'm tired I haven't gotten really much sleep the last two days. Robb would you mind sending a raven to father?"

Sam was surprised "Father?"

Jon smiled "Aye Eddard Stark may be my uncle but he raised me I consider him as my father."

Sam smiled "Oh that's nice."

Jon smiled "Robb would you mind?''

Robb smiled " Of course brother I'll send it right away."

"Good thank you Robb. Alright, I'll see you both at the feast tonight. Robb we may need to ask Lord Manderly if he could sail us to Pentos and after that sail Sam to the Citadel." Sam was surprised and smiled.

"Aye. That's a good Idea I'll ask him tonight," said Robb.

Notes:

I know the dragon egg part isn't canon but what the hell its Fanfic. So Jon's dragon egg is actually quit impressive tell me your thoughts on Jon's dragon egg down below in the comments. Next chapter is all what you guys have been waited for Jon finally arrives in Pentos!!! Again I'm sorry for last night of chapter 5 what was posted. Oh some of you guys thinks Daenerys won't be like the Daenerys what we know and love like in season 7 but she will be 100% trust me Jon and Daenerys will be equals , lovers and King and Queen what we all want for them anyway I'm so excited for this story ... We barely even started wit the plot!!! This story will contain so many different quest and stories for each character I can't wait to share it with all of you.

Chapter 6: The Battle of Lovers

Summary:

Jon arrived in Pentos.
Jon vs Drogo
King arrives at Winterfell.

Notes:

Thank you all for the support. Chapter 6 was extremely long so I had no choice I had to divide it into Chapters. Chapter 6 is Jon vs Drogo and chapter 7 will be Jon meeting Daenerys. In Jon's scenes when its Italics it's spoken in Dothraki. Yes, I know Jon can't speak Dothraki but he can in this fic its translated for you guys in the common tongue, anyway I'm so glad you all enjoyed this fic. Sorry if this chapter didn't live up to your expectation but it needed to be this way for the story to continue with how I wanted it. But anyway your opinions and ideas are always appreciated in the comments below. Like I always said sit back relax and enjoy the chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen

 

"Did you have time to see Rhaegar today?" She smiled at the handsome man. She still didn't know his name or know where he was from. She wanted to ask so many times but couldn't. Something held her back.

"Sadly no I didn't I was planning our defenses." He walked over to her and grabbed her waist. They both smiled and he placed his forehead against hers. She giggled and placed her two hands on his cheeks.

"Is Rhaegar awake." she knew why he asked. She smiled and went against his ear and whispered "No" and she started kissing his ear he growled and he started kissing her neck.

She moaned and he pulled away from her neck. Both looked at each other.  She pulled his mouth on hers. She forced her tongue into his mouth. They're tongues battle each other. He started to place his two hands on her breast and squeezed them while cupping them. He broke away from her mouth and kissed her neck while he was squeezing her breast. She closed her eyes feeling every touch what he placed on her. The touch of his mouth on her neck and the touch of his hands with her breast.

He let go of her breast and she opened her eyes. His hands went behind her back and went down to her ass. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved her to the bed and placed her softly on the bed...

Daenerys awoke in her chambers in Pentos. She got out of her bed. She was out of breath. Those dreams felt so real she thought.

Daenerys closed her eyes and remembered the handsome man completely in her mind. She didn't understand why she kept on dreaming a man she never even met before. She lost her thoughts when she heard voices outside her chambers.

The voices were faint but Daenerys could hear them one voice was her brother and the other voice was Illyrio. She wanted to know what they were talking about but couldn't the voices where far away but suddenly the voices got louder she knew they were on their way.

Her chamber doors opened and Viserys smiled and walked down the stairs. "Morning my dear sister I have wonderful news." Daenerys didn't say anything she knew it was probably only good news for him.

"Khal Drogo is outside of Pentos. Our first meeting will be with him tomorrow evening." Viserys walked over to Daenerys and cupped her cheeks. 

"My dear Sister you're a disaster look at your hair. You look like you haven't bathed in a week. You better look beautiful tomorrow. You don't want to awake the dragon now do you?" 

Daenerys didn't want to look him in the eyes. She took a deep breath and said "No".

He smiled "Good now get cleaned up your King commands you." Viserys turned around and left her chambers.

The handmaidens brought boiling water and threw it in her tub. She undressed and walked into the boiling water trying to make sense of why she was there and why was she dreaming of a man she didn't even see before and why she had such strong feelings for him.

"It's to hot my Princess." said the Handmaiden but she didn't care. She didn't feel any pain she didn't care. She wanted to make sense of what is happening in her life.

 


 

 Jon Snow

 

Jon and his company have been sailing across the Narrow Sea for a few weeks. They arrived at the docks of Pentos early in the morning. Jon has sheathed his two swords in his two sword holsters. He took his dragon egg and placed it in his bag. He opened his chamber doors and saw the captain was waiting for him.

"May I help you Captain?" asked Jon.

"No my lord. I came here to give you the good news. The ship is busy restocking its cargo. We will be able to set sail for the Citadel in five days." said the Captain.

"That's good news Captain thank you for letting me know," the Captain nodded and walked away. Jon saw the sun rising on the city. He knew they didn't have much time left so they must work quickly.

"Jon! Come here," said Robb who was having a discussion with Sam. Jon walked over towards them. He smiled at Sam which was happily returned. He was glad that Robb and Sam had become good friends while sailing across the Narrow Sea.

"Sam I have good news. This ship is still busy restocking its supplies. You will be able to set sail for the Citadel in five days. We will see you off when you leave because..." Jon was cut off by Sam.

"I know Jon. Trust me I would like nothing more to get as far away from that khal than anything. I'll see the both of you in five days." Said Sam.

"Aye, we will see you off," said Robb. Jon could see there was something on Sam's mind.

"Sam what's wrong?" asked Jon with a concern face.

"Nothing I... I would just like to say thank you for convincing my father to be your Maester," said Sam while smiling at them.

"There is nothing to thank us for Sam were friends and were glad that you can be my maester," said Jon.

"Yes but.."  Sam was cut off by Robb.

"No buts Sam as Jon said your a good friend and were glad that your Jon's maester," said Robb. Sam smiled at the both of his friends. Jon looked at the sunrise what was rising behind then city.

"Robb we best be heading off now. I don't know were Daenerys is and I don't know what Viserys is planning for her," Jon looked back at Robb which is when his brother nodded.

"Aye, your right," Robb and Jon both smiled and nodded at Sam and walked off the ship. They were both walking towards their horses while the direwolf pups were following behind them. They walked to their horses where the nine northern bannermen was waiting for them.  Robb looked at the common folk and saw what clothes they were wearing.

"These southerner clothes will always be strange to me," said Robb while looking at one woman who had a blue dress with a spiral on both of her arms and her stomach was bare with a triangle.

"Aye, I know," said Jon. Jon was looking at the streets. He knew Daenerys was somewhere in the city. Nothing would stop him in order to save her. He was pulled away from his thought when Robb asked him something.

"Jon what is your plan on finding Daenerys?" asked Robb. 

"Before I came here Bran told me to find a man called Illyrio," said Jon. He looked at the docks where ships were moving their cargo. His attention was grabbed and  couldn't believe who he saw.

"Great how do we find him?" asked Robb. He didn't get a response from Jon. His attention was grabbed by the person who was helping a ship with its supplies.

"Jon what's wrong?" asked Robb.

"It's Ser Jorah Mormont," said Jon. He didn't understand why the old knight was here but soon remembered he was sent to Pentos in order to spy on Daenerys and Viserys for the king.

"Jorah Mormont are you sure?" asked Robb.

"Aye I'm sure," said Jon.

"He fled from the north knowing we would have behead him for his crimes for slavery," Robb was getting at the man who wasn't in a cell or chains he stared to get angry and was about to go to the old Knight. Jon grabbed his arm and Robb was surprised.

"Jon what are you?" asked Robb.

"Not yet Robb. We need his help in order to find Daenerys," said Jon.

"How would he know were Daenerys is Jon?" asked Robb.

"He is spying on Daenerys and Viserys for the king," said Jon.

"Why would Ser Jorah Mormont spy for the king Jon?" asked Robb.

"He is spying on them in order to get a pardon of the king to live back in the North," said Jon. Jon looked at Robb and knew Robb would not accept that pardon neither would there father.

"You really think he can help us Jon?" asked Robb.

"Aye, I do. Robb, what other choice do we have? We have no leads on where Illyrio or Daenerys is. He's our best chance of finding her," said Jon. Robb sigh and looked at the old knight who was still helping the ship with it's cargo.

"Alright fine. What is your plan Jon?" asked Robb which made Jon smile.

"I'll go over to him alone and grab him after I've done that I'll signal you to you bring the northern bannerman and take him to the ship for questioning," said Jon. Robb was thinking through the plan and finally said.

"Just signal us when you have him," said Robb which made Jon nodded. Jon walked over towards the old knight luckily the knight didn't realize he was standing right behind him. The old knight was lifting cargo but dropped it as soon as Jon grabbed his two arms and held it behind his back and pushed him on the ground. Jon looked over at Robb and nodded. While they where runing towards them Jorah looked at the man.

"Who are you?" asked Jorah trying to break free.

"I'm Jon Snow. Ned Stark's bastard and you are about to face your punishment for slavery Ser Jorah Mormont," the old knight was surprised and two bannermen took his arms and walked to the ship. The old knight tried to break free but couldn't.

"My lord what should we do with the prisoner?" asked one bannermen.

"Put him in a cabin and make sure he is chained I do not want him to escape!" said Robb. The bannermen nodded and walked to the old knight who was still trying to break free. Robb and Jon saw how the bannermen took the old knight on to the ship. Sam was oblivious on what was going on. He saw Robb and Jon walking on to the deck towards him.

"Who was that?" asked Sam.

"He's Ser Jorah Mormont. He was a northern lord who dishonoured his own family by selling slaves. He was punished with death but fled the North before capturing him." said Robb.

"What is you plan on doing with him?" asked Sam.

"He will show us where Daenerys is," said Jon. Robb looked at Jon. Jon knew Robb was against letting Jorah free.

"Jon why would he show us where Daenerys is if he knows we will behead him either way," said Robb.

"We won't behead him. If he shows us his loyalty he will have a pardon for his crimes but may never return to the north," said Jon.

"Jon we can't pardon him we have no authority," said Robb.

"Aye I know but I'll ask father and besides when I retake the throne then I'll have the authority," said Jon.

"Are you mad father will never accept his pardon," said Robb. He gave Jon a confused look.

"He will if I ask him. Robb ,he is the only lead we have on finding Daenerys," said Jon. Robb sigh. Trying to make sure there was no other way through his mind.

"Fine Jon we'll take it your rout but if he doesn't except your offer I'll have to behead him," said Robb.

"That's, fair," said Sam.

"Aye that's fair," said Jon.

They both walked over to the cabin where Ser Jorah was held. 

"Robb let me talk to him," said Jon.

"Why do you care so much for this person?" asked Robb.

"I knew him in my past life, Robb. I didn't really mind him in the past but he was a good man and a great swordsman. We need all the men what we can find in order to win the great war Robb," said Jon and Robb nodded. Jon opened the cabin door. There was two bannermen guarding Ser Jorah Mormont. Jorah was tied to a chair while his mouth was blindfolded.

Jon looked at the two bannermen "Take it off him in order for him to speak," said Jon and the bannermen took of the old knight's blindfold.

"Ser Jorah Mormont," said Robb.

"Sorry my lord but may I ask who you are?" asked the old knight.

"Im Robb Stark and my brother Jon Snow you already know," said Robb. The old man was still confused. He didn't know what will happen to him. Will he be behead? Thrown into a cell? 

"Ser Jorah we know your spying on Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen in order to have pardon to return north," said Jon.

"How did you learn that my lord? Did the king tell lord Stark?" asked The old knight.

"No one told us Ser Jorah. Now we will give you two options. Option one we behead you for your crimes for slavery or option two we ask your loyalty to the north and you may live but may never return to the North. What's your decision?" asked Robb. The old knight was sweating of stress.

"The option with no beheading my lord," said the old knight. Robb looked at Jon and they both smiled.

"We would like some information from you Ser Jorah," said Robb.

"What kind of information my lord?" asked the old knight.

"Tell us where Daenerys Targaryen is!" said Jon with a loud noise. This starduld the other bannermen who held him.

"My lord if I may ask why do you want information on Daenerys Targaryen?" asked the old knight.

"That is none of your concern!" said Robb.

"Now tell us Ser Jorah where is she?" said Jon.

The old knight sigh "My sources claims she is in the hospitality of a man called Illyrio," said the old Knight.

"And where is this man Illyrio now?" asked Jon.

"Not far from here my lord I can take you there now if you want me to," said Ser Jorah.

Jon gulped he could go see Daenerys right now... If he wanted to. He remembered how she was breathing the way her body was moving. The way she smiled. There was nothing more important to him to see her again happy and breathing. He knew he couldn't see her not yet until he has killed Drogo. Jon was about to ask the old knight what Viserys plan was on the Khal but before he could even ask Robb cut him off.

"Does this Illyrio work for someone?" asked Robb.

"Aye he does. My sources claims he works with a man named lord Varys," said the old knight. Jon remembered Daenerys told him lord Varys was the man who suggested to her brother to sell her to the khal. He closed his fists with the frustration of thinking how they treated her but he was confused Jorah was the person who spyed for lord Varys all of his information on the two Targaryens would return to lord Varys and would be discussed with the king.

"Who is lord Varys?" asked Robb.

"He is the master of whisperes for the king," said Jon. 

"How do you know who he is? " asked Robb.

"I'll tell you later," he wanted to change the subject to Drogo.

"Ser Jorah have you received any information on the khal Drogo of the Dothraki?" asked Jon.

"Aye, Viserys intends to sell his sister to that Khal. Their first meeting with the Khal will be tomorrow which is when the Khal declares if she will be his wife or not," said the old knight. Jon kicked a bucket of the frustrations what he had of what was happening to Daenerys. 

Jon took a deep breath "where is the Khal right now?" 

"My sources has seen his Khalasar right outside of Pentos," said Ser Jorah. Jon was getting impatient.

"Which side North, West, East?" The old knight didn't understand why the bastard of Winterfell wanted to know where the Khalasar was camped.

"Ugh little bit of north side my lord," said the old knight. Jon grabbed his bag. He walked towards the door and Robb grabbed his hand.

"Jon where are you going?" asked Robb.

"Where do you think Robb I'm going after Drogo," said Jon.

"Jon, why are you going after Drogo? We know where Daenerys is now. We can save her now," said Robb.

"No, Robb as long as that fucker lives I can never forgive myself. How would you feel if Sansa or Arya was raped and you have the chance to kill that person for his crimes against your family. I need to do this Robb and I need his Khalasar in order to receive a army," said Jon and he moved his hand in order to get free of Robb's grip.

"Alright Jon what is your plan? Just walk in his Khalasar and challenge him to a dual. No we need a plan in order you to face Khal Drogo." said Robb.

"I do have a plan I'll go to the khalasar and tell them I have an offer for their Khal. The Dothraki will take me to the Khal and I'll ask him to dual me if he does not accept this will show weakness to his blood riders. Which will start them to doubt their Khal. He will have to accept the dual," said Jon with a smirk.

"How do you know so much about being Khal?" asked Robb.

"Because I was Daenerys Khal and she was the Khaleesi in my past life. She taught me everything about their traditions, in order to lead them in the great war," said Jon.

"Past life my lord," asked The old knight. Robb and Jon turned to the old knight and simply forgot he was there.

"Keep him chained while I'm gone," said Jon and started walking again.

"Wait my lord," Jon stopped and turned towards the old knight.

"I don't know what is your plan or why you wish to challenge the Khal but remember the Dothraki doesn't speak the common tongue how will you communicate with them?" asked The old knight. Robb was also wondering how he will communicate with them.

"I know you can speak Dothraki Ser Jorah but I can too" said Jon in Dothraki.

Ser Jorah's eyes where wide opened the same with Robb. Robb leaned over towards Jon.

"You never told me you could speak Dothraki," Jon smiled.

"There is a lot of things you still don't know about me Robb," said Jon with a smirk.

"Alright let's leave then," said Robb.

"No. Its not save Robb if you join me," said Jon.

"Jon I didn't come all this way to leave you alone going against the Khal. What kind of brother would I be? I'm going with you." Jon sigh and nodded. 

"Alright, fine lets go," before they left the cabin Robb looked at the two bannerman.

"Gaurd him until we return. Make sure the rest of the bannerman guards the door until we return."  said Robb and the bannermen nodded. They both left the cabin and saw Sam waiting for them.

"Sam make sure the crew give the bannermen food and also our prisoner while we're gone. We don't know how long we will be gone tell the captain he is not allowed to sail for the Citadel until we see you off," said Jon.

"So I'm questing that Ser Jorah told you where Daenerys is?" asked Sam.

"Aye he did but we're not going to find Daenerys just yet," said Jon. Sam was confused so Robb told him the piece what was missing.

"Hes going after the Khal first. He knows where the Khalaser is," said Robb.

"Oh..... that's .... good news I hope," said Sam. Jon gave a smirk.

"Aye, it is. Sam, we are unfortunately losing time. We will see you in a few days," said Jon.

Sam smiled " Goodluck to the both of you," they both smiled and shook Sam's hand.

They left their Direwolf pups on the ship in order to guard the prisoner. After they both got their supplies they got off the ship and they both climbed on their horses and started galloping to the khalaser......


 

Eddard Stark

 

 

Ned saw the King approaching Winterfell while he was standing on the wall of Winterfell looking over the north lands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"My lord the king is about to enter the gates of Winterfell. Your family is waiting for you in the courtyard," said a bannermen behind him. Ned turned to the bannermen.

"Aye thank you for letting me know," said Ned. The bannermen nodded and walked away. Ned walked all the way down to the courtyard. He saw Catelyn, Arya, Bran, and Sansa all waiting for him. He walked over towards them and they stood in a line.

"Where's Rickon?" asked Ned.

"We left him in his room. He was to sick to come and it's for the better. Less of a chance for him to slip something which could cause rumors," said Sansa.

"Aye, that's a good idea," said Ned.

"Remember be caution we cannot let Robert have any suspicions of Jon's plan or that we want to overthrow him," said Ned and his family all nodded.

The gates opened and the king enterered on his horse with the hound and Joffrey following them is Ser Jaime.

"That's Jaime Lannister the queen's lover and father of the royal children," said Arya quietly.

"Be quiet Arya!" said Sansa.

"Where is the Imp?" Asked Arya.

"Shut up!" said Sansa. Ned looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Arya saw her father's face and nodded "Sorry father,"  Ned nodded. Luckily no one heard their discussion because of how quiet she said these things.

The king got of his horse and walked over towards them. Ned looked at the king he couldn't believe how fat the king had become. The king stopped in front of Ned and looked angry.

"You've gotten fat," said the King. Ned smiled and look up and down with his eyes. The king smiled. They both laughed and hugged each other.

King Robert walked passed their children. He walked past bran "Show me how strong you are boy," Bran smiled and tried to flex.

The king laughed "Youll be a soldier," said the king. He walked past Arya and stopped in front of Sansa.

"You're a beautiful young woman," said Robert.

Sansa smile "Thank you, my king," the king stopped before Catelyn.

"Lady Stark," he kissed her hand. 

"My king,"  Catelyn bows. Cersei walked out of the cart. Ned was pulling his fist with rage. 'She is the reason for my family's end' thought Ned.

"Lord Stark," said Cersei with a smile. Ned bowed on his knees and kissed her hand.

"My Queen," said Ned. Cersei looked around she didn't see Ned eldest son or his bastard.

"Lord Stark where is your eldest son and bastard? They didn't come to see us arrive the king and queen and I thought the great and honorable Eddard Stark new his manners?" 

Robert looked at his queen angry "Shut up you damn women we came here as their guest," Ned gulped.

"My eldest son's Robb Stark and Jon Snow are sadly on a quest at the moment your grace," said Ned.

"They left knowing we were on our way here?" asked Cersei.

"No my queen they already left before your raven arrived," said Ned.

"And what is their quest?" asked the queen. Ned already planned an excuse before they arrived.

"We received disturbing news beyond the wall, your grace. They both went to investigate it," said Ned.

"Ah such a same. We heard your bastard was quit the swordsman. People call him the greatest swordsman who ever lived since Ser Arthur Dayne. We heard of the bastard's skills on the kings rode. He is able to use two swords? We would have loved it if he would have spared with one of our kings guards like Ser Jaime or Ser Barristan Selmy," said the Queen.

"Sadly neither of my eldest sons are here at the moment your grace...." before Ned could keep on talking the king cut him off.

"Ned I would like to visit the crypts," said The King. Ned looked at the king and nodded.

"We just arrived here wouldn't you like to visit the dead later?" Said Cersei.

"No now! Ned would you?" said thr King. Ned nodded and the king walked behind Ned. 

Catelyn looked at the queen and at the royal children children." Let me show you to your chambers"

The king and Robert entered the crypts. They walked passed all the old lords of Winterfell. Until they stopped at Ned's sister Lyanna Stark's statue.

"I can't believe you keep her here Ned. Under the ground in the darkness. She should be buried where the sun shined on her every day," said the king.

"She was my sister. She was a Stark. She will remain her," said Ned.

"She was my love until that bastard Rhaegar took her and raped her," said the King.

"You did it Robert all Targaryens are gone," said Ned.

"Not all of them" said the king.

"What do you mean Robert?" asked Ned.

"Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen still breath." said the king. 'and Aegon Targaryen. Who would be soon your greatest threat.' thought Ned. 

"Robert, why do you concern yourself with them? They have no armies no ships. Lost I heard of them they fled across the Narrow Sea never seen again," said Ned.

"No, Ned we have received word that Viserys Targaryen is selling his sister to a khal named Drogo and in return he will give him an army," said Robert. Ned took a deep breath he needed to make sure Robert would leave them alone for Jon's sake.

"Where did you receive this information?" asked Ned.

"From our spy Ser Jorah Mormont. I believe you know him, Ned," said Robert.

"He dishonored his whole family, Robert you can't believe him," said Ned.

"But I do. I made a deal with him Ned if he sends us information on those dragon spawns he will have pardon to come back North," said Robert.

"Robert it's been Eighteen years since the rebellion it's time to let go of the past," said Ned.

"Not until every Dragon spawn is dead. Viserys Targaryen still have allies in Westeros who would love to see the Targaryens back on the throne," said the King.

Ned sigh and wanted this conversation to end. He new they would continue this later "So my king what brings you to the north?" asked Ned.

"Jon Arryn is dead Ned and he was my hand. Your the only person who I trust to be my hand Ned," said the King.

Ned bowed on his one knee "I'm grateful your grace but Im not worthy of your position." The king laughed.

"Your telling me the most honorable man in Westeros isn't fit to be hand common Ned. We both know you will be great being hand. Common stand up." Ned stoop up.

"So what do you say Ned," asked the King.

"Im sorry your grace but I must decline your offer," the king was shocked.

"Why Ned? Why won't you except?" asked the King. 'For a lot of reasons' thought Ned.

"Robert my father and brother both died there in the capital. The south is no place for a Stark. I will stay here in the North watching over my family and keep being warden of the North," said Ned.

The king signed "but Ned..." Ned caught him off.

"I'm sorry Robert my answer is no and it will stay that way," said Ned. This shocked the king and he tried to make sense on his old friend's decision.

"I understand you want to stay with your family and protect them," The king looked at Ned's sister's statue.

"We would have been brothers once me marrying your sister. We will join houses my eldest son Prince Joffrey will marry your eldest daughter Sansa," said the King.

"I'm sorry Robert but I must decline that offer as well," said Ned. The king was shocked. Ned saw the king was angry and confused.

"But why Ned?" asked the King woth a hard tone.

"I will not let any of my children travel South and I won't force her into any marriage. She will choose her own husband," said Ned.

'I will not make the same mistake as my father for what he did to Lyanna.' thought Ned.

"But Ned..." The king wanted to say something but Ned cut him off again.

"No, Robert you will not change my mind on any of your offers. I'm sorry for you traveling all this way North. You may stay as long as you will but I won't except any of your offers. Is there something else you would like to discuss?" asked Ned. The king was quiet and and couldn't believe whatNed just told.

"May we join the others at the Great Hall?" asked Ned.

"Of course Ned," said the king. 

They both left the crypts and walked to the Great Hall....

 


 

Jon Snow

 

Jon and Robb where traveling a while outside the city of Pentos looking for the Khalasar. The sun was shining it was hot for the two northerners. After a while of traveling they finally saw the khalasar up a head of them.

Five Dothraki riders rode towards them. Robb and Jon both stopped their horses while the five Dotraki riders surrounded them still riding on their horse's circling them. They finally stopped and one Dothraki rider stepped forward with his horse.

"Who are you?" asked The Dothraki rider in Dothraki.

"I'm Aegon Targaryen " said Jon.

"Why have you come to the khalasar of the great khal Drogo?" asked the Dothraki rider.

"I have an offer for him. A dual to the death. If I win I have his khalasar if he wins he can have these," said Jon and draw his two swords. 

"One of the two strongest swords in all of the world," said Jon. The Dothraki all laughed.

"Why would he except your offer?" asked The  Dothraki  rider.

"If he doesn't it shows that he isn't as strong as you all think he is. It shows hes scared loosing his life and if I'm not correct the khalasar only follow the most strongest and what khal would he be if he doesn't honor that title with pride?," said Jon. The Dothraki rider were quiet. They were surprised of what this outsider said.

The Dothraki smiled " I like you Aegon Targaryen. Follow me I'll take you to Khal Drogo," said the Dothraki rider. Jon nodded they followed them

Robb didn't understand what was going on because they spoke Dothraki. He leaned over to Jon.

"Jon what did you say to them?" asked Robb which made Jon smiled.

"I made an offer to him. A dual to the death if he wins he will get my two Valaryian swords and if he loose I'll get his khalasar."  said Jon.

"Then why did they laugh?" asked Robb.

"They thought I was crazy on challenging their Khal," said Jon.

Robb smiled "You are." Jon smiled.

They finally entered the camp of the khalasar. Robb couldn't believe how many men and women where fucking in the open. Robb looked at Jon which made him laugh.

"Your used to this?" asked Robb pointing to the men and women who were fucking the open.

"Aye, remember I was a Khal. It's their tradition." said Jon.

"Did you and Daenerys ever do it in the open like them?" Jon was shocked with a question like that.

"Robb are you mad I would never take a women in the open and Daenerys was also never taken in the open like them. We both never wanted it." 

"Even when she was married to Drogo?" asked Robb.

"No, she was taken when it .... Was her first time against her will luckily there was no one seeing them. That's what Daenerys told me," said Jon he was frustrated. He will never let that happen to her again.

"So neither of you did it in the open?" asked Robb.

"No Robb," said Jon.

"That's a relieve,"  said Robb with a smile.

They finally entered a tent where the Khal sit with his five bloodriders siting around him. There where fire burning since it was already late evening.

The Dothraki entered first "Khal Drogo this man whish to fight you to death and in return if you win you will have his two swords said to be two of the most strongest of all in the world," said The Dothraki Rider.

Khal Drogo looked at the man "Why do you whish to challenge me?" asked Khal Drogo.

"Because the women who you would claim to be your Khaleesi who you meet tomorrow is my love. I will not allow a rapist or savage hurt her or marry her. I will kill you and claim her as my khaleesi." said Jon.

The bloodriders laughed. One bloodrider started talking "You wish to die because of love I respect you," said one bloodrider.

"But why shoud our khal accept your offer?" said another bloodrider.

The Dothraki rider started talking " He claims if the khal does not accept he will be seen as  scared. He also claims the khal has no pride defending his titel as Khal if he does not except his offer and he also said why would we follow a Khal if he does not wish to defend his title."

Jon started talking "Your Khal is pefetic he is a savage who doesn't care of his so to be khaleesi's feelings! He would do anything to please himself because all he thinks is to use his cock in a women and doesn't know how it will effect her! He's a rapist and I will kill him for that!" The blood riders started to whisper and the bloodriders stood up. Jon knew he needed to anger them in order to fight them.

Khal Drogo was angry and stood up "I will kill you and take your lover and ride her like a stalion and fill her wit my cock and fuck her until she can't take anymore from any position I wish" said Drogo.

Jon was filled with rage " I will give you a painfully death for saying such words!" said Jon.

Drogo took his arakh in his hand as do the five bloodriders and Jon draw his two valaryian swords with Darksister in his right and Winter Wolf in his left hand.

Jon looked back at Robb "Robb if I die get out of here and save Daenerys and take her to Winterfell," Robb didn't know what was going on but nodded. 

"Of course Jon" said Robb. Robb draws his sword.

"No! stand behind me while I take care of them"

"But Jon!" 

"No, Robb. I need to do this alone," said Jon.

One bloodrider walked to his right and attack with his arakh. Jon deflected the attack with his right sword and took his left sword and  slashed through the bloodriders throat. The bloodrider fell to the ground trying to breathe and died. He walked over to the other bloodrider and attacked with both swords. The bloodrider tried to deflect all his attacks and finally, Jon placed one sword through his stomach and his bald can out of his back the bloodrider fell to the ground and died of pain.

The third and fourth bloodrider attack on the same time Jon spun his swords and deflect both of their attacks.  He attacks with both swords on both of the bloodriders and cut one of the bloddriders legs the cut was deep and blood spilled everywhere. The bloodrider with the deep cut in his leg fell to the ground and Jon took his right sword and placed his right sword through the bloodriders heart which caused the fith bloodrider to scream.

"You dare kill my brother!" said the bloodrider.

The fourth and fifth bloodriders ran towrds him at the s ame time. Jon spun his two swords and deflected the one attack on his shoulder and the other attack which went to his leg.  He grabbed the fifth bloodriders head and placed his sword through his head which caused the fifth bloodrider to fall on the ground. The fourth bloodrider ran to him and tried to cut Jon's throat this is when Jon deflected his attack and placed both swords through his stomach. Blood spilled on Jon's face. 

It was only Jon and Drogo left. Drogo was much larger than Jon but knew he could use it to his advantage. Jon took his two swords and attacked Drogo. 

Drogo deflected his attacks with his arakh. After Jon was done attacking ,Drogo took the opportunity he grabbed his arakh and was about to slice Jon's chest. Jon protected his chest using both of his two swords. Drogo pushed his arakh in order to put his blade in Jon's chest while Drogo was doing this Jon was pushing his swords against the blade in order to make sure it wouldn't enter his chest. Drogo took his other hand and punched Jon in the stomach. Before Jon lost his balance Jon rolled before Drogo's attack could make contact with his chest.

 Drogo attacked with his arakh and Jon trying to find his balance again he took his swords and blocked the attack. In the same position as before Arakh pushing against two Valaryian steel swords. Jon's and Drogo arms were both getting tired.

Jon took one sword and kept on pushing with the other sword against the Arakh. He took his left sword and cut one of Drogo's arms. The cut was deep. Blood was flowing of Drogo's arm. Jon started to lost his grip again so he placed his left sword back against the arakh.

Jon took all his strength and pushed Drogo with his two swords Drogo took a few steps back and Jon took hes right sword and quikly sliced Drogo's right arm off which was the hand what held the arakh. The hand which held the arakh fell on the ground. Jon took his two sword and quickly cut both of the Khal's legs.

The Khal fell on to his knees and looked at Jon. Jon took his two swords and crossed his arms and placed a sword against each cheek of Drogo's with a sword in each of his hands.

Jon smiled and looked at Drogo "Any last words khal Drogo?" 

Drogo looked at him he gave out a smile "Take care of your lover..... You are the new Khal." Jon smiled and he draw his two arm togethor a sword in each arm through the khals head. The head of khal Drogo fell on the ground.

The Dothraki rider they met before was surprised , speechless even but finally said something "You killed Khal Drogo.... like he was nothing," said the Dothraki rider with wide open eyes. The Dothraki rider bowed on to his knees"you are the new Khal," said the Dothraki rider.

Robb smiled he couldn't believe Jon killed Khal Drogo. He walked over towards Jon who was still out of breath. His armor was filled with blood as was his face. Jon looked at Robb. "You did it, Jon. You killed Drogo," said Robb.

"Aye I did" said Jon still panting.Jon still couldn't believe he killed Drogo. He was still busy trying to proses what he did. He saw the body of Drogo with no head or arm. He couldn't believe he was so brutal towards them. He remembered the last time he fought like this it was in the great war. 'Maby I fight this way in order to survive. After what I've... The white walkers. I need to survive.' thought Jon.

Jon looked at the fire what was burning. He knew it was time to make the human sacrifice. "Robb give me my bag!" 

Robb was surprised and gave Jon his bag. Jon went through his bag and took his grey Dragon egg. "Really now?" asked Robb.

"Aye now. Leave before I set the hole hut on fire" said Jon.

"Jon your clothes will burn," said Robb. Jon sigh and took off all his clothes. Robb looked at him and quickly looked away. 

"By Gods Jon you could warn me!" The Dothraki rider didn't understand what was happening.  Jon was completely naked and gave Robb his clothes and his two swords.

"Now leave Robb and take the Dothraki with you," said Jon. Robb nodded Jon looked over towards the Dothraki rider.

"Follow him outside you will be save there ," said Jon to the Dothraki rider  who was still confused but nodded.

"Now Robb its time to leave!" Robb nodded and took the Dotraki rider with him. Jon took the six bodies and placed them togethor he placed the  Dragon egg on top of a bloody dead body. He pushed the fire and it fell on the ground and everything started to burn in the hut.

Outside the burning hut all the Dothraki gather around the fire.  Robb stood in front of the khalasar while the Dothraki rider stood next to him. After a long while the fire burned the door down  which is when Robb could see Jon walking forward Robb couldn't believe it what he saw. He saw a grey dragon grawling on to his shoulder.

"I am Aegon Targaryen the second conqueror heir to the Iron Throne!  I killed your khal Drogo!" Jon threw Drogo's head on the ground before the khalasar. The flames went through Jon's hear. 

"I am the rider who mounts the world! Bow down to your new khal. Khal Aegon!"

They all bowed to their new khal and looked up at him. They saw how Jon wasn't burning and a Grey Dragon crawling on to his shoulder and the dragon started screaming......

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Again thank you all for the support. Pls, leave comments on your opinions and ideas and what was your favorite part of the chapter!!

Chapter 7: A New Experience

Notes:

Hey, guys, chapter 7 is finally out. As promised the chapter is extremely long. Before you read the chapter I would like to thank my new co-writer who made this Chapter into the amazing form you see now. My Co-worker Cmyatt01 also has an amazing story go check it out on her profile its called an 'a new Westeros'. Thank you all for the wonderful support. Your opinions and ideas are always appreciated in the comments. As I always said sit back relaxed and enjoy the chapter!!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Snow

 

Jon walked inside of his newly acquired Dothraki tent, the Khal’s tent, with his grey dragon hatching perched on his shoulder. It was dark outside. The room was filled with light from the fire that was burning in the metal braziers located at the front of the tent.  After he entered, he looked around the tent, admiring the many pelts lining the walls and the exotic furs and pillows that made up the great bed befitting of a mighty Khal. In the center of the room, there was there was a small wooden table with two wooden chairs and on the table was the platter full of the freshly cooked horse meat he had requested. Besides the table and chairs was a small wooden cart with a pitcher of wine with several bronze metal goblets. It had been a few hours since his dragon had been born, so he figured it needed to be properly fed. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs, took a seat at the table and began to feed his dragon hatchling some of the horse meat from the platter. As the dragon ate, Jon smiled as observed some of his dragon’s features. The dragon was no bigger than two hands placed together, its scales were the shade of silver-grey as his own eyes and its golden-yellow eyes were almost the same shade as honey. After the small grey dragon completed its meal, he crawled into Jon’s lap and scratched under its chin, causing a screech of approval before it began to make a purring sound. He smiled at his dragon. He kept on scratching the dragons chin, thinking of a name for the baby dragon. His baby dragon. 

 

When Robb entered the tent Jon pulled his attention for the dragon in his lap to his older brother. Robb still had eyes wide open with a look awe as he admired the dragon. Jon smiled at his brother and waited for him to speak. "I still can't believe you're holding a dragon in your arms, Jon.” He finally muttered out as he shook his head in disbelief, which only caused Jon’s smile to widen.

 

“Aye, magnificent isn't he?" said Jon as he grinned at the dragon and continued scratching his back. The dragon kept purring in contentment. 

 

"Aye, he is,” his brother agreed, “Have you given him a name yet?" asked Robb as dragon jumped from Jon’s arms and climbed onto the shoulder as he stood up from his chair.

 

He turned his gaze from the small dragon back towards Robb before he spoke. "Aye, I have," He said, as he again smiled at the grey dragon, who looked back at him with his honey colored eyes. 

 

"And?" asked Robb raising an eyebrow.

 

"I will name him Sarogon," Jon replied with a slight smile. When Sarogon screeched in approval of his name it caused both the brothers to chuckle. 

 

"Sarogon where did you get that name?" asked Robb while he took of his cloak off and placed on the back of one of the chairs. He then took off his sword belt and placed it on the table. Once he was done, he turned his gaze back at Jon.

 

"Its a combination of the name Stark and Aegon the Conqueror," Jon explained as he grinned at the dragon. The dragon took of and flew around his tent and they both watched in awe and smiled widely as the small dragon took flight.

 

"That's a nice name, brother. You're honoring both your Stark heritage and Targaryen heritage," said Robb.

 

"Aye, I am.” He agreed with a sigh before asking, “How is your tent, Robb?”

 

"It's comfortable. I must say the Dothraki sure know how to build tents,” said Robb.

 

"Aye they do.” Jon agreed.

 

They continued to watch Sarogon fly around the tent in silence for a few minutes before he landed on to the bed. Once he landed he began around in circles, trying to get comfortable, just like they had seen their Direwolves do before they laid down.

 

After Sarogon had settled in the bed, Robb turned his attention back to his brother and said, “You have killed Drogo.... What is your plan now, Jon?" 

 

"I have asked the Dothraki to bring me their two strongest men. I will claim these men as my blood riders. Bako will be my third blood rider and he will serve as the commander of the blood riders and the khalasar whenever I'm gone on a quest,” 

 

"Bako?" asked Robb.

 

"The Dothraki rider who was in the hut with us," Jon answered.

 

Robb smiled and nodded in response before saying, “I like him. He seems like a good warrior who follows his Khal's orders.”

 

"Aye, he does... Robb, there is something that I wanted to ask you," Jon said as he poured both of them a goblet of wine from the pitcher located on the small wooden cart. He walked over to the table and placed one goblet of wine in front of each chair and both brothers sat down.

 

Sarogon, who decided he did not want to sleep, flew from the bed and landed on Robb’s shoulder, causing him so smile as he looked into the dragon’s golden eyes. He scratched his chin. He could not believe he was touching a dragon. He looked at Jon who smiled at him.

 

"I thought you said only those with the blood of Old Valyria could touch a dragon? Why, am I able to touch him?" Robb asked. 

 

"Aye that's true, but he is just a hatchling. I believe when he gets older he will only let his rider and a person with blood of Old Valyria touch him. Trust me I learned that the hard way.” Jon chuckled as he remembered touching Drogon for the first time. The dragon would have burned him if he did not have the blood of Old Valyria.

 

"That's a shame," said Robb with a frowned. 

Jon laughed at his brother. “Aye, it is. However, dragons are extremely intelligent. He will never hurt you because he knows you are my family," Jon answered as Sarogon let out a screech and flew onto his father’s shoulder.

 

“That's good to hear," Robb said as looked at Sarogon, who was happily eating some more horse meat from Jon’s hand. He chuckled at the scene before he continued speaking, “You told me once that Daenerys was known as the mother of Dragons... so I guess we can now call you the father of a Dragon?" said Robb with a smirk on his face.

 

Jon laughed himself before he said, "I guess you can, but after Daenerys has hatched her dragons she will be the mother of dragons and I'll be the father of dragons.”

 

They both laughed. It felt great to being reunited with his brother and knowing they were changing the world for the better. He finally felt there was a chance that the shitty world he knew in the past was not going to be the same.

 

Robb’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, as he said, "Jon, I haven't seen you this happy in a long time.”

 

"I am Robb and that's what's scars me. Usually when I'm happy something shitty happens. Like when I became the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I was happy and then was murdered by my brothers for letting the wildlings past the wall.” He said with a sigh, “Then I was happy when I fell in love with Daenerys but she died. I was happy being a father but my child died. I am scared Robb... I’m scared of being happy only to have it all stripped away from me again"

 

“Jon, you and any other person cannot be afraid of being happy! Happiness and other emotions are what make us humans and not those snow monsters you fought in the past. We have a second chance and this time there won't be shit moments after your happy ones,” Robb exclaimed, as he looked his brother straight in the eyes, Tully blue meeting Stark grey.

 

Jon looked at this brother and then to Sarogon. He smiled and nodded, “You are right, brother,” he responded in agreement.

 

“Jon, I have been meaning to ask you when you faced Drogo you were brutal. You were not fighting in your normal style… why?” When his brother did not answer Robb continued, “You were not fighting the honorable way we were taught by Ser Rodrik. You were fighting with rage... What did Drogo say to you?” When Jon still did not answer he sighed and added, “Well… whatever he said awoke not only the wolf blood within your veins but the dragon within you as well."

 

He himself did not understand what had come over him when he fought Drogo. He remembered he was filled with raging anger when he said what he planned on doing to Daenerys if he lost. He was unable to look his brother in the eyes. He sat in his chair, with is elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He exhaled and took a deep breath before he truthfully answered his brother’s questions, with his head still in his hands, "Robb, I don't exactly know what came over me... After Drogo said what he planned to do to Daenerys when he killed me… I lost it… I could not allow him to take her and rape her... I know that I have told you that I am not the same Jon you knew... I have changed. I had to change just to survive all the shit my last life handed to me."

 

“Aye, you have changed, Jon… However, I feel that you have changed for the better…”

 

Jon’s head snapped up and looked at him curiously. He ran his fingers through his wild raven curls and asked, "What do you mean, Robb?"

 

"Jon, you have accepted who you truly are... You are the crown prince… a king even. You are not that shy bastard who always felt that he was the one stain on the noble Lord Stark’s honor. You are no longer the boy who thought everyone was better than you were because they always treated you like dirt. You have finally made a name for yourself in the world and you have stood up for yourself. You have accepted that everyone is equal. That it does not matter if you were born a bastard or north of the wall. We are all living, breathing people. You are still honorable as hell; just as father and you are a lot stronger than the Jon, I knew growing-up... Aye, you do have a dark side that caused that raging anger. However, my guess is the fear for the safety of your family is the source of you anger. That if anyone ever threatens your family, the dragon within you will awaken and you become fearless because you would do anything to protect the ones you love… but when your dragon is not awake, the honorable wolf is awake and you are then the same person as father, like the man you are now! I hope that made sense,” Robb said as he placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. Sarogon, who had been sitting on Jon’s other should jumped onto the table in front of his father and screeched in agreement.

 

A shy smile crossed Jon’s face at the complements that his brother had given him, before he responded, “Aye, it did make sense…Thank you, Robb.” The mood had lighted and they were both smiling.

 

It was already night, but the air was still warm. They both sipped the wine from their cups in a peaceful silence as they tried to process what they had accomplished that day, when Robb’s voice broke the silence, "You wanted to ask me something before your son, Sarogon, demanded attention,” Robb said with a smile, to which Jon responded with a nod and a smile of his own.

 

"Aye, tomorrow we will meet Viserys and Daenerys.... I will ask Daenerys to be my Khaleesi… but will not force her to marrying me. I will put Viserys in a cell and let Daenerys choose his fate. From what Daenerys told me about her time growing up in Essos, she had been a shy girl before meeting Khal Drogo. However, she started to believe in herself when she asked Drogo to kill her older abusive brother, Viserys. By letting her decide Viserys’ fate, I hope it will help her to be the same strong women I knew in my past life. Then, after a few days.  I am planning to go to Astapor and free the Unsullied," Jon said and Sarogon flew from the table and climbed back onto Jon's shoulder.

 

"Aye… But what do you want to ask me, Jon?" Robb asked as he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Drogo is dead… You only came here with me to make sure I kill Drogo save Daenerys. Since Drogo is dead, you have no reason to stay here with me… So I would understand if you would like to return to Winterfell ... I mean I don't want you to go home… but I will understand if you feel that is where you need to be,” Jon said as took a deep breath.

 

Robb smiled and stood up, "As much I miss home... I'm having an amazing adventure here in Essos, with the best brother in the world. I'm staying with you until you cross the Narrow Sea with an army to retake your throne," said Robb as he pulled Jon into a brotherly embrace.

 

Jon was surprised. After the embrace was broken and they were both again sitting Jon spoke, "Are you sure, Robb? I don't want to force you to stay...” However, before Jon could continue Robb cut him off.

 

"You're not forcing me, Jon. I want to stay here with you. Someone needs to watch your back," said Robb with a smirk.

 

"You’re sure Robb?"

 

"Aye I'm sure.”.

 

"That's a relief!” Jon said as he let out a breath he did not know he was holding, “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you by my side,” Jon said with a smile on his face.

 

"On towards meeting Daenerys and her mad brother," Robb said as he raised his cup in a toast, which made Jon smile.

 

"Aye,” Jon agreed as they placed their cups against each other. They started a conversation about what were their future plans but were disturbed when Bako entered the tent.

 

“Khal Aegon, the women who is working for Viserys is waiting outside,” Bako said in Dothraki. Jon smiled.

 

“You can bring her inside, Bako," Jon replied in Dothraki. Bako smiled and exited the tent. A few moments later, a beautiful woman with dark brown hair entered the Khal’s tent.

 

"You must be Doreah?" asked Jon.

 

“Yes, my Khal," she replied.

 

"You were hired by Viserys?" asked Jon.

 

“Yes ...” but before she could say ‘my Khal’ again Jon cut her off.

 

“Please, call me Jon. Only people who I trust call me Jon,” Jon said and Doreah nodded. Then he continued, "Bako, has informed me you can speak the common tongue. Is this correct?" asked Jon.

 

“He is correct I can speak the common tongue,” she replied. Jon smiled and looked at Robb who did not understand what they were saying.

 

"Do you mind we speak the common tongue in order for my brother to understand?" Jon asked as he gestured toward his brother. Doreah looked at Robb and a slight blush spread across his cheeks, but he tried to hide it.

 

"Of course, Jon,” said Doreah.

 

"Robb this is Doreah. She was hired by Viserys to make Daenerys a better lover," Jon explained.

 

Robb was speechless. 'What kind of brother would do such a thing?' he thought.

 

"My lord," said Doreah as she smiled at him.

 

“Nice to meet you, Doreah," Robb replied.

 

"Doreah, I wanted to ask you something," Jon said and they both returned their gazes back to him.

 

“Since my Uncle Viserys did hire you to help Daenerys I would like for you to continue to help her. However, I do not want you to teach her how to become a better lover. She is not a whore or pillow slave. She is the queen. She is my Khaleesi. I would like you to serve as Daenerys’ handmaiden… I need someone whom I can trust to help Daenerys when she needs it and I think that someone can be you because you are the only handmaiden among the Dothraki who can speak the common tongue. I would also like for you to teach her the Dothraki language so that she can communicate with the khalasar,” Jon stated. Both Robb and Doreah were surprised by everything that Jon had said.

 

"It would be my honor my Kh… Jon," said Doreah smiling and looking from Jon to Robb.

 

"Good. We are leaving tomorrow to go and meet Daenerys. You will ride with us. I would like you to tell Viserys you are not loyal to him, but that you are loyal to me," Jon stated as Sarogon screeched.

 

"Of course, Jon," said Doreah.

 

"Make sure you're ready for our ride tomorrow. We will leave at first light," said Jon. Doreah smiled and nodded and she left their tent.

 

"What kind of brother would hire a person to make his sister a better lover?" Robb asked.

 

"The same man who would sell her to a rapist," said Jon.

 

Robb could not believe what a shit brother Viserys is to Daenerys. He was deep in his thoughts when he noticed that Jon was looking at him with a smirk on his face, “What?” he asked.

 

"So what do you think about Doreah?" asked Jon.

 

"She is kind and beautiful I might say," said Robb.

 

"I saw you staring at her," Jon said, still smiling as he began to feed Sarogon more of the horse meat from the platter on the table.

 

"My dear brother, I don't have a wife waiting for us like you... so am I allowed to stare?” Robb asked while trying to hide the smirk on his face.

 

"Why don't you talk to her?" Jon replied smiling and raising an eyebrow.

 

"You know I can't do that! She's a handmaiden and I'm a lord. I must marry a highborn girl in order to make alliances for our war against King Robert and The Lannister’s," Robb responded.

 

Jon was surprised, “You never told me that," said Jon.

 

"No, I did not. Father and I discussed it before we left Winterfell. We will need alliances to fight against Robert. The best way to make a strong alliance is through marriage.”

 

"That doesn't sound like Father," Jon replied.

 

"It wasn't his idea... it was mine.”

 

“Robb, you do not have do do that… There is no need for you to marry in order to secure an alliance for me," said Jon.

 

“Jon, I am going to do this. I won't let my affection get to my head, like in your past life. I will only marry for an alliance what will help us retake your Iron Throne. You marriage to Daenerys will only strengthen your claim to the throne… you know, incase there are those out there that do not recognize your claim. I will do this Jon… You will make a great King, and I will to whatever it takes to see you take back what belongs to you.”  

 

Jon took a deep breath and another long sip of his wine before he asked, "Did you have anyone in mind?"

 

“Aye. The largest kingdom, behind the Baratheon’s Stormlands and Lannister’s Westerlands is the Reach. Father suggested it may be beneficial if I wed to Lady Margaery Tyrell in order to gain an alliance with the Reach," said Robb.

 

“That is a really good choice. The are one of the largest producers of grain in the whole of the seven kingdoms, so they would be able to aid with the food supply come winter… I have also heard that Lady Margaery is very beautiful," said Jon.

 

“Aye, so have I," Robb agreed. 

 

Jon smiled, if they added the Reach as an ally, in addition to the Dothraki, the Unsullied, the Riverlands and the North that would give them a large army, but Jon still didn't like the fact that he was forcing his brother to marry. Jon could feel himself beginning to brood as he considered all of the possibilities. Before he let himself get lost in his thought he turned to his brother and smiled before he said, ”We should discuss this later.” 

 

“Aye, I agree… I think I am going to go bed… We have a big day tomorrow, you should get some rest as well, Snow,” Robb said and he stood up, embraced his brother and left the tent. 

 

After Robb had left his tent, Jon asked some of the handmaidens to bring him some boiling water in order to bathe. He started to take off his boots and saw that Sarogon was curled up and sleeping on his bed, which caused a smile to spread across his face. He quickly began removing his sword belt containing his two swords, Winters Wolf and Dark Sister and placed them on his bed, next to his sleeping dragon. As soon when he placed his swords on the bed Bako entered his tent.

 

"Khal Aegon, your new blood riders have been found and will ride with us tomorrow to claim your Khaleesi,"Bako stated. 

 

“I appreciate everything you have done for me, Bako. We will ride for Pentos at first light, so I suggest you go and get some rest," said Jon. Bako nodded in reply before taking his leave. After Bako left the tent, the handmaidens entered with the hot water and filled his bathing tub. Once they had left, Jon took off his remaining clothes and sank into the steamy water and began scrubbing his skin, removing all of the ash and blood that was still caked onto his flesh. After his skin was red and raw he got out of the basin, put clean clothes on and climbed into bed next to Sarogon. He closed his eyes thinking about what the next day would bring...


 

 

Tyrion Lannister

 

 

It had been a day since King Robert Baratheon and the Lannister's had arrived at Winterfell. When Tyrion awoke, he quickly got dressed and left his chambers in order to seek some food to break his fast. When he arrived at the Great Hall, it was empty, except his sister, Cersei, and brother, Jaime, who appeared to be having a heated discussion.

 

“Good morning, my dear sister and brother,” Tyrion spoke, announcing his presence which caused his siblings to pause their disagreement. Cersei looked at him with a displeased scowl on her face while Jaime gave him a welcoming smile.

 

“Good morning, little brother. How did you sleep last night?" asked Jaime. 

 

Tyrion smiled, poured himself a glass of Dornish Red and took a seat next to Jaime before answering, “I slept wonderfully my dear brother, thank you for asking. However, I would like to know what the two of you are up so early discussing?” Tyrion asked as he raised an eyebrow.

 

“Our dear sister has been voicing her concerns with our noble northern house, House Stark," Jaime answered.

 

The two brothers smiled as they looked at Cersei. "So what did House Stark do to piss you off?" Tyrion questioned as he took a long sip of wine.

 

"The great and honorable Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, has refused both of our king's offers and Cersei wants to know why," Jaime answered.

 

"Both offers!” Tyrion exclaimed in surprise, nearly choking on the sip of wine he had just drank.

 

“Yes, and I want to know why!” Cersei gritted through her teeth. 

 

“Cersei, why does it matter that the Northern Lord declined to become Hand of the King and a betrothal with your son?” Tyrion asked, but continued speaking again before she could answer, “I thought his would make you happy, dear sister… You never like the simple northerns anyway.” 

 

Jaimie sigh and looked at his sister before answering, ”Our sister thinks the Starks declined the offer because they are planning to rebel against the King.” 

 

Tyrion looked at Cersei and she looked at Jaime. He saw her face was serious. She was angry and confused. “Cersei, why would the honorable Ned Stark rebel against Robert? They went to war together to overthrow the mad king!” Tyrion stated, trying to calm is sister’s fears. 

 

"I know that, Tyrion! It just does not make sense why he would refuse to both offers! He had the chance to make his daughter, Sansa, queen but declined! Why… Why would he do that?" Cersei asked with venom in her tone. Jaime and Tyrion both sighed.

 

"Cersei you're being ridiculous. Ned and Robert grew up together in the Vale… They are practically brothers… he would never go war against him.” Tyrion explained.

 

"That's exactly what I told her, little brother, but she will not listen to me," Jaime sighed. 

 

Just then, a young boy entered the Great Hall, and began clearing the dishes left on the tables. When Cersei saw the boy, she quickly stood and walked over towards him. “Little boy what is your name?" asked Cersei.

 

“Yo…your, Grace… It’s Willis, your Grace…” the small boy stuttered out before he took a deep, calming breath.

 

"Do you like golden coins, my dear Willis?” Cersei asked is a sickeningly sweet tone. 

 

The little boy smiled and nodded at the Queen while both Jaime and Tyrion looked inquisitively at each other trying to figure out what she was doing.

 

"If I give you a few gold coins would you give me information on what goes on in this castle and any information on what the Starks are planning?" 

 

The boy smiled and nodded in agreement and the Queen returned the smile. Tyrion could not tear his eyes away from his sister; could not believe she was seriously bribing a small boy into giving her useless information. Tyrion was about to protest against what Cersei was doing, but a younger man entered the great hall.

 

"Give me bacon, eggs and brown bread with some ale," the new arrival demanded from young Willis. The you boy simply nodded before running off to the kitchens to procure a meal for the man. 

 

The three siblings looked at the man. He had removed his heavy northern cloak and they could see that his tunic was drenched with sweat and he had dirt covering his hands and face; he had clearly just come from sparing in the courtyard. He sat down on the chair at the end of the table, waiting from his food to arrive. 

 

The hall was quiet for several minutes before finally, Jaime started a conversation with the young lord, “You must be Theon Greyjoy?" 

 

The young man smiled as Willis returned with his food and ale, then turned toward the siblings and stated, "Aye, I am.” 

 

“You grew up here, at Winterfell, with the Stark siblings, after Lord Stark took you in as a ward after the failed Greyjoy Rebellion?” asked Tyrion as he smirked and took a long sip of wine. 

 

Theon simply nodded in response and turned his attention to his breakfast.

 

"We heard the unfortunate news that we will be unable to meet the eldest sons of Lord Stark, I believe they are named Robb and Jon Snow, because they have gone on some sort of quest. Do you know anything about it?" Cersei asked. 

 

Tyrion had not heard that the two oldest sons of Lord Stark were not at Winterfell, because he had spent yesterday at the brothel in Wintertown. He disappointed that he would not be able to witness the bastard’s skills with a sword; he had wanted to see if the tales he had heard about the boy on the way north were true.

 

"Aye, they left just over a month ago.” Theon answered with a mouthful of bacon, which he washed down with a long chug of ale before he continued, “We were returning to Winterfell, after an execution of a Night’s Watch deserter, when we found a dead direwolf in the Wolfswood. The direwolf had given birth to six pups. They both chose a direwolf, then Robb said something about having to go back and get his sword that he forgot at the execution… and, well the never came back… The next day, when I asked Lord Stark if I needed to wake them for our sparring lessons he told me they had gone on quest! They did not tell me, or anyone else that I know of about this quest!” Exclaimed Theon, with a look of anger on face. This news was surprising to the three Lannister siblings, so they started to ask more questions to the Stark’s ward.

 

“Did Lord Stark know they were leaving on a quest?" asked Jaime.

 

"Aye, he announced that he had received disturbing reports about stuff happening beyond the wall so they went to investigate. It did not help that the Night’s Watch deserter was rambling on and on about White Walkers before Lord Stark took his head,” Theon said with a dejected sigh before he added, “He should have let me go with them.”

 

Tyrion found this news fascinating and now that the Greyjoy boy was talking he took it as his opportunity to ask more about the bastard. “Is it true that the bastard of Winterfell is able to use two swords, like Ser Arthur Dayne?" He asked with excitement in his voice. Cersei and Jaime also wanted to know if the rumors of the Bastard’s incredible sword skills were truthful.

 

“Aye, it's true,” Theon grumbled, “It’s been just over a month and I still have the bruises to prove it…  Though, I find it strange… we have been sparing together for years… Then, all of the sudden… in our last sparring session before he left on his quest, he was a lot stronger and his skills were even sharper and that was the first time I’ve ever seen him use two swords. Even Lord Stark was impressed. When Jon Snow saw how impressed his father was he challenged him to spar with us…” When Theon said this all three of the Lannisters could not believe that  the Bastard of Winterfell had challenged his Lord Father to spar.

 

"He challenged the Lord of Winterfell to spar! Did he accept?” Jaime asked in disbelief. 

 

“Aye, he accepted the challenge.”

 

“Well, who won?” Tyrion asked.

 

All three of them were quite trying to make sense of what happened while they for Theon to respond. 

 

Theon took another long gulp of his ale before he answered in a voice just above a whisper, “No only did he face Lord Stark... He faced me, Robb, Ser Rodrik, who is our Master at Arms and Jory Cassel, who is the Head of the Household Guard... all at the same time," he took a deep breath and continue “Before the spar began, Snow grabbed two swords and started swinging them like it was nothing… He was just waiting for the first attack… Once it started, he fought four of us, me, Robb and the two bannermen at the same time… like we were nothing… Like we were kids at our first sparing lesson… After the four of us yielded to him he faced Lord Stark and got him to yield as well," Theon looked up from his plate to look at the Lannisters and saw that all three of them had looks of shock on their faces. They where speechless. It looked as if they saw a Dragon.

 

"And you're saying this… Jon Snow and his brother went beyond the wall to investigate the disturbing news?" Tyrion asked, praying that he would say yes. 

 

"Aye," Theon responded, “If you don't mind, I have completed my meal and I am sure that Lord Stark is going to be needing me for something.” After that, the ward donned his cloak and left the Great Hall.

 

When Jaime and Cersei looked towards their younger brother, they saw a huge smirk on his face, so Jaime asked, "Why are you smiling, Tyrion?" 

 

Tyrion was brought out of his thoughts by his brother’s question, so he looked to him, with the smile still plaster on his face and answered, “Because, my dear brother, I am planning an excursion to the Wall when we leave Winterfell… So now my hopes of seeing this bastard’s skills myself may still become reality! If what Greyjoy said is true, as well as the rumors we have heard about the boy's skills, he is then the greatest swordsman who ever lived… and I would like to see the boy's skills with my own eyes," said Tyrion.

 

“Are you sure about visiting the Wall, Tyrion?” Jaime asked with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Tyrion smiled as he looked to his brother and responded, “Yes, brother I am.”  

 

After this statement Cersei stood up and left the Great Hall...


 

Jon Snow

 

 

The bright, warm early morning sun was shinning down when Jon with Sarogon standing on his shoulder, Robb and his three blood riders, Bako, Aggo, and Rakharo, rode their horses at a quick gallop through the busy streets of Pentos. The were making their way towards docks of Pentos, where their ship was still located. While they rode Jon noticed the common folk cleared a wide path for them so they could make their way through the streets with ease. Jon was not surprised at this reaction, because they were riding with the Dothraki, but the perplexed look on Robb’s face made Jon chuckle. 

 

A short time later, they reached the docks where their ship with Jorah Morment and Sam, was located, Jon and Robb climbed off their horses. Sarogon was still sitting on Jon's shoulder screaming at anyone who dared come close to his father. He smiled at his dragon and scratched the scales under his chin, earning some joyful purring sounds. After he finished petting Sarogon, the small grey dragon decided to climb off his Father’s shoulder and made his way down his back. Once the dragon was situated on his back he turned around and looked back towards Doreah and his three blood riders and stated, in Dothraki,“Watch the horses and wait here until I return,” to which they responded with a nodded. 

 

After Jon gave his order, he and Robb walked down the dock and they were greeted by a smiling Samwell Tarly. The brothers returned the welcoming smile. At this time, Sam could not see Sarogon from where he was standing because the dragon was perched on Jon's lower back.

 

"I take it this part of your quest was a success because you are both here smiling and breathing!” Sam exclaimed.

 

Jon smiled as he looked from Sam to Robb before he answered, “Aye it was a success. I am now Khal.”

 

“If that is the case, why are you all here?” His chubby friend asked.

 

“Sam, we came to get Ser Jorah, so that he can take us to Illyrio. Is he still chained in the cabin?" Jon asked. 

 

Sam smiled and nodded in response, when suddenly his attention was pulled from Jon’s face when he saw a claw on appear on his friend’s shoulder. “Jo.. Jo.. Jon... what is that on your shoulder?" He asked nervously with a look of curiosity on his face. As he asked the question the claw was moving more as the small grey dragon seated himself on his Father’s shoulder. The dragon looked at Sam with his golden eyes and let out a welcoming screech. Sam was taken by surprise and almost fell on the ground. 

 

“Oh, this is my dragon... he was born yesterday,” Jon said as he smiled at his dragon.

 

"Ohhh he scared me! I... I guess the human sacrifice worked?” Sam asked, still in disbelief that there was a living, breathing dragon on Jon's shoulder.

 

“Aye it did," Jon replied as the three boarded the ship. Once they were onboard, they heard a ruckus coming from the cabins below. As they made their way towards the noise the sounds only grew louder. 

 

When they arrived below the decks, they quickly learned what the commotion was all about; It was Ghost and Greywind running to greet them. Robb smiled and scratched Greywind behind the ears. The sight of the Direwolves cause Sarogon to let out a joyful screech of happiness. He wanted to meet the wolves. So he flew from Jon’s shoulder and landed on Ghost’s back. The sudden appearance of the dragon caused Ghost to stop, turn is head look at the creature that had landed on his back with his ruby red eyes. After a few seconds of starring, Ghost sniffed the dragon, then turned to Jon and sniffed him as well. When Ghost had finished smelling Jon and the dragon, Greywind did the same. After both direwolves finished smelling Jon and the dragon they gave the dragon a lick of approval. ‘They had accepted Sarogon as part of the pack' Jon thought as he smiles at the scene in front of him.

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Sam asked, “Have you given him a name yet?"

 

"Aye, I named him Sarogon," Jon replied. At the sound of his name the dragon flew from where he was resting on Ghost’s back, back to his Father’s shoulder, which made Sam smiled. 

 

Robb took a deep breath before he started to speak, “Sam we must see Ser Jorah. Are the northern men still watching him?" 

 

Sam looked at Robb and nodded. The three of them walked towards the cabin and two northern men were standing guard in front of the closed door. "Open the door," Robb requested and the two men nodded in acknowledgment before they opened the door. When they entered the room they saw that Ser Jorah was still tied up and sitting on the chair. 

 

The Northern commander in the room looked at Robb and said, “My Lord, you have returned.”

 

Robb smiled at the commander and nodded, “Aye, we have returned successful in the first part of our quest. Now we have come here for Ser Jorah.” As he said this all eyes looked at the exiled, former Lord of Bear Island, who had a uncomfortable scowl upon his weathered face.

 

"My Lord, have you decided what to do to him?" the commander asked Robb. 

 

However, before Robb could answer, Jon started talking, “Aye, we have. He will be my personal guard," Jon replied. 

 

This answer surprised Robb, Sam and the other Northern men, and caused a stunned and confused look to appear upon all of their faces. So Jon spoke, “Would you all give me and Ser Jorah a moment of privacy?" 

 

The northern men nodded and left the cabin. After they had left, Robb pulled Jon into a corner of the cabin  and asked, "What are you doing, Jon?”

 

"He is a great swordsman and I am going to need someone to protect Daenerys while I am busy with other matters,” Jon answered honestly.

 

Robb sighed and angrily asked, “Other matters? What matters?”

 

"You will find out later. It's to soon to say what they are,” he answered. Robb raised a eybrow which made Jon sigh. “Please Robb, you have to trust me.”

 

Robb took another sigh and nodded  before speaking, "Fine... but if he betrays us I will behead him myself!” 

 

Jon took a moment to think through his plan before he agreed, “That is fair.” 

 

After the brief conversation, the brothers walked over towards Ser Jorah. “Ser Jorah, I'm going to give you a choice," Jon said. 

 

The old knight raised his head and looked Jon in the eyes, “What is it, my lord?" The old knight asked. 

 

"I'm going to give you information and you can choose what happens to this information," Jon stated to the old knight who nodded at him to continue. "I am no bastard. I'm the true born son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen... Rhaegar never raped my mother nor did he kidnapped her. She ran away to be with him because they loved each other... My uncle, Ned Stark, hid me in plain sight. He named me his bastard in order to escape the wrath of Robert... My name is not really Jon Snow, my birth name is Aegon Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron throne... You can give this information to the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, in hopes that he will grant you a pardon and allow you to return home and live out your days in the North... Or, you can be one of my king's guards and help me save Westeros from the threat beyond the wall... If you are loyal to me, when I become King, I will give you a full pardon and allow live in the North.” 

 

The old knight couldn't believe what he had just heard for he was left utterly speechless. When finally gather words to respond he asked, “Your Grace, I thought Prince Rhaegar already had a wife, Elia Martell, and a son who was also named Aegon Targaryen?" 

 

Robb looked at Jon waiting for him to say something.

 

"Aye, that is true... but my father, Rhaegar, had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled and married my mother, Lyanna Stark. I was named in the memory of my older half-brother, who was killed by the hands of The Mountain," Jon responded.

 

Jorah thought about the new information that had been given to him. In his mind, it made perfect sense... Eddard Stark was the most honorable man he had ever met. The man he knew would never bed a woman who was not his wife. He would claim to have fathered a bastard to protect his family... to keep his beloved younger sister’s son safe... 

 

Then he remembered what Jon had said about threat beyond the wall. "Your Grace, you said there was a threat beyond the wall. May I ask what that threat could be?" 

 

Jon sighed, before he answered, he had not yet wanted to talk about this subject but he answered it truthfully, "The Night King. He is real. I have seen him. The white walkers are real, with their unnatural blue eyes boring into your soul... These creatures... They will do anything to make sure all of the living are dead. And I can tell you if the seven kingdoms do not stand together to fight against our common enemy we will all die when Winter arrives... That is why I told you my true origins... I need to retake my throne and unite the seven kingdoms so that we stand together in the fight against those dead monsters!" Jon exclaimed as clinched his fists in frustration. Jorah looked at Robb, who had a concerned look on face after his brother’s speech.

 

"Your Grace, how did you see them?" Ser Jorah asked.

 

“Ser Jorah, you asked what my past life was like, so let me tell you about it.” Jon said as both he and Robb sat down on in wooden chairs across from the old knight before he proceeded to tell him everything that happened Westeros in his last life. He told him about the mutiny at Craster’s keep beyond that had taken the life of Ser Jorah's father... He told him about his time as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch... About the attack at Hardhome... His murder at the hands of his brothers in black and his subsequent resurrection... He told about Daenerys dragons.

 

"Dragons, your Grace?" Ser Jorah asked with a quizzical eyebrow raised.

 

Jon grinned and turned his attention from Ser Jorah to Robb who returned his smile. “Aye, Dragons," Jon replied.

 

"But, your Grace... Dragons have been extinct for over a hundred years!”

 

"Aye, that was true... but it is not the truth any longer,” Jon said with the smirk still plastered on his face.

 

Jorah raised a eyebrow. "What do you mean, your Gra...” Ser Jorah stopped mid sentence... He could not believe what he saw with his own two eyes... He blinked in disbelief at the sight before him... He saw a small grey dragon crawl onto Jon's shoulder and look him straight in the eye. The silence was broken when Sarogon let out a loud screech.

 

"That's ... that's a dragon!" Ser Jorah exclaimed to Jon with his eyes opened wide.

 

"Aye, it is... So, Ser Jorah, do you believe me now?" 

 

Jorah could not believe it, there, just in front of him was a dragon... a living, breathing dragon. If dragons where no longer extinct, then the threat beyond the wall must be true. "Aye, I do believe you, your Grace.” The Old Knight stated before he asked... “Just... How... How after all these years... were you bring a dragon to life?" 

 

The question made Robb try really hard to keep the smile off his face. Jon on the other hand just let out a deep sigh. He just wanted to get this conversation over with so they could find Daenerys. "That, Ser Jorah, is a story for another day. Now, I will ask again... You have a choice. Choose wisely," said Jon as his grey eyes bored into the old knight’s blue ones.

 

Ser Jorah remained silent for a few minutes as he thought about of his options. When he finally spoke he answered, “Your grace, will I swear my sword to you and help you save Westeros if grant me a pardon and allow me to return and live in the North.”

 

The response made Jon smile, "Aye, you have my word, Ser Jorah. Robb, please release Ser Jorah from his bindings.” 

 

Once he was freed and his sword was returned, he bent down on one knee, removed his sword from its scabbard and placed it’s tip into the wooden floor, and vowed, "I, Ser Jorah Mormont, swear my services to House Targaryen. I will shield your back and offer you counsel until the end of my days.”

 

Jon looked at Robb, who smiled back at him. Jon then returned his gaze back towards Jorah, “Thank you Ser Jorah you may rise.”

 

The old knight rose, and stated, “Thank you, your Grace.” Jon smiled and nodded in response.

 

"Ser Jorah, can you take us to Illyrio?" Robb asked. 

 

The old knight smiled and nodded, “Of course, my lord,” he replied as he strapped his sword belt to his waist.

 

When they left the cabin, Sam was waiting for them. Robb excused himself so he could find the Northern lords and them could return to White Harbor.

 

"Sam, we are leaving... I wanted to say goodbye before you set sail for the Citadel," Jon said as he placed a hand on portly friend’s shoulder.

 

The gesture made Sam smile, "Thank you, Jon. I promise as soon as I complete my training and become a master, I will return to serve you.”

 

Jon smiled and Sarogon flew on to Ghost back, and replied, “That is good, Sam. I will be looking forward to your return, my friend. The reply made Sam return the smile.

 

A few moments later, Robb returned and said, “I told the northern men sail back to White Harbor, after they have taken Sam to Oldtown... Sam, they will give you a safe escort to the Citadel.” 

 

Sam nodded, “Thank you, my lord... You all had better get going as well... for your meeting with Viserys,” Sam said with a nervous smile as he looked at both of them. 

 

“Aye, we should leave.” Robb agreed.

 

“Sam, thank you for everything. We will see you soon," Jon said as he pulled out his hand. Sam smiled and shook his hand and then shook Robb’s as well.

 

"Remember Sam, find all that you can about the White Walkers.”

 

Sam smiled, " I will, Jon, I promise.” 

 

Jon and Robb both smiled as they walked off the ship with the two Direwolf pups and Ser Jorah following them. They walked over towards Jon’s Dothraki blood riders who handed them the reins to their horses. Once they were mounted on their horses, Ser Jorah gave them directions and they began to gallop to Illyrio’s....


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

 

The sun was beginning to set over Pentos as several handmaidens entered Daenerys’ chambers. She stood silently in the middle of the large room, still wearing her thin pale pink silk sleeping shift, as the handmaidens began to tidy her belongs and prepare her bath and clothes.

It was late evening in Pentos. Her heart was beating fast. Tonight she would meet Khal Drogo.  From what she had heard from the handmaidens, servants and guards, the Dothraki rode there women like stallions. The thought of a savage man doing this to her made her feel sick to her stomach. 

 

She was pulled from these thoughts when she heard voices coming from outside of her chamber. As the voices grew louder she cringed as she recognized the high pitched tone of her older brother, Viserys. 

 

When he entered her chambers he had a sickening smile on his face as he looked at her. “Sweet sister, why aren’t you ready! Our meeting with Khal Drogo is almost upon us. He will be here shortly, and you must look beautiful," he looked at her in her purple eyes and she looked at the door. "Sister I think it's time for the wold to see what beautiful women you have become.” After he said this he grabbed the front of her nightgown, untied the laces, and pushed it down so that it pooled on the floor and she stood completely naked before him. He caressed one of her breasts with the tips of his fingers and she looked down at the floor. He then placed a finger under her chin and pulled her face up, so the she had no choice but to look him in the eyes, “I need you to be perfect tonight, Sweet Sister... you wouldn’t want to awake the Dragon, now would you?" 

 

She shook her head no. 

 

“Good... You best be getting ready, Sweet Sister... Make sure you are ready soon, Khal Drogo is on his way here as we speak," Viserys said sweetly before he dropped his hand from under her chin and exited her chamber. 

 

After the door closed behind her brother she let out a breath she did not know she was holding. She did not want to marry the Dothraki Khal, but she did not want to did not want to ‘wake the dragon’ either. When the handmaidens finished filling the bathing tub with boiling hot water she did not wait for it to cool before she entered. She felt alone... Sadness had taken over her mind. Then, suddenly she felt a emotion erupt through her like fire, letting her know that everything would be fine after today....


 

Eddard Stark

 

 

The full autumn moon and the millions of tiny stars were shining brightly in the cloudless late evening sky above Winterfell. The Starks, King Robert and his family as well as the Lannisters, and many of the Northern Lords and Ladies whom had traveled to greet their King, were all feasting in the Great Hall. Lord Stark was standing in the back of the room, observing the guests as they danced to the loud music echoing off the walls. As he continued to scan the room, his eyes stopped when noticed King Robert was groping and kissing one of the young servant girls, who was in the process of refilling his wine goblet for what had to have been at least the tenth time in the last hour. He shook his head in disappointment because the servant girl could not have been more than two or three name days older than his daughter, Sansa. He was pulled from his brooding thoughts when he felt a hand on shoulder. He turned gaze towards the hand on his shoulder and saw it was his brother Benjen. "Brother!" Ned smiled and turned to embraced his younger brother, "Benjen, it is so good to see you," he said as a chuckle escaped his lips.

 

After they pulled away from the embrace, they looked at each other and smiled. “So, where are my two eldest nephews?” Benjen asked as his eyes scanned the Great Hall of Winterfell, before turning his attention back to Ned with a smile still on his face and stated, “I have been looking for them all over the castle since I arrived.” 

 

Ned returned a tentative smile and sighed, knowing that he had to tell Benjen the truth about Robb and Jon’s whereabouts. "Follow me, brother. I'll tell you where they are," he said as he placed a hand on his shoulder and gestured towards the exit. 

 

Benjen raised an eyebrow as asked, "Why not here brother?" 

 

Ned took another glance around in the Great Hall. He saw Cersei conversing with his lady wife, Catelyn. He saw Sansa trying her best to avoid the leering gazes of Prince Joffery. And when his gaze came upon The King he let out a shaky breath when he saw that Robert was still kissing and groping the poor servant girl as she refilled his wine glass again, and then his face turned to one of disgust when he slapped her on the ass. 

 

“Ned?”

 

At the sound of Benjen’s voice, is eyes turned back to his brother. He realized that his brother was still waiting for an answer. He let out a deep sigh and his whisper was barely audible above the sounds of the loud music and laughter surrounding them, “There are too many ears in here… I cannot risk anyone over hearing what I have to tell you.” 

 

Benjen again raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement when he saw the grim expression on the Lord of Winterfell’s face and quickly followed his brother outside of the Great Hall and into the courtyard. They walked silently for several minutes in the moon lit darkness of the autumn evening. When they finally stopped, close to the training yard, Ned looked up and stared the bright full moon shining high above in the night sky, which caused Benjen to do the same. They could still hear the sounds of music and laughing coming from the Great Hall. Ned scanned the training yard ensuring that there were no prying ears to overhear their conversation. When he confirmed there was no one lurking in the shadows he took a seat on one of the crates and motioned for Benjen to do the same.

 

After they were both comfortably seated, Benjen broke the silence between them, “So are you telling me where they are?"  

 

Ned quickly look around the yard once more to make sure no one was around. "Aye," he said as he deeply exhaled and took another deep breath before he continued, “They have both traveled to Pentos.” 

 

“Pentos! Why would they go to Pentos, Ned?" Benjen asked with a look of confusion on his face.

 

Ned took a deep breath as he scanned the yard again before he continued to speak in a low voice, "They went to Pentos to save Daenerys Targaryen.” 

 

Benjen had a look of disbelief on his face. He took a deep breath trying to comprehend what his brother had told him. "Daenerys Targaryen… Why would Jon and Robb travel all the way to Pentos to save her?” 

 

Ned raised an eyebrow in response. 

 

The confusion in Benjen’s features disappeared and his eyes widened in acknowledgement as to why they would travel across the Narrow Sea to save the young woman. "Jon knows… doesn’t he? About his true parentage? He felt he to save his Targaryen family?" He took a deep breath while he waited for Ned to answer. After his brother nodded in response he released the deep breath and looked up towards the moon and asked, "How long has he known? How did he take it?"  

 

Ned took a deep breath and smiled as looked back at the full moon before answered truthfully, ”I wasn't the one who told him…”

 

“What do you mean you did not tell him?”

 

“It was Bran who told him,” Ned raised his hand to stop his brother from interrupting before he continued, “It was when Bran… The Three-Eyed Raven who told him everything about his mother and the man who sired him," Ned answered his brother, who was still utterly confused on the matter. Ned placed a hand on Benjen's shoulder and proceed to inform him of everything Jon had told him about his past life… He told Benjen that he became Cold Hands after he disappeared during a ranging mission beyond the wall… Ned told his brother how he had been named Hand of King Robert, only to be executed by the Lannister Bastard, Joffery, which started the War of the Five Kings. He told him about the betrayal of Walder Frey and Roose Bolton at the Red Wedding which led to the deaths of Robb, his lady wife and Catelyn. How Jon had been named the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch after the mutiny that claimed the life of Joer Mormont and Wildling attack on Castle Black… About Jon’s death at the hands of his brothers in Black and resurrection at the hands of a Red Woman… How Jon had rallied the North and exterminated the traitorous Boltons… How Jon was named King of the North and allied with Daenerys… How Jon has fought against the Night King more than five times… How Jon had survived after all the Starks were killed, one by one… Ned told his little brother everything he could recall concerning what Jon had said happened in his first life.

 

After he could think of nothing more to say, Benjen began to laugh, which confused the Warden of the North. So he asked, “What’s so funny, Benjen?" 

 

His brother just kept on laughing. When he was finally able to calm himself he spoke, "Isn't it ironic that the Bastard of Winterfell… The boy who no one ever cared about became the King in the North, making him the most important pawn in the Game of Thrones… Which made him the most important male for one of the two queens to create an alliance with… Daenerys Targaryen, who at the time he did not know was his aunt, who soon became his lover, which lead to her becoming his wife and the mother of his child and then Cersei Lannister, whose house was one of the reasons for the end of house Stark… How the Bastard of Winterfell also became the greatest swordsmen who ever lived… That boy was destined for Greatness!” After Benjen completed his speech he was still smiling at the thought of his nephew. 

 

"Aye, he has always been destined for greatness,” Ned smiled and looked at Benjen. 

 

The two brothers continued to smile in silence as they looked at the the moon in the sky high above Winterfell. Benjen took a deep breath, breaking the tranquility as looked at his brother and asked "Have you received any news from either of the boys since they arrived in Pentos?" 

 

Ned sighed deeply as looked at Benjen and replied, “No… I have not heard from either of them and that is what worries me.” 

 

Benjen smiled and placed a hand on Ned's shoulder hoping to calm his brother’s fears. “Ned, I wouldn't worry… Jon is the son of Lyanna. He will not give up when it comes to ensuring the safety of his family. He will do everything possible to make sure Daenerys is saved from her mad brother… and I am sure he will make sure that no harm comes upon Robb… I know that he will do anything that is needed to ensure their safety, even if that means giving his own life.” 

 

Ned felt shivers run down his spine at the thought of Jon dying… He would not allow it. "Benjen, when you returned to the Wall… remember you will be sent beyond the wall on a ranging mission. This mission lead to your death at the hands of the White Walkers. Please promise me that you will be careful” said Ned with a concerned tone. 

 

His brother smiled and nodded. "Aye, Ned. I will… Besides, I now know that they can be stopped by fire, dragonglass and Valerian steel.” 

 

The brothers got up from their crates in the training yard and started walking back to the Great Hall to rejoin the festivities in a comfortable silence. While they walked Ned was brooding over the mission his last sibling would face beyond the wall… About the mission that could lead to his little brother disappearance and becoming Cold Hands… Suddenly, he stopped walking. He thought about what might happen if he went on the mission beyond the Wall with his brother. This would allow him to see the threat with his own eyes.

 

When Benjen realized that his brother had stopped, he turned around, walked back to his brother, looked at him and asked, “Ned, what are you brooding about?" 

 

His brother looked at him, and instead of answering this question he asked, ”When do you plan on returning to the Wall?" 

 

"When King Robert and Queen Cersei return to Kings Landing, I presume. Why?" 

 

“I am going to go with you on your mission beyond the Wall,” Ned announced. 

 

The statement surprised Benjen; he was left was speechless for a few moments as he processed what his older brother had said. Finally he protested, "Ned you cannot go beyond the Wall. You are the Lord of Winterfell! The Warden of the North! You are not a man of the Night’s Watch… You cannot go beyond the Wall!”

 

“Benjen… I have to do this… I need to see with my own eyes what we are up against… I need to know what killed Sansa and Arya… What killed my Jon’s wife and my grandchild… Besides Bran can serve as Lord of Winterfell, with the help of Cat and Maester Lewin until I return,” Ned stated.

 

Benjen took a deep breath and nodded, knowing that there was no arguing with his bother when he made up his mind. "If that is what you wish, brother, you can come with me when I return to Castle Black.” 

 

“Aye, this is what I have to do.”

 

“Aye, we leave after the King an Queen return for the Capital," said Benjen 

 

Ned nodded in response and the brothers continued to walked back to the feast being held in the Great Hall of Winterfell unaware of the young boy who had heard their entire conversation....


 

 

Jon Snow

 

Jon, Robb, Jorah, Doreah and the three blood riders rode their horses swiftly through the crowded streets of Pentos until the reached the manse belonging to the Magister IIlyrio Mopatis. They were not even halted by the guards posted at the front gates. They did not stop their horses until they reached a staircase where a man with coarse yellow hair and who was nearly twice the size of Lord Manderly, was standing awaiting their arrival.

 

"You must be Khal Drogo,” the fat Magister stated in greeting to Bako as if were fact. After he said this, Bako looked at Jon who gave him a simple slight nod, silently saying that for now they should just play along with the Magister’s incorrect assumption. 

 

Their focus was quickly adverted from the obese man before them when they heard footsteps coming from within the manse. The steps grew louder and louder, and within seconds Jon could see a man with saggy silver hair and purple eyes exiting and making his way down the stairs to stand next to Illryio. The sight of the new arrival caused Jon to pull his hand into such a tight fist that his knuckles turned white. He knew it could only be his Uncle Viserys. The man smiled at Bako, but the smile was not returned.

 

Viserys turned his attention back to the door he had just walked out of. ‘He must be waiting for Daenerys to exit.’ Jon thought to himself. Just as he completed that though, he saw her emerge from the door. He noticed that he breathing was shallow and she was trying to hide her fear. He noticed that she did not look at him. That her gaze was fixed on Bako. ‘She too, must think that Bako is Khal Drogo as well,’ Jon stated to himself. Daenerys appeared to be shy… The sight of his beloved wife made him fell like is heart was going to stop beating at any second. She looked breath taking. He was pulled from his thoughts because of what she was wearing. She was wearing a sheer white gown that left little to the imagination… He could see her dark pink nipples right through it, like she was wearing nothing at all. He was furious.. He could not believe her brother would allow, or most likely force her to wear a gown like that!

 

He shifted his attention back to Illyrio when he began to speak in a well practiced regal tone, “Khal Drogo, I present to you Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

 

Bako looked at Jon and he nodded

 

"Khal Drogo is dead!” Bako stated in Dothraki.

 

This surprised Illyrio, "Khal Drogo is.... dead! How?"
Viserys saw Illyrio was surprised.  Viserys moved closer towards Illyrio and asked in a whispered voice, "What's wrong, Illyrio?"

 

"Your grace he just told me… He said that Khal Drogo is dead.” As the fat Magister spoke these words, Jon kept his eyes on Daenerys and saw that a look of relief spread across her face and she smiled every so slightly, which made him feel an intense happiness.

 

But his attention was quickly pulled away from the beautiful young woman because of the angered screeching of his uncle,”Ask him how!"

 

"How did your Khal die?" Illyrio asked as looked at Bako.

 

Bako looked at Jon who nodded before he answered, "Khal Drogo was killed in a dual for your sister’s hand by our new Khal.”

 

Illyrio turned towards Viserys and translated, “Khal Drogo was killed, your Grace, in a dual by the new Khal, over your sister’s hand,” this information surprised Viserys.

 

“Ask him who is their new Khal!” Viserys demanded, “I will only allow Daenerys to marry their new Khal if he keeps the previous arrangement… Only if he will give me my army!”


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Daenerys stood there silently ask she absorbed this information. 'Who is this new Khal and why would he fight in a dual to the death to make me his wife?’ Daenerys asked herself. She look back at the man Dothraki man she believed must be the new Khal and noticed that he kept looking towards a man next to him before he spoke. He was a younger man wearing a cloak… He looked very familiar… She knew him from somewhere… But where??? She suddenly gasped in realization… This was the man from her dreams... She took several slow, deep breaths trying to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes trying to unlock the memories of her dreams and just like that she remembered him. There was still some memories she could not make clear… she could not remember everything about him but she remembered clearly who the man in her dreams was to her. ‘This was no strange man… This man was my husband. My love ..... Jon!’ She thought. She finally choked out his name in a small quiet voice, "Jon!?"

 

Her voice was so soft that Jon did not hear her, which slightly irritated her and Illyrio and Viserys were too interested in the response that the Dothraki man would provide.

 

'He would sell me to a Dothraki Khal for an Army? How dare he! I am no whore! I am the Queen!' She thought to herself as she looked at her brother. She wanted to scream at him that she would not accept what he was doing to her, she would not allow her to be sold like some broodmare! However, before she could say something she was cut off by another man in a cloak, one with auburn hair a crystal blue eyes who appeared to be about the same age as Jon.

 

“The new Khal is Khal Aegon!" The man announced.

 

'Khal Aegon? That must be Jon!' She thought to herself. She smiled at Jon, but noticed his gaze was focused with a look of disgust directed at her brother, Viserys.

 

Both Illyrio and Viserys were confused and when Viserys laughed, she noticed a smile spread across the face of the man she loved.

 

“Aegon… Aegon… is a Targaryen name," Viserys choked out between fits of laughter, which made the auburn haired man look at Jon who simply nodded in acknowledgement.

 

"Aye, that is because he is a Targaryen. But not just any Targaryen… Aegon is the true heir to the Iron Throne!” he cloaked man exclaimed with his piercing blue eyes directed into her brother’s violet eyes. This made Viserys laugh even harder.

 

“And… And… And… who are you? Aerys Targaryen?" Viserys responded through his laughter.

 

The auburn haired man just smiled and looked at Jon which is when he nodded.

 

"I'm Robb Stark, oldest son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,” He stated in calm, commanding tone, “and this,” he said as he gestured towards Jon, “is my brother Jon Snow.”

 

'Jon never told me he had siblings .... or he did but I can't remember' thought Daenerys. She tried to remember if he had siblings but couldn't she could only remember Jon from her past life. (She did not remember Khal Drogo, Daario Naharis, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister, she only remembered Jon.)

 

The laughter quickly stopped as Viserys spoke through gritted teeth, “A traitor to the Targaryen Dynasty and his bastard brother!”

 

“I'm no traitor, your father killed my uncle and grandfather. Your father was mad!" Robb growled, his voice dripping with anger.

 

"Enough Robb! That's not why we're here," Jon spoke as he placed a hand on his brothers shoulder in an attempt to calm him, before he shifted his direction towards Viserys and asked, “Your Grace, what would you do in order to receive an army of 40,000 of the world’s strongest warriors from our Khal?”

 

A sickening smile spread across his lip as he answered, “I would let not only him fuck my sister, but I would let his whole Khalasar and their horses fuck her as well!”

 

Robb and Jon looked at each other trying to make sure what they heard where true. Viserys kept on smiling.

 

'He dares let the whole Khalasar and their horses fuck me! I'm no slave. I am his sister… I am the rightful Queen!’ Thought Daenerys. She felt anger coursing through her veins… ‘Was this what it felt like to wake the dragon?’ However, before she could slap her brother across the face she was broken from her rage at the sound of Jon’s voice.

 

“Alright! I have heard enough," Jon yelled. He then turned to the Dothraki man she had believed was the Khal and nodded before he got off of his horse and demanded something of the men in another language. Before she knew it the three Dothraki men quickly got off their horses and grabbed her brother.

 

“You bastard!” Viserys screamed as he tried to fight the three strong Dothraki men, How dare you touch the rightful king! I am a dragon!"

 

“Its good to meet you, Uncle!" Jon said as he looked him in the eyes with a smile. This caused Daenerys to smile as well.

 

"Uncle?" Viserys questioned with venom in his voice.

 

“I'm no bastard, Uncle Viserys. I'm Aegon Targaryen, the true born son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I am the rightful heir to the throne. I am the blood of the wolf and dragon!"

 

Daenerys kept on smiling.

 

“You are a liar! I'm the last dragon!" Viserys screamed as he continued to pull against the grips of the men holding him.

 

“No… you are not a dragon! I am!" All of the saddened they all saw a claw appear on Jon’s shoulder, then they saw silvery grey scales and finally a face. Everyone around then, including Viserys became silent. The silence was broken when the creature gave an ear piercingly loud screech.

 

Viserys’ eyes were open wide, shock written on is face as he said, “That… that is a fucking dragon!"

 

Jon smile, ”Aye, it is. This is Saragon,” he replied as he scratched the dragon under his chin. He then said something in Dothraki to the Dothraki men and they took her brother away, to somewhere inside the manse.

 

She noticed Jon smiled at her as her brother was taken away. She returned the smile and he walked over towards her. When he got closer, Daenerys was surprised when she saw the dragon up close, ‘So this is a dragon' she thought. Sarogon screeched at her which made her smile even wider.

 

Then Jon stood directly in front of her. She wanted to reach up and pull his face to her’s and kiss this man… to kiss her husband and then for him to scoop her up in his arms, carry her to her chambers and make love to her… but, to her surprise, he didn't kiss her or even embrace her.

 

“Sorry about all of that, Daenerys," he said as he bowed his head to her and then placed a gentle kiss on her hand. “I am so sorry for how Viserys treated you, and I vow to you, before the old gods and the new, that I will never allow him to touch you or hurt you again.” 

 

She smiled and stated, “It’s fine ..." Before she could say 'Jon' he cut her off.

 

“Daenerys, you can call me Jon. I know since you heard that I'm your nephew that must be a lot to take in.”

 

She wanted to ask why he introduced himself but before she could speak, Illyrio cut her off.

 

“Sorry, your Grace, but may I ask some questions?" asked Illyrio.

 

“Aye, you may but first," he looked at Doreah and Jorah. “Doreah, please take Daenerys to her chambers and make sure she is wearing proper clothes.”
Daenerys looked at her sheer gown and she felt the embarrassing flush that spread across her neck and cheeks. She was pulled from her thoughts when Jon called her. "Daenerys this is Ser Jorah Mormont. He will be your personal guard," he said as he smiled at her.  Daenerys loved it when he smiled at her.

 

The old knight, Ser Jorah also smiled at her. He then got down on one knee, bowed, kissed her hand and said, “Your grace.”

 

She returned his smile and he stood before she spoke, “It is nice to meet you, Ser Jorah.”  Doreah then took her hand as they began the walk to her chambers. She suddenly stopped, “Wait just a moment,” she said to Doreah. She quickly turned around and called, “Jon?”

 

He stopped talking to Illyrio walked over to her, “Yes, Daenerys?”

 

“Jon, I need to speak to you… in private"

 

He smiled at her and nodded “Aye, we will have dinner tonight in your chambers,”

 

She smiled at him and nodded. She then returned to Ser Jorah and Doreah, and together they walked to her chambers.....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Please tell us your thought on the chapter. Until next time!!

Chapter 8: The Boy Inside the Darkness

Notes:

Thank you all for the wonderful support. I would just like to say thank you to my co-writer for all her help. She made this chapter in the amazing form it Is now during her hard week of working so I would just like to thank you Cmyatt01 for all your help!! Your thoughts and ideas are always appreciated in the comments below. Like I always say sit back, relax and enjoy the chapter!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Eddard Stark

 

 


The sound of music grew louder and louder as Benjen and Ned, walked side-by-side through the courtyard in order to get back to Winterfell’s Great Hall and rejoin the feast that was being held in honor of King Robert. As they walked, they were still quietly discussing their plans for the future, including possible alliances for Jon. 

"Dorne!?" Benjen softly exclaimed with a look of shock on his face. “I am honestly surprised that you would suggest an alliance with Dorne!”

“Why is that, brother?” Ned stated sharing the same confused look as his younger brother.

“Ned, why would Dorne and the Martell’s ally themselves with the Targaryen’s? I mean, they may feel that Rhaegar was responsible for the deaths of Princess Elia Martell and her young children, Rhaenys and Aegon… Fuck, he was responsible for their deaths… If he had never run off with Lyanna they might still be alive today!” Benjen stated as they continued walk towards the loud music and rich smells of roasted pork.

Suddenly, Ned stopped abruptly. He grabbed his brother’s shoulder and spun him around so that they were facing each other, Stark grey eyes met Stark grey eyes, “Ser Arthur’s death was a tragedy, which I regret. But I did speak with his sister and explained what happened, and she held no ill will when I left Starfall,” he said in a remorseful tone before anger began to run through the wolf’s blood in his veins. “And the Lannister’s were the ones responsible for the deaths of the Princess Elia and her children!” Ned gritted out through his teeth, “The Mountain, Gregor Clegane was the one who raped and murdered Elia Martell and he was the one who crushed Prince Aegon’s skull against the wall… Amory Lorch was the one who stabbed the young Princess Rhaenys over fifty times! And all of this was by the orders of Tywin Lannister!”

Benjen was about to respond when they heard of something falling over and a muffled cry. Their heads instantly whipped around to where they heard sounds and saw the site of fallen wooden wine barrels about ten feet away from where they were standing. They quickly rushed to the scene and were surprised to find a young boy, trapped under several of the barrels. The brothers swiftly helped to free the boy. Once the boy was free, the brothers helped him to stand. Once his was firmly on his feet, Ned placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay, son?”

“Y... Yes... Yes, milord. Thank you for helping me, milords,” The young boy answered nervously.

“What are you doing out here alone in the dark?” Benjen questioned as he directly looked into the boys wide eyes.

“I… I needed to speak with Lord Stark, milord…” the young boy stuttered as he looked at Benjen. He then turned his gaze to Ned and said in an anxious voice, “I need to talk to you, Lord Stark.”

Benjen and Ned both looked at each other with confusion written across their faces.

Ned, who still had his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squat down so he was at the level as the child. He then looked at the boy in the eyes, he smiled and asked, “What is your name, son?”

"It... It’s Willis, Lord Stark."

"Willis, why are you out here all alone?" Ned calmly asked.

The boy took a deep breath; he scanned the area around him before he looked at Ned and said softly, “I came here to warn you, Lord Stark.”

“Warn me? Warm me about what, son?" Ned said with confusion on his face.

“About The queen,” Willis whispered. “Queen Cersei is demanding to know why you didn't except either of King Robert’s offers.” The boy took a deep breath before he continued, “So, this morning, she came to me when I was cleaning up the Great Hall and she told me she would give me gold coins if I could give her information about what is going on around the castle and if I could tell her what you were planning, milord.”

Ned looked from Willis to Benjen with a look of shock on his face. He was speechless.

"So, why do you come to us now? You should have gone to Lord Stark immediately?" Benjen asked the boy in a hushed angered tone.

"I… I needed to make sure the Queen thought I was doing as she asked. When the two of her brothers left the Great Hall, she gave me an evil glare… So… So, I followed you… I… I know it was wrong, but I needed to make it look like I was doing as she asked… and then I figured this would be a good time to tell you what she wanted me to spy for her… I was about to interrupt your conversation, but then I heard you saying that she had the Hound kill a boy who didn’t even touch her bastard son and I… I… I got scared… You know she will kill me if she knows that I betrayed her,” Willis cried softly.

Ned anxiously looked to his brother and then back to the young boy and asked, “Willis, how much of our conversation did you over hear? Do you know who really sired the royal children?" asked Ned. The boy smiled and nodded. 

"I heard enough to know that Robert did not sire the Royal Children… That they were born from affair between Queen Cersei and her brother, Ser Jaime Lannister. However, I could have told you that they were lovers by the way they were looking at each other and talking to each other  when they were breaking their fast because when the dwarf brother entered they started to act different," Willis answered in a voice just above a whisper.

"Willis, I do not like it that you were eavesdropping during a private conversation. I could have you punished for that behavior. However, you did warn me about Queen Cersei. Therefore, you shall not be harmed.” Ned, said as he smiled at the boy.

“You are too kind, Lord Stark, but I... I just wanted to do the right thing... as you always say ‘the North remembers.’” Which caused the Stark brothers to chuckle. “But, milords, maybe next time you had a conversation about overthrowing King Robert and putting your bastard… who isn’t really your bastard, but the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark… You might want to find somewhere safer to have that conversation… liked the crypts."

“Aye, lad, we will have to remember that," said Benjen.

Willis sighed and looked up towards the moon before saying, "Lord Stark… Cersei is expecting me to return to her with some sort of information. What should I tell her?" asked Willis.

Benjen looked at his brother and said, “The boy is right, Ned. Cersei will get even more suspicious if he does not bring her any information.”

"Aye,” Ned agreed. He then looked at Willis in the eyes and said, “Tell the Queen, the reason I have declined both offers is because I cannot abandon my duties to the North. Tell her I have no time to be the King’s Hand because I must stay here to investigate the disturbing reports we are hearing about what is happening beyond the Wall. And I cannot allow Sansa to marry her son because she is far too young to marry and because I promised all my children they would be able to have a choice in who they marry."

“As you say, my lord.” Willis said as he bowed his head, “I will tell that to the Queen when she summons me.”

“Thank you, child.” Ned said with a slight smile.

“Lord Benjen, might I ask you a question?" asked the boy as he looked into the eyes of his liege lord’s little brother.

"Aye, son,” Benjen said with a sigh, “What is it that you would like to know?”

"Do you believe what the King said... you know... about the Night King and White Walkers and the Battle for the Dawn?"

"King?" Benjen asked with a raised eyebrow.

”Aye, your nephew, Jon Snow, milord," said Willis to Benjen.

All three smiled and Ned looked at Benjen waiting for his answer.

“Aye... unfortunately I do believe what Jon has said. I have had several brothers in Black who have told me they have seen unnatural things beyond The Wall," said Benjen.

The boy smiled sadly before saying, "Thank you, milord, for being honest with me.”

Benjen responded with his own sad smile and slight nod. He then quickly scanned their surroundings and when he saw that all was still quiet, he softly spoke in a serious tone, “Willis, I hope you know, this information must never be spoken to anyone, not even to your mother or father or siblings. If the wrong people over hear this information you and your family could be hurt or killed.”

The boy nodded. “Aye, I understand, milord, and I swear to you both that I will not tell a soul.”

Willis then let out a slight chuckle, which confused both Ned and Benjen.

"What is so funny, son?" Ned asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing... Lord Stark... It is just hard to believe that Jon Snow, The Bastard of Winterfell, is not actually your bastard son... That he is in fact not a bastard at all... that he is actually the true born son of the crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen and your sister, Lady Lyanna Stark… He is the true heir to the throne. A boy from the future. No one would ever guess that any of this is true!” Willis’ confession made the two brothers smile. 

Benjen looked towards the entrance of Winterfell’s Great Hall. When he saw all was still quiet, he knelt down, but his hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, "Willis, we all know you can't stay here at Winterfell. It is no longer safe for you here. We all know what Queen Cersei will do to you and your family once she knows you betrayed her.”

Willis nodded sadly in response. He then whispered, “Aye, I understand, milord... But, where will I go? Winterfell is my home... I have nowhere else to go...”

Benjen looked to his brother who nodded slightly, before he looked back at Willis with sad eyes and said, “I think it would be best for you that you will have to join me at Castle Black for the time being. It is the only place we can guarantee your safety.”

"B... but, milord, I don't to join the Nights Watch! I... I haven’t even reached my tenth name day... I... I have never even learned to swing a sword!" Willis exclaimed.

"You will not join the Nights Watch, my boy. You can help out around the castle yards and in the kitchen, just as you do here, at Winterfell. It is the only place safe for you to stay until the war starts for the throne," Benjen stated, trying to calm the young boy’s fear.

"Benjen, it could be years!” Ned cried out in a rough, hushed tone.

"Aye, it could be but be years before the war breaks out. However, he was eavesdropping on a private conversation, which contained information that could lead to all of our heads on spikes!” Benjen sighed. “Ned, I do not think we have any other options. If he accidentally slips and this information gets into the wrong hands... your whole plan will be for nothing... Yet, if he goes with me to Castle Black, no one can do anything with the information because the Night’s Watch does not partake in the affairs of the seven kingdoms... Everyone already believes the brothers of the Night's Watch have gone mad because we have told them about the perils beyond the Wall.”

However, before Ned could respond he heard a voice calling to him from behind. He turned his head whipped towards the voice. Only to see that Tyrion Lannister calling to him from the entrance of the Great Hall, about 30 feet away. He turned his gaze back towards Willis and whispered, "Go quickly to my study chambers. I do not want Tyrion to see you. We will discuss this later."

“Aye, Lord Stark.” Willis answered with a slight nod of the head, before he quickly and quietly disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding courtyard.

"Lord Stark! There you are!" Tyrion called from across the courtyard. 

The brothers turned around and walked over to greet the short man, "You must be Lord Tyrion Lannister,” Ned stated.

The dwarf smiled and nodded, "Yes, I am the infamous Dwarf of Casterly Rock. It is good to finally meet the great and honorable Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,” Tyrion said and he shook Ned’s hand. Tyrion then look towards Benjen “Are you not going to introduce me to your companion?”

"My, apologies, Lord Tyrion. This is my brother, Benjen Stark, a man of the Nights Watch."

The dwarf smiled, “I know precisely who you are,” the dwarf said as he shook Benjen’s hand, “I came out here looking for you actually."

"You did, my lord?" Benjen questioned

"Yes, I wanted to know when you will be traveling back to the wall?"

"I will have to return to the Wall just after the King and Queen leave Winterfell in order to travel back to King’s Landing.” Benjen answered, before adding, “Why do you ask, my lord?" 

"I would very much like to travel with you, to the Wall," said Tyrion with a smirk.


The brothers shared their looks of confusion, so Ned asked, "I am sorry, my lord, but might I ask why you wish to travel to the Wall? Do you wish to take the Black?" asked Ned. 

Tyrion laughed and looked up towards the moon lite sky as he answered. "Gods no, I do not wish to take the Black. I simply would like to see this great wall of ice that protects us all against the monsters in the night. It is also a dream of mine to piss off the edge of the wall… Oh, and I heard from the Greyjoy ward that your heir and your bastard have traveled to the Wall… I have heard about your bastard’s skills with not just one, but two swords and I would very much like to see it for myself if the rumors about him being the best swordsman since Arthur Dayne are true.”

"To be honest, my lord, you are not the only one who decided joining me on my travel back to the Wall," said Benjen.

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Who else has decided to make the trek to the Wall?"

"My dear brother who is standing right next to me," Benjen answered as  Ned rolled his eyes. 

Tyrion was surprised. “Why are you going to the Wall? Your warden of the North. What business could you possibly have with the Wall?" asked Tyrion.

Ned took a deep breath before he answered, “We have heard disturbing news beyond the Wall. We recently had to execute a deserter who was saying unbelievable things, so I sent my two eldest sons to investigate. I have yet to hear a report from them so I must go beyond the Wall myself and investigate these reports and to find my eldest sons.” As he answered he could see Benjen was trying to hide his smirk, knowing how much Ned hated it to lie.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Lord Stark. I hope that you are successful in your investigation.” Tyrion answered sympathetically.

"Thank you, my lord. I wish you a good night.” Ned replied as he and Benjen turned to walk away.

"Oh, Lord Stark,” Tyrion called, causing the brothers to stop and again face the dwarf. When he had their attention he continued, “I almost forgot to tell you, the strange man who told me I could find you out here wanted me to send you to him... he is a lord named Howland Reed. He told me you could find him in the Great Hall... Well Lord Stark, Benjen Stark, I am off to Winter Town and Shall see you on the morrow.”


As the little lord walked away, Ned and Benjen looked at one another with wide eyes.

"Howland Reed, is here?" Ned called to the Dwarf, just to make sure his ears did not deceive him


Which made Tyrion smiled and nodded. “Yes, that is what he told me,” he called back as he continued to walk towards to gate leading to Winter Town.


Once Tyrion was gone, Ned turned to Benjen and said, “Head to my study and stay with Willis. I will be there shortly. I must go speak with Lord Reed.”


“Aye, brother. Go.”

 As soon as Benjen spoke those works he began to walk in the direction of the Great Hall. When he entered, he saw the Hall was nearly empty except for a few Servants clearing dishes from the long wooden tables and Howland Reed. The Crannogman was sitting at a secluded table in the back corner in the Great Hall, sipping on a tankard of ale, with two younger children seated beside him.

“Lord Stark it's good to see you again," Howland stated as he stood up from his chair and made his way over to where his liege lord stood.

“The feeling is the same Howland,” Ned replied as he shook the Crannogman’s weathered hand. 

After they had returned to the table and sat down next to the two children, a boy and a girl, Ned turned to his friend and said in a hushed tone, “As happy as I am to see you, my old friend, I cannot help but wonder, what you are doing here?" 

As he said this, he saw the girl, who appeared to be about the same age as Robb and Jon, look at him and smile. She then answered his question as if it were a fact, “We came here for Bran.”

Ned could feel the look of confusion on his face. Who was this girl? It was as if the Crannogman could read his mind, because his friend place a hand on his shoulder and said, “Forgive me for my manners, Lord Stark. These are my children Meera and Jojen.” 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Stark.” Jojen stated in a flat tone.

Ned sighed and then hesitantly smiled at the two children. The two children smiled back in return. He turned his gaze back at Howland and whispered, “You need Bran… in order for him to learn how to become the Three-Eyed Raven?"  

Howland smiled. “Aye, I see Jon has told you everything that happened in his past life.”

Ned was surprised. “How did you know?” He breathed out, in a barely audible tone.

“The three-eyed raven was the one who send him back to the past," Howland stated.

Ned sighed. Jon had told him Bran had become a powerful Greenseer, called the Three-Eyed Raven… That his second son was able to see all events of the past and many of the things that were occurring during the present time. Ned also remembered Jon saying they would need him in order to fight against the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead.

“When are you planning to take him with you,” Ned asked reluctantly.

Howland smiled and looked at Jojen who nodded. "In a few days I reckon."

Ned slightly nodded in agreement, but he could tell his friend had other matters that he wished to discuss. “What is on your mind, Howland?"

"The boy... Willis… The one who overheard your conversation with Benjen... Do not send him to the Wall, Ned. The Wall is no place for such a young boy. Bring him to me… I will keep him safe at Greywater Watch. He will be my steward,” said Howland. 

Ned was surprised. “How? How did you know?”

His friend just shook his head in response to the question, but said, “Please, Ned. Let me keep the boy safe.”

"Are you sure Howland?" asked Ned.

"Aye I am sure.”

“Then I will allow for the boy to go with you… But, I need to know… Can one of your children see what is happening to my sons in Pentos? Like Bran will learn to do?"

Howland looked towards his son and gave him a nod, silently telling him it was okay to speak.

"I can assure you, Lord Stark, that Jon and Robb are both safe. Jon successfully killed Khal Drogo in a duel and have become the new Khal to the Khalasar. He has already hatched the Dragon egg you gave him and he named his dragon Sarogon, after house Stark and Aegon the Conqueror. He has also met Daenerys... He will send you a raven soon,” Jojen stated.

Ned was happy to hear that his eldest sons were unharmed but he was also confused. Therefore, he looked at the children and asked, "How do you know all this?"

Meera smiled at him and replied, "The three-eyed raven told us."

Ned was still confused but did not question them. He looked towards Howland and said, “I will go get Willis and bring him to you. He will show you to clean chambers."

His old friend smiled and nodded.

Ned stood up from the table and began to walk to his study to get Willis and inform the boy that he would not be forced to go to the Wall.....


 

 

Jon Snow

 

 

 

Illyrio silently lead Jon and Robb, with Ghost and Greywind following closely behind, through the winding hall of his manse until they reached a room that must have been his private study. There was a large dark wooden desk near to the back of the room, tapestries and bookshelves lined the walls and colorful Myrish rugs covered the floor. In the center of the room, there was a long polished wooden table with a glass pitcher full of red wine and several golden goblets sitting in at the middle of it. Around the table there were two dark leather couches, each big enough to seat at least three men the size of Illyrio.

 

Illyrio closed the door quietly behind them. Once the door was firmly secured, the fat Magister looked at Jon, and started to speak, "Your Grace, can I...." However, before he could finish his sentence Jon cut him off.

 

"Sit down!" Jon commanded as he glared at the man and gestured at one of the leather couches. Illyrio moved over to the specified couch and slowly sat down, while Jon and Robb took a seat on the other couch. 

 

Robb’s eyes stared daggers into the fat man soul as he demanded with an anger laced tone, "How could you sell a girl to a rapist!?”

 

"My lord, if I may explain," Illyrio started nervously.

 

Jon laughed; he was livid, he stood from the couch and began pacing around the table. “What is there to explain, Illyrio?” Jon questioned, spitting the words through his teeth. However, Jon did not give him the opportunity to answer before he continued, “Are you going to explain your plan with Varys to obtain an army for Viserys? Are you going to explain how you wanted to help him cross the Narrow Sea to retake a throne which is not rightfully his, but mine. In order to achieve these plans you thought it would be best to sell Daenerys to a savage man… To a man, who known to be a rapist? To sell her like a broodmare to a man who would have raped her repeatedly?”

 

Illyrio raised his eyebrows in shock before he stuttered out, “Your Grace… if I… if I may ask… how is it that you know I have been working with Lord Varys?"

 

Robb smiled at the fat merchant man and answered before Jon, “Our new companion Ser Jorah Mormont told us about your plans.”

 

The Magister paled at Robb’s response, which caused Jon’s anger to surge. "You cannot even begin to comprehend how much pain you would have caused Daenerys if you would have sold her to that rapist!" Jon nearly screamed as he ran his fingers through his loose, unruly raven curls and sat back down on the couch next to his brother.

 

Illyrio knew there was no way of explaining his actions in a desirable light, so he took a deep breath and asked, “Your Grace, is there anything at all I can do in order to show you that I am loyal to House Targaryen?”

 

"As far as I am considered you are only loyal to yourself… You have shown no loyalty towards Westeros or House Targaryen. If you were loyal to my family you would have prevented the wedding between Daenerys and Khal Drogo from ever even being a possibility!” Jon exclaimed.

 

Illyrio took slow deep breaths and looked at the two furious brothers sitting on the couch across from him. He then saw the two direwolves, who were as big as large dogs, silently creeping towards where he was sitting. When they saw the fear in his eyes as the beasts began to growl. “Your Grace… are you going to kill me?"  

 

“That can easily be arranged!” Robb gritted out as he stood. 

 

He was about to pull his sword from it scabbard but Jon stooped him by placing his hand over his brother’s chest, “Now is not the time, brother,” he said softly. He then turned his attention back to Illyrio and stated, “For now, I will allow you to live… The only reason why is because you gave Daenerys hospitality and a safe haven when she had nowhere else to go… However, if try to do anything against her wishes in the future, the whole Seven Kingdoms will not stop me from hunting you down and killing you!” 

 

“Thank you, your Grace,” Illyrio whispered with a sigh of relief.

 

“Now, Illyrio, if you do want to show your loyalty to me, to my family, to House Targaryen, and to Westeros, there is something that you could do prove yourself.” 

 

Illyrio hesitantly smiled at the brothers and declared, “I will do anything to prove myself to you, your Grace. Tell me, what it is that I need to do and it will be done.”

 

Jon took a deep breath, as a small smirk spread across his face as he spoke, “Illyrio, I would like you to go on a quest for me.”

 

Illyrio raised an eyebrow and asked, "A quest, your Grace?" 

 

Robb had a look of confusion on his face but remained silent.

 

"Aye, I would like you to sail to King’s Landing... and arrange for Lord Varys to come here, to Pentos, and meet with me… Let him know that his true King seeks an audience.” 

 

Both Robb and Illyrio appeared to be surprised by what Jon had said. Robb took a deep breath and asked, "Jon, why would you seek an audience with Lord Varys?"

 

Jon smiled and turned his attention towards Robb; he placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and quietly explained, “Lord Varys was one of Daenerys’ most trusted advisors. If he is willing to join our side at this time… Robb, he could supply us with valuable information… information about what the king is planning in the capital.” 

 

Robb was silent for a moment before he said, “Aye, brother that is an excellent idea.” 

 

They both turned their focus back to Illyrio, who still appeared to be confused. "Your Grace, how I will convince Lord Varys to meet you?” asked Illyrio. 

 

The question made Jon smile. “Illyrio, we both know Lord Varys only wants what is best for Westeros… He always said that he did not serve the King, but the realm. Do you think he would rather let the usurper, Robert remain king… A king that spends all of the realms gold on wine and whores… A king who does not give a fuck about what is happening to his kingdoms? Or do you feel he would rather see the Usurper’s supposed son, Joffrey, who is really nothing but a bastard born between the Queen and her brother, sit on the Iron Throne? On the other hand, don’t you think he would rather see the True King? A king who actually cares about the people of the seven kingdoms and wants us to live through the next winter?" asked Jon.

 

Illyrio raised an eyebrow at Jon’s response and asked, “Winter, your Grace?" 

 

The thought of what winter will bring gave Jon visible shivers… The piercing, unnatural blue eyes of the Night King still haunted him every night in his dreams. He exhaled before speaking, "Aye, winter is coming, Illyrio, and I do not mean it in the sense of the words of House Stark. The winter that is coming bring nothing but death and destruction that is so horrific it gives me sleepiness nights. If we do not unite the seven kingdoms then we all die," Jon said passionately.

 

Illyrio sat there speechless, he appeared to be even more confused than he had been just moments before. That is when Robb filled the missing piece. "The White Walkers are real. They are on their way to the wall with an army of more than five-hundred thousand undead foot soldiers and giants with mammoths. If we do not have a king who will unite the Seven Kingdoms and lead us through the long night we all die. There will be not be a third chance if we fail.” 

 

Illyrio sat there silently for a few moments, confusion still etched on his face before he looked at Jon and asked, “Your Grace, are you sure it is not something else?"

 

Jon was getting frustrated. He stood and exclaimed, “Illyrio, I am getting tired of you… being so oblivious of the true threat. I promise you, the threat of the Night King is real… You have seen my dragon and my direwolf… Why is it so hard to believe that there is an army beyond the wall that wants to slaughter us all just to have us join the ranks of his mindless, undead slaves… The wall was built for a reason, Magister, and that reason was not to keep the Wildlings out… It was built to protect us from the dead and make no mistake, if they breach the Wall while we are all fighting over a throne, we are finished… Everything living will just be added to the Night King’s army… That is why it is so important that I retake my throne before that time comes… I will break the wheel, unite the seven kingdoms and ensure there will be no rebellions or wars after my reign!” 

 

The fat Magister smiled and stated, “Alright, your Grace. I’ll leave for the capital as soon as I can.” 

 

"That’s good. Tell me when you set sail. I will remain in your home until your return with Lord Varys," said Jon

 

“My home is yours as long as you need it, your Grace.” Illyrio replied, “However, do you have any suggestions should I say to Lord Varys to convince him to travel from the Red Keep all the way to Pentos to meet you?” 

 

“When you meet Lord Varys, I wish that di not tell him of my true parentage because I would like to tell him that myself."

 

Illyrio nodded and replied, “As you wish, your Grace.” The Magister then took a deep breath and continued, “Your Grace, may I ask some questions?” 

 

“Of course,” Jon said with a smile as the Magister poured them each a goblet of wine from the pitcher of wine that was located in the center of the table.

 

“How… How did you hatch your dragon?” 

 

Jon took a sip from his wine before he answered. "My friend, Samwell Tarly, told me how to hatch my dragon egg… The blood of old Valyria must run through your veins and have a human sacrifice in order to hatch a dragon.” Jon took another long sip of wine before he continued, “My human sacrifice was Drogo. After I killed him, I burned down his hut with his body, my dragon egg, and myself inside… After Sarogon hatched, I stepped out of the fire, unburnt and all of the Khalasar bowed down to me when they saw my dragon on my shoulder… That is when they named me their new Khal.”

 

Illyrio was silent for a few moments, an expression of shock and awe on his face. He took a long sip from his goblet of wine and when found his voice he asked, “And you are the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell?”

 

"Aye, that is what I was told my entire life. It was not the truth, but it was a necessary lie that was told in order to keep me safe from the wrath of Robert Baratheon,” Jon answered honestly and then finished the remaining wine in his goblet before asking, "Any other questions Illyrio?" 

 

Illyrio took a sip of wine from his goblet before speaking, “Yes, your Grace. I would like to know what you will have done with Viserys and Daenerys?"

 

The question made Jon smile, “Viserys’ fate will be decided by Daenerys. If it were up to me, he would die a slow painful death for how he treated his sister... Daenerys will be my Khaleesi, if she allows it... but if that is not her wish I will go where she goes… I will follow her and I'll keep her save with my life.”

 

"Marriage your grace?" asked Illyrio raising an eyebrow.

 

"Aye, political or love marriage, she will choose. I will not force her to do something that she does not wish or something that she is not comfortable with.”

 

“Thank you, your Grace for taking the time to answer my questions and telling me the truth. I am looking forward to supporting you in the wars to come.”

 

“Thank you, Magister,” Jon replied with a smile. “If you could, please have your servants prepare dinner. Daenerys and I have much to discuss and will dine together in private evening, so please have our meals brought to her chambers.”

 

"Of course, your Grace.”

 

Jon stood up from the couch, "If you would excuse me Magister, I need to go have a little chat with my dear uncle.”

 

“Of course, your Grace. If you have need of anything please ask myself or one of my servants.”

 

“Thank you.” Jon responded. He then looked to his brother and asked, “Robb care to join me?"

 

Robb smiled and said, “Of course brother,” as he got up from the couch and joined his brother. They both left Illyrio’s study with Ghost and Greywind following closely behind.

 

When they arrived at Viserys’ chambers, they found Bako standing guard in front of the door. The Dothraki man acknowledged the men with a nodded his head and proceeded to open the heavy wooden door for his Khal. When the brothers entered the room with their direwolves in tow, the sight before them made them smile; they were greeted by the site of two Blood Rider and his dragon guarding a disheveled Viserys, whose head was held down in shame. The silver-haired, pathetic excuse of a man was tied to a solid wood chair with rope around his chest and shins, and his feet and wrists were secured with heavy iron chains.

 

"Leave us! Wait outside the door with Bako,"Jon stated to two Dothraki men, who silently turned and walked out of the room pulling the door closed firmly behind them.

 

At the sound of the door closing, Viserys looked up from the sot he had been staring the ground and glared daggers at the two brothers. “Well, if it isn’t the idiotic bastard, who claims to be my hidden away nephew and traitor son of the Usurper’s dog.”

 

"Uncle Viserys, how does it feel to be bound in those ropes and chains?" Jon asked with a smirk as Sarogon flew onto his shoulder and screeched in anger at the chained man. The two direwolves also slowly walked in front of the prisoner and began to growl.

 

Viserys’ eyes widened in fear. "Get your filthy mutts away from me!"

 

“These are no mutts, Viserys. These are direwolves!” Robb responded as he put a calming hand on Greywind’s back to prevent him from attacking. Once the wolves had calmed, the Stark heir stated, “You truly are a sick fucker! You were going to sell your own sister to a man that was going to rape her repeatedly!” Viserys did not say anything; he only glared at the man.

 

"How does it feel, uncle, knowing that your attempt to sell your sister to a rapist, to receive an army failed?” Jon spat out as he felt his blood beginning to boil in anger. “You will never be king! You are not even the rightful heir to the Iron Throne! If it were up to me, you would never see the Targaryen’s retake their throne... You would never see my dragon fully grown… and if it were up to me you would die and only know what it feels like to fail! If it were my choice, you will know what it feels to be burned to ashes. A dragon cannot be burned… But you are no dragon - you will burn!"

 

"If you are going to kill me, just kill me now bastard!" Viserys screeched

 

"If I was making the decision you would have been dead the second I rode through Illyrio’s gates,” Jon yelled, “But this decision is not mine. Your fate will be determined by your sister." Viserys remained silent, a look of confusion and bewilderment on his face, so Jon clarified, “Daenerys will decide if you are to live or die.”

 

"Where is my sister!' asked Viserys in an angry tone.

 

Jon squat down as he icily stared into his uncles wild violet eyes, and stated,  "She is safe in her chambers. I presume taking a bath... I promised her I would never let you touch her or hurt her ever again!”

 

Jon stood up with his dragon still perched on his shoulder, he walked towards the door with Robb and the direwolves by his side. He left the room as his uncle pulled at his bindings and demanded to be taken to his sister at once. 

 

After he had sent two of his blood riders back inside the chambers, he and Robb continued to walk through the halls. While they walked, Robb turned to his brother, smirked knowingly and said, “So, you are having dinner with Daenerys tonight?"

 

Jon rolled his eyes and sighed, “She doesn't remember me, Robb.”

 

"That wasn't what I saw when she looked at you in the courtyard."

 

Jon raised an eyebrow and look at his brother and asked, "What do you mean?"

 

“You will find out tonight, brother.”

 

Jon was confused but nodded and looked at Sarogon. The grey Dragon looked at him and screeched. "Do you mind taking care of my child while I dine with Daenerys?" 

 

Sarogon then looked at Robb and screeched. This caused Robb to smile as he responded, "It will be my honor.” The dragon then flew onto Robb's shoulder. “Good luck tonight, brother. We will see you later.” He stated as he embraced Jon. 

 

After the embrace, Robb walked to his chambers with Sarogon on his shoulder, while Jon walked towards Daenerys chambers. 

 

He waited outside of her door for a few seconds, he took a few calming breaths and knocked three times. His heart beating hard in his chest as he waited. It did not take more than a few moments before she opened the door. Her eyes staring directly into his. His eyes where open wide at the sight of her beauty... She wore a red dress with grey lines on her hips. She blushed when she saw the way he looked at her. She then opened the door widely, silently granting him permission to enter her chambers. He stepped through the threshold and close the door firmly behind them.....

 


 

Catelyn Tully

 

Catelyn was in the chambers what she shared with her Lord husband, preparing for bed. The servants had lit a fire in the hearth and despite the chill in the outside air; the room was warm and comfortable. She had already removed her dark grey woolen Northern gown and put on her white cotton-sleeping shift as she waited for Ned to return. She sat down in a chair by the fire and watched the flames dance in the hearth to pass the time. After several minutes, she caught herself nodding off. She sighed. She got up from the chair, made her way to the bed, pulled back the thick furs and laid down. She had just pulled the furs up and had just closed her eyes when she heard the chamber’s door open. Her eyes sprang open and she quickly sat up in the bed and saw that Ned entered their chambers.

 

She looked at him, smiled and asked, “Ned, where have you been all evening? I haven't seen you for hours... since the King was making a drunken fool of himself in the Great Hall.”

 

He smiled, “I am sorry, Cat,” he said softly, as he removed his leather jerkin. “I was pulled away from the feast by my brother who had many questions.” He stated as he removed his day clothes and pulled on a think cotton-sleeping shirt. 

 

“Benjen he's here?" asked Catelyn with a smile.

 

“Aye, he is," Ned replied as he sat on the bed next to her and slid his legs under the thick furs.

 

"What did the two of you discuss?" Catelyn questioned with a raised eyebrow.

 

"We discussed many of things. For starters… He wanted to know where his two eldest nephews, Robb and Jon had run off to."

 

"Did you tell him they went to Pentos and why they went there?"

 

"Aye I did," Ned, answered with a sigh.

 

"And how did he take it?" Catelyn asked calmly as she put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

"Take what?" asked Ned.

 

"That Jon is different… That he has lived this life before… That he knows what the future holds… And that he felt it was his duty to travel across the Narrow Sea in order to save the woman who was his wife and mother of his child in his past life?" asked Catelyn.

 

Ned smiled as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, "He was first surprised but then accepted it. He then asked me what the future plans were.”

 

She smiled, looked him in the eyes and asked, "And what did you say?"

 

"I told him that Jon wished to claim his birthright. That he wants to unite the Seven Kingdoms so that we will all stand together when the time comes to against the threat beyond the wall," Ned answered.

 

"Ned, you were gone for hours, there must be more that the two you discussed?" When she asked him this she saw the smile fade from his face as he moved to sit with his back against the headboard of the bed. 

 

Ned exhaled, “Aye, it wasn't.”

 

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion, "What else did you two discuss?"

 

"We discussed how we will make alliances for Jon… So that when he returns to claim his throne, he will have support waiting for him... I told Benjen that Jon would have the full support of the North… Then we started to discuss the possibility of Dorne.”

 

"And what does he think about Dorne?" Catelyn asked as she looked into her husband’s worried eyes.

 

“He thought that Dorne would see the Targaryen’s as the real reason why Elia Martell and her children were murdered.”

 

Catelyn nodded, and then said, "Dorne might stay out of the war for the throne."

 

"Aye, they might," Ned agreed.

 

Catelyn sighed, placed her to his chest and asked, "Did you warn him about the upcoming ranging mission?" She could hear his heartbeat rise, so she looked up at him. She could tell he wanted to say something but was having trouble trying to find the right words. "Ned, what is it? Please, tell me."

 

He exhaled and then declared, "Cat, I'm going with Benjen on the ranging mission.”

 

"Ned, you cannot go beyond the Wall! You heard everything your Nephew has said about the threat... That those things killed Arya and Sansa… They killed his wife… They stabbed his child, Rhaegar, more than a thousand times… Ned, they can even kill large dragon!"

 

"Aye, Cat, I know what they are capable of,” he let out a sigh before he continued, “and that's why I need to go… I need to see what killed our daughters and my grandchild."

 

"Grandchild?" Catelyn asked with knitted eyebrows.

 

"Aye… I did not sire Jon, but he has been mine since the moment my sister placed him in my arms and made me promise to protect him… I have raised him and he is and always will be my son… Therefore, his children will be my grandchildren," said Ned which made Catelyn smile.

 

"I see… I am glad for you Ned... From what you said about his in his past life, even after he learned about his true parentage, he was still honored to have you as his father.”

 

"Aye, that's true.” Ned sighed, “Cat, I need to go with Benjen… I must know what we up against."

 

"You said, your son, Jon, told you that only Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass can kill these White Walkers... We don't have Dragonglass but you do have a Valyrian Steel sword, Ice.”

 

"Aye, I do... But Ice is a greatsword; it is much too large and heavy to take into battle." Ned said with a sigh.

 

"You do not need to take Ice,” she replied with a slight smile.

 

"What do you mean Cat?" Ned asked with a perplexed look on his face.

 

"You said, in Jon’s past life, Tywin Lannister had Ice re-forged into two Valyrian Steel swords, one for his son, Jaime and the other for his grandson, Joffrey Baratheon…”

 

Ned nodded, "Aye that is true… What are you suggesting, Cat?"

 

"Ned, you must do the same with Ice... You must have it melted and re-forged into two new Valyrian Steel swords! However, this time the hands of the two Stark Brothers will wield the two halves of the greatsword... You and your brother Benjen.”

 

“Cat, Ice is the ancestral sword of House Stark. It has been pasted down for generations from father to son!”

 

“I know this, but what good is a Valyrian steel sword if you cannot take it into battle? Ned, we need as many weapons as possible when it comes time to fight the others!"

 

Ned was silent for a few minutes as he rubbed his brow. Finally, he sighed and stated, “Aye, you are right. It would be better to have two Valyrian steel swords. I will check with the blacksmith, Mikken, on the morrow and see if he is able to rework Valyrian steel" which made Catelyn smile. He held her head against his chest and softly asked, “So you are okay that I will be traveling with Benjen?"

 

Catelyn took a deep breath and answered, "I am, if you promise you will have Ice forged into two new swords… That way I know you and your brother will be protected against the White Walkers and their foot soldiers." 

 

"Aye, I promise. I'll see Mikken in the morning, after I break my fast,” he stated as he placed a kiss to her brow.

 

She smiled and looked at her husband and noticed he was still brooding, "What is it Ned?" asked Cat.

 

He took another deep breath. "The Queen knows we're hiding something," he muttered quietly.

 

She pushed herself off his chest, turn to face him, looked him in the eyes and asked in a shaky voice, “How… How do you know this, Ned?"

 

He exhaled as he rubbed his bearded chin and told her, “We found a boy, named Willis, who overheard my entire conversation with Benjen… He knows everything about Jon, the White Walkers… Everything, Cat.” His wife gasped, he grabbed her hand and continued, “It turns out that he was sent by Cersei to spy on us... Cersei wants to know why I did not accept the King’s offers. Luckily, the boy had only came to warn us about Cersei."

 

"Where is this boy now, Ned? If he tells the Lannister’s anything at all about our plans our heads would end up on spikes".

 

He husband exhaled, "He will not betray us, Cat. The boy is loyal to House Stark.”

 

"But Ned, if Cersei finds out he betrayed her, she will have him slaughtered! How can you forget the story told, about how in Jon’s first life, Cersei had Arya’s friend, the butcher’s boy killed, because Arya did not get the punishment she desired!” 

 

"Aye, he is in danger that's why he will leave for Greywater Watch with Howland Reed, his children and Bran."

 

Catelyn was surprised, "Why are you sending Bran to Greywater Watch, Ned?"

 

"Cat, he must learn to become The Three-Eyed Raven and I will not allow him to fall from that tower in this life to make that happen. Howland Reed and his son Jojen have greensight, and they will be able to help teach him how to learn his abilities and eventually he will become the Three-Eyed Raven." Catelyn was confused she could see her husband sigh deeply and he continued, "I do not really understand it either… but, I know that he must go and learn. We need him to be able to use his abilities during the Great War."

 

Catelyn nodded, "You are right Ned this is necessary. However, who will be acting Lord of Winterfell in your absence… Robb is at Pentos with Jon, Bran will be at Greywater Watch with the Reeds, Rickon is far too young…” 

 

Ned smiled, "Aye, that's true which is why I will be leaving you and Sansa in charge of running Winterfell while I am gone with Benjen" which is when Catelyn looked at Ned.

 

"Sansa?"

 

"Aye, Jon told me when he went to meet Daenerys at Dragonstone, Sansa was Lady of Winterfell and that he left the North on her hand while he was absent. Jon said that she was good at it. Plus you will have Maester Lewin here for counsel and Ser Rodrick for protection.”

 

She nodded, but before she could reply there was a soft knock on their chamber’s door, and the soft voice of the Maester requesting entrance.

 

They quickly got out of bed, but on their robes and Ned called for the visitor to enter.

 

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark.”  Maester Lewin stated in greeting after he had secured the door behind him, “I sorry to bother you at this late hour, but a rider just arrived from the Eyrie… He brought a sealed letter and stated that the words in this letter were to only reach the eyes of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell,” the Maester explained as he handed the letter to Lord Stark.

 

He quickly read the letter. Once he finished the letter, sighed, handed his wife the letter and stated, "This is exactly as Jon said it would be… Cat, this is the letter from your sister.” 

 

"Petyr Baelish, you mean..." she spat, to which Ned responded with a sad nod.

 

After she finished the letter, she returned it to the Maester, "Thank you, Maester Luwin. Please, burn the letter we do not want any part of the scheming between my sister and Lord Baelish. We will not be pawns in their plans to start a war between House Stark and House Lannister."

 

“As you wish, Lady Stark.” Maester Luwin replied with a knowing smile as he placed the letter in the hearth. After the letter was nothing but ash, he bid them a good night and left the room, closing the chamber’s door securely behind him. 

 

Catelyn continued to stare into the flames and said, "I still cannot believe that my sister poisoned her own Lord husband… the man who was like a second father to you.”

 

"Aye… They knew that with Jon Arryn dead, Robert would want to become Hand of the King… Then he went to Cersei and told her I wanted the push her family from power… which lead to my death, which in turn, lead to the war of the five kings," Ned responded and Catelyn nodded. "Luckily, Jon was able warn me about Lord Baelish," said Ned with a smirk as he pulled his wife lovingly into his arms.

 

“Speaking of Jon... Have you received any news from the boys? Do you know if they have had any success in their quest?"

 

"Aye, Jojen Reed... Howland Reed’s son is a greenseer. Told me, Jon, successfully killed Khal Drogo and was awarded the Khalasar… He also said that Jon has met Daenerys.” Ned stated with a smile.

 

"So Robb and Jon are both safe?"

 

"Aye, they are," said Ned.

 

She could tell by the look on his face that there was more to say, "Ned, tell me. What else has happened?"

 

"Jon has hatched his Dragon egg.”

 

"A real Dragon?"

 

“Aye. He named his Dragon Sarogon after House Stark and Aegon the Conqueror,” Ned answered with a smile.

 

Catelyn exhaled before she looked at her husband with worried eyes and said, “Ned, I wish you would have told me the truth about Jon sooner… I have always treated Jon so horribly…Do you think he will ever forgive me for the way I treated him… I mean, what kind of person am I would could not love a motherless child?”

 

“Cat, you have a big heart. If I had told you sooner… You would have been a true mother to Jon, and that would have drawn attention from the Lords… The way you treated him helped to keep him safe. And I am sure that Jon understands why I did this, and I think that if you are honest with him, he will forgive you…”

 

“I hope you are right.”

 

They both smiled at each other, removed their robes, climbed back in to the bed and fell quickly asleep...


 

  Daenerys Targaryen

 

Daenerys close the door behind Jon. He looked at her and she felt her heartbeat rising. He nervously smiled at her. Gods she loved that smile. 

 

"I asked Illyrio prepared for our dinner prepared and brought here, to your chambers,” Jon said nervously, which made her smile. 

 

She turned her head and gestured towards a table that was already filled with platers of fresh meat, vegetables and fruits as well as two crystal goblets, a pitcher of red wine, and two cream colored were candles in crystal candle holders. "The servants have already placed our dinner on the table," Daenerys said with a smile as she turned her gaze back to him. 

"Let's eat... There's a lot what we need to discuss," he said with a shy smile as he took her arm in his and lead her towards the table. 

When they reached the table, he pulled out her chair. She smiled brightly at this simple gesture as sat down. After she was seated, he placed the white linen napkin in her lap; he walked around the table and sat down on the chair across from her. Their wine glasses had already been filled, and she hid a smirk at as he grabbed his goblet and took a small sip. ‘He is nervous’ she thought to herself. However, she was broken from her thoughts when he began to speak.

 

"Daenerys, I came here, to Pentos, in order to save you from the fate of having to marry that rapist, Drogo. I defeated him in a dual, therefore I have been granted with their Khalasar and named their new Khal.” He took another sip of his wine before he continued, “I plan on retaking my throne as the rightful king to the seven kingdoms."

 

She listened as he spoke and started cutting her the roasted pork on her plate. When he finished talking, she looked at him in the eyes and nonchalantly said, "I thought you never wanted to be king? With all of the politics and responsibility.... You hated it when you were the king in the North."

 

He knitted his eyebrows at her response. "How… How did you know that?" He gasped and took another long sip of his wine.

She was confused... then she thought to herself, 'He does not realize that I remember him?' She smiled at him and looked into his grey eyes. She wanted to have some fun with him. Therefore, she avoided his question and asked, “When we were outside in the courtyard, Illyrio told my brother, Viserys, that you fought Drogo for my hand? Is that true?" He gulped and almost spit out his wine. She was barely able to prevent herself from bursting out in laughter.

 

A few seconds later, after he had composed himself he answered, “Aye, that's true... You are the rightful Queen and I am the rightful King… I wanted to ask you… Daenerys… Will you be my Khaleesi? Will you rule with me, together?"

 

She was surprised by his question… She thought they were already married. She looked at him in the eyes and could tell that he wanted to say more so she asked, "But?"

 

He smiled and took another sip of his wine. "But I will not force you into a marriage that you do not desire. Unlike your horrible brother… I care about your feelings and what you want." 

 

She smiled, ‘Gods I love this man’ she thought to herself as she now took a sip of wine. She then asked in an innocent voice, "If I chose to be your Khaleesi and wife… Will it be a love marriage or strictly a political marriage?" 

 

He took a deep breath before he answered, "That will be up to you."

 

She smiled at his reply. As she ate a piece of meat, she thought it would be fun to tease him a little longer. So in the sweetest, most naive voice she could muster, she asked, "If I accept your marriage proposal, which would you prefer our marriage to be, a marriage built on love and trust in each other, or a marriage that is strictly political?"

 

His eyes were wide open as he looked at the sweet smile on her lips. "I.... I...It's not my decision, Daenerys," he replied.

 

"I know it's not Jon,” she said with a smile, “However, I would like to know what you want.” As she finished speaking she tried to prevent the blush from spreading across her chest, neck and face. When she looked at him in the eyes, she could see he was taking deep breaths.

 

"If it was my decision... I would… I would like for our marriage to be one of love."

 

She smiled at his confession and she felt her heartrate rising once again. 'Its time to stop teasing him' she thought, so she admitted, "You know… I had dreams about you before you came here." 

 

He raised his eyebrow in confusion, “Really what were they about?"

 

"About our past life," she confessed with a smile. "In some dreams we made love... In another, we talked about riding on dragons… I cannot seem to remember their names, but we thought it would be best to see our son, Rhaegar, first.”

 

"You .... You remember me?" He gasped in shock.

 

"Jon, do you honestly think that I would ever be able to forget my husband?" she said coyly.

 

He smiled as he stood up from his chair and walked over to her. He knelt down, cupped her cheeks and muttered, "This is impossible… Tyrion and ...."

 

Before he could finish she cut him off, “Tyrion? ... Who is Tyrion?" 

 

"You do not know who Tyrion Lannister is?" She nodded her head no.

 

"Do you remember Lord Varys or Grey Worm or Missandei or Rhaego… or Daario Naharis or Drogo anyone else from our past life except for me?"

 

She could hear he was not fond of the last two names he mentioned. She smiled in his hands, which still held her cheeks and whispered, "I only remember you, my love, and our sweet baby boy, Rhaegar from our past life..." He smiled at her response.

 

"I'm glad that you remembered me, Dany."

 

She smiled and kissed his palm. "I still don't understand what happened... before you arrived in Illyrio’s courtyard, I thought everything was normal... that my dreams were just dreams... but as soon as I saw you, I knew this was not the world where we both belonged... I don't understand Jon how are we here?" 

 

"I can help you understand... What is the last thing what you can remember from our past life?" 

 

She smiled as she answered his questions. "Mostly, my memory of our past life is blank... but my last memory was giving birth to our boy, Rhaegar," she saw him take a deep breath; she could tell he did not want to tell her what happened to their child. She grabbed both of his hands and demanded, “Jon what happened to our babe? Tell me... What happened to me and our son!" 

 

He took another slow deep breath before he answered, "You were killed Daenerys... right in front of my eyes, by that fucking Night King." 

 

She could hear the sadness in his tone as he spoke and saw that his eyes were becoming glassy with unshed tears. She removed her hands from his and put one on each side of his face before she looked deep into his steely grey eyes and asked, "And Rhaegar... Jon, tell me... What became of our babe?" 

 

He looked down from her gaze and took a deep breath. When he re-established eye contact she saw that a few tears were dripping down his cheeks and he whispered sadly, "After the Night King killed you... There was a battle at Winterfell... The undead... They got into our chambers... There were at least five wights... Ghost... Ghost he tried to protect Rhaegar... but he was stabbed to death. Then those fuckers got to Rhaegar... Dany they got to our babe and they stabbed him... They stabbed him more than a thousand times... Those fucking undead cunts, they killed our son!" 

 

He pulled away from her, stood up, turned his back to her and took about five paces distance between them. She could see him wiping his eyes and trying to control his emotions. After a few moments he turned to face her and stated, "Daenerys it was my fault that you died... it is my fault that our Rhaegar died... I was not strong enough... I was not a good husband or father... I could not protect either of you when you needed me most." 

 

She stood up from her chair and closed the distance between them. She stood on her toes, placed her chin on his shoulder and arms on his chest and murmured in his ear, "It was not your fault Jon... I know in my heart that it was not your fault that we were murdered... I loved Rhaegar and would have done anything to bring him back... but it's in the past, my love... We cannot change the past... But we can change the future. We can make sure it doesn't happen again.” 

 

She then kissed the back of his shoulder, he slowly turned around to faced her. Their eyes met and she gave him a slight shy smile. When he returned the smile she put her arms around his neck, pulled his face to her’s and placed a tender kiss on his plum lips. The kiss quickly became passionate and their tongues battled each other. 'Gods I missed those lips of his,’ she thought when they finally broke apart for air.

 

After they caught their breath she asked with a raised eyebrow, “So…where did you get a dragon?" 

 

"You remembered that you also had dragons in our past life, right?” 

 

“Yes, I can remember that I had dragons… but I cannot remember their names or what they looked like or how big they were… In my dreams we only talked about them, I never actually saw them… If my dreams are correct, I had two dragons..”

 

He shook his head, “Three… Dany, you actually had three, but one died,” Jon said with a frown on his face and sadness in his voice.

 

"I can't remember... How did my dragon die?" 

 

Jon took a deep breath before he answered, “That… That is a story for another time.” 

 

The confession made her curious, she wanted to know more, but she did not want to cause anymore painful memories to surface. She nodded in acknowledgement, and then said, “You never did tell me how you got your dragon. Also, did you have him in your past life?” 

 

"My dragon egg was given to me by the man who raised me as his own, the man I consider to be my father, Ned Stark.”

 

“Ned, did not sire you, but he has loved you as his own and he has kept you safe your whole life; Ned Stark is your father,” she stated with a smile.

 

"Aye, he is,” he agreed with his own smile stretching across his face.

 

“Jon, you still haven't told me how we are both here… living again in this world.”

 

He took a deep breath. "Let's sit down, continue our dinner and I will tell you everything you want to know.” 

 

Daenerys agreed with nodded, and smiled as he led her by the arm back to the table. Once they both seated, he told her about their past life. He told heard about how Drogo treated her and she was disgusted by him… She could not believe that she had learned to love a man who raped her repeatedly. She could also not believe that she had carried his child in her womb and that she had given up that  child to bring back Drogo back. He also told the witch who cursed her and made her believe for years that she would never bear another living child. They talked about all of her most loyal advisors and what had happened to them in the end. She had tears in her eyes as to he told her how all his siblings had died, except Bran. She couldn't believe how much her husband… her Jon had suffered both before they met and after her death. She was heartbroken that he had to go through so much pain alone. After they were done with their meal and the wine pitcher was dry, it was late in the night, however he was still sharing stories about their past life. She had laughed at his stories of the Wildling man, Tormund. She had cried at all the pain, suffering and death of those close to them, and felt anger at Cersei Lannister’s betrayal. 

 

After they were done talking she saw how he looked at her… She could tell that he loved her for the woman that she was, and not just her appearance. She stood up from her chair and began to walk around the table towards him and said, “Earlier, you asked me if I wanted our marriage to be a political marriage or a marriage built on love.” 

 

“Aye, I did,” he said with a chuckle.

 

She stopped walking when she stood right in front of him. She sat down on his lap and murmured in his ear, "I want our marriage to be one of love, trust and respect… I want everything we accomplish to make this world a better place to be done together.” She then placed a tender kiss on his lips.

 

Her lips quickly parted from his and began to place warms kisses to his cheek then his ear and down to his neck. Jon growled in response. He tried to force her off him but couldn't he wanted her...

 

As she continued her assault on his neck the kisses went from gentle to sloppy as she made her way back to his plump lips; she could feel by the way he returned her kisses that he wanted her to make her his. After a few minutes he pulled his mouth from hers so she started sucking the pulse point of his neck, causing a moan of desire to escape from his lips. 

 

Finally, words escaped from his lips, “Daenerys… Seven hells... Daenerys… now is not the right time for this!”

 

She pulled away, shock written all over her face. “What do you mean? Jon. I have not had you inside of me in over eighteen years! Gods…Jon do you have any idea how much I've missed you... The way you touched my body… The way you felt inside me… The way that you made love to me!” 

 

He looked at her and smiled, she retuned the smile and took his hands in hers. She then smiled continued her confession, “The way you grabbed my ass," she said seductively as placed his hands on her ass and saw the effect it had on him; she could feel his manhood hardened in his breeches. 

 

“The way you touched and squeezed my breasts,” she murmured as she took his hands from her ass and placed them on her breast. She moaned when she felt him tenderly cup and squeeze them through her silk gown.

 

"I do not care if it is not the right time… a queen takes what is hers and you… are mine, Jon Snow!” She then straddled him in the chair, placed her arms around his shoulders and began to kiss neck again as he continued to caress and gently squeeze her breasts. She could feel the familiar tightness in her lower abdomen and the wetness beginning to pool in her cunt. Just as she grasped at his leather tunic she heard him sigh and to her surprised he grabbed her hands and pulled them away from his shoulders.

 

"Aye, you are a queen... My Queen but I'm a king... Your King and it is not the right time, Dany.” 

 

She took a deep breath and looked at him with confusion, “What do you mean by ‘it is not the right time,’ Jon?" 

 

He smiled at her, “You had told me that Drogo was your first and that it was no a pleasant experience… Since, I killed him I'm guessing you haven't yet taken a man to bed in this lifetime?”

 

She blushed at his question, “No I haven’t yet taken a man to bed in this lifetime.” She looked at him in his grey eyes, raised her eyebrows and asked, "Have you taken a women to bed in this lifetime?" 

 

"No, Daenerys you will be and always shall be my first and only women," he answered as a chuckle escaped his lips.

 

"I guess we should change that now shouldn't we .. take me to bed... My husband ... My king," she said seductively as she began kissing and sucking on the pulse point on his neck once again. While she kissed him, out of the corners of her eyes she could see a smile on his brooding face.

 

“Dany, I would like nothing more than to carry you to that bed and make love to you but as I said now is not the right time.”

 

She pulled away and sighed in frustration and asked, “If now is not the right time, when… When is the right time, Jon?”

 

“I want our first time to be perfect, my love. We did not share our first time with the right people or at the right time in our past life… I want to do right by you… I want to make you mine after our wedding," he said with a smile.

 

She returned his smile and asked, “When will we marry, my love?"

 

"Tomorrow night, here, in Illyrio's garden… There are not any Godswoods in Essos, but I still think we should have our wedding in eyes of old gods… like we had in our past life.”

 

She smiled, nodded and kissed him on the lips. "I would like nothing more than to marry you in front of the old gods, Jon.”

 

“It has been long night Dany. Perhaps it is time that you get some rest?” 

 

She looked at him lovingly and nodded. He helped her off his lap and he too stood up.

 

"I will tell Illyrio we are to marry tomorrow, in the gardens, just after sunset,” he said and then placed a chaste kiss on her soft lips. "Good night, Dany. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

 

He turned to leave but she grabbed his hand and he looked at her. "No, no, Jon Snow. It was your decision not to make love to me tonight… Your decision not to make me yours right now… But it is my decision to have you sleep in my bed tonight… I want you to sleep here tonight, with me, your wife… I want to fall asleep in the arms of my husband.” she looked at him and raised an eyebrow as she waited for his response.

 

"Aye, that's fair.” He agreed. He then walked over to the bed, sat down and began to remove his boots.

 

She smiled and walked over to her dressing area and removed her red gown. Once she was naked, she noticed that Jon had looked away, which made her smile. "Why aren't you looking at me, Jon Snow? It is not like you have not seen me naked before.” she could hear him take a deep breath and she began to don a silky green nightgown.

 

"Aye, that's true but if I see you naked now, I fear I will not be able to stop myself from scooping you up in my arms, throwing you onto this bed and proceed to make you mine.” 

 

She smiled and walked over to him. He took his shirt off and returned his gaze to her now that she was in her nightgown. She gasped at the sight of his chest, "Your scars… they are gone!” she exclaimed as placed her hand on his chest.

 

“Aye, I did not join the Night Watch in this lifetime so I was never betrayed and murdered at the hands of my brothers.” 

 

She smiled and caressed his abs and chest. She wanted nothing more to make love to him. She then started to kiss his chest everywhere there used to be an angry red scar, just like she did in their last lifetime. When she placed a kiss on his heart where the scar used to be, he gently pulled up her face. "Daenerys...."  She sighed and placed her head on his shoulder. 

 

He smiled at her, placed a chaste kiss on her brow and whispered "Let's go to bed, my love" 

 

She smiled and nodded. He took her hand and helped her into the bed. Once they both in the soft feather bed, she took his hands and placed to around her waist and she placed hers on his smooth, chiseled, unscarred chest.

 

"I love you, Jon,” Daenerys murmured as she looked lovingly into his grey eyes.

 

“I love you, Dany. Now get some rest," he said as he placed another chaste kiss to her forehead. 

 

Within seconds they both fell asleep, in the arms of their one true love..... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Until next time pls comment below and tell us what you think!!

Chapter 9: Ice and Fire

Notes:

Hey guys just want to warn you this is an extremely long chapter so just be warned. I would like to say thank you for all of your support!! I would also like to thank my co-Writer for all of her help. Please go and read her awesome story as well 'A new Westeros' it's amazing. Anyway like I always said sit back relax and enjoy the chapter. Your ideas and thoughts and love are always appreciated in the comments below!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Cersei Lannister

 

It was early in the morning and the sun was had just finished rising over Winterfell. Cersei walked the battlements overlooking the training yard. She stopped when she saw that Jaime was sparing with a Northerner, who she believed to be one of the Stark household guards. She watched the way her brother’s body moved with the sword... the way he would strike and block... As she watched, she began to feel the delightful wetness pooling between her legs. 

 

It did not take long for the Northern man yielded to her brother and when he did, she began to walk down the stairs. She approached she watched as Jaime helped the northerner to his feet and a smile spread across her lips. He did not seem to notice her arrival and she heard the conversation between the two men. 

 

"That was a good match, Jory. Thank you for sparing with me," Ser Jaime told the man as he shook his hand.

 

The northern dog smiled in response and replied, “Thank you, Ser Jaime. It has been an honor to spar with one of the Kingsguard.” 

 

As they spoke, she saw bruising on his neck. She smiled thinking to herself that it was Jaime whom had caused the bruising, so she made her arrival known. "Was that bruising on your neck caused by this sparring match with my brother?" She asked with an arrogant, knowing, smirk on her face.

 

"No, your Grace,” the Northern man replied as he shook his head, “This bruising was caused during a five on one sparring match with Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard son.”

 

As he said this the smile fell from her face, she raised an eyebrow and questioned, "You fought against Jon Snow?" 

 

The Northern dog took a deep breath and nodded, “Aye, I did, your Grace. Along with Winterfell’s Master of Arms, my uncle, Ser Rodrik, Lord Stark, his eldest son, Robb and Lord Theon Greyjoy." 

 

She looked at her brother in disbelief and noticed the he was also staring back at her. "The people of Westeros see my brother as the greatest Swordsman since Ser Arthur Dayne,” she seethed in a matter of fact tone, “I wonder. Who do you think would have won in a spar between my brother and the Bastard of Winterfell?"

 

"Your grace, but I fear the people of Westeros are wrong. Ser Jaimie is a definitely an excellent Swordsman. However I feel that he Jon Snow would defeat him in a duel.” Jory responded with hesitant smile on his face.  

 

She glared at the northern man, which caused him to gulp. She turned her gaze towards her brother and saw that his eyes were wide open in shock. She was livid at the Northern dog's words and she turned her gaze back at him and gritted out, "Leave us!" 

 

“Yes, your Grace,” the Northern responded with a slight bow of his head before he did a quick about face and walked away.

 

Once he was out of her sight, she turned her gaze back at her brother. "Can you believe what that Northern Dog said! That the bastard of Winterfell is a better Swordsman than you!"

 

Jaime sighed, "I heard him Cersei, but I really don't mind. Besides, the bastard was not here to prove the man’s theory." He added with his cocky trademark smirk.

 

She didn't really listen to him. She looking around the training yard, making sure they were alone. When she determined they were truly alone, she looked back at her brother and smiled seductively. She took a step closer and was about to kiss him, but before she could get her lips on his he stopped her.

 

"Cersei, we can't do that here!" He said through his teeth.

 

She huffed in aggravation and began scanning their surroundings. Which is when she saw an old worn-down tower and the desire returned to her eyes. "Jaime You are going to take me to that tower over there and you are then going to fuck me!" She felt the moisture again flooding between her legs at her brother’s loose of words. He simply nodded and followed her to the destination.

 

When they arrived in the old tower, she took note of how dirty it was inside the front chamber. There was dust covering every inch of the room. Once he entered the room, she took his hand and led him up the creaking old wooden stairs. As soon as they have reached the top floor, she grabbed his cloak to pull him into her and began to kiss him passionately. Soon, she ripped off his cloak and discarded it onto the dusty wood-planked floor. He turned her around so that her ass was against his breeches and she felt he hardened manhood against her core. He roughly pushed her down so that she was on her hands and knees. He kissed her neck as he pushed down his breeches and freed his cock. He then lifted her dress, pushed her small clothes to the side and entered her dripping womanhood in one hard quick thrust. Once he was inside her, he reached one of his hand around to massage he bundle of nerves in a way that he knew drove her wild and the other covered her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries of pleasure. His thrusts were long and powerful. As she felt her climax nearing, she sat up and placed her back against his chest, in attempt to be closer to him. Moments later, she felt the muscles of her core clinching around her brother’s thick cock and he was letting out a groan of relief as he spilled his seed deep inside her womb. Once he was spent, he collapsed next to her, pulled her into his arms and whispered vows of his undying love in her ear.

 

After they finally got up and dressed formally, she noticed him was staring at her, but not in a lustful way. "What Jaime?" she asked as she smoothed the wrinkles of her skits.

 

"Have you heard any word on who the Robert will select as his new hand now that Lord Stark has declined the offer?” He asked as he picked up his cloak and shook off the dust. 

 

She smiled and nodded as she said, "My husband told me that he will ask our father to be his new hand." She noticed that he did not appear to be happy with this news, so she walked over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, "What’s wrong Jamie? Why are you not happy with this development?"

 

He sighed, "Tyrion will not be pleased to see Father as Robert’s new Hand of the King."

 

She laughed so hard she nearly snorted and it took her several moments before she was able to choke out, "Of course the little monster will be upset! We both know that Father hates him and blames him for Mother’s death."

Jaime took several calming breaths before he asked his next question. "Has our King decided when we leave Winterfell and return to King’s Landing?" 

 

When he asked this she felt anger coursing through her veins as she spat, "My fat, drunk, whoring husband has made the decision to stay here longer so he can visit with his dear friend. He said they have not seen each other in eighteen years and he will take the time to catch up." which is when her brother raised an eyebrow.

 

"How long does he plan to visit?” Jaime asked with knitted eyebrows.

 

"About a week," She exhaled in frustration. When she heard him laugh, she put her hands on her hips and asked, “Why is this so funny, Jaime?”

 

"You make it sound as if we are staying here for the rest of our lives!” He tried to cease the few chuckles still spilling from his lips as he asked, “Do you really hate the north that much?" 

 

"I don't hate the North! I hate those dogs!" He raised an eyebrow to her in confusion, so confirmed, "I hate the Starks!"

 

He sighed and put a comforting hand on her should as he softly said, "Cersei, we have been over this. The Starks are loyal to us…” 

 

However, Cersei did not allow him to finish before she cut him off, “Not us Jaime!” She exclaimed, “They will never be loyal to us… They are loyal to Robert!" 

 

She head him exhale loudly before he asked, "Cersei do you have any leads as to why Lord Stark decided to decline both of the King’s offers?" 

 

She smiled at her brother and icily said, "Let's go see if dear Willis was able to dig up any dirt on the Starks." He returned her smile, nodded his head, and escorted her from tower in search of the young boy.

 

When they entered the Great Hall and she saw that it was completely empty, except for Willis, who was cleaning a table in the back corner of the room. At their arrival boy looked up and met her gaze; she could see that he appeared to be quite nervous.

 

"My dear boy Willis.” The Queen cooed sweetly as she made her way over to the table he had been cleaning, “Do you have any news as to why the Honorable Eddard of House Stark decided to decline both of good King Robert’s offers?"

 

Willis took a deep breath, "Aye, your Grace, I do."

 

Cersei smiled as she came to a stop at the table he was cleaning and gracefully sat down. Once she sat she gave Jaime a knowing look which caused him to roll his eyes as he took a seat next to her.

 

"So my dear Willis, please sit down and tell us why the Warden of The North has declined both of my husband’s very generous offers?" 

 

Willis inhaled sharply as looked at the golden Lannister twins and slowly took a seat across from them. "Your... Your Grace,” he stuttered nervously, “I… I overhead a conversation between Lord Stark and his brother Benjen Stark, who is in the Night’s Watch… He told his brother, that he could not travel south to be the King’s Hand because he is needed in the North… because of the reports about all the disturbing events that have happening north of the Wall… He… He told his brother that he would be joining him when he returns to Castle Black so that he can go beyond the wall to investigate these reports."

 

Cersei’s eyes snapped to her brother, who had a baffled expression on his face. They were speechless. She was still trying to understand what the boy had said when Jaime finally spoke. “So, you are telling us, that Lord Stark, the Warden of the North, is going beyond the wall to investigate these reports"

 

"Aye, Ser Jaime… that is what he told his brother."

Cersei burst out of laughing. "So you are telling me… the reason Lord Stark did not except King Robert’s offer to be hand is because he needs to go and investigate monsters and giants beyond the wall?" 

Willis started to sweat and nodded, "Aye, your Grace."

 

She still did not believe this to be true, and by the look on Jaime’s face, he was in disbelief as well. However, it did not appear that they would get a different answer from the boy, so she asked, "And why did Lord Stark decline the betrothal between his daughter, Sansa and the Crown Prince?"

 

She saw the boy smile as he answered, "Lord Stark told his brother that he promised his children that they would be allowed to choose who they would marry… That he would not make that choice for them." 

 

She was surprised at this. She felt that something was wrong and that none of what the boy said was true and the anger was beginning to course through her veins. She looked at the boy, and coolly said, "You are a wonderful liar, my dear, sweet Willis. I see you are loyal to these dogs and I will have your head for lying to me."

She could see that Jaime was about to protest but they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stone floor. She snapped her head towards the sound, only to find that her other brother had just entered the Great Hall.

"Gods you are loud this early in the morning!" He exclaimed as he rubbed each of his temples with his short stubby fingers.

"Tyrion, it is good to see you awake so early in the morning," Jaime greeted him with a true smile.

"Good morning to you as well, dear brother,” the Imp responded as he returned a smile.

She turned her gaze back at Willis, she did not care about morning pleasantries with the monster who had kill her mother, so she turned her attention back towards the scared boy. "You better not lie to me my dear Willis… otherwise I will have your head!"

But before Willis could speak, Tyrion again made his presence known as he sat down next to the boy and said calmly, "Cersei ... He speaks the truth about Lord Stark." 

Her and Jaime’s attention was now focused on Tyrion. "What do you mean Tyrion?" Jaime asked with eyebrows raised.

 

Tyrion smiled. "I met the great honorable Lord Stark and his brother in the courtyard last night last night when I was on my way to Winter Town, and they told me the most wonderful news. 

 

“Spit it out, Tyrion.” Cersei seethed.

 

Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip, “I was informed that I will have both of the Stark brothers as traveling companions when I head to Castle Black to see the infamous 700 foot tall Wall of ice."

 

Cersei and Jaime both looked at each other in shock. "Are you sure, Tyron? Why would the Warden of the North travel beyond the Wall?” Jaime asked.

 

Their dwarf brother smiled and looked the boy sitting next to him, "I was standing in the hall for several moments before I entered. So, as our friend Willis here said Ned Stark is investigating news of disturbing events happening beyond the wall."

 

Cersei heard Willis sigh in relief as she turned her gaze to Jaime when he stated, "Why would he go beyond the wall? I thought that he had already sent his two eldest sons to investigate the threat beyond the wall?"

 

He Dwarf of a brother took a deep breath and could see he felt sorry of what he was about to say. "Well Lord Stark told me that he has not heard any news from his eldest sons since they left on this quest. Therefore, he is worried about them. He is going beyond the wall in order to find his eldest sons."

She could not believe this. This was a lie. "It can't be...”

 

Before she finished her brother, Jaime cut her off. "Cersei you have valid reasons from two sources that have provided you with the same information as to why Ned Stark declined our King’s offers… Now, just let it go."

 

She wanted to protest but knew they were right. She looked at young boy and emotionlessly said, "Thank you for your hard work Willis… as your reward for helping getting information for me on the Starks. I will not take your head."

 

"Thank you, your grace," he squeaked out.

 

This made the Queen smile at the boy as she placed two golden dragons on the table in front of him. "Now move along, my dear Willis and if you ever tell anyone about this I will have your head!" 

 

"Aye…Thank you, your Grace," Willis stated as he quickly grabbed the gold coins form the table and ran out of the Great Hall...


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

 

It was early in the morning in Pentos and the sun was just beginning so seep in through the sheer curtains of the east-facing window. Daenerys was lying on the bed in her chambers and opened slowly opened her eyes. She felt two strong arms around her and smiled when she realized they belonged to her beloved. Her Jon. Her Jon had come and saved her from her mad brother’s plan to use her as a pawn in the game of thrones. She rolled over so her was facing him and pressed a chaste kiss to his chest. She still could not believe that they were in bed together... that they were safe and unharmed from the ice monsters. 

 

She could not stop the smile that was plastered on her face as she watched him sleep. She ran her fingers over his chiseled chest and smooth jaw in awe of the beauty of this man whom she knew was the other half of her soul. Her hands soon found their way from his face to his soft, unruly raven curls. ‘Gods he is perfect,’ she thought to herself as she pressed a tender loving kiss to his plump lips. To her surprise, she did not feel any air leave his lips or nose when she kissed him. Therefore, she kissed his mouth again, a little more forcefully, and still, he did not open his eyes she began to worry. She started to alarm when she noticed that his chest was not rising and falling as it should have been, so she started to shake him and softy call, “Jon... Jon... My love, are you alright?" 

 

When he still did not draw a breath or open his eye she began to panic, forcibly shaking him while she called, "Jon...  Jon... Wake-up... Please my Love... Jon, wake-up!" 

 

All of the sudden, his eyes sprung open and he shot up to a sitting position, gasping for air. He took deep, labored, uneven breaths as if he could not get enough air into his lungs... it was almost as if he had returned from the dead. She observed that his brows were knitted in confusion, but she did not care as she urgently pulled him into her arms, resting her head on his chest and murmured, "It is ok, Jon. It is ok!I am here, my love.” 

 

She still felt him drawing long forceful breaths; the breaths were so deep her head she felt as if her brains were being rattled inside her head. When she pulled away from the embrace, she noticed his eyes were wide open and staring at her.

 

"Daenerys! You are okay!” He choked out though his uneven breaths.  She was confused, but before she could respond, he was pulling her back to his chest and holding her tightly in place as he pressed tender kisses to her forehead.

 

She was bewildered and concerned... After a while, she pulled away from his embrace, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Jon... My Love, are you alright?” 

 

He still panted but smiled and breathed out, "Aye, Dany. I am fine.  He then placed a reassuring kiss on her lips.

 

"What happened to you? I tried to wake you when I did not feel or hear you breathe... I thought your heart stopped beating... I thought you were dead,” she said as she looked at him with glassy eyes, then whispered, “I thought I lost you before I even had you.” 

 

He pressed sweet chase kisses to her lips and cheeks repeatedly until he felt her worries slip away and a smile form on her lips. Then he smiled at her and said, "I am fine, Dany. it is nothing really...” 

 

She shook her head and in a stern voice said, “No, Jon! I can tell that something is wrong.” She then placed her hands on his face, looked in his eyes, and softly said, “Please tell me the truth, my love. Please do not shut me out. Tell me what happened.”

 

She saw him take a deep breath, and then he whispered, “I had a nightmare Dany.” 

 

She placed her forehead against his, and asked, "What was it about?" 

 

He took another shaky breath and breathed out, "It was about our past life..." 

 

“Go on,” she encouraged.

 

"Daenerys, I really don't want to talk about it,” he sighed.

 

She placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him passionately. When she pulled her lips away from his she murmured, "Please, Jon, don't shut me out. Let me in. Share yours pains with me so I can help you get through it." 

 

"Dany, please.” He said as he held her to his chest, “I do not want to talk about our shit past life. It is over! It is the past! Trust me the less you know about what happened in my dream the better."

 

She was getting frustrated. She pulled herself from his embrace, laid down on the bed, and rolled on her side; she did not want to look at him at him until she calmed down. She heard him sigh as he laid behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. He kissed the top her head then spoke softly into her ear, "Please, listen to me Daenerys. I know I promised you that no secrets will be kept between us. However, this secret. The things I have nightmares about. Those things that happened to us in the shitty past I plan to shut you out from those things forever…"

 

She turned around, looked in him in the eyes and demanded, "Why can't I know, Jon? What happened in that dream of yours that was so bad that you cannot tell me?"

 

Jon exhaled and pinched the bridge if his nose, "Daenerys, please can we discuss something else?”

 

As he said these words, she could see that he was trying to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. She wanted to know what was causing him so much pain. She wanted to help him. Nevertheless, she also felt like she should not push him much further, so she forced a small smile and answered his question, "If that is what you wish."

 

"Aye, it is," he said with a true smile as he pulled her back into his arms.

 

She smiled and lay on his chest looking up into his eyes. She then reached up to move one of his unruly inky curls out of face and said, "You know, you have a pretty face," as tucked the wayward hairs behind his ear.

 

He chuckled, "You know, I always hated it when you called me pretty."

 

She laughed, "I know but it is true you, Jon Snow, are a very pretty man.” She then brought her had away from his face and began to use her fingertips to trace the strong, defined muscles of his chest and abdomen and rambled, “Your scars on your face and chest are gone.Your beautiful raven curls loose around your face and not tied back. Your chin has no beard and it feels so smooth when I kiss you.” She then looked up into his eyes and said, “Jon, I like how you look. Please, do not tie your hair back. I want to see the man you truly are… I am your Queen and you will show me your true beauty"

 

He smiled, kissed the top of her head and said, "As my queen commands.” He then raised an eyebrow and asked, “So no beard?"

 

She giggled and kissed his jaw, "No beard."

 

"Okay, no beard,” he chuckled along with her.

 

After a few minutes of enjoying being in the other’s arms, stealing kisses and loving touches, she felt him slightly tighten their embrace as he said, “Daenerys there is something I would like to discuss with you." 

 

She smiled and started kissing from his chest up to his neck, which made him growl. "What is it, my king?" She asked innocently as she looked at him with wide violet eyes.

 

He laughed of the way she asked. She took this moment to move her one leg over to his waist so that she was straddling him and she began her assault by peppering kisses to his chest and neck.

 

"I want to teach you how to use a sword," he answered as he was growling in the pleasure she was providing.

 

“I think I know how to use your sword, Jon,” she said as she rubbed her core against his member.

 

“Gods woman! I know you know how to work my sword! But I want to teach you how to use a real sword!” He exclaimed as he sat up and tried to move her off his crotch.

 

However, when he said those words she pulled herself away from her desire-filled mission; she was surprised but also very excited. "You want to teach me how to fight with a real sword?" she asked with a beaming grin. 

 

"Aye, I do. Your brother never taught you how to use a sword in order to protect yourself but your husband I will. Dany, I want nothing more than to keep you safe, but there may be times when we separated. I would feel better if you knew how to defend yourself if I am not by your side."

 

She smiled and placed her hands lovingly on his cheeks. "Jon, I have been meaning to ask you, what do you plan on doing with Viserys?” However, before he could answer she asked, “And, why do you suddenly feel it is necessary to train me how to use a sword?" She could he was hiding something in his earlier explanation but she was brought out of her thoughts when he began to answer her questions.

 

"I wanted to use your brother as a way to help you not to be shy… Basically, I wanted to use him as a way to help your draw out the Queen within... But, to my surprise you already are the strong, confident Queen I remembered.” He lovingly cooed. She blushed at his complement and they smiled at each other.

 

“I'm glad that I'm the Queen, whom I'm meant to be.”

 

"I believe that you should be the one who determines your brother's fate...” But, she placed two fingers over his lips, preventing him from finishing his thoughts.

 

"Jon,” she smiled, “I do not care what happens to my mad brother. You can decide his fate.”

 

"Aye, I already have a plan for his fate, but I will not complete it if you do not agree."

 

She raised an eyebrow, looked him in the eye and said, “You plan to kill him, don’t you?'"

 

He nodded nervously, "Aye, but not yet. Does that bother you?" His question made her laugh, to which he appeared to be surprised by her response.

 

"Why should I care if my brother dies? He is mad! He would have sold me to a man who would have raped me repeatedly,” She said passionately, before taking a calming breath and adding with a knowing smirk, “Besides, you are my family. My nephew and my husband.” 

 

He smiled back and kissed her brow, "Aye I am.”

 

She wrapped her arms around him, placed her head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. After a few moments broke the silence by asking, "You still haven't told me, why you suddenly feel it necessary to teach me how to swing a sword?" She moved her head off his chest and looked at him waiting for his response.

 

After a few heartbeats of silence, he started talking. "I grew up hearing the stories about Aegon the Conqueror, his sister wives and their dragons. One of his wives was the great warrior Visenya Targaryen who wielded the sword Dark Sister. I think you have the potential to achieve the same greatness… You can be a Warrior Queen just as she was.”

 

She blushed and smiled at him. ‘Gods this man is amazing’ she thought to herself as felt her desire for him building in her core. She wanted him and she did not want to wait until that night. Therefore, she thought she would try to seduce him again...

 

"So,” she started as she settled back into his lap, pressing her core to his, “When will I start to learn how to swing a sword?" She smiled sweetly at him as she used the tips of her fingers to trace the defined muscles of his arms. 

 

"After our wedding . So tomorrow.”

 

"Promise?" She asked in a light tone as she began so ever so slightly rock her hips over his.

 

"Aye, I promise," he answered as he looked into her lust filled eyes

 

She smiled at him and her heart started beating faster. She broke his gaze and began to place sloppy open mouth kisses to the pulse in his neck as she took one hand for his shoulder and placed on his breeches. She began to stroke his growing cock through his breeches and felt the wetness pooling in her core. She removed her other hand from the shoulder and moved it to the strap of her dress. She was about to pull off her nightgown when he caught her hand. She looked to his face and saw the expression of want in his grey eyes and she could tell he was trying hard not to give in to those desires.

 

"You know you want to,” she purred, “I do not understand why stopped me, Jon? We will marry tonight what difference does it make if we make love now or tonight?” 

 

She saw him smile in response and to her surprise; he rolled her onto her back, which made her giggle. He then started to kiss her roughly first on her mouth then her neck. 

 

“Finally, the wolf is asleep and the Dragon is out to play," she moaned as he continued his assault.

 

She felt how he grabbed her breasts through her silk gown. He moved his mouth from her neck to her breast.

 

"That is it my king, claim me… make me yours,” she purred as she felt her arousal beginning to drip down her thighs. 

 

He looked up at her with a knowing smirk as he stopped his kissing and rolled out of the bed. 

 

She was surprised and raised an eyebrow. "Did you just?..” she could see he was trying to keep himself from laughing.

 

"Now you know how it feels when you keep seducing me!” He replied playfully as he placed a chaste kiss on the top of her moon-kissed locks.

 

She turned to face him and raised her on her elbows as he continued.

 

"And it makes a difference. Tonight we will marry and I will make you mine. Now, my queen, I am going to find Illyrio and tell him the good news. I suggest you get dressed. Then go find Doreah so that you can continue with your lessons on how to speak Dothraki. A Khaleesi must know how to command our Khalasar.” 

 

She smiled and nodded then watched him as he grabbed his boots and placed his feet inside of them. She sighed as she got out of the bed and made her way over to him. When she got to him, he already had his shirt donned. 

 

He smiled at her and she smiled back at him. He pulled her into his arms, kissed her on her already kiss plumped lips. He then put his forehead to hers and whispered “I'll see you later.”

 

She smiled, and continued to repeatedly his him and until he finally pulled away and left their chambers....

 


 

 

Eddard Stark

 

 

After breaking his fast, Eddard retrieved Ice from his study and went in search of Maester Luwin. Luckily, he quickly found Winterfell’s Maester tending to his youngest son Rickon, who had some scrapes and bruising to his knees and the palms of his hands. "Good Morning, Maester Luwin,” Ned greeted with a smile.

The Maester who was busy examining Rickon’s injuries turned his gaze towards the Lord of the castle and said, “Good Morning, Lord Stark.”

 

Ned then turned his attention to his youngest son and smiled as he sat down on the bed next to him. “Good Morning, Rickon. Care to tell me what happened my young soldier.” 

The young boy adverted his eyes from his Lord Father’s and sheepishly replied, “I fell down the steps leading to the training yard.”

Ned tried to stifle chuckles as he ruffled his young son’s shaggy locks, and said, “Slow down a little next time my young pup, okay?”

“Aye, Father.”

The then turned to the Maester and asked, "How long until my littlest guard is recovered, Maester Lewin?”

The older man had a gentle smile on his face as he answered, "He should recover quickly, My Lord. If he takes it easy, my guess is that he will be fully recovered in a few days.”

“That is wonderful news.” Ned relied with a smile as he ruffled his son’s hair once again. Suddenly he felt something licking his other hand, so he looked down and was surprised his son’s black direwolf, which was already bigger than a normal sized dog. He smiled at the direwolf, scratched behind his ears and asked, "Are you taking care of my boy?” 

The direwolf gave him a knowing stare, walked past him and jumped on Rickon’s bed. He circled a few time before he laid down right beside his companion. Ned and the Maester watched as Rickon smiled, snuggled into the black beast’s side and mumbled, "That’s better.” Within a few seconds, the young boy and the direwolf were both softly snoring.

 

Ned attention was broken from the scene before him when he heard the Maester softly ask, “Lord Stark, may I have a word?" 

 

He looked at Maester Luwin and nodded, “Of course, Maester. We can talk while we head to see the blacksmith,” he answered as he stood up from where he was sitting on the side of his son’s bed. The two men quietly walked out of Rickon’s chambers together and Ned silently closed the door behind them. They both were busy walking towards the blacksmith Mikken.

Once they were in the hall of the family wing, the Maester asked quietly, “Lord Stark, I noticed that you have Ice. Is there to be an execution?”

 

Ned chuckled, “No, Maester. I am taking Ice to Mikken, to see if he would be able to create two swords from the Valyrian Steel. That way we have one more weapon to use in the Great War to come.”

 

“That is a wise idea, My Lord.” The Maester then looked around to make sure there were no prying ears, before he softly asked, “Have you heard any news about Jon and Lord Robb?” 

 

The question caused Ned to smile as he answered, "Aye, I have.”

 

Maester Luwin raised an eyebrow. “I am guessing, My Lord, by your smile, that their quest has been a success?" 

 

“Aye, it has,” he said quietly with a slight nod of his head as they exited the castle and entered the courtyard. His attention was grabbed by the common folk, servants and household guards, whom were all standing, facing the castle, and staring up into the cloudless blue sky. He looked at Maester Luwin with a look of confusion and noticed that he also seemed puzzled at the commotion in front of them. They continued to walk towards the crowd, not stopping until they saw Jory, who was standing in the middle of the crowd, talking to some of the other common folk.

 

"Jory, what's going on here?" Ned asked with knitted eyebrows.

 

Jory stopped his discussion with the common folk and looked at the two men in front of him, “Lord Stark something strange is in the sky. I did not see it until I left the Great Hall morning, after breaking my fast Look.” Jory said as he pointed to the sky in front of him. Ned and the Maester turned around and looked up to where Jory was pointing they and his jaw dropped; he could not believe what he saw. There in the sky, he was something that he had never seen before; soaring in the sky was some sort of shooting star. However, it was not a normal shooting star, instead of shade of yellow streaking across the sky, this one was massive in size, it appeared to be stationary and was a shade of bright blue with a red ring around it. 

 

"No! It can't be!" He heard someone gasp loudly. His head, as well as the Maester, Jory and many of the other people gathered in the courtyard snapped towards where the voice came from, and searched for the speaker. To his surprise, it was the Dwarf of Casterly Rock. He made his way over to where Lord Tyrion was standing.

As he approached the short man and asked, “Lord Tyrion, do you know what that thing in the sky is?" 

 

The imp nodded in response and all of the common folk gathered around the two men to hear his answer. “I have heard of such a thing and read about it… But… But I never believed I would live to see it!" 

 

Ned looked from the Imp to Jory then to Maester Luwin to see if they understood what the half man was saying, but they all either shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders.

 

Tyrion sighed and exclaimed, “They have returned! After over a century, they have finally returned!" Which just earned more stares of confusion from everyone gathered in the courtyard.

 

"Lord Tyrion, what are you talking about?" The Lord of Winterfell asked

 

However, the dwarf did not answer. He walked around in circles asking questions to himself "Why is it blue? It should be red?” 

Ned was getting frustrated. “Lord Tyrion, tell us what you know!” 

The dwarf stopped his pacing and looked at them with an expression of utter delight as he answered, “I have read about this in a book pertaining to old Valyria! The meteor or comet in the sky. It is a sign!"

"A sign? A sign of what!” Ned said as he knelt down to look the dwarf in his mismatched eyes.

 

“It is a sign that they have returned… A sign that dragons have returned!" 

All of the common folk around them started to whisper to one another.

The dwarf again looked up at the sky, started pacing and talking to himself once more. “Why is it blue? It should be red but it is blue It doesn’t make sense unless!" Suddenly the half-man’s eyes were wide open. 

"Unless what Tyrion?” Ned asked.

 

"An... An Ice Dragon has returned! They have not been seen in thousands of years! Oh the gods are giving us a treat!" 

Ned was confused. 'Jon's dragon is a ice dragon?' he thought to himself as his anxiety rose. His gaze turned back to the sky and he studied the meteor. That is when he noticed it was turning blue to red and then back to blue. He did not understand why the comment was changing colors. "Lord Tyrion, why is that thing in the sky changing blue to red and then back to blue?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the comet.

 

The dwarf appeared to be surprised, as he looked stared at the comet. When he noticed it changing, a look of awe spread across his face. “I am not sure, Lord Stark. All I know it is an exciting time to live!” He paused for a moment before he asked, “Lord Stark, would you mind if I go to your Library? Maybe you have some books about old Valyria laying around. If you do, maybe I can find something that describes this thing in the sky.” 

Ned looked away from the sky and back towards the dwarf. He saw that the dwarf had an excited smirk on his face. Ned took a deep breath as he recalled there were several books about old Valyria in the library… there were the books that he had found in the tower of Joy nearly eighteen years ago. He debated internally for a few moments and relented, "Aye, you may.” 

“Thank you, Lord Stark. I will let you know if I find anything,” Tyrion said with a smiled and then walked away towards the library tower. 

 

After the dwarf left, Ned turned his gaze back to the common folk gathered around; all of whom still watched the dying star in the sky. He looked towards Maester Luwin who raised his eyebrow. Ned knew Maester Luwin did not know that Jon had hatched a dragon, so he nodded his head telling him they should continue to walk. 

 

As they walked to Mikken’s forge, he informed Maester Luwin that Jon had hatched the dragon egg that had once belonged to the man who sired him.

 

"So it is true What lord Tyrion said the dragons have returned and Jon has an ice dragon?" The Maester asked in awe.

 

“I am not sure Maester Luwin. I do not know if it is an ice dragon. I will need to send a raven to Jon.” 

The older man sighed, “Lord Stark, I do not understand why did the meteor in the sky is changing colors? Does it mean that Jon's love, Daenerys Targaryen, also hatched her dragons?" 

 

"I am not sure. However, I would not put my hope on that Jojen Reed is a greenseer, and he did not tell me that Daenerys hatched her dragons. He only mentioned that Jon hatched his dragon and named it Sarogon.” Ned sighed as they reach Mikken’s forge, he pushed the door open as he said, “That thing in the sky is a sign. I am just not sure what it means but it something else.” 

 

When they walked into the forge, he saw that Mikken was pounding his hammer on some red-hot steel, forming it into a sword. When the door closed, the blacksmith looked up from his work.

 

"Lord Stark and Maester Luwin what a surprise," Mikken greeted them with a smile as he put down his hammer, wiped his soot covered hands on his apron and began to walk towards the two visitors.

 

"Mikken, it has been long since I've seen you," Ned replied with a smile as he admired the many swords and armor on display. When the smith appeared before him, he firmly shook the man’s hand.

 

"Lord Stark, how may I help you today?" Mikken asked with a smile.

 

"Mikken, I would like to know if you would be able to forge two Valyrian Steel swords for me?”

 

The blacksmith appeared to be taken by surprise. "My Lord I am sorry, I can make you swords, but I do not know how to create Valyrian Steel… The secret of how to construct Valyrian Steel was lost with the doom of Valyria.” 

 

"I do not need you to construct new Valyrian Steel for the swords.I would like to know if you can forge them from this?" Ned asked as he took Ice from it’s scabbard and handed it carefully handed the ancestral Stark family blade to the blacksmith.

 

"Lord Stark,” Mikken said with a smile, “You would like for me to reforge Ice into two new Valyrian Steel swords… one for you and the other for your brother, Benjen."

 

Maester Luwin and Ned both looked at each other confused. "Mikken, how did you know that?" Ned asked.

 

“Your bastard, Jon Snow, told me you would come to me...”

 

Ned smiled as he thought to himself, ‘Jon knew I would go with Benjen.’ He then turned his attention back to the smith, “When did Jon tell you this?"

 

"He told me about a moon ago, when he commissioned me to create that little sword for Arya. I believe he told me your wild wolf daughter would name the sword Needle… To my surprise she did,” the smith said with a chuckle.

 

"Tell me Mikken, what did Jon tell you?"

 

"He asked me if I could reforge Valyrian Steel… However, before I could answer him, he told me he knew that I did not know how.” He paused for a moment, “Then, he told me that if you came to me with this request, I needed to tell you that you should send a raven to King’s Landing... to a bastard called Gendry Waters. I am not sure where he got this information, but he told me that this Gendry Waters is a blacksmith apprentice under the guidance of a Tobho Mott, who one of the last people in Westeros who still knows how to rework Valyrian Steel."

“Thank you, Mikken.” Ned said to the blacksmith. He then turned his gaze to the Maester, “Maester Luwin, we need to send a raven to Gendry Waters.”

 

"I will prepare a message and send a raven straight away, Lord Stark.”

 

He then heard the blacksmith laugh and say, “Lord Stark, you do not honestly believe this young man would just leave King’s Landing? You are going to need to give him something in return.” 

 

Ned nodded. "Aye, Mikken is correct. Maester Luwin, in your message, please tell him if he comes to Winterfell we will pay him handsomely for his work, give him his own quarters and free meals." 

 

"Yes, Lord Stark, I will make sure to include that in my message. Will there be anything else?” 

"Aye, I need for you to send a raven to Lord Manderly as well…Tell him he needs to send a ship to King’s Landing, so that Gendry travel to Winterfell by sea, then escort him to Winterfell... Travel by sea will be much faster than travel via the Kingsroad.”

 

The Maester slightly smiled, but before he could respond Willis quickly ran into the forge. "My Lord Stark!" The young boy exclaimed.

 

"What is it Willis?"

 

The boy smiled and gave him a letter. "It’s a letter for you, My Lord! It has the Stark Direwolf seal… It must be from your son!"

 

“Thank you, lad.” Ned said with wide eyes, anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach and his fingers were slightly shaking as he broke the seal on the letter.

 

 

Dear Father,  

When you received this letter, you should know that Jon was successful in killing Khal Drogo and is now the Khal of his Khalasar. We are now on our way to meet Daenerys. I have some news to tell you father. Jon has spoken to Lord Manderly and asked him to find a man called Gendry Waters in Kings Landing. Jon told me that you are going to need him in order to reforge Ice in two new Valyrian Steel swords. He told them they could offer Gendry clean chambers in Winterfell. Some coin for his work as a blacksmith for the Stark family. Jon told me, when you receive this letter, Gendry should arrive to you soon.  

There is more news father. Jon has hatched his dragon egg and named the grey dragon Sarogon after Aegon the Conqueror and Stark. Father, I am worried about Jon. I feel his anger is betraying him. He brutally killed Khal Drogo and his blood riders. He did not give them honorable deaths. I have decided that will stay with him. I feel that I need to keep my eyes on him and see if I can help him learn to control his emotions. You were right, Father, Jon has changed. Let us know how you are dealing the Kings visit. 

Love your son, 

Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell  

True born son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North 

 

 

Ned was getting worried about Jon. Jon was different. His past life is starting to change him from the honorable boy that he had raised. What could have been so horrible in his past life that he did not give his opponents an honorable death? 

 

He was pulled from his brooding thoughts by a tug on his cloak. He looked down to see Willis, with a sealed scroll in his hand. "My Lord… this is from a raven that arrived just a few minutes ago." 

 

“Thank you, Willis.” He replied as he took the scroll. When he turned it over to look at the seal, he smiled when he saw it bore the sigil of House Manderly.

 

 

 

Lord Stark,

As requested from Robb Stark. The man named Gendry Waters, was picked up from King’s Landing and has just arrived at White Harbor. He will stay here overnight to rest and then we will have him escorted to Winterfell. He will arrive there in a few days.

Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor 

 

Ned could not believe everything was happening so quickly. He looked at Maester Luwin. Which is when he took a deep breath. "There is no need to send ravens to King’s Landing or White Harbor, Gendry Waters is on his way, and should be arriving in Winterfell within a few days. We had best be getting him some clean chambers,” the Maester nodded in confirmation. He then turned his attention to the blacksmith, “Mikken, if you could, please prepare a new work station for Gendry. Please see that the is provided with any tools that he is needed to complete his tasks."

 

"Of course, Lord Stark… But, may I ask how is Gendry already on his way here? I just told you about him?"

 

Ned sighed as he pondered what to say, without giving away too much detail. Therefore, he decided to simply say, “Jon.”

 

The blacksmith acknowledged his response with a nod, then quickly got back to work over the hot flames if the forge.

 

Ned and Maester Luwin turned to leave Winterfell’s forge when Willis spoke, “Lord Stark, may we speak in private?"

 

Ned gave the Maester a knowing look, to which he said, “I will go to the handmaidens and inform them to prepare clean quarters for Gendry, My Lord”

 

“Thank you, Maester Luwin.” Ned said with a nod of his head. He then looked down at Willis “Aye, lad, let’s find somewhere private to speak.”

They left the forge, and Ned led them to the heart tree in the Godswood. Ned sat down on an old log and gestured for Willis to sit next to him. Once they were both seated, Ned put a comforting arm around the boys shoulders, “What is it, lad?”

 

"My Lord… The Queen… She asked me why you declined her offers and I told her what you had told me to say."

 

Even though they were in the Godswood, Ned quickly looked around to make sure that no one was around to overhear the conversation. "And what happen, Willis?" 

 

"The Queen thought I was lying. She said she wanted my head. I was so scared, My Lord… Then the Queens little brother, Lord Tyrion, came in and told her that I was telling the truth." 

"Thank you, Willis. I am glad that you are safe… Now you see why I feel it will be safer for you if you are not her, aye?" Ned said with a slight smile.

 

Willis smiled back, "Aye, My Lord, I understand… I am an excited that I do not have to go the Castle Black… If it is okay, I will be on way, My Lord… I must pack for Greywater Watch."

 

"Aye, you may go." Ned said with a true smile.

 

Willis stood up for the log, smiled, said, “Thank you, Lord Stark,” and then quicky ran back towards the keep.

 

Ned chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm as he stood up and made his way back to his study chambers. Just before he turned down the hall that lead to his study; the closer he got to his study, the louder the voices got and he noticed they were the voices of his children.

 

As he turned the corner he heard Arya exclaim, "Father! There you are!” 

 

He looked were her voice came from and was surprised to see not only Arya, but also Sansa and Bran. "My beautiful children how wonderful to see you all.” He greeted them

 

He noticed Bran was about to say something but Sansa cut him off. "Is it true what the common folk are saying? That the dragons have returned?" 

 

The Lord of Winterfell got down on one knee and answered softly, "Aye it’s true." 

 

The three Stark children had looks of joy and excitement on their faces. Suddenly, Arya asked, "Is what mother said true? That the dragons have returned because of Jon?" 

 

He was surprised. He stood up and motioned for them to follow him into his study. Before he responded to her question he made sure the door was closed securely behind them. "Aye, he brought a dragon back to life and named it Sarogon, after Aegon the Conqueror and House Stark.” 

 

Ned could see his children bursting with excitement and could tell they wanted to ask more questions but before they could ask there was a knock on the door. He sighed, walked over and opened the door. Once he opened it he was shocked to see Howland Reed and his two children on the other side.

 

"Howland, what are you all doing here?”

"May we enter in this discussion Lord Stark?" He nodded and the three of them entered. He was about to close the door when he say Maester Luwin and his Lady wife Catelyn approaching.

"Cat, Maester, what brings you both here?" As he asked, he could tell by the looks on their faces that they were both confused as well.

"Lord Reed asked us to come." Catelyn answered with an unsure smile as she and the Maester entered the room.

 

He turned his gaze towards Howland and he nodded in confirmation. "Howland why have you summon all of my family here?”


"I wanted to discuss all of you what you saw in the sky," the Crannogman answered evenly. "The meteor in the sky marks as to a rebirth or reawakening of an ancient magic that has been lost since the first long night... It is a sign of Ice and Fire coming together. Something that will help us defeat the true threat beyond the wall.” 

 

Ned look around the room, everyone appeared confused except for Howland and his children. So he asked. "You mean, Jon's dragon?”

 

"Aye, today is a special day Lord Stark. The true king and Queen are getting married this evening, just after sunset.” 

 

Everyone was speechless, until Bran broke the silence, "How do you know this?”

 

"The three-eyed raven told us," Jojen answered calmly.

 

Ned looked at his son, who still appeared to be confused, when suddenly his eyes turned completely white. All of them were speechless. 

 

Bran looked at his father and out came a monotoned voice, "Father its good to see you alive. I'm glad that Jon was able to warn you in time." 

 

Initially, Ned was confused but finally, it made sense to him. "You are the Bran from Jon's future. You are  speaking with us through time!”

 

"Yes, I am.... I don’t have a lot of time... I warged before I sent Jon back and told him where he would find Daenerys. All that you need to know is that Jon and Daenerys are getting married... Ice and Fire are reborn and it has caused an ancient magic to be returned.”

 

Ned looked at his son and said, "Bran what do you mean ancient magic?" 


"I don't have time to explain Father. All that you need to know is that you must prepare for the White Walkers! If we lose again then there will be no third chance. Father, do not worry about Aegon. I know he has changed... But he became the king what he is meant to be... he is the prince who was promised and Daenerys is the princess who was promised that is why she could remember only Jon... She remembered her other half. I do not have any time left! Good luck to all of you!" Brans eyes turned back to brown, he fell to the ground and Catelyn and Maester Luwin ran over to him.

 

While the Maester and Catelyn were attending to Bran, Lord Howland walked towards Ned, but a hand on his shoulder and said, "It is time. We must leave for Greywater Watch now.” Ned let out a sigh as his friend looked him in the eyes and continued, “Bran needs to learn how to control his abilities.”


"Aye. Promise me, Howland, that you will take care of my son... that you will protect him,” Ned asked with a slight smile. 

 

His friend looked him in the eyes and said, "Aye, I will protect him with my life.” Howland then walked to Bran, knelt down and picked up the ten year old boy in his arms. He saw his wife had tears streaming down her face. She kissed him on the forehead and let go of his hand. Howland looked at him and he nodded as he left the room with Bran cradled in his arms and his children following behind. 

 

Ned then noticed that Bran’s direwolf, Summer, had entered the room. He knelt down, rubbed the top of the wolf’s head, looked into his knowing eyes and said, "Protect my son." Summer licked his hand, looked up at him and then turned around running after Howland and his companion.....


 

 Robb Stark

 

The midday sun was shining brightly as Robb stood on the covered patio of Illyrio’s manse admiring the comet in the cloudless sky change from blue to red and then back to blue. He pulled his gaze away from the anomaly above and directed his concentration towards Jon, who was in the training yard in front of him. He observed as his brother, sparred four on one against Jorah and his three blood riders. The Pentos air was hot and humid, so he watched as Jon took off his shirt and poured a skin if water over his head during a break in the sparring match. They have been sparing for well over an hour and Jon kept defeating any opponent that he faced. 

Robb’s attention was pulled from the training yard below when he heard footsteps approaching from behind him. As he turned around to where the footsteps were coming from he saw Daenerys and Doreah making their way onto the balcony. He noticed that they were smiling and laughing quietly with each other. Daenerys realized that they were not alone, and when she met his gaze she him a welcoming smile. He returned her smile, and then noticed that Doreah was giving him a lingering shy smile. He felt himself begin to blush and he adverted his gaze back to his soon to be good sister. 

Daenerys then turned to Doreah, smiled and kindly said as she took both her hand in her own, “Thank you for the Dothraki language lesson Doreah, you may leave us.”

Doreah slightly bowed her head and replied, “If you need anything, Khaleesi, just let me know.” 

“I will let you know if I need anything.”

 

Robb watched as Doreah left the balcony, not missing how she turned her head, eyes meeting his and smiled as she walked away; he could not help the blush that again creeped up his neck as he smirked back at her, then quickly turned his gaze back towards the training yard below.

 

After Doreah took her leave, Daenerys walked to the railing of the porch and stood beside him and said, “You must be Robb Stark, Jon's older brother.”  

 

He was surprised that she called him a brother to Jon and not cousin. He turned to face her and confirmed her assessment, “Aye, I am.”

 

“Well, it is an honor to meet you, Lord Robb,” she said with a smile.

 

Robb chuckled and said, “Please, Daenerys, just call me Robb. You are Jon's family so that means your part of my family.” He could tell by the look on her face that she was surprised but also happy by these words.

 

"Thank your Robb, that means a lot to me," she said with a beaming smile, which made him smile back in return. As he turned his eyes back to his brother, he heard her gasp and say, “What is that?”

 

He quickly looked where she was pointing and noticed she was staring at the color-changing shooting star. “I am not sure. I have never seen anything seen anything like it before. Have you?

 

“I do not think so…” However, before she could finish telling him her thoughts, their heads snapped towards what sounded like a herd of elephants running in their direction. To his surprised it was Greywind and Ghost, both of whom ran over to him and began jumping and prancing around him. He looked over at her as he ruffed the fur on top of each direwolf’s head and saw she that was surprised to see the direwolf pups. He then noticed that Ghost detected her presence and he went over to sniff her. Once he had acquired her scent, he happily wagged his tail, licking her legs and demanding pets.

 

“Oh, sorry about that Daenerys. That is Jon's direwolf his name is…” However, before he could finish she cut him off.

"Ghost," she said happy as knelt down and gave the fluffy white direwolf the attention he demanded. "I never dreamed that I would get see you as a pup, my sweet boy," she cooed as she scratched behind his ears. 

The sight made Robb smile. He then felt his direwolf Greywind, standing next to him, rubbing his head against his hand. He laughed as he knelt down, ruffled the fur on top of the growing wolf’s head and said to him, “Is someone jealous?”

He looked to Daenerys when he heard her say, “I forget Jon told me that all Stark children had Direwolves… If I remember correctly you named your direwolf Greywind?" 

 

He smiled and nodded. At the sound of his name, Greywind trotted over towards her and sniffed her. To his surprise, the wolf quickly started licking her hands, demanding some love and attention from her as well.

 

He was in awe that the wolves had taken to her so quickly and the sight of her interacting with the two direwolf pups made him smile. After a few moments he said, "I see that our wolves have a place for you in our pack.” 

 

“Thank you, Robb. That really means a lot to me,” she said with a beaming smile as she stood up. 

 

Just then, the sounds of steel of swords clashing against each other in the courtyard caused them to whip their heads to where the noise was coming from. As they watched the scene in front of them, he heard her gasp. He turned to look at her and saw that she seem be surprised by the sight of Jon sparring in the training yard in front of them, so he asked, "Daenerys are you alright?" 

She looked at him with her eyes open wide in shock as she muttered, "I never knew Jon could fight with two swords. Did he learn how to fight with two swords when he returned to the past?" 

 

Robb’s jaw dropped. He was shocked by what she had just asked. He shook his head as he answered, “No, Jon told me he learned how to fight with two swords in his past life… You never saw him using two swords?"

 

She nodded her head, “No. I only ever saw him using his Valyrian Steel sword. He called it Long Claw. I believe he said it was given to him by the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch after he saved his life from a wight.” 

 

 

He was confused; Jon had told him that Daenerys could only remember him and their son of their past life. However, if she remembered his sword, she would surely have remembered that he could wield two swords at the same time. He was pulled from his thought when she asked him a question.

 

"They cannot hurt him… can they?” 

 

He smiled. He was glad that his sister to be had concern for his brother. “No… I do not think they could hurt him even if they wanted to.” He answered truthfully. “You know, just before we left to come here, to Pentos, he took me, our father, Theon Greyjoy, who is Father’s ward, Winterfell’s Master at Arms and the Head of the Stark Household Guard, all same time… he defeated us all and was not injured at all!” 

 

When he saw the surprise on her face, he started to have concern. He did not understand Daenerys could not remember his brother using two swords in here past life. Therefore, he asked, “Daenerys what is the last thing that you can remember about your past life with Jon?”

 

She appeared to be a bit taken aback by his question, but had a slight smile on her face when she answered, “My last memory of my past life was giving birth to our son, Rhaegar.” 

Robb smiled when she mentioned his nephew. He had asked Jon what he looked like but Jon would never tell him. He had always said that he did not want to talk about his dead child, so he thought that maybe she would be willing to provide him an image of the babe. "I am sorry if my next question is too painful to answer but can you remember what your son looked like?” 

She appeared surprised by the question but nodded. "Of course I do," she said as she turned her gaze back at Jon. "Why do you ask, Robb?" She asked with a bit of a cold tone in her voice and her body slightly stiffened.

 

“I am sorry. I did not mean for you to think about your son. Jon would never answer when I asked because he said he did not want to talk about his dead child. If it is too painful you do not have to answer…” 

He could see that her posture seemed to relax ever so slightly; she took a deep breath and in a softer tone said, “It is fine Robb, I do not mind. What would you like to know about your nephew?” 

 

Robb smiled sadly, as he said, “Ever since I heard that Jon had a son, in his past life, I have wondered what he looked. Like I said, I asked Jon but he would never answer.” 

Even though she kept her eyes on Jon sparring in the training yard, he noticed that she had a serene smile on her face as she began to talk. “Rhaegar was a beautiful babe. He looked like a true Targaryen. He had amethyst eyes that twinkled when he smiled and he had little wisps of curly silver hair on his head…” However, before she could say anything further, she gasped and exclaimed, "Why did Jon just punch Bako?" 

He tore his gaze from her profile and looked at Jon in the training yard. He noticed that his eyes had look of determination and rage… the same look he had when he faced Drogo. He turned his gaze at her and saw she was confused. "Jon would never punch a man in the face. He is an honorable man…” 

Robb felt his eyes open wide as he realized that she did not know that husband to be had changed that he now had a dark side at times. He closed the distance between them. He stopped when stood next to her. He placed both of his hand on the railing, and whispered, “Daenerys has Jon been different towards you? Is he the same Jon Snow you knew in your past life?" 

 

She turned to look him; he could see the confusion in her eyes as she asked, “What do you mean Robb?"

 

He took a deep breath. "Is he the same exact Jon Snow you knew in your past life? Is he the same man who you fell in love with? Is he still the man who could never keep secrets and always put his honor before himself?" 

 

"No he is not ... He has changed... He is keeping a secret from me,” she whispered, her voice laced with concern.

 

Robb raised an eyebrow. “What happened to him Daenerys? What is he keeping from you?"

 

She took a deep breath before she started speaking in a hushed tone. “This morning when I woke up he was still asleep in my arms… I wanted to wake him but to my surprise, I could not feel his breath on my face… His chest was not rising and falling like it should have been… and I did not hear heart beating when I put my ear to his chest… Robb, I thought he had died!” He could see a single tear escaping from her glassy eyes and she quickly wiped it from her cheek before she continue talking. "I tried to wake him… but I could not get him wake up… so I shook him and started screamed out his name… He… He finally opened his eyes, but when he did she shoot up in the bed and took deep breaths… It was like… like as if he had returned from the dead. I… I asked him what happened… At first, he would not tell me anything… Then finally he told me that he had had a nightmare.”

"What was the dream about?" She took a deep breath.

“All he would tell me was that it was about our past life. He would not tell me anything about it though… He told me he would keep the secrets of his nightmares to himself and that he would never share them with me. Robb, he had tears in his eyes. He was scared. He was terrified at whatever he saw in his dreams and he would not share the pain with me. He would not let me in.” 

They both looked at Jon and saw that he was now sparring against Jorah.

"Something devastating happened to him Daenerys and he is keeping it from us.”

She looked at him. “Robb, of course something devastating happened to him. His wife and his child died right in front of him.”

 

“Aye, that is true. However, that cannot be the reason for this change. Something else must have happened after you died. I still do not understand, why was he so brutal towards Drogo? He is hiding something from us Daenerys. Something that he does not want us to find out. Your death and Rhaegar’s death would not be enough to kill the Stark side inside of him and let the Targaryen side take over.”

She raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, Robb? You are not saying that you believe he will become like the mad king.  like the man my father, his grandfather was, are you?" 

 

He sighed. "No, Daenerys. I do not believe that he will ever become the mad king. I am just saying that something dark inside of him awoke in your past life. Something so horrific that pushed him to learn how to use two swords. My guess at the reason why you can't remember what the triggering event was is because by the time it occurred you had already been murdered by the Night King."  

 

"That make sense,” she said as she nodded her head. She took a deep breath and then quirked an eyebrow and said, “You told me he was brutal towards Drogo and his blood riders. Care to share what he did exactly?" 

Robb took a hesitant breath before he quietly answered her question. "He placed one of his swords through a blood riders head and he slicked off a leg of another. He cut off one of Drogo’s arms and the proceeded to behead him. Daenerys, he did not give Drogo or any of his blood riders an honorable death. I did not recognize him during the fight. He appeared to have no control over himself. It was like he was possessed by his rage.” 

He saw how shocked she was by his answer. She then asked in a shaky voice, "What could have provoked him to fight like that?" 

 

He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "You, Daenerys. Drogo told Jon what he would do to you once he killed him." She nodded in response and he continued voicing his thoughts. "Something horrific must have happened to you after you died. I do not know what it was but we need to find out. We have to find out before we lose the honorable Jon what we knew forever." 

She nodded, "I agree, Robb… I will try and find out."

 

They went back to watching Jon spar with the other men. He seemed to have calmed a little, but his sparing partners were still not providing him with a challenge. After several more minutes, the men finally stopped training. They were drinking water and Jon appeared to be thanking them as they were putting their training swords away.

 

Robb then started looked to Daenerys and said in a kind tone, "I am sorry by the way."

 

She raised her eyebrow, "Oh… about what? I can think if nothing that you need to apologize for."

 

"I am sorry that Viserys was such a horrible brother. I am sorry that you had to live in exile all these years while he used you to get what he desired. I am sorry that you did not know what it was like to have a family that loved you and would have done anything to protect you."

 

"You have nothing to apologize for… None of the past is your fault. I do wish that I could have met my oldest brother, Jon’s sire, Rhaegar. It would have been nice to know what a brother’s love truly is,” she said with a wishful smile.

"Well, after today you will have a new brother by your side to help watch over you and keep you safe as well as two others, back in Winterfell. All of who will show you what it truly means to have a brother," he vowed with a kind smile. 

"Thank you, Robb... brother," she said as her eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

 

He smiled back, gave her into a friendly embrace, and said, "Welcome to the pack of wolves, my dear sister."

 

"I'm glad to be part of a real family," she laughed.

 

"Jon, told me that you will give yourself away for tonight?" He said as he pulled from their embrace.

 

He noticed that she blushed as she looked over towards where his brother was standing and answered. "Yes I will. I have no family her to give me to him. Also, no one is giving me to him. I am giving myself to him because this is what I want not because I am being told that I have to marry him."

 

 

He noticed the way she looked at his brother. "You truly love him, don't you?" He asked with a smile.

 

"Am I that obvious," she snorted as the blush again began to spread across her neck and cheeks.

 

"You both are,” he answered with a smirk. “I know now finally who got him out of his shell."

 

"What do you mean?" she asked with knitted eyebrows.

"You where the one who taught Jon to think more of himself as more than the one stain on Lord Eddard Stark’s honor. You were the one who showed him whom he truly is and how it felt to be loved unconditionally… Before he came from his past life, he was always brooding and hiding in the shadows. He thought that he was nothing more than an unintended bastard. However, know he thinks himself as a king, and that is because of you." She looked away from him and towards Jon with a smile on her face.He then added, "You truly are meant for each other, Daenerys. I could not ask for a better wife for my brother and sister for myself."

 

“Thank you, brother,” she said with a smile, which grew wider as Jon walking towards them.

 

"I see you met my brother, Robb  and I am glad to see the both of you getting along.” He called as he approached where they were standing with a beaming smile stretching across his face. 

 

“Yes, my love, he was just welcoming me to the family.” 

"Aye, brother. I just was informing her that she is now part of the pack," Robb said as he returned his brother’s smile.

"Aye, she is,” Jon easily agreed, and then sighed, "I would love to stay and talk, but I am covered in dirt and sweat. I am going to have the Handmaidens draw me a bath."

 

“Aye, brother, you do had better go bathe, unless you want to get married smelling like a pile of pig shit.” Which made all three chuckle.

 

After the laughter subsided, Jon said, “Aye, I have better go get ready. I will see you both later tonight.” He then embraced his brother and pressed a chaste kiss his bride’s forehead before he walked away.

 

"My dear good-sister, I have best begin getting ready as well."

 

She looked at him and nodded, “Yes, I also need to seek out Doreah to have her help me prepare for the ceremony.”

 

"Well then, Daenerys, I will see you tonight for your wedding." He gave her a smile, and then left her standing on the patio, staring up towards the color-changing comet as walked towards his chambers...


 

 Arya Stark

 

The great color-changing comet could still clearly be seen overhead as sun began to sink lower in the sky over Winterfell. Arya was busy sparing against a training dummy with the sword that her brother, Jon, had commissioned for her as Sansa sat on a nearby crate and watched. To Arya's surprise, she and her sister has gotten a lot closer over the moon turn, since they learned the truth about Jon’s heritage and his past life. 

 

"I am sad," Arya sighed as she poked at the dummy with her ‘Needle.'

"Why is that?" Sansa asked as she lazily stoked Lady's soft grey and white fur.

"Because, all of our brothers are gone! I especially miss Jon and Robb. I miss watching them sparing together in the training yard. I miss hearing their laughter. I even miss Jon ruffling my hair!" The wild wolf exclaimed as she poked another hole in the training dummy. 

 

She stopped hitting the dummy, looked at her sister, and said, “At least we still have Rickon.” 

 

She heard her sister sigh. “Yes, that is true Arya, but he is so young. I miss talking to Robb and Bran and even Jon.” 

 

Her head snapped to her meet her redheaded sister’s gaze. “You feel guilt over how you treated Jon for all those years, don’t you?” Sansa nodded.

 

She went over and sat down on the crates next to her sister. When she did, Lady took off towards the Godswood. Sansa took a deep breath before she started to talk, “Arya, I feel extremely guilty. I am horrified over my actions. I have always been horrible to him… I want to. No, I need to tell him that I am truly sorry for the way I treated him his whole life… Do you think that he will find it in his heart forgive me?” 

Arya smiled at her sister. "He will… I know that he will. He will probably tell you that there is nothing at all to forgive. You might have treated him poorly, as mother did, but he still sees you as family. He sees you as one of his two little sisters.” 

Her statement made a small smile appear on Sansa’s lips. She was silent for a few moments before she asked, "What do you think she's like?"

 

Arya raised her eyebrow and asked, “Who?"

“Jon’s aunt… uh, wife… Daenerys Targaryen." 

Sansa’s question made her think. She wanted her future good sister to be like one of the historical dragon-riding Targaryen’s she loved reading about in the old dusty history books in library. She hoped that she was like Visenya Targaryen, one of Aegon the Conqueror’s sister-wives or even the Dornish warrior Queen Nymeria. Once she decided on her answer, she spoke in a wishful tone, "I hope she's like Visenya Targaryen a Queen who is also a sword wielding warrior with a dragon at her back!”

Her answer made Sansa laugh. "I would expect nothing less from you, little sister!” She snorted between chuckles as she looked up to the sky at the comet as it changed from blue and red.

Arya looked at the meteor or shooting star in the sky. “Father’s friend, Lord Howland Reed said the meteor or shooting star in the sky is a sign of an ancient and powerful mysterious magic returning to Westeros. That it is a sign of Ice and Fire are coming together and merging as one. That it will mark that the true King and Queen coming together to face off against the true threat beyond the wall... The Prince and Princess who was promised whom bring the dawn.” She put her hand on Sansa’s shoulder to so that she faced her and once she had her attention said, “Father told me that Jon would play a big part in the game of thrones. That he is the King the seven kingdoms needs in order to survive the Long Night.”

"Do you believe what Lord Tyrion said?" Sansa asked quietly.

 

Arya was confused. “Do I think the imp is right about what?”

 

Sansa smiled, “Do you think he is right about the comet that Jon has given birth to an Ice Dragon?”

 

Arya smiled and looked at the white direwolf neckless that Jon had whittled for her. "I don't know Sansa ... Did you ask father?” 

 

Sansa looked back to the comet in the sky as she answered, “I did and he told me that he does not know. He said that he would send a raven to Jon and ask him if the rumors are true.” 

 

After a few moments of staring at the massive ball of blue and red in the sky together in silence, Arya took a deep breath, made her way back over to the training dummy. She adjusted her grip on ‘Needle’ started to again practice her swordplay as her sister observed. 

 

After a few minutes their heads both whipped around when they heard a smug, high pitched voice say, “I finally found where you have been hiding all evening, Lady Sansa.” 

 

"My prince," Sansa answered as she stood and gave a perfect curtsy. Although her sister had a stoic facade, Arya could tell that she was scared and nervous. Arya decided to stay hidden in the shadows, behind the training dummy.

 

Prince Joffrey had a confidant smirk on his face as he looked at Sansa with hungry eyes. He strolled over to where her sister was sitting to and said, "My mother told me, the reason your father declined the generous offer from my father, the King, of our betrothal is because you did not wish to marry me... That your father promised you he would never force you into a marriage you did not want or desire.” 

She heard as Sansa gulped just before she looked away from the prince and meekly replied. "Your mother is correct. My Father said he would not force me to marry And that when or if I decide to marry, that I be able choose my husband.” 

 

The Prince still had a smirk on his face, but Arya could tell that it was forced. “So tell me, Lady Sansa, why it is you told your father, that you do not wish to marry me?” 

She could tell that Sansa was getting uncomfortable, and her voice quivered ever so slightly and she looked down at her hands as she spoke, “I.. I feel that I… That I am not fit to be your queen, my Prince.” 

Joffrey smiled as he closed the distance between himself and her sister. He then reached up and grabbed her breast. “I am the crown prince of Westeros it is my right to have whatever it is that I wish or desire. That I can take whatever it is that I wish or desire and make it mine and I shall have you as my queen.” 

From her position behind the training dummy, she saw Sansa was helpless while he squeezed her one of her breasts and attempted to rip the top of her dress off. When she heard her sister holler for him to stop, she felt her wolf blood boiling. She dropped Needle, ran over to where they were standing and slapped the prince hand off his sister's breast and screamed, “She does not want to marry your... your mad Lannister boy… Now leave us before I scream from my Father!” 

 

She saw the Prince’s face had turned the same shade of red as a leaf from a Weirwood Tree. “How dare you lay hands on me… you… you little wolf peasant! I am the CROWN PRINCE of Westeros I will be KING… And I will have your head on a spike," he roared as he unsheathed his sword.

Arya quickly ran back to where she had dropped her sword. Once she had her ‘Needle’ in hand, she gritted through her teeth, “You are no prince! You are nothing more than a bastard! A bastard born of incest between your mother and her brother, Ser Jaime!”

 

“How dare call me a bastard! I am not a bastard! I am the CROWN PRINCE! I will take your head for your false claims against me… you… you stupid, northern fool!" Joffrey screeched.

 

Arya smiled smugly and said, “You are wrong… And soon it will be your head on a spike!”


"Is that a threat of rebellion or threat on my family’s throne, little wolf girl?” He asked as raised his eyebrows. 

 

She held her tongue, willing herself not to give anything else away about what Jon had told their Father happened in his last life. So, she took a deep breath and said, “It is a threat! However, the threat is only against you… It is not a threat against the crown…If you dare even try and touch my sister again, I will cut your head off and put it on a spike myself!" 

 

Her words sent Joffrey into a fit of laughter. When he finally composed himself he said, “Alright, you peasant, I would like to see you try!” He then walked over to where Sansa was standing from in fear, and proceeded to rip the top of her dress, exposing both of her breasts. He then grabbed her breasts and began to squeeze violently squeeze them. Just as she was about to scream, he forced his mouth over hers and began to kiss her roughly. Sansa was able to pull away and she slapped him across the face.

Joffrey appeared to be shocked. He slowly touched his face where Sansa had slapped him. He then took a few deep breaths before he squeaked out, “How dare slap me in the face! I am the crown prince! I will have your heads!" 

 

When he tried to grab Sansa again, Arya ran at him with Needle raised. She brought down her sword and grazed the side of his face, causing a small cut to his cheek. She smiled in satisfaction when she saw a few drops of blood seeping out of the small cut. "I warned you! Leave my sister alone!" She howled.

 

Arya then when over to her sister, took her by the arm and said, “Let’s get away from here Sansa.” Sansa nodded as she pulled up the front of her dress and they began to walk away from the training yard, leaving an angry Prince behind them. 

However, as they were walking away Prince Joffrey drew his sword and ran towards the girls. He was about to bring his sword down on the sisters but was stopped when direwolf jumped up from the shadows and clamped down on his sword arm. 

 

He dropped his sword as he screamed, “Get your filthy dog off me!" 

The sisters turned around to see the Prince squirming and hitting Nymeria as she growled and had her jaws firmly attached to his sword arm. Arya began to panic. “Nymeria!” she called, “To me!" 

 

At her request, Nymeria quickly released his arm and ran towards her side, still growling and ready to defend her and Sansa at a moment’s notice. When they looked at Joffrey, they saw that the sleeve of his shirt had been torn to shreds and was full of blood. They also noticed that he had tears streaming down his face his angry purple face.

 

"You will regret what you did to me, you Stark dogs!" He screamed at the sisters as he tried to dry the tears from his face before he ran away from the training yard. 

Arya and Sansa looked at each other with worried expressions on their faces, but before either sister could say anything, they heard a voice behind them. "You do not want my sister as your enemy, my ladies," the Dwarf of Casterly Rock stated calmly as he waddled towards them.

"I'm no lady," Arya retorted flatly.

 

Her word made the dwarf smile. “Of course you are not a lady, you are a wolf… a brave wolf at that. You protected your pack.” 

 

"You saw what your nephew did to Sansa?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Tyrion nodded sadly, exhaled and stated, "I did... He tried to force himself on your sister and you protected her. Not only did you save your sister, you also saved Joffrey from preventing a horrendous, unforgivable, vile act.” He then gave Arya a small but reassuring smile, “You did just what a sibling is supposed to do.” 

 

After a few moments, he raised his eyebrow and asked, "Where did you hear that Joffrey was not the son of King Robert, but a bastard sired by my brother, Jaime?" 

The two Stark girls were frozen in place. Arya felt anxiety bubbling in her stomach and willed the bile not to rise as she whispered, "You know that he is a bastard... born of the incestuous relationship between your brother and sister?" 

The imp shook his head as he slowly answered her question. "No I did not... but I would sure like to know how you know you came to the conclusion.” 

 

Before Arya said anything, Sansa put a hand across her mouth, as she answered in an innocent tone, "We cannot say anything, my lord. My... my sister was just upset and made the story up to draw your nephew’s attention away from me.” She could tell Tyrion did not buy the story as he looked at the both of them in disbelief.

 

"I can see that you're lying, Lady Sansa. Your facial expressions betray you."


However, before either of them could answer, they heard their Father call, "Sansa, Arya… Why is the prince hand full of blood?" as he was quickly walking towards them. Once he reached them, his eyes opened wide at the site of Sansa’s torn dress. “Dear gods, what happened?” He demanded as he pulled them both into a comforting embrace.

 

Sansa began to cry into their Father’s shoulder, and Arya took a deep breath to prepare herself to tell him what had happened. However, before she could answer Tyrion made his presence known.

 

"Lord Stark... You daughters did nothing wrong… It was my nephew's fault. He tried to force his way onto Lady Sansa, which is when Arya protected her. She cut the boy’s face with her sword as way to warn him to back away… Then, when they started to walk away, the prince tried to strike them from behind with his sword, but luckily that Direwolf bit his arm, causing him to drop his sword before he could strike your daughters.”

 

Her Father’s eyes were open wide as Tyrion recounted the events that had occurred. He took a deep breath, knelt down, looked at Sansa in the eyes, and asked as calmly as he could, “Did he hurt you?"

 

She could not find her voice and simply shook her head as she wiped away her tears that continued to fall.

 

"Thank the gods," he signed. He then turned his gaze towards Arya and asked, "Are you hurt?"

 

She also shook her head no in response.

 

Next, she saw her Father looking at the dwarf. “I know your sister will be furious. She will blame my daughters and she will want them and the Direwolf to be punished… Will you help me clear up this unfortunate event up when the time comes? Will you tell them the truth; that Arya and the Direwolf were protecting Sansa and prevented the Prince from committing a horrendous crime?” 

 

The dwarf nodded and smiled with sad eyes. "Lord Stark, I would like nothing more to put my nephew in his place. As far as I am concerned Arya and the wolf saved my nephew from a crime that is punishable by death.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.” He then turned back to his daughters and said, “Come girls. You should both clean up before supper in the Great Hall. I will ask your handmaidens to draw you each a bath.”

 

However, before they could leave Tyrion began to speak once again, "Lord Stark your daughters told Joffrey that he was a bastard when he threatened to put their heads on spikes... But, not only did they call him a bastard, they said that he was an incestuous bastard sired by my brother, Ser Jaime. Do you know where they may have heard this information?"

 

Their Father shot them a quick look of irritation before he took a death breath and turned around. "Aye, we heard rumors that Jon Arryn was investigating if the royal children. He had heard whispers that they were in fact not sired by the King, and possibly that they were sired by you brother. However, before he was able to complete his investigation he poisoned. Don't you think it’s a little suspicious ... That a person who was investigating something so damning was poisoned before just before he was able to uncover the truth?"

 

Arya looked at Lord Tyrion who appeared to be surprised by what her Father had just confirmed. "Yes, if those rumors are in fact true, that does make Jon Arryn’s death quite suspicious… but, do you have any proof or leads that what you heard is true?"

 

That is when Arya remembered that in Jon's previous life, Bran had been pushed from one of the windows of the old broken tower after witnessing Cersei and Jaime coupling... Therefore, she took a chance. "I went to the tower this morning when I was hiding from the Septa… and heard voices... Not talking voices but moaning voices… And I heard weird wet slapping sounds as well. After the disturbing noises and slapping sounds stopped, I heard the queen's voice and your brother's voice… They talked about the Fat King and how she hated him and they talked about how much they loved each other.”

 

The dwarf swallowed, "Which tower was this?"

 

She pointed to the old broken tower, the one Jon had told Father not to let Bran climb while the Lannister’s were in Winterfell because that was where Ser Jaime had pushed him out of the window. 

 

The dwarf smiled at them. "Thank you for pointing that out to me." The dwarf then looked at their father. "Lord Stark do you mind if we keep this theory or secret to ourselves. There's no telling what my sister would do to you if she hears this information and I would hate for my Wall traveling companion to perish before we even get time to know each other."

 

She looked at her Father and noticed he had slim smile on his face as he answered. "Aye, we will keep this a secret, Lord Tyrion."

 

The dwarf nodded and turned to leave. However, before he left, he quickly spun and said, "Lord Stark, I understand why you did not except the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey but, I would like to know the real reason as to why you did not except the position of Hand of the King?"

 

Her Father smiled a true smile. "I like you lord Tyrion but I have already informed you. Something is going on beyond the wall and I must investigate."

 

"Well then,” the dwarf said with one raised eyebrow, “I guess that will find my answer from you when we travel together to and from the wall."

 

Before their Father could reply, the Hound walked over towards them. "Lord Stark!” he called in a gruff tone, “The King demands to see you and your daughters in the Great Hall for an audience straight away." 

 

Her heart started to beat faster and faster as her, she looked up to her father for comfort but noticed he was looking at Lord Tyrion with knitted eyebrows but did not say anything.

 

She was surprised when the Dwarf smile and said, “Lead the way, Lord Stark. I am right behind you. We best not keep my dear sister waiting." Her Father smiled and led them all towards the Great Hall...


 

 Eddard Stark

 

 

It was late evening at Winterfell. The sun had set and the only lights in the sky were the blue and red tones being emitted by the massive comet over head. Lord Stark was being escorted to the Great Hall by The Hound with Lord Tyrion, and his daughters Sansa and Arya following closely behind. When they reached their destination, The Hound easily pushed the heavy wooden door open, and inside, seated around the numerous wooden tables, he saw many the great and noble northern lords and ladies, all of whom had traveled to Winterfell to pay homage to King Robert. He quickly scanned the room and recognized the faces of Lord Manderly, Lord Glover, Lord Karstark, Lord Umber, Lady Mormont and Lord Bolton all of whom had looks of confusion and uneasiness written on their faces. Eddard did his best to keep his face calm and relaxed, but under his stoic facade his wolf blood was boiling as he saw the bastard Prince Joffrey stood at the front of the room, next to his mother, Queen Cersei, who was sitting in the chair reserved of Lady of Winterfell. Next to the Queen sat the man he once considered to he a brother, King Robert, who was in his chair, the chair belonging to the Lord of Winterfell.

 

Once they stopped in front of the King he took a deep calming breath. He was unsure what he would say or what he would do… Robert was once his best friend… He had battled in two wars with the man and at that time he would have died for the man… This is a man that he was partially responsible for putting his nephew’s throne He. thought that Robert would have been a good king… But he was wrong… Now looking at the man all he felt was shame and disgust… Robert was no longer the boy he grew up with in the Eyrie… He was nothing to him… All he saw was a fat whore of a man who only cared about his own pleasures… Ned was pulled from his thoughts when her heard Cersei’s shrill voice.

 

“Lord Stark! We must discuss the punishment that your daughters will receive after what they did to my son, Joffrey, The Crown Prince of Westeros!” Cersei screamed out loud as she held the prince's arm.

 

"Aye, we must!" Ned answered trying to keep his tone even and his anger at bay. He wanted to know what that little shit had to say and then see his face as he was called out in his lies. He noticed that the king took a deep breath, and looked over towards his alleged son, Joffrey. 

 

"Tell us what happened boy!" Robert roared. 

 

Joffrey was about to say something but Cersei cut him off. "These two Stark heathens cut the Crown Prince's beautiful face and one of their Direwolves mangled his arm for no reason and tried to kill him!" 

 

Arya and Sansa started to protest.

 

"That's not what happened!" Arya screamed as she was held back by her father.

 

"He's lying to you!" Sansa exclaimed with tears in her eyes as she held up her torn dress. 

 

The Queen was about to say something but Joffrey cut her off. "You commanded your mutt kill me, but I was able to fight it off!” Joffrey gritted through his teeth as he pointed at Arya. 

 

Ned was about to protest what the Prince had said but the Queen started talking before he got the chance.

 

"I think we should kill the beast for what it did to my beloved son, the Crown Prince! Wolves are wild animals and should not be kept as pets!” Cersei seethed.  

 

The King took a deep breath and looked at Ned as he tried to take control of the situation. He then forcefully said, “Ned, I need for you to tell me what you know…  What do your girls say happened in the training yard?”

 

"Your Grace, Your son… attempted to force his way onto my daughter, Sansa… He ripped her dress and he TRIED TO RAPE HER!” the Quiet Wolf Howled. As he said these words he heard all of the Northern Lords and Ladies in the room gasp. 

 

"He dare try to rape a daughter of the North!" Lord Karstark hollered.

 

"This is an outrage!" another Northern Lord exclaimed. 

 

The King looked at Sansa and then his face turned the same color as the Dornish Red he loved to drink. He got up from the table and grabbed Joffrey by the tunic and seethed, "You tried to rape the girl!" 

 

He saw all the color drained from the little bastard’s face as he gulped. When he found his voice he screamed, “They are lying, Father… I never touched her!!!” 

 

Which is when finally Tyrion stepped in and made his presence know. “Your Grace, Lord Stark is speaking the truth. I was outside, drinking my wine in peace when I heard a commotion. When I got to the training yard I saw Joffrey touching her breasts in a way that young Lady Sansa did not welcome as she tried to push him away. When she finally broke free, little Arya came over to defend her sister, the Prince threatened to have their heads on spikes and then she warned him that his head on a spike if he did not leave them. The Prince did not listen and again continued to force himself on the Lady, ripping the front of her dress in the process!" He heard the dwarf taking a deep breath. “I saw Joffrey tare Lady Sansa’s gown, exposing her breasts as he continued to force himself onto her. She wanted to scream but you covered her mouth with yours! When she was finally able to break free and she slapped you across the face. You again threatened them and told them you would put their heads on spikes. I saw everything with my own eyes," the dwarf of Casterly Rock stated. 

 

Ned observed as the King’s face became even more red with rage as he eyed his son and they heard the Lords of the North shouting in anger.

 

The King the roared with rage, “SILENCE!!!!” Once the room quieted, he said in a voice still laced with anger, “Lord Tyrion, tell me what happened next!" 

 

"Your Grace, young Arya cut his face with her little sword, in defense, when he grabbed his sword. After the prince placed his hand on his cut the two Stark girls attempted to leave, which is when the prince drew his sword again. As the girls were walking away he attempted to strike Lady Arya from behind…” As the Imp said these words Ned could hear the gasps of everyone gathered in the Great Hall. Tyrion paused for a moment, letting the room quiet down before he continued, "When the prince was about to strike Lady Arya, the direwolf came from the shadows and bit his arm… The wolf was protecting her companion, and prevented Prince Joffrey from committing a heinous crime… The wolf prevented the Prince from killing the young Stark girls.” 

 

The King appeared to furious as looked at Joffrey. The Northern Lords were all yelling in outrage.

 

"This is unacceptable! He tried to rape Lady Sansa!" Ned heard Lord Manderly scream.

 

"He must be punished for his actions!" another Northern Lord demanded.

 

"He also tried to butcher lady Arya!” He heard Lord Glover exclaim.

 

The king looked at his son in displeasure, his face was so red Ned thought that his blood must be boiling. He was actually surprised when the King slapped his son across the face. As the King did this he saw the fury in the Queen’s face.

 

"You tried to rape the Warden of the North’s daughter and then tried murder his other daughter… and then blame a direwolf for protecting it’s master! You bastard!" The King roared in anger as he saw the prince gulp. “You get down there and apologize to Lady Sansa and Lady Arya… now! And mean it!” The prince was shocked but nodded he walked down the stairs and heard the northern lords shout at him.

 

"You are a rapist should be punished for your actions against the Starks!”

 

“Take his head!”

 

“Send him to the wall!”

 

“He is no Prince of mine!”

 

The prince walked and stopped in front of his daughters.

 

When Joffrey just stood there quietly the King yelled, “Get on your knees and tell them that you are sorry boy!" 

 

The prince slowly got down on his knees, with fear in his eyes as he gritted out, “I am sorry Lady Sansa for trying to force my way onto you without your permission.” He looked at Arya. “I am sorry for trying to strike you with my sword, Lady Arya." His daughter’s just glared at him as he stood up and walked back towards the King and Queen.

 

"Is that his punishment? That is unacceptable!" Lord Umber hollered from the side of the room.

 

"He tried to rape Lady Sansa! You killed Rhaegar Targaryen for raping Lady Lyanna Stark! And you only making your son apologize… If it was not for Lady Arya and the wolf he could have been successful! That punishment is unacceptable!" Lord Glover exclaimed.

 

“Do not dare mention my beloved Lyanna!" The King roared.

 

"He must be punished by death! His head should be on a spike" Another Northern Lord loudly remarked.

 

Queen Cersei was furious. “I will not let you Northern fools kill my son! He was the only one injured in this situation! I want the head of that wolf! My son, your future King could have been crippled by that beast!” 

 

Heard as the Northern Lords and Ladies responded to the Queen’s statement. Some were laughing and other were voicing their outrage. 

 

"We listen to no Queen who blames a direwolf protecting a child of the North, a Stark, from your rapist, murdering son!” He heard Lady Mormont holler.

 

However his attention was pulled back to the front of the room as King Robert began to speak.

 

"I will not kill my son!" The King responded to the Northern Lords demands for justice.

 

“Then send your son to the Nights Watch for his crimes! His a rapist and a murderer!" He heard the booming voice of Lord Glover yell.

 

"I am your Prince! I will be King! I will not go to the Wall! How dare you even make such a request! I apologized for my actions… That should be enough!” Joffrey exclaimed with a reddened face.

 

"We will never follow a king who murders and rapes little girls… let alone a Stark!" one of the Northern Lord voiced loudly from behind him, which earned a round of  ‘Ayes' from all the gathered Northerners.

 

Ned looked back towards King Robert and watched as he took a deep breath before he shouted in a booming voice, “Joffrey, sit down now! You had better be glad that I am not going to send you to the Wall and that I will not strip your title of the Crown Prince… You are lucky that I am not going to give the Throne to your little brother, Tommen!” Robert then looked at the northern lords, and in a softer tone asked, "My lords, what can I do… what can the Crown do to earn the forgiveness of the North so we can all move on from this unfortunate situation?" 

 

The northerners all whispered amongst themselves for a few moments and then Lord Glover stood and said, "We want the North to be independent from the Seven Kingdoms… We will never follow your son when he becomes King!" 

 

Ned stood in shock as another Northern Lord, Lord Manderly he believed, continued, “We want a Stark to be our king! The North will not follow for a your Baratheon-Lannister spawn rule over us after what he did to our Liege Lord’s daughters!” 

 

Ned observed as fury showed on Queen Cersei’s face and she seethed, "We do not accept this ridiculous request!" 

 

Robert glared at his wife and shot her a damning look before turing his gaze towards him. “Ned, what do you want me to give you… How can I right the wrong of my son… What can I do in order for you to forgive house Baratheon for my son’s actions against House Stark?”

 

The room was silent. Ned could feel all the eyes on him as he took a slow deep breath and answered, “Robert, I used to see you as a brother… We grew up together in the Eryie…I supported you when we went to war against the Targaryen. I supported you during the Greyjoy rebellion… But this… This… What your son tried to do to my daughters is unforgivable. Trying to rape one and murder the other… and then try and blame my daughter’s direwolf ! The Direwold is the sigil of my house, the sigil of House Stark... I will never follow a king like that… A king that only wants for himself and does not look out for the safety of his people… I am sorry for this my friend... but I feel that the only way to right this wrong is to grant the North independence from the Seven Kingdoms… The North Remembers, and when your son becomes king the Northern Lords and Ladies will not follow his rule.” 

 

He noticed that the Prince’s head looked like it was going to burst as he retorted, “I am the prince! I will have all of your heads!” He looked towards the Hound and hollered, “DOG, bring me that rebellious Stark traitor’s head… Bring me all of their heads!” 

 

The Hound just stood there, and laughed. 

 

Robert looked at his son in disbelief as he grabbed his son by the shirt, and screamed in his face, “How dare threaten the Noble Lords and Ladies of the North!" The prince gave his father a look of disbelief and he proceeded to slap him across the face once again.

 

Robert turned his gaze from his son and looked at all of the angry northern lords, many of whom had their hand on the hilts of their swords. Ned saw the man he once consider to be a brother sigh in defeat as he look him in the eye and asked, “Ned, is the Independence of the North what you want in return for my idiot son’s actions?"

 

“Aye, Robert. The independence of the North is the only way to correct the dishonorable actions of your boy.” 

 

"The North knows no King but The King in the North whose name is Stark!" Exclaimed the Lady of Bear Island, “Eddard Stark, the King in the North!”

 

Ned listened as all of the Lords and Ladies respond with cheers of, "The king in the North! The king in the North!”

 

The continued chanting for several minutes until Robert nodded. He then walked back to the table, sat down, turned to his squire and demanded "Bring me parchment, a quill, my stamp and the Maester!” 

 

The squire quickly returned with the items and Maester Lewin followed behind. The King began to write. Ned could see the shocked faces of Prince Joffrey and Queen Cersei as he wrote.

 

When he was finished writing he stood and proclaimed, “I King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, here by name The North as an independent kingdom and name The Starks the Head of the North and King of the North.” He then stamped the proclamation with his Baratheon seal and handed the parchment to Maester Lewin. "Send ravens to every Lord Paramount in Westeros,  to King’s Landing and the Citadel at Oldtown… Tell them all that there are now six Kingdoms and that Eddard Stark, First of his name is now King in the North!" 

 

Maester Luwin took the parchment, nodded, and silently left the Great Hall. 

 

The King looked at him and sighed, “Well Ned, you are now King in the North… I hope that one day we can rebuild our relationship and friendship after what happened here today.” He then smiled as he said, "What shall your first orders be as King in the North?" 

 

They heard as one of the Northern Lords shouted, "Banish Prince Joffrey from our lands for his actions against our Princesses… And banish Queen Cersei as well for trying to blame a direwolf for the crimes of her son!" 

 

The request was answered with a round of ‘Ayes' as Robert looked toward his and asked "What is your decision King Eddard?"

 

"I Eddard Stark, First of my name and the King in The North banish Joffrey Baratheon and Cersei Lannister from the North, in perpetuity, for their crimes against House Stark. If they ever return to the lands of the North they shall be punished by death!" said Ned. 

 

Robert signed and nodded as he relented, "That sounds reasonable.”  

 

Which is when Ned continued, "With all respect Robert I am king in the North, that is not an offer… It is an order.” His friend looked surprised but nodded, so he continued, “I want Queen Cersei and her children out of the North in first light ... Robert you may stay as long as you wish but I feel it would be best if you leave as well.” 

 

Robert nodded, "I understand, Ned. I will gather all of our belongings and ride for the capital in first light.” 

 

Ned then looked at Cersei and gritted out, "Queen Cersei Lannister and Prince Joffrey Baratheon if you ever try to harm one of my children’s Direwolves or any member of the Stark again you will see not only wrath of House Stark, but you will feel the entire wrath of the North!" 

 

The proclamation was answer with a round of ‘Ayes’ from the Northern Lords and Ladies.

 

He then turned his gaze back to Robert, Cersei and Joffrey said, "I suggest that you all retire for the night… you will begin a long journey at first light as you ride for the capital.” 

 

Robert nodded as he grabbed his wife by the arm and his son by the shirt as they filed out of Winterfell’s Great Hall.  

 

After several rounds of ale and toasts in his honor… The new King in the North, the Great Hall was finally empty except for him. He sat there silently brooding about the events of the evening and the events that will come in the future, when his brother, Benjen entered the room and sat down next to him.

 

"I heard the news… and I cannot believe what I heard,” Benjen stated as he poured them two tankards of Northern Ale and placed them on the table. 

 

He smiled at his brother and embraced him. When they pulled away from the embrace, the each grabbed their ale, took a long sip and sat for several minutes in silence.

 

The silence was broken when Benjen asked, “So… How does it feels to be King in the North?”

 

Ned smiled at his brother, the signed as he answered, “It feels strange... I still cannot believe what happened here tonight.”

 

"Who would have thought that my big brother, the great and honorable Eddard Stark would ever become King in the North…” Benjen mused as he continued to drink is ale.

 

Ned sighed again as he replied in a whisper, “Jon did... He knew something like this would happen. That's why he warned me to keep my eyes on Joffrey Baratheon.” 

 

Benjen raised an eyebrow as he asked, "What do you mean Ned? Did Jon planned this?"

 

"Aye, he did.” Ned smiled, “Benjen, he has changed… He knows how to play the game of thrones and so far he is winning.” 

 

He saw the look of surprise on his brother’s face Benjen. He the asked in a soft tone, “So Jon knew Joffrey would try something… that he would try and harm Sansa and Arya.”

 

Ned nodded, “Aye… Though, I would have never thought Joffrey would try to rape and murder two of my children. I would have killed the boy if I saw it happen.”

 

"Why did Jon… How did Jon know to plan all of this?" Benjen asked in utter disbelief.

 

Ned smiled as he answered, “Jon wanted to find a way for me to be able to grant safe passage to the Wildlings… or as he called them, the Free Folk, south of the Wall. He said that letting them pass through the Wall was the only way to save them from becoming servants to the Night King.

 

“So that is why you wish to go beyond the wall with me… You wish to parlay with the Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall in order to try him to join our side... Jon side… the side of the living?”

 

“Aye,” Ned answered with a smile and a nod, “I am also going in order to see the  threat of the Night King for myself… and I want to be there to protect you against the White Walkers.” 

 

Benjen smiled and refilled their tankards with more Northern ale. He handed his brother one of the mugs and said, "To my big brother… the King in the North.” 

 

Both brothers smile as they drank to the toast. They then begin discussing their plans for the future and planning for their quest beyond the wall...

 


 Jon Snow

 

 

It was just after sunset in Pentos, the air was still quiet warm, but there was a gentle breeze blowing inland from the narrow sea. The dark evening sky was lit by only the full yellow moon and light being cast off of the meteor. Jon stood on the balcony off his chambers, observing the meteor as it repeatedly changed color from red to blue and then back to red. Sarogon landed on his shoulder and screeched at him drawing his attention away from the night sky. He looked at his small grey dragon, smile and scratched the scales on top of his head, earning content purrs from the gorgeous beast. He then took a deep breath and closed his eyes and all he could see were the blue eyes that haunted his every dream; the sight gave him cold chills and sent shivers down his spine... 

 

He quickly opened his eyes, took several slow deep breaths, and quietly vowed aloud, "I will not allow it to happen again... I refuse to let that monster take everything that matters to me away once more... I will kill that fucking monster because of what he did!" He clinched his hands into fists in frustration, and took more deep breaths in an attempt to calm his anger. 

Luckily, he was pulled away from the nightmarish thoughts when he was disturbed by a knock on his chamber door. “Your grace it's time,” the calm voice of Ser Jorah called. 

He walked towards the door, but stopped in front of a mirror and observed his reflection. He was wearing a black cotton shirt with a red cloak around his shoulder and black leather breeches. ‘Black has always been my color,’ he mused to himself. On one side of shirt was a small grey Stark direwolf sigil and on the other side was the Targaryen three-headed dragon. He closed his eyes and still, he saw nothing but the neon blue eyes staring back at him. 

 

He heard another, more urgent knock on his door and then the voice of the old knight, “Your Grace, did you hear me? It is time for your wedding.”

 

He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the mirror once more. He noticed that his eyes turned from a dark orange to dark blue and then back to his normal Stark grey. He smiled at the mirror knowing it was time.

 

"Aye! Thank you, Ser Jorah. I'll be there in a moment!" Jon called as he began walking to the chamber door. When he opened the chamber door Ser Jorah greeted him. Sarogon screeched at the other man and then flew away down the hall and towards the kitchens.

 

"Follow me, Your Grace." Jon nodded, and followed behind Ser Jorah as he led the way to Illyrio's garden. 

 

As they walked through the garden, Jon looked up towards the evening sky light as the comet cast shadows alternating between red and blue. He could hear the water from the garden’s stream flowing in the distance. Then looked at his surroundings and noticed the mature cypress trees, and many different exotic plants and shrubs with colorful flowers that he had never seen before. He could see that candles had been lit, and they were lighting a path towards were Robb, who was standing under a large Lemon Tree. He looked at his brother and smiled as he closed the distance between them. He slowing closed his eyes and took a calming breath to try and settle is nerves while walking towards his place. When he opened his eyes, they were dark blue and then they quickly turned back to grey. 

 

When Jon reach the Lemon Tree he was embraced by his brother who whispered in his ear, "I still can't believe my broody, shy little brother is getting married," which caused them both to quietly chuckle.

 

"Aye, I cannot believe it either," he replied as turned around and took his place next to Robb.

 

As he looked around the Lemon Tree, he saw Ghost, Greywind, Illyrio, Doreah, Jorah and his three blood riders standing around the tree as witnesses. His gaze was then pulled toward the end of the lighted path when he heard hear footsteps approaching. He felt the air leave his chest as his bride… his wife… his Khaleesi, came into view, slowing making her way down the path towards him. At the sight if her it took every ounce of his restraint to keep his jaw from falling to the ground, he wanted to walk down the path, scoop here up in his arms and skip the ceremony. ‘Gods she is so beautiful’ he thought to himself as he look at her perfect body... She was wearing a light grey silk dress and a Targaryen red cloak, which made her purple eyes shine. He noticed that her long silky silver locks had been pulled back into intricate braids with just a few loose curls framing her porcelain face.

 

When she finally stood next to him, she gave him a knowing smile and he released a breath he did not even know he was holding as he returned her smile. When he smiled at her, he noticed the blush creeping up from her chest to her cheeks. He closed his eyes to say a quick prayer of thanks to his old gods and opened them they were dark blue and turned back to Stark grey. When he met her gaze she appeared to be surprised about something, which made him confused, but neither of say anything. Jon took her hand in his as they both continued to smile at each other.

 

They turned their attention towards Robb when he started to speak, "Who comes before the old gods on this night?" he said with a grin.

 

"Daenerys, of House Targaryen, comes here to be wed,” she answered in a firm, unwavering voice, which made Jon’s smile even wider. “A Trueborn Woman and the Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. She comes here to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

 

He looked directly into her eyes, grey meeting purple. He felt his heartbeat rising as he answered, "Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen. The Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm and Heir to the Iron Throne, comes here to request her to be by my side."

 

"Who gives you to this man?" Robb asked.

 

“I, Daenerys Targaryen, give myself to be wed to this man,” she stated as the smile never left her face.

 

"Queen Daenerys, will you take this man?"

 

"I will take this man," she stated as happy tears began to well in her eyes.

 

"We will now take a moment, to allow the couple to kneel before the tree in this sacred place, so they can ask the gods to bless their marriage." Robb stated as he tried to keep a smile from spreading across his face.

 

They looked that the other and smiled as knelt down before the Lemon Tree holding hands. Jon closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks that he was able to save Daenerys from her brother and Khal Drogo, and that she remembered him and agreed to again be his wife. When he finished his prayer, he placed a tender kiss to her hand and her eyes again met his.

 

When the prayers were completed, he help her to her feet. Once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, he used both hand to cup her cheeks, he pulled her face to his and kissed her passionately as their guests laughed and clapped at the display. Only when he needed air did pulled away and met her eyes with a loving smile.

 

Finally, he broke her gaze, turned to look at his brother, and said, "Thank you Robb."

 

"Of course brother," he said with a grin.

 

Jon turned back to his wife and pulled her in for another kiss, when broke with Illyrio came over to congratulate them, "My king and queen I'm so glad for the both of you!" The fat Magister said with a smile

 

They both smiled at him in return, and Daenerys said, "Thank you, Illyrio"

 

Illyrio then turned his head, clapped his hands and a chest was brought before them by two servants.

 

"What is that Illyrio?" Jon asked?

 

He smiled. “A wedding gift, for the King and Queen,” he said with a smile as he opened the chest. They both gasped at the sight of the three Dragon eggs in the chest. One was black, one was green, and one was gold. 'So it was Illyrio who gave Daenerys her dragon eggs' Jon thought to himself. He was pulled away from his thoughts when Illyrio began to speak again.

 

"My King, since you are the father of dragon and now my queen you are also the mother of dragon... I thought it would be best to give these dragon eggs to you… Even though time has turned them to stone, I feel that with magic returning to the world, you will be able to one day release them from their shells.”, and he nodded.

 

She pulled her awe-filled eyes away from the stone eggs, looked at him and said, "Thank you Illyrio for your gift."

 

The fat man smiled and bowed. "I am honored to serve you, your Grace.” He then turned towards Jon and said, “I have good news, my King.”

 

"What is it Illyrio?" Jon asked as he raised an eyebrow.

 

"I just received word that my ship is ready to set sail, your Grace. I will be leaving for King’s Landing on the morrow in order to meet Lord Varys." The man said with smile.

 

Jon returned the smile, “That is wonderful news, Illyrio... I look forward to meeting with Lord Varys."

 

"If you would excuse me, my King and Queen. Sadly, I must retire for the night in order to get some rest. I have a long journey a head." Illyrio bowed to Daenerys and Jon, and walked out of the garden to his chambers. 

 

After Illyrio left, Jon looked at his wife and saw her smile. He reached out for her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the top of it. Then they turned to Robb. "Robb, we are going to retire for the night as well… Would you mind have the Dragon eggs taken to Daenerys chambers?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Also, would you please keep an eye on Ghost as well as our child, Sarogon for the night?” 

 

They saw the knowing smirk on Robb's face, "It will be my honor, Jon. Have a pleasant evening you two… and try to keep it down!" They both blushed and smiled at him.

 

As they started to walk up the candle lit path leading back to the manse, Daenerys leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Take me to your chambers, my King… so that I can fuck you!” His head whipped around, and he saw the smile on her face and lust in her eyes. He returned the smile and finally nodded. He gripped her hand a little tighter as he lead them to his chambers…..

 

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

 

She watched as Jon… Her husband… Her King, pushed open the door leading into his chambers. She stood there silently and thought to herself ‘This is all a dream and I am going to wake up to Viserys screaming at me or selling me to the horse lord.’ He gently grabbed her arm, breaking her from her thoughts, and lead her into his chambers. As they entered his chambers and she saw that there was a basket on the table filled with an assortment of meats, hard cheeses and fruits as well as two crystal glasses and a pitcher of red sweet summer wine. Around the room there were dozens of lit white and red candles casting dancing shadows and there were vases full colorful freshly cut red, yellow, pink roses filling the air with an inviting fragrance.

 

As soon as she heard the chamber door close, she turned around and she felt his soft lips on hers. He then wrapped his arms around her waist as the kiss quickly became more urgent and he teased her bottom lip with his tongue and she granted him the entrance he desired as her fingers tangled into his silk soft curly raven locks. The next thing she knew was that the he was pushing her backwards while assaulting her mouth with his and they did not stop until her back was against the chamber door. As he passionately kiss her she felt his hands wandering along the sides of her gown, searching for the laces of her dress. She figured he got tired of trying to figure out how to properly remove the gown, because a few seconds later he growled into her mouth as ripped the front of her dress open, causing it to fall down to her stomach and expose her bare milky white breasts. He removed his mouth from hers and began to sucking the nipple of one of her breasts while his hand was on the other gently caressing the mound as he rolled the nipple into a peak with his thumb and index finger. She moaned in pleasure, feeling her arousal growing between her thighs  as he continued to suckled and squeezed.

 

He removed his hand from her breast and used both to rip the last shreds of gown, causing the pieces to fall on the floor. She felt herself flush as she stood completely naked before her husband. She watched as he moved a few steps back admiring her beauty while she stood still against the chamber door. As he looked at her with hungry eyes felt her cunt dripping with desire. She did not want to wait any longer… She needed his cock to be inside of her, so she smiled and slowly began to walk towards him. She grabbed is soft black shirt, pulled his face down to hers and whispered seductively in his ear, "Take off your clothes now, my King.” 

 

As soon as she released she took a few steps back, he smiled at her and swiftly removed his shirt, exposing his chest to her. She took a moment to admire his chiseled chest and toned abdominal muscles. ‘Gods this man… my husband is gorgeous’ she thought to herself. She then realized he still too many articles of clothing on, so she said, “Now, remove your trousers… I need to see the cock… I need to see what I have been missing for nearly seventeen years!” He did not need any further motivation… he quickly took off his pants and she saw his dark pink cock, already hardened and standing at attention just in front of her. She purred in anticipation. She was so turned on that she no longer smelled the flowers in the room; all she smelled was her arousal. She gave him a wicked smile, and he closed the distance between them in two steps. He pushed her back against the chamber door, and began to place open mouth kisses to the pulse points on her neck working his way up her neck to her jaw and finally her mouth. As he kissed her one hand was holding an ass cheek while the other was squeezing one of her breast.

 

She pushed him away in order to refill her lungs with much needed air. Once she was no longer dizzy, she demanded in her queenly facade and tone, “Bend the knee, Jon Snow.”

 

His laughter filled the room. “I forgot how fucking stubborn you were back then," he said which made her laugh as well.

 

She quickly regained her composure and again demanded, “Do as I say... and bend the knee, to your rightful queen!” 

 

“As you command, your Grace.” He said with a smile as knelt down one one knee. She saw him looking up at her with love and desire in his eyes. To her surprise, he took his hands and pulled her legs apart exposing her slick pink cunt. He then held onto her ass as he put his head between her thighs and started kissing her dripping womanhood. She moaned at the pleasure he was providing her which turned to a gasp as slid his tongue inside of her throbbing cunt. 

 

"Gods Jon!" she moaned as she felt his tongue go from inside her cunt to her tender bundle of neves and then back inside her cunt, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. She felt as he removed one of hand from where it had been squeezing her ass and moved it up to her breast. She let out an unquietly like squeal as that hand went from tenderly caressing her breast to squeezing and playing with her nipple. She gasped as her back went against the door and her leg went on his shoulder. She placed one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder as he continued is assault on her cunt. She tried to look down at him but she was unable to open her eyes because of the intense pleasure he was providing. A few moments later she felt her stomach tighten as her climax wash through her.

 

“Come up here and kiss me, my King,” she purred after she caught her breath. He looked up at her and smiled as he stood up and began to kiss her lips once again. As they kissed, she reached for his cock and began to stroke it gently, which caused him to pull away from the kiss and growl in ecstasy.  

 

“Jon,” she murmured into his ear, “I need for you to be inside me… and I want you to fuck me hard. I do not want you to go easy on me because it is my first time taking a man… I know that you would never do anything to hurt me.” She looked at him and she could tell he was surprised by her request, so she then added, "I want to know how it truly feels like when a dragon mates with another dragon.”

 

She saw a smile stretch across his face as he said, “As my Queen commands.” She then felt him place both hands on her ass as lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they kissed hungrily as he carried he towards the bed. When they reached their destination she was surprised when he threw her down in the middle of the bed and quickly fell on top of her. Their kisses became hurried and sloppy. He removed his mouth from hers and looked her in the eyes as he lined up his cock at the entrance of her cunt and slowly slid inside of her warm wet channel. She could feel herself stretching to accommodate the intrusion of his member. They both gasped at the sensation, and his head fell into the crook of her neck he stayed still for a few moments as they grew accustomed to the feeling of being inside of each other. She knew it would feel strange to her but did not know it would felt like this… It was not really painful as she had expected, but it was not exactly comfortable either.

 

He looked deep into her in the eyes, silently asking for permission to continue. She gave him a quick nod and he slowly began to thrust into the wet heat of her core. They both took deep breaths as he moved inside of her. She moved her mouth to meet his and as they kissed he began to move his hips a bit quicker and his thrusts became slightly deeper. She knew her wolf did not want to hurt her, that he wanted her to get used to the feeling of his cock inside of her… However, she needed more… so she decided she would have to force the dragon inside of him to awake in order for him to take her hard.

 

She could see the surprise on his face as she rolled them over, so that she was now on top of him. She smiled down at him and said, “Jon, I want the wolf to go to sleep and the dragon inside you to awake… I know in order for your wolf side from taking me easy I will have to force your dragon side to take over.” She then started to slide her slick cunt up and down the outside length of his hardened member. 

 

"I would like to see you try waking the dragon inside of me,” he said with a smug smirk trying to stifle a chuckle.

 

"Is that a challenge I hear, Jon Snow," she stated with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Aye, it is." he responded.

 

She smiled as she continued to slide her cunt along his length. She positioned her cunt over the head his cock and sheathed him completely in one swift motion. She moaned as her cunt swallowed him whole and he released a growl of pleasure. She smiled at him, took his hands and placed one on each of her breasts. She wrapped her hands on the outsides of his, forcing him to roughly cup and squeeze them as she ever so slightly began to rock her hips.

 

She moaned as she felt his cock inside of her and his hands on her breast. She removed her hand from his, put them on his toned pectoral, bent down and whispered in his ear, “You are about to experience what it feels like to be fucked by a dragon, Jon Snow.” She saw that her words caused a smile to stretch across his normally broody face which made her smile as well.

 

She started to move her hips a little more as she enjoyed the way his cock filled her cunt so perfectly. Before long she was riding him hard and fast and without mercy. She bent over and kissed his plump lips as she continued her assault. She felt the way his cock twitched inside of her causing waves of pleasure to wash over her as her climax neared. This is when she could tell that the wolf went to sleep and the dragon awoke, and was ready to come out at play. He sat up as she rode him and she was surprised he grabbed her hair and pulled it, causing her to her move her head backward and exposed her neck to him. He greedily attacked her neck with open mouthed kisses and started match the movements of her hips with deep thrust of his own. He moved his mouth from her neck to her breast as he continued fuck her hard. Soon you could only hear moans and growls and flesh hitting flesh at feverish pace. Her back started to ache and she could feel her climax beginning to wash over her.

 

"Jon I'm about to…” she moaned as he silenced her with a searing kiss so forceful that she fell onto her back and he fell on top of her. She was on her back and he was on top; he was now in control and he continued to fuck her hard. He kept on kissing her on the mouth and finally, she pulled away and screamed his name as she reached her orgasm and came. To her surprise he did not slow down, he continued fuck her hard at a relentless pace.

 

After several more power thrust she could feel him reaching his peak. ”Daenerys I'm about to…” She smiled and pulled him down for a kiss. She could feel that he was about to pull out but she would not allow it. She wrapped her legs around his waist not allowing him escape her grip.

 

"I don't care Jon give me your seed,” she purred and he smiled at her. After a few thrusts she the muscles of her cunt tighten around his cock as he growled and shot his seed deep into her womb. He collapsed on top of her and after a few minutes rolled off her and laid on his back next to her.

 

She placed her head on his sweaty chest and smiled as she said, “That was amazing.” She could feel that her cunt was dripping with his seed and she prayed that it would take root. She smiled as she felt the delightful soreness between her legs because of how hard he fucked her.

 

"We're not done yet," her husband declared. 

 

She raised her eyebrow, looked under the soft linen sheets and saw his cock was already beginning to harden once again, which made her smile. "I forgot how quickly you recover, Jon Snow.” 

He did not say anything, but he gave her a mischievous smile as rolled on top of her and entered her once again. She gasped as began to he thrust his member into her still slick cunt repeated. He started to kiss her passionately and that is then she knew how it felt like to be taken by a dragon……

Notes:

Please leave comments on your thoughts of the chapter in the comments below. Until Next time!

Chapter 10: Wolves Have Regrets

Notes:

Hey guys!! Just want to thank you all for waiting and the support!! We are extremely happy that you are enjoying the story. I would just like to say sorry for the delay!! We were unfortunately sidetracked with our side fanfic 'The Last Targaryens' but don't worry we're back!! :) We were surprised all the loved we have received from both stories and will continue with both as promised because we truly love writing these stories. As always I would like to thank my co-write for turning this chapter into its amazing form you see now but anyway your ideas, opinions, and love are always appreciated in the comments below. But anyway as I always say sit back relax and enjoy this extremely long chapter!! Ps. Please read the endnotes when you're done reading the chapter :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

 

 

It was the next morning, just before dawn, as Eddard Stark, the King in the North, entered the Winterfell’s courtyard. As he walked more Northern folk than he could count greeted him with bows and curtsies. He also noticed that there were several eyes glaring at him, all of which belonged to the Baratheon/Lannister entourage that was preparing the caravan for the Royal Family of the southern six kingdoms, who were set to depart from Winterfell after they had broken their fast. Once he exited the courtyard he walked directly to the crypts, knowing Benjen would be meeting him there, because he had requested him to do so the previous night.

 

He walked past all the tombs of the old Lords of Winterfell and Kings of the North with their stone direwolves at their feet, only to stop when he reached the stature of his sister, Lyanna Stark, the only woman to be buried in the Crypts. He observed he smooth face and loving expression and sighed as he thought to himself, ‘Lya, the stone mason did a terrible job, the statue does not even come close to your true beauty and good heart… Oh Lya, what would you think of your boy… I know that you would be proud of the leader and King he became… However, what about me… Lya, I failed him in his last life… Should I have told him the truth before he went to the Wall?’ He was pulled from his thoughts a few moments later when he heard footsteps entering the Crypts. He looked down the hallway and smiled as he saw Benjen walking towards him.

 

"I'm here as you requested, Your Grace.” Benjen greeted with a bow of the head and a smile, which caused them both to chuckle as they embraced each other. Once they broke from the brotherly embrace both looked at the statue of their beloved sister in silence for several minutes. 

 

Benjen finally broke the comfortable silence when his softly said, "Lyanna would be proud of him... The man who he had become… A king who protects his pack as well as his people." 

 

These words made Ned smile. “Aye, I am glad you feel that way… I was just thinking if she would be proud of him… However, I feel that she would have smacked me across the face for letting him go to the Wall in his last life… I failed her last time… I was not there to protect him.” He looked at Lyanna's statue and finally turned his gaze back towards his brother Benjen.

 

“Aye, you are right… She would probably break your nose… But she would forgive you… His death was not your fault Ned… I was not there for him either.”


The brothers looked back to Lyanna’s statue and were silent for a few more moments when Ned put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and started to speak, “Benjen,  I asked you to meet me here... In order to discuss with you a matter of the highest importance.”


His brother knitted his eyebrows and asked "What would you like to discuss, brother?" 

 

Ned smiled, “I am King in the North now… and a king needs a person to help him keep his kingdom in order... I need a Hand of the King.”

 

Benjen nodded and asked, "Aye, you do need a hand. Who will you choose?" 

 

Ned did not speak, however, he raised his eyebrow towards Benjen. He watched his brother as understanding finally washed over his face and he whispered in shock, "You want me to be the Hand of the King in The North?" 

 

Ned nodded. "Aye, you are my brother and I trust you with everything I have been told about what is happening beyond the Wall and I trust you with my life... I can think of no one else I would rather have by my side... No one better to help me... I can think of nothing I would want more than for another Stark by my side as my Hand.”

 

"I am honored brother,” Benjen said with a hesitant smile before the smile vanished and he sighed, “But, I must decline... Ned, as much as I would love to remain by your side, I cannot... I am part of the Nights Watch... My place is on the wall.”

 

Ned smiled sadly, as he thought for a moment before saying, "Aye, that's true but I'm King in the North… I can release you from your Night Watch vows... that is, if you would like for me to do so?" 



He saw his brother shake his head no and smile sadly, "Thank you for the kind offer brother, but I am First Ranger... and I made a vow to man the Wall and guard the Realms of men... And I must honor that vow... Even if that means for life." 

 

He nodded his head in understanding, and the exhaled as he asked softly, "Since you cannot accept to be my Hand... Do you have any suggestions as to who should I ask?" 

 



He watched as a knowing smile spread across Benjen’s face as he looked at their sister's statue. "Our beautiful sister's son told you of a person who happens to currently be visiting Winterfell and who plans to travel with us to the Wall... A man Jon said was the best Hand he ever knew." Benjen turned his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, look him straight in the eyes and raised a single knowing eyebrow.



"Tyrion Lannister," Ned replied with a smile as his brother nodded and returned the smile.

 

"Aye, he is a good person, Ned. He saved your daughters’ direwolves. He was also the reason that Robert gave up the North... If he had not have spoke on your behalf last night, you would not have been named King in the North... He is smart and you consider him as a friend." 



Ned took a deep breath. "I did ask Jon who he planned to name his Hand of the King... He gave me two names...The first was Ser Davos Seaworth, who currently works with Lord Stannis as assistant master of ships. He told me that Ser Davos was like a father to him, and served as his hand after he had been named King of the North....and the second name was Tyrion Lannister... Lord Tyrion who as Daenerys’ Hand." 



"He is here Ned... ask him... He might accept," Benjen said with a knowing smile. 

 

 Ned sighed, "Aye, I will ask him... That is if you are sure that you will not reconsider my offer.”



Benjen smiled and sadly shook his head as he answered, "Aye, Ned I am certain, my place is at the Wall.” He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, looked him in the eye and softly said, “Go... find Lord Tyrion, he is a better choice anyway." 



Ned nodded and gave his brother a parting embrace. A few minutes later he left his brother in the crypts, hoping that Lord Tyrion would be easy to find.



When he exited the crypts he paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the rising brightness of the rising sun. Once his eyes adjusted to the light he began his trek back towards the castle, however he did not quite make it to the courtyard before he was stopped by Winterfell’s blacksmith, Mikken.

 

"My king!" The older blacksmith responded with a smile and a slight bow.

 

He returned the smile shook the man’s hand and asked, "Mikken, how can I help you today?" 


The blacksmith looked at him and smiled. He took a small object, wrapped in white cloth, out of the front of his apron and place it in Ned’s hand. “I just finished this, your Grace... I started on it as soon as I heard the news the news last night." 



Ned took the small package out of his hand and pulled back the cloth to reveal a beautiful Hand of the King pendant made of castle forged steel. The pendant looked just like the one of the southern kingdoms, but surrounding with a hand was a snarling direwolf. Ned was speechless as he admired the craftsmanship.

  

"I thought you might need a Hand of the King pendant, your Grace," Mikken broke the silence with a nervous smile on his face.



“Mikken, this is amazing,” Ned responded as he placed the pendant in his pocket, looked at the man, and smiled. “Thank you... I this is even better than I could have ever imagined." 



“You are welcome, your Grace... Oh, and by the way, the workstation for the young blacksmith has been prepared.”



“Excellent... thank you again, for everything you have done, Mikken.”



The old blacksmith smiled and “You are most welcome, you Grace,” as turned and walked back towards the forge. 



He continued his walk in search of Lord Tyrion... he first checked the library, and then the chambers he had been given, but both places were empty... Finally he went to the Great Hall and found the Dwarf of Casterly Rock, sitting at a table in the sack corner, drinking wine while reading an old book.

 

"Lord Tyrion," The King in the North called kindly as he made his way over to where the other man was sitting. 



The sound of his voice caused the half-man to up from the book, with a smile spread across his face as he quickly stood. "Your Grace, it is wonderful to see you this morning.”

 

"It is good to see you as well... I was actually looking for you... Do you mind if I join you?" 



The dwarf smiled and said, "Of course not, your Grace, please sit.” As Ned sat Tyrion added, “Would you care for a goblet of wine?” 



“No thank you, my lord.”



“Well... how can I be of assistance this morning, your Grace?” He asked as he took a sip of wine and knitted an eyebrow.



Ned sighed nervously, "The lords of the North have told me that I need a capable Hand in order to keep the North in order, and to help observe for any possible threats." 



The dwarf of Casterly Rock nodded and started to speak, “Your grace ..." but before he could continue Ned cut him off.

 

"Please, Lord Tyrion call me Ned. After what you did for me, and my daughters last night... You have proven that you are a man of honor... and a man I consider to be a friend."

 

Tyrion smiled at the King in the North’s words, and began to speak again, "Ned  ... Why would you discuss something like the Hand of the King in the North with the dwarf of Casterly Rock?" they both smiled.

 

"You’re a smart and honorable man, Tyrion. You are good in playing the game of thrones. You helped save my daughter’s direwolf and helped me to be named King in the North... and because of your actions last night your nephew lost one of his kingdoms. I see you choose honesty before family and.... We both know Cersei will want her revenge on you..." 

 

When Ned paused, Tyrion smiled and said, "Go on King Eddard Stark... I am quite enjoying your flattery... and I might add, you are doing a good job of convincing me to stay in the North.”

 

Ned tried to hide the ghost of a smile that attempted to curl on his lips as he continued, "I know your father... Does not care for you as a father should and that your sister blames you for the death of your mother... The only person who is dear to you is your brother, Jaime... You have never known how it feels to have a true family. If you were to accept my offer to become my Hand, you will be part of the Stark pack... You would become a member of the Stark family... In addition to helping me rule justly, I would need for you to help keep an eye on my children if I am not at Winterfell... You would be an uncle to them... And by becoming a member of the pack I will do everything thing in my power to keep you safe and to never bring you dishonor...” As Ned paused to take a deep breath he noticed the dwarf’s smile had widened. “I know it’s a big decision lord Tyrion... I know I should not ask your answer straight away... I can understand if you need time to think it over... but if you would be willing to stay at Winterfell, I can think of no better man to be my Hand than you, Lord Tyrion...”

 

"Seeing that my father will become Robert’s Hand... I would like nothing more to stay far away from him as possible... and seeing that my nephew did lose one of his kingdoms, Cersei and my father are most like to be very angry at me." He looked at the dwarf who took a deep breath. "I except your offer, your Grace. I will be your Hand." 



Ned could feel his heart rate rising... He could not believe that Lord Tyrion had agreed to become his Hand. He finally smiled, stood up and released a breath he was not aware he was holding. "Lord Tyrion, are you sure?" 

 

"I am.” The Dwarf answered with a smile. “You, your family, as well as the North make my life more interesting... I would have nothing to do when I return home, except hide from my sister and Father, so I might as well help you in the infamous Game of Thrones." 



He smiled and took the Hand of the King pendant from his pocket. He looked Tyrion in the eye and said, "Tyrion of House Lannister, I, Eddard Stark, first of my name, King in the North, name you hand of the King in the North.” The dwarf smiled as Ned showed him the pendant. "My blacksmith surprised me with this this morning, he stayed up all night crafting it for my for my hand," he said as he pinned it on Lord Tyrion tunic. 

 

"Thank you, your Grace. I would give you my sword but I'm afraid that I do not have one... My Lord Father felt it was best I never learned to wield one I am afraid.” 



"I only need you Lord Tyrion... but if you ever chose to learn swordplay, I can commission one of our blacksmiths to make one for you... and have our Master at Arms, Ser Rodrik teach you the basics.” Ned responded as he smiled and chuckled softly. 



“I might just take you up on the offer, Ned.”



They both sat down and toasted to Tyrion’s new position; Tyrion with wine and Ned with Northern Ale. When he sat his tankard down on the table he noticed Tyrion had been reading one of the old Valyrian books he had taken from the Tower of Joy.



"Have you found anything in the books that can shed any truth to the comet that has appeared in the sky?" 



The dwarf looked at the book and then smiled. "I have, actually... That thing in the sky is not the sign of an Ice dragon returning, as I had originally thought... it means something else."

 

He took a deep breath, then took a long sip of his ale, and breathed out, “Something else?” 

 

"According to this book,” Tyrion started as he opened the book that was laying on the table, “Valyrians believed that when the change color-changing comet, a comet that changes from red to blue and back to red, appears in the sky, it signifies his return..."

 

Ned raised his eyebrow. "His return? Who’s return?”

 

"The return of the Prince who was promised, Azor Ahai... or a better term would be .... The boy of the song of Ice and Fire... That thing, in the sky does signify the return of a dragon but it is not an ice dragon or normal dragon, but a very rare dragon... the term the old Valyrians used for it was a hybrid..." 

 

Which made Ned raised his eyebrow, "Hybrid... What exactly does that mean?" When he asked his he could see the excitement on his Hand’s face.

 

"A hybrid dragon is a dragon that was only theorized... it had never been seen... it says in the book that this dragon could breathe both fire and ice... based on the emotion the rider was feeling at the time... that it would breathe an icy blast when the rider was calm or fire when the rider was angry." 



This information was very interesting to Ned. "Emotions?"

 

"Yes, it says in the book that the person who controls the dragon can change his or her eye color based on his or her emotions. That the rider’s eyes would be dark blue when feeling calm or a dark honey orange when feeling anger or the lose of a loved one." 



Ned was getting worried about Jon. He then noticed the dwarf was looking at him, indicating that there was more. So he asked, "And?" In the calmest voice he could muster.



“If the person who controls this dragon loses control of their emotions and is filled with rage... The dragon will also be filled with rage and will become uncontrollable…” He watched as Tyrion swallowed hard before resuming the conversation, “if that were to happen both the dragon and the rider would lose control of themselves and kill anyone or anything that stands in their path whether it is a friend or a foe…" 

 

Ned thought to himself as Tyrion spoke. ‘Dear Gods! I need to send word to Robb… I have to warn him what might happen if Jon loses control.

 

Their conversation was halted when they heard the loud echoing of heavy footsteps entering Great Hall. The looked up and noticed King Robert, who red-face and breathing heavily, clearly upset as he stomped over towards them.

 

"Ned! We need to talk now!" Robert roared. 



Ned and Tyrion both looked at each other and then looked towards Robert. "How may I help you, Robert?" Ned responded, trying to keep his tone as even as possible. 

 

Robert shoved a crumpled piece of parchment in his face and gritted out, "Read this!" 



Ned took the peace of paper and read it through as Robert continued to pace the stone floors of the Great Hall.

 

 

Dear King Robert

I have my little birds have sang to me that Khal Drogo is dead. He was brutally murdered by a man calling himself Aegon Targaryen, the true heir to the iron throne.. After Drogo’s defeat the man was named the new Khal and was granted Drogo’s the Khalasar.

There have also been songs sung by the common folk in Pentos... that they saw a small dragon riding on the new Khal’s shoulder as he rode through the streets with his bloodriders. I have reason to believe that this ‘Aegon Targaryen’ has somehow hatched a dragon.

The final song that has been sung to me is that he has married Daenerys Targaryen and named her as his Khaleesi.

Lord Varys, Master of Whispers

 

Ned took a deep breath, handed the parchment to Tyrion, and looked up, met Robert’s red-faced gaze, and simply answered, “And?"



He could tell Robert was fuming, “And... And... A person calling himself ‘Aegon Targaryen,’ the true born heir to my throne, has killed Khal Drogo and received an army!" He looked between Ned and Tyrion before he continued, "He is a Targaryen, Ned... He is a dragon spawn!! How dare he name himself the true heir to my throne!" 



Ned knew this would happen eventually. He took a deep breath and calmly responded, "Robert... We both know Aegon Targaryen, Elia and Rhaegar’s son, is dead... His head was crushed by the Mountain during the sacking of King’s Landing eighteen years ago.” 



He was surprised when Robert laughed. "You honestly think I am stupid Ned! Of course I know that boy is dead!  I saw the body with my own eyes when it was presented to me by the Lannisters!”

 

"Then he is nothing more than a pretender Robert!" Eddard lied keeping his tone as even as possible. 



Robert finally stopped pacing and sat down on the bench next to him. "A pretender who has married Daenerys Targaryen... No, he must be a Targaryen! My guess it that Viserys Targaryen disguising himself as Aegon Targaryen to try and solidify his claim and pull Dorne to his side... And married his sister because those dragonspawn love their disgusting incest." 



He looked over at Tyrion when he heard a gasping sound. He noticed that his Hand’s eyes were wide-open as he choked out, "He has... a Dragon! He's the Hybrid Dragon’s rider!" 

 

"What do you mean Imp?" Robert asked with a furrowed brow.



Before Tyrion could answer, Ned answered, "What My Hand means is...." 



However, before he could finish he was cut off by Robert’s roaring laughter. "He is your Hand?” the fat king managed to choke out between bouts of chuckles. 



Ned nod. "Aye, he is." He could tell Robert was surprised by this announcement, and he quickly tried to quench his laughter with a cough. Once the laughter had subsided, he could again see the raging fury on the face of the man he once called his brother and his King.

 

“Ned ... We need to take care of this Aegon Targaryen! He is a threat to the throne... A threat to my throne and to your throne!" 

 

Ned sighed and then answered, "Robert... This man is no threat… He has no ships and the Dothraki will never cross over sea... Please, Robert, just let the Targaryen children be!" He could see the look of utter disbelief on Robert’s face after he spoke those words.

 

"You can't be serious Ned! Rhaegar Targaryen took your sister against her will... He kidnapped her and raped her! He took away the only women I ever truly loved!"

 

Ned took a deep breath and willed himself to remain in control of his emotions. "Aye, and for his actions you killed him at the battle of Trident... You plunged your Warhammer into the man’s chest, hitting him so hard that he fell into the river.” He took another calming breath before he continued, “All the Targaryens are almost gone Robert, just let them be."

 

He could see Robert’s wrath building. His face was so red it looked like it would fly from his shoulders at any moment.

 

"Ned, I will not stop until every dragonspawn is dead!" Robert gritted out as he gripped the table in front of his so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

 

Ned needed to get away from Robert and his anger. He needed fresh air. He stood up from the table, looked at Robert and said, "Then you will have the six kingdoms to help you if the war arrives… The North will have no part in the extinction of the Targaryens.” He then turned and began to walk out of the Great Hall.

 

"Ned, do not walk away from me! How dare you say you will not heed my call if the war arrives! I'm your King!" Robert seethed.

 

Ned turned around, looked Robert in the eyes and coolly stated, "The North is no longer part of the six kingdoms, Robert. I am the King in the North. And the North will have no part in a war that is not even a threat to your throne." 

 

Robert stood up from the table and yelled, "He has a dragon Ned!"

 

"That is what your Master of Whispers has reported… However, have you seen an actual dragon?" Robert remained quiet, so he continued, "Of course you haven't Robert and even if the Dragon was real... The dragon will take years to grow large enough to become a threat to your throne."

 

He noticed as Robert looked away from him and to Lord Tyrion, silently asking for confirmation of his words. Following Tyrion’s nod of validation, Robert stomped wordlessly out of the room. 

 

After a few moments of silence, Ned looked to his Hand and said, "Lord Tyrion, I am heading to see Maester Luwin, would you care to join me?"

 

"Of course, your Grace. I would like nothing more." The dwarf then gathered the books he had spread across the table, stood up and followed him outside as they made their way to Maester Luwin’s turret.

 

As they walked, Ned looked to his Hand and quietly asked, "You know something more about the dragon, don’t you?"

 

Tyrion looked at him, nodded and discreetly answered, "A hybrid dragon grows at a much faster rate when compared to an ice or fire breathing dragon… If the books are correct, a hybrid dragon can begin to fly just hours after it hatches… Normal dragon can take a month or longer before, they can fly… Also, at the rate they grow, they could be large enough to be ridden by then time it reaches eight moon turns… a normal dragon could take as long as 4 – 5 years before it is large enough to support the weight of it’s rider.”

 

Ned was surprised by this, he looked down at Tyrion to ask another question, but saw that he was looking at somewhere. He followed the gaze of his Hand and noticed that he was watching as Cersei and Jaime entered the broken tower.

 

"Your Grace, do you mind if I say goodbye to my brother?"

 

Ned smiled. "Of course not Lord Tyrion. Wish him safe travels and inform him that the hospitality of Winterfell is his if he chooses to visit.”

 

The dwarf smiled, slightly bowed his head and said, "Thank you, your Grace. I will meet up with you later." 

 

He nodded and Lord Tyrion took his leave. The then continued his way to the Maester’s tower deep in thought, not only about Jon and his dragon, but also about what Jon had told him about Ser Jaime and all that he suffered in his last life… How he lost all of his children one by one… How he lost his sword hand… about how even he had turned on Cersei in the end. ‘I never thought that I would say the Kingslayer is welcome in Winterfell… However, after what Jon told me of the future… How he also turned on his sister, and gave his life for the North… he did have some honor left in him… hopefully it rises to the surface sooner this time.

 

As he entered Maester Luwin’s chambers, he noticed his was sealing the scrolls… The scrolls that were to inform the other six kingdoms that The North was now independent, and that he, Eddard Stark, First of his name, was now the King in the North. He took a deep breath and called, "Maester Luwin.”

 

"Your Grace,” the kind older man replied with a smile

 

"I need to send a raven to my son Robb. He is currently at the manse of Illyrio Mopatis, who is a Magister in Pentos."

 

"Is something wrong your Grace?" The Maester asked with a raised eyebrow and concern in his tone.

 

"Aye… Jon's dragon is not a normal dragon. It is not an Ice Dragon either... If the book Lord Tyrion was reading is correct, it is a hybrid dragon.”

 

"A Hybrid Dragon, your Grace?"

 

"Aye… According to the book, it is a dragon that can breathe both fire and ice, based on its companion’s emotions.” The Maester nodded in understanding.

 

Ned then took a piece of parchment and started writing his letter to Robb. After he finished writing, he rolled it up, sealed it and handed it to the Maester as he said, "Send this to Robb, as soon as possible." 

 

"Of course, your Grace." The Maester then grabbed the other raven scrolls and headed to the rookery.

 

After the Maester left the room Ned let out a deep sigh, not knowing what the future bring will them....

 


 

Jaime Lannister

 

 

It was early in Winterfell. The sun was just being to rise over the battlements. His sister, Queen Cersei, and Royal Children, Joffrey, Tommen and Marcella were in their chambers gathering the last of their belongings and preparing to leave the North for the Capital. Jaime had left his family earlier that morning and was in the courtyard, as the King commanded, helping to move the supplies and trunks into the wagons and carriages. As he quickly worked, so they could leave this gods forsaken hell hole as fast as possible, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned around towards the sound and saw that his sister was swiftly making her way to where he was standing; he took a deep calming breath in order to mentally prepare himself for complaining.

 

"Jaime! I need to speak to you!” She seethed quietly when she closed the distance between them to just a few feet. 



He looked around him to make sure no one was going to over hear their conversation... He saw several servants continuing to load the caravan and he saw Tyrion speaking with Lord Stark or should he say, King Ned. Seeing that no one was paying attention to their conversation, he looked back towards his sister and sighed, knowing that she was furious by the look on her face. He took one more calming breath before he calmly asked, “What is wrong now, Cersei?" 

 

"Come with me now! We need to speak in private!" She gritted through her teeth as she grabbed his hand and led him towards the abandoned tower. They entered the dirty old tower and walked up the rickety wooden stairs, which led to the top floor, where they had made love the morning before. When they reached the dust covered space she released his hand and began to pace.



After several moments of silence, he walked over to her put a comforting hand on her shoulder, which stopped her pacing. However before he could speak, she pulled away from him and cut him off with her own anger-filled words.

 

"I cannot believe that my pathetic excuse of a husband agreed to grant the North independence!" She practically screamed as she kicked an old table that was hidden under a white cloth. 



He walked over to her, put one hand on each shoulder, looked her square in the eyes and rasped out, "Cersei, you need to calm down!" While he looked at her all he saw was a festering anger and she was about to blow.

 

"Calm down!” She exclaimed as she pulled away from him and started pacing once again, “How can you expect me calm down, Jaime?" He took a deep breath as he waited for her to continue. "How can I calm down when those Northern dogs stole one of our son’s rightful Kingdoms? Do not tell me this was not part of their plan all along! The Stark’s rebelled against the throne just as I told you they were planning to do!" 



He shook his head... he was beyond frustrated with his twin and could no longer keep himself calm as he gritted out, "Cersei... The Starks did not plan this! They did not plan Joffrey’s actions! Joffrey is not a normal boy... he is not a normal Prince because you have always spoiled him too much! He no discipline! He thinks that just because he is the Crown Prince he can do as he pleases without repercussions! If he had an ounce of self-control… an ounce of honor and acted more like a true king, we would not be in this particular situation... Robert would not have had to give the North their Independence!" 

 

She looked at him and her eyes were wide open... he could tell she did not want to believe what he just told her. She was about to retort but he did not allow it as he continued his speech. "Joffrey did not help the situation when he ordered the Hound to take the Warden of the North and his daughters’ heads... This was entirely his fault... Do not blame the North or Starks for his actions!" 



She had an evil smirk across her face and shook her head no, as she fumed, "How dare you say that your boy was the reason for losing one of his kingdoms!" 

 

Jaime was furious as he nearly screamed at his sister, "Cersei, he tried to rape Sansa Stark... attempted murder Arya Stark… and blamed a direwolf for saving his sorry ass! If he had done something like this to our family, to Tommen or Marcella... we would not follow a King like him either!" 



He saw that she was speechless by his words; she glared daggers into him before she started walking around the room once more. After a few laps, she turned to him and said in a venom-laced tone, "This is entirely that little monster’s fault! He turned to another family and betrayed his own!”



He could not believe what he just hears. ‘Is she really trying to blame our little brother for Joffrey's actions’' He thought before he sighed and said, "I cannot believe that you are trying to blame Tyrion for your son's horrible and dishonorable behavior!" 

 

"My son?” She laughed mockingly, “You seem to forget that you were the one who sired him and my other children as well!" He could not believe how loud she said this and the rawness of her tone.

 

"Cersei, you need to keep your voice down!" Which made her laugh louder.

 

"Or what... My drunken, whoring, fool of a husband know that I am fucking my brother?" 



He could not believe her behavior. He has seen her angry almost daily for the last eighteen years, but he had never seen her this full of raging anger in his entire life. He felt helpless. He did not know what to do or what to say to get her to calm down, but he damn well needed to do calm her down somehow. He was furious about the situation as well, but not so much with the Starks, his anger was directed towards their entitled idiot of a son. He took a calming breath before again attempted to smother some of her fury.

 

"Cersei, I understand... you are angry! Stop saying things which would..." Which is when she stopped him.

 

"Say things that would what Jaime? Rise in rebellion? We already have one kingdom what is scheming their plot against the throne," she said as she clenched her fists, paused for a moment and then continued with gritted teeth, "I will have all of their heads... as well as the head of our traitorous monster of a little brother for betraying us!" 



Both their heads snapped towards the doorway when they heard footsteps entering the room. He was surprised when he saw Tyrion approaching where they stood in the top room of the broken tower.

 

"You will do no such thing Cersei!" Tyrion stated evenly. 



After Tyrion’s words he looked over towards Cersei, he saw how her face flushed red, and her eyes were glazing daggers. He held his breath, preparing for the fury that was she was about to unleash. 

 

Seconds later she screamed, "You little monster! I will have your head!" She was about to slap him but Jaime caught her arm.

 

"You will leave the Starks alone, Cersei,” Tyrion passionately retorted.



They both looked at his brother.

 

"Why do you care so much for the Starks Tyrion?" Jaime asked with a look of curiosity.

 

"Because my dear brother,” he paused to take a deep breath, “I am friends with the King in the North and I am his Hand.” 

 

The room was silent. Finally, Jaime broke the silence when he breathed out, "You are King Eddard Stark’s Hand of the King?" Tyrion nodded in confirmation. He was about to congratulate his brother before the shrill of Cersei’s voice shattered the moment.

 

"You little monster! You betrayed your family!" He could see by the look on Tyrion’s face that was starting to anger.

 

"I did not betray my family!” His little brother emotionally exclaimed. “I made sure that he was not punished by death... If I had said nothing and truth got out the Northerners would have killed your mad son... which I cannot say that I would actually mind... but I did it for Jaime... the only family member that I have who had ever given two shits about me!" 



Cersei and Jaime both looked at each other in confusion. Jaime needed clarification, so he hesitantly asked, "Me... Why would you save Joffrey’s life for me, Tyrion?"

 

His little brother sighed before he softly and in matter of fact tone answered, "For your son of course." 



Jaime felt all the air escape from his lungs... He could not believe what his little brother just said. Finally, he muttered, "How did you know... you overheard?" 



Tyrion nodded sadly in response, and then softly said, "I'm disappointed in the both of you..." However, before he could finish, Cersei started talking.

 

"How dare you judge us you little monster! May I remind you..." 



"I would watch my tongue if I were you Cersei!” Tyrion cut her off, “I will have no remorse telling King Robert who really sired the royal children." 



When he said those words Cersei quickly became quiet and moved her gaze from their little brother to him, as he all the blood appeared to drain from her face. Therefore, their little brother continued his rant.

 

"I can't believe you! Now it make sense why Joffrey is such a mad little cunt! With all of your sadistic blood running through his veins.... He will truly be the mad king reborn... Listen to me very carefully, Cersei!" She looked at their little brother and he sighed, but was not able to calm his anger as he continued, "I want Joffrey off the throne! Send him for the wall of his insolence! I will not allow a mad Lannister boy be on the throne! You son will never be my King!"

 

Jaime felt sick to his stomach at his brother’s words while Cersei laughed. He did not know what to think... his brother was threatening to expose one of the biggest secrets in Westerosi history and she was laughing. He ran his hand down his face, then looked at his brother and asked, "What will you do Tyrion?"

 

He had a victorious smirk on his face as he calmly responded, "I will send a raven to every warden in the SIX kingdoms, all of the major houses and the Citadel, simply telling them who really sired the Royal Children... Which will cause a rebellion against Joffrey’s crown... Think about it dear sister, they only kingdom on your side would be the Westerlands... but they would probably rise against the Lannister rule as well... Therefore, you would be fighting a war against the entirety of all six kingdom with your only ally being yourself." 



She raised her eyebrow. "How dare threaten me!"

 

He looked straight into Cersei’s eyes as he said, "It is not a threat but a promise... if you ever do anything to harm the North or allow Joffrey to sit on the Iron Throne, I will not hesitate to send the ravens and then you will know what it is like to be powerless... Besides, it will be good to show the boy that he is no King... He is nothing more a sick bastard!” He then turned his gaze to Jaime, with a bit a remorse in his eyes as he said, “I am sorry, brother, but I will not allow another mad King to rule over the other six kingdoms... the people of Westeros do not deserve another king who cares only for himself and nothing about his people.”

 

"It is fine Tyrion... I agree with you... Joffrey should never rule the six kingdoms.” After he said these words could feel the heat of Cersei’s eyes boring deep into his soul.

 

"You agree with him?" She fumed.



Jaime nodded and sighed as he said, "I do Cersei... Joffrey will be a horrible king... and I do not want to find myself stabbing him in the back, like I had to do with Aerys... He must be punished for his actions. He cannot go on believing that he is invincible... that can do whatever he wants just because he is the prince... Also, by doing this, the North could start forgiving us and might rejoin the Seven Kingdoms." 

 

"I will not send Joffrey to the wall!" Her shrill voice making his ears burn.

 

"Fine Cersei but hear me now! Neither you nor Joffrey will never return north of the Neck... Neither of are welcome here.... Stay away from the Starks.... And if you ever try and return or cause harm to the North or it’s people, I WILLsend a raven to every kingdom!"  



She was about to protest but Jaime put a hand to her chest, as he spoke first, "Thank you Tyrion .... For your warning." 



Their brother nodded and turned to leave. Then he topped and looked at Jaime with sad eyes, and in a softer tone said, "Cersei may be banished from the North... but Jaime, I do hope you will come and visit me sometime in the future. If you do, the hospitality of Winterfell will be yours.”

 

"Of course I will Tyrion," Jaime replied with a true smile.

 

"Send father my regards and tell him he will not have to see me... I am sure that will please him." With that being said, Tyrion turned to leave. 



Cersei and Jaime watched as he waddled from the room and listened in silence as they heard the creaking of the stairs. Once silence filled the space and he knew that they were alone, he looked to his sister, sighed and said, "Cersei... Tyrion gave you a warning... Just, please don't fuck it up!" 



He then left her alone in the tower and went back to the courtyard to continue packing. He wanted nothing more than to get as much distance as possible, as quickly as possible, between his sister and son, and the Starks and the North....

 

 


 

 

Jon Snow

 

 

"Daenerys! Daenerys!… Please… don't do it!"

He saw blue eyes in the darkness….

"I'm sorry Dany... I'm so sorry!" 

 

He awoke with a start, eyes open wide and gasping for air. He took several calming breaths, and look at his reflection in the looking glass and watched as his eyes slowly turned to a dark orange color to a dark blue as his breathing became less labored. Then once his breathing was under control they turned to his normal shade of charcoal grey. He looked to his left and saw his naked wife sleeping in the bed peacefully. It warmed his heart that she was safe.

 

He moved over to her side, placed one of his hands on her hair and began to tame her tangled moon-kissed locks with his fingers. He leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek, which caused her to slightly move her head towards him. He smiled as he took in his wife’s beautiful, naked form pressed next to his. He then proceeded to press chaste kisses to her cheeks and forehead.

 

"Hmmmm,” she murmured, softly as he continued his loving assault, which only heightened his arousal. He smiled as he placed one more kiss on her forehead. 

 

"Jonnnnn!" she purred as she shimmied closer towards his named form and placed her head on his chest. She then took one of his arms, placed them around her, and fell seemed to fall back asleep, which made him chuckle.

 

"Dany it is time to wake up," Jon whispered in her ear, and then nipped at her earlobe.

 

She wordlessly shook her head no.

 

He took the arm that she had draped over her, moved his hand to her chin and tilted it up towards him. Her eyes were still closed but he could tell she was trying to hid a smile because the corners of her plump lips were turned up ever so slightly. He placed his lips on hers. When she parted her lips he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside of her mouth. Her breath-taking amethyst eyes fluttered open and she deepened the kiss as their tongues battled.

 

She rolled them so that she was on top, as she continued to kiss him passionately. She pulled away for air and breathed out with a knowing smile on her face, "You are playing a dangerous game, Jon Snow!" 

 

He returned the smile, placed both hands on her cheeks, and brought her mouth back to his. When a moan escaped, he took the opportunity to roll them once more so that he was now on top of her. 

 

Finally, when he pulled away, he asked, "How did you sleep, my love?" 

 

A giggle escaped, and then she playfully answered, "I was having a wonderful dream... until this King woke me and dares to make love to me... Which he knows is my weakness.” He also released a slight chuckle as he placed a chaste kiss to her lips. He then looked into her eyes, preparing to show her how much she means to him when she suddenly raised an eyebrow and asked, "How were your dreams, my husband?"

 

'I cannot let her know what happened in my dreams' he thought, hoping that his smile was enough to calm her worries, as he smoothly lied, "They were peaceful." Which caused the most perfect smile to grace her face.

 

"I am happy that you slept peacefully." 

 

He smiled at her, relieved that she believed him because he knew he was a terrible liar, and resumed their passionate kisses. As their kissing intensified, he felt all the blood in his body rushing to his groin and his cock to hardened against her stomach. He positioned himself between her legs, and grabbed his member with one hand to guide it to her entrance. Then, just before he slide is cock into her burning moist heat she grabbed his arm, and said, "Wait!"

 

He pulled away with a look of surprise on his face, searching her eyes for an answer to her sudden hesitation. When he saw nothing amiss he worriedly asked, "Dany, is something wrong?" 

 

She smiled at him, pushed him lightly, which lead him to fall onto his side, she face him and sheepishly said, "I... I am just a little sore... Remember my body is not yet used to having your cock inside of me." 

 

He furrowed his eyebrows in fear, and in a concerned tone asked, "Dany... Did I hurt you?" 

 

She smiled and shook her head. She then placed a hand on his cheek, as she looked him in the eyes and said, "Jon, I lost count after the fourth time we made love and you gave me your seed last night... Even in our past life, we only accomplished that in our time on the boat... I just need a little rest... Please do not regret last night." 

 

He smiled as she shook his head no and answered, “I could never regret what we did last night.”

 

She smiled back, put her hand behind his neck and pulled his head to hers for a tender kiss. After the kiss, a chuckle escaped his lips.

 

"What is so funny, Jon Snow?"  

 

He lazily draped his arm across her shoulders, and continued to chuckle as he snorted out, "You did ask me to wake the dragon and claim you as mine...”

 

She laughed, “And that you did!” She then sat up, placed a hand on each side of his face and when she looked into his eyes, Jon felt as though she was looking into his soul. She placed a gentle kiss on his lips and lovingly said, "I am completely yours, my love... My body, my mouth… everything is yours and it shall be only yours until the end of our days."

 

He laid on his back and had a smirk on his face. He then mumbled, making sure that his gruff Northern accent was thicker than normal because he knew it drove her crazy in their last life, "Show me… Show me what is mine, my Queen." 

 

To his surprise, she moved over his body and kissed his mouth grabbing his hand and pulling him to a sitting position as she climbed out of the bed. She then stood in front of him stark naked and he sat on the edge of the bed looking up at her. He gasped in shock as she took his hands and placed one on each of her breasts.

 

"These are yours," she breathed out with a smirk while giving his hands an encouraging squeeze. He then cupped and gently started caressing her breasts. She gave a tiny moan as he brought his mouth to one of her nipples and began to suckle as his hand kneaded her other breast. He pulled away from her nipple, blew on it and watched as it peaked. 

 

He looked up into her eyes, feeling his erection beginning to stir beneath the thin cotton sheet. He tried to suppress a smile as he asked, "What else is mine?" 

 

Her violet orbs met his grey ones as she smiled and took his hands again. She then spun around so her back was towards his front. She turned her head to meet his gaze once more, taking his hands and placed them on her ass. "This is yours,” she said seductively as he firmly gripped both cheeks. He then kissed down her spine and did not stop until he had placed a chaste kiss each of her ass cheeks. 

 

When he was finished admiring her backside he gruffly asked, "What else?" 

 

She turned back around, took one of his hands, placed it between her legs, and purred, "This is yours only yours..." Normally, he would have given her sweet cunt the proper attention it deserved but he knew she was sore so just placed a chaste kiss to the top of silver curls.

 

Before he could ask her what else was his, she took both of his hands and placed them over her beating heart. She then bent over and murmured in his ear, "And, this... My soul... My heart... My love... is yours now and forever." 

 

He could not prevent the smile that spread over his face at her declaration of her love to him. The next thing he knew was that her mouth was on his. As they kissed, she pushed him onto the bed and sat on his thighs, just beyond his throbbing erection.

 

When she pulled away, his mouth tried to follow. She placed a finger over his mouth to stop him, as she then began to place chaste kisses along his jaw, then his neck, then to his chest... ‘Gods what did I do to deserve this woman,’ he thought as she then began kissing all the places on his chest that used to be littered with ugly half healed scars. 

 

After she finished placing her kisses, she looked up at him and purred, “You might not be able to fuck me right now, but we can do... other things... And I still have not punished you for, ‘bending the knee’ to me last night."  When he raised his eyebrows in expectation, she gave him a seductive, knowing smile.

 

It took all of his willpower not to grab her hips and fuck her senseless as she took her tongue and licked from where the scar over his heart had once been, all the way down to his engorged cock. She started stroking his manhood, looked up at him with hooded eyes and a wicked smirk as she murmured, “This magical cock of yours .... I need to taste it..." Jon swallowed hard in anticipation; knowing where this was going.

 

While she was stroking his cock he tried to think of something to talk about with her... something that would make sure he did not climax to her tender touch like a green boy... something concentrate on besides the pleasure she was providing him. He took a deep breath then said, "I remember you telling me, that in the past... in the Essosi many common folk wanted you to be on my knees for them... That even in the brothels, they had whores dressed in your likeness... Whores whose job was to help them accomplish their fantasies about you...” He had to pause for a moment to take a deep calming breath, and then continued his speech, “But know this, Daenerys Targaryen... in this life, the only man who will know what it’s like to have his cock in your mouth will be me and only me... You told me, in our past life, that I was the only one that you ever pleasured with your mouth... I intend for that to be the same in this life ... No one will know how it feels to have you perfect mouth on their cock, but me."  He then thought to himself, 'She did tell me in our past life that she never took Drogo or Daario in her mouth... Seeing that Drogo was only interested in taking her like a stallion takes a mare and wanted her to bare him a son... and Daario... that piece of shit only wanted to conquer her and brag about his conquest... She would never do that with Daario'

 

He was pulled from his thoughts when she smiled up at him with a look of mischievousness. She then astounded him when bent down and proceeded to place a tender kiss on the head of his cock. He released a growl when she then slowly licked down one side of his member and up the other side. When she finally sheathed his pulsating cock in her mouth, he saw stars... And when she started caressing his balls as she bobbed her head up and down he fisted the sheets around him... The pleasure he was receiving from his wife… his queen… his Khaleesi was even better than he remembered. He knew his climax was approaching... He pulled her head up and said, "Daenerys I'm going to…"

 

She smiled up to him and purred, "I want to taste you, my King." She then quickly went back to task, placing his member back into the moist warmth of her mouth and he lost all control. With a loud growl, he sat up and grabbed her hair as he spilled his seed into her perfect mouth. She continued to suck is cock until he was completely spent. When collapsed back into the mattress, he watched her smile and lick her lips in satisfaction. 

 

"You tasted even more wonderful than I remembered," she hummed. She shimmied up to him, kissed his cheek, then laid her head on his chest and placed an arm around his abdomen. He put his arm behind her shoulders and pulled her even closer to him.

 

They laid in a comfortable, post orgasmic silence for a few minutes; Jon was enjoying having his other half safe and happy in his arms once more. 

 

Finally, he broke the tranquil air around them.  "As much as I hate to say this, we must get out of the bed Dany... I must discuss matters with our blood riders... and I need to tell Robb that he will be your sparring partner today."

 

"Robb? But I thought you were going to be training me?" She said as she sat up and looked at him with a perplexed expression.

 

He smiled and got out of the bed and walked over to the basket of fruit on the table.  He took out an orange and threw her a lemon. 

 

"Aye, I am going to be training you,” He said as he peeled the thick skin away from the tender flesh of his orange and ate a wedge before he continued. “However, I will not be sparring with you today... Today, I will be observing your stances and I will be showing you different techniques of swordplay." 

 

When he finished his orange, took two golden chalices and poured them each a glass of wine from the pitcher on the table. He took grabbed the cups from the table, turned around, and noticed she was starting at his still naked form.

 

"Like what you see Dany?" He teasingly mused.

 

She smiled. "I do… Have I ever told you that you have a wonderful arse, Jon Snow?"

 

"No, you have not, but .... I wouldn't mind if you mention it more often," he said with smirked causing her laughter to fill the room. He laughed as well as he brought her the cup of wine. 

 

"You best be getting ready... After I dress, I am going to break my fast. You can join me if you want to," he said as he handed her one of the glasses of wine.

 

"I would love to," she said after she took a sip of the sweet red wine.

 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then made his way over to his trunk full of clothes. He placed the wine cup on the table, opened his trunk and took out a soft black leather tunic and brown leather pants. After he dressed, he turned and looked at his wife, who still laying down in bed. He noticed that she had a frown on his face, so he asked, "What is wrong Dany?" 

 

He frown turned to giggles as she said, "Jon I cannot leave your chambers... I do not know what to wear for sparing... Plus, as I recall, you ripped my gown off of me last night... therefore, don't have any clothes to even put on." 

 

Jon chuckled in response. 

 

She furrowed her brow and got out of the bed. "What’s so funny Jon Snow? I can easily leave this room stark naked... I do not have a problem with people seeing my naked body... I know that you do though... You do not want other men seeing what is yours, do you?" 

 

His laughter went to a frown. "No, I don't want anyone else to see you naked... Only I can see your beauty." He watched a smile spread across her face. "Plus, you don't need to go find your clothes. Your clothes are already here." 

 

He saw her raise her eyebrow, as she picked up picked her destroyed wedding gown. She held up the pieces for him to see and questioned, "You mean this?" 

 

He smiled and shook his head no with a chuckle escaping his lips. He then pointed and said, "Look behind you... Open the chest." 

 

She turned around in the direction he was pointing and watched her eyes light up when she saw the large wooden chest. He walked to her and helped her open the box. She took out the clothes and he could see she was surprised.

 

She laid the items on the bed and ran her fingers over them; by the look in her eyes, he was unsure if she liked the gift. She had taken out a light grey, almost silver, leather midriff shirt with matching knee length skirt, a pair brown breaches, as well as a sword holder.

 

She looked at him and smiled, "Jon... Where did you get this?" 

 

He smiled and sheepishly said, "I asked Illyrio to buy the clothes for you... Do you like?" 

 

She looked him with eyes full of admiration and smiled as she answered, "I love them Jon! Thank you." 

 

He let out a sigh of relief and kissed her on the cheek. Then he murmured in her ear "Put them on... You will need it when Robb and I teach you how to use your sword." She nodded and quickly began to don her new spar outfit.

 

While she got dressed, he walked over to the table, sat down on one of the wooden chairs and took a few sips of his wine while he waited for her to dress. When she was done, he looked at her. He was staring at her in awe, admiring how beautiful she looked; he was pretty sure his jaw was hanging open, but at this moment, he did not care. All he could think about was the way the silver midriff shirt covered just enough to remain proper. Gods he could not wait to take it off her when they completed their lesson... and thank the gods for those breeches because if she were not wearing them his hands would have been under that silver skirt the second he stood up from the chair. He was pulled from his lustful thoughts when she started speaking.

 

"I'm guessing by the way you are looking at me that way... I look... how they would say it in the North... Pretty?" 

 

He laughed and nodded his head. “Aye. Pretty... very pretty.”

 

She grabbed the sword holder from the bed, walked over to him with a perplexed expression and asked, "Jon... I cannot figure out how to put this on... It's not the same as your sword belt." 

 

He smiled at her and kissed her on the mouth. "It is not supposed to be like mine. You are too..." 

 

"Too what... Jon?" She cut him off with a raised eyebrow. 

 

He tried his best not to laugh when he said, "Short... If you had a sword sheathed at your hip, it will touch the ground... Therefore, I had a new holder made for you... It is one that is placed on your back." To his relief she did not appear to be offended or angry by his words. 

 

She nodded in response then asked, "So are you going to show me how I put it on?" 

 

He placed his two hands on her hips and turned her around so that her back was in front of him. He took the sword holder strap and placed it over one shoulder. He then turned her around again and pulled each end of the strap to the front of her, and fastened the buckle around the front of her chest. He pulled on the strap to make sure it as secure and moved a few steps back. "How does it feel?" He asked as he looked into her eyes.

 

She moved around, stretching and swinging her arms. She looked at him, smiled and said, “It is perfect." 

 

He smiled and took a deep breath. "You will need to keep your sword close to you." ‘If she only had a sword close to her or even a piece of Dragonglass things would have been so different,’ He thought.

 

"My sword?" He could hear the confusion in her tone as she asked this question.

 

“Aye, every Targaryen warrior Queen needs a proper sword,” he said before he turned around and walked over to where his two sword were leaning against wall. He grabbed them both, walked back towards her and laid them both gently on the bed.

 

He picked up the larger sword and pulled it from it’s sheath and explained, "This sword is named Winters Wolf. It is Valyrian Steel as far as I know... This sword once belonged to Ser Arthur Dayne sword… He was one of the Kingsguard whom was protecting me when I was born at the Tower of Joy." He then turned his gaze from the sword to her beautiful eyes, which were showing so many emotions that he could not name. 

 

"It is truly a beautiful sword Jon," she breathed out. He nodded in agreement, placed the sword back in its holster and laid it tenderly on the bed.

 

He then looked at Dark Sister and picked it up. He looked at his wife and smiled as he said, "This sword... This sword is one of the ancestral Valyrian Steel swords of House Targaryen. It is not Blackfyre… This was the sword is the one that was once wielded by Visenya Targaryen, one of the sister wives of Aegon the Conqueror… This sword is named Dark Sister." When he said the name of the sword, he saw her eyes open wide in disbelief.

 

"Dark Sister? I… I thought it was lost.” 

 

"Aye, it was ... but your older brother Rhaegar... My father, found it beyond the Wall. Then he left it at the Tower of Joy, with my mother when he had to leave to join the war at Battle at the Trident." He took a deep breath as he draw Dark Sister from it’s scabbard and then turned his gaze towards Daenerys. "It is not meant to be my sword... It is meant to be yours."

 

"Jon,” she gasped as she stared at the smoky steel sword in front of her, “I… I cannot accept this sword... You father found it and left it for you… It belongs to you."

 

"No, Dany, it was my sword.” He said as he shook his head, “Now it is yours… I need you to have a weapon that can kill White Walkers... I will feel a lot more at ease knowing that you can protect yourself. I failed you by not teaching you how to fight in our last life, and I will not fail you again… and besides I still have Winters Wolf." He watched as she finally pulled her gaze from the sword in his hands and brought it to his eyes. He then carefully placed he hilt of the sword in her hand. 

 

He watched as a smile appeared in her face. She wrapped both hand around the hilt and slowly swung the sword. ‘Gods she looks sexy holding a sword,’ He thought to himself. He then watched as she took one hand off the hilt and began to trail her finger along the flat side of the blade. "Be careful not to cut yourself… It is very sharp."

 

"Do not worry Jon, I know it is sharp. I promise I will not cut myself," she chuckled, “But if you do not mind, will you help me put it in it’s holder on my back?”

 

He chuckled and it did not take long before he had the scabbard properly attached to the sword holder. As he sheathed Dark Sister for her he asked, “How did the sword feel?”

 

"It’s not nearly as heavy as I thought it would be… I thought that I would struggle with it’s weight, but the weight was perfect.”

 

"Valyrian steel is lighter than normal steel, or castle forged steel," his grey eyes met hers, and he continued "You look like a true Targaryen warrior Queen Dany… I think you were born to wield Dark Sister." He noticed the blush that was creeping up from her neck and spreading to her cheek. He pulled her in for an embrace, and then placed a kiss to her brow, then one on each cheek, and finally her lips. However, the kiss was quickly broken apart when there was a knocking on the chamber door.

 

"My King I need to speak to you," he heard the sound of Illyrio’s voice on the other side of the door.

 

He pulled away from his wife’s loving embrace and answered the door, "Good Morning, Illyrio. Please come in." The magister smiled as he entered the room. Jon shut the door behind him and asked, “Would you are for a glass of wine?”

 

"No thank you, Your Grace,” The fat Cheesemonger respectfully replied, “I do wish to ask a favor from you though?”

 

Jon was confused. He quickly looked towards Dany who shrugged her shoulders, also not knowing what the favor might be. “What favor do you wish, Illryio?”

 

“I wish to ask if you will refrain from hatching the dragon eggs until I return."

 

"Why Illyrio?" Jon asked as he raised his eyebrows to the magister.

 

"Your Grace, When we spoke the other day, you told me that your Father, Rhaegar had given your dragon egg to your mother, so that she would be able to place it in your crib after your birth…”

 

“Aye, that is correct.”

 

"Well your Grace, I have wonderful news... I remember Lord Varys telling me once that your father also had given a dragon egg to each of your half-siblings." He turned his gaze at Daenerys who was also surprised.

 

"And where are these eggs now Illyrio?" Daenerys asked as she walked to stand next to her husband.

 

"During the sacking of King’s Landing Lord Varys was able to hide them before the Lannister troops stormed the Red Keep… I believe he told me they are hidden near the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, underneath the Red Keep… I am sorry I forgot to mention it last night, your Graces."

 

He took a deep breath 'Six Dragons ... It seems too good to be true with what we are facing ...I will not use all of them in the Long Night... I will not take that change with The Night King again. He will be able to kill them easily with his Ice spears if they do not have a rider… Then they would just be another slave to the Night King… another pawn in his army...  but we can use them in the war for the throne and save more lives if we ask them to surrender by seeing how many dragons we have' he looked at the Magister and smiled. "Illyrio, do you mind bringing these two dragon eggs when you returned with Lord Varys?"

 

The Magister smiled and said, "Of course your Grace, it would be my honor." Illyrio bowed his head, then looked at the both of them and said, "I will see you both when I return from the capital with Lord Varys. If the winds are kind, we should return in about 10 days."

 

“Thank you, Illyrio. We wish you safe travels,” The Queen politely responded.

 

After that, Illyrio took his leave. Jon then looked at his wife, smiled and said. “Come my love, let us go to the dining hall and break our fast… I fear if we do not leave this room soon we will be in here all day."

 

She chuckled, hooked her arm in her husband’s arm and said, “Lead the way, My King, I am starving.”

 

 


 

Tyrion Lannister

 

 

The sun had risen nearly to its peak and finally The King and Queen of the southern six kingdoms were about to leave Winterfell. They were supposed to leave at first light but of course, they had been delayed. As hand of the King in The North Tyrion walked over to King Eddard Stark who was saying his goodbye to his old friend. 

 

"Ned... We need to do something about Aegon Targaryen," the Fat King said once more, trying to convince the new King, his King, to join his crusade against the last remaining Targaryens.

 

"We have been over this Robert!” The King in the North sighed, “House Stark and the North will have no part in whatever you try to do to them. He is not a threat! Now I think it is time that you take your leave." 

 

He may not know Ned Stark that well yet, but he could tell the newly crowned King in the North was getting frustrated. ‘I wonder why it is that Ned Stark does not believe these Targaryens to be a threat?’ Tyrion wondered to himself.

 

"Good-bye, King Eddard Stark,” Robert sighed as he shook the King in the North hand. Then in a gruffer tone he added, “I hope for your sake and the sake of your people you are right about the Targaryens... But know this, Ned… I will not stop hunting all the Dragonspawn until this world is completely rid of them." 

 

He agreed with what his new King and friend said earlier, that the Targaryens were nearly extinct and that Robert should just let them be... However, he knew the fat king was correct with his demand, that he would never stop until every Targaryen or person claiming to be a descendant of a Targaryen was dead. 

 

Robert then climbed into his carriage and as soon as the door was closed, the caravan began make its way out of the castle’s courtyard.

 

After the carriages and wagons were out of sight, the Dwarf of Casterly Rock looked up to his King, who calmly stated, "The Lords and Ladies of the North are waiting for us in the Great Hall. It's time for them to know that you have been named my Hand.” The King then gave him a reassuring smile. Tyrion nodded and followed his new King as he began to walk.

 

They walked together, side by side in a comfortable silence towards the Great Hall of Winterfell. When they entered the grand room all of the northerners cheered, 'The King in The North!' They walked together until they reached the head table and the King took his seat on the simple wooden chair, serving as his throne, alongside his family. 

 

After he was seated, he looked over at him and quietly said in his calm, but gruff Northern accent, "Sit next to me Lord Tyrion. I need my Hand at my side." 

 

The imp smiled nervously and slightly nodded his head in response before he pulled out the chair next to the King in the North and sat. ‘This must be his heir, Robb’s, chair’ he thought to himself as he shifted in the chair between the King and his eldest daughter Sansa, in an attempt to get comfortable. 

 

He looked at the young Stark girl and smiled as he respectfully asked, "How did you sleep lady Sansa?" 

 

The Stark girl looked at him and smiled back. "I slept well, thank you Lord Tyrion... I just wanted to thank you, for telling the truth to King Robert and the people of the North last night." 

 

"Don't mention it Lady Sansa... I mean Princess Sansa... I suppose I should start calling you by your proper title... I do not enjoy cruel boys or men, princes or kings, hurting or forcing themselves upon little girls or women... even though that cruel monster last night happened to be my nephew." He noticed a shy smile grace the corners of her lips when he said those words; he was thankful he was able to help her feel a little more at ease considering everything she had been through in the last 12 hours.

 

"You can just call me Sansa, Lord Tyrion... I heard that you have decided to stay in Winterfell and that Father has named you his Hand of the King... Is this true?" 

 

He looked at his left and saw that Ned was talking to his lady wife... the Queen in the North. He then turned his gaze back towards Sansa and smiled and whispered, "Yes it is... “However, she cut him off before he could finish his answer.

 

"I am glad that you are... You are a kind person as well a smart one. We will need you when the Long Night comes again.”

 

Tyrion was surprised when she said 'The Long Night,' he had not heard those words since he was a young lad, misbehaving and his nursemaid had told him tales about ancient magical creatures. ‘Surely she meant something different,’ he thought. He was about to ask the Princess what she meant by those words, but before he could ask Ned stood up from his throne and started speaking.

 

"My Lords and Ladies,” King Eddard called in a booming voice. “The King and Queen of the Southern Six Kingdoms have left the North!” This announcement was met by a round of cheers. When it quieted down he continued, “Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey have been informed that they may never return to the North... and if they do, they are aware that they will be executed!" Which cause another round of cheers from the Northern Lords and Ladies.

 

He made eye contact with the King as he waited for the roaring approval to simmer down. When it did, the King gave him a slight nod before he spoke once more, "That is not all My Lords and Ladies... I have an announcement to make... You all informed me, last night, that I needed to name a Hand of the King in the North... And I have made a decision on this matter." 

 

The king looked at him and smiled. “I have chosen a man who has shown the North he is a man of honor. That he is a knowledgeable and puts the right choice above the easy choice, even if that choice put his own life in danger... I have named Tyrion of the House Lannister as the Hand of the King in the North!" King Ned then looked at him, and gave him an encouraging nod to stand and speak.

 

Tyrion felt his heart rising as he waited for the gathered Lords and Ladies to voice their disapproval. He was frozen in the chair; his anxiety was coursing through every vein of his body. ‘I have been shit on my whole life... I have never been accepted... not by court, not even by my own family.’ He sighed as he continued to wait, but to his surprise, they only smiled and then he heard a round of approving 'Ayes.’ For the first time in his life he felt accepted, which made him smile.

 

A large man, who he believed was Lord Manderly because of the Merman sigil on the front of his leather armor, stated, “The north is honored to have Tyrion Lannister as Hand to our King! Because of his just actions last night... his testimony was detrimental to Robert Baratheon granting the North our independence! Because of his actions he saved the North from ever having to follow the rule of that mad prince!" 

 

When he heard another round of 'Ayes’ and applause. He was humbled. He was in disbelief that he had been accepted, just because he had done the right thing. ‘The North is definitely not the South,’ he mused as his anxiety began to dissipate and he stood up from his seat. He looked around the room, at all of faces of those gathered in the Great Hall. He took a deep breath and exhaled as he began to speak, "Lords and Ladies of the North, I wanted to take a moment to thank each of you for your kind words. In addition, I vow that I will do everything in my power to make sure the North remains fair and just. I promise that I will provide unbiased counsel to your King and I will do everything in my power to help him ensure the safety of the North!" 

 

After is declaration, the Lords and Ladies raised their tankards of ale, and nodded. He looked at his King and noticed he had a hint of a frown on his face. He had seen that look in others before... when they had information that they needed to share, but either did not want to share or did not know how to say what needed to be said. He watched as the King looking at all of the lords and started speaking.

 

"My Lords... My Ladies... I have told you that I have been having disturbing reports about strange happenings beyond the Wall... I have sent eldest sons, Robb and Jon to go and investigate these reports.” He watched as the King paused to take a deep steading breath, “However, have not received any word from them since they went beyond the Wall, approximately one moon turn ago." 

 

Tyrion watched the faces of those gathered; He saw the look of shock and horror on all of their faces. ‘If it was me lost beyond the Wall my father and his bannermen would be thanking the gods.’

 

"My King we need to send men beyond the Wall and find them!" One of the Lords, he believed was Lord Glover because of the fist sigil, exclaimed. 

 

He saw the King in the North rising his hand. "Aye, we will and that's why I have to announce that I am going beyond the Wall, with my brother, Benjen, who is First Ranger of the Nights Watch. Together, with the support of the Nights Watch, we will investigate these reports as well find out what has happened to my sons." 

 

He heard gasps echoing off the grey stonewalls of the Great Hall. Then many of the lords began voicing their dissatisfaction and throwing out questions towards their King.

 

"My King, we need our King in the North... Not beyond the Wall...”

 

“It is not safe beyond the Wall...”

 

“Call the banners... we will help you find your sons!”

 

“Who will lead us while you are gone, your Grace?" 

 

He saw a true smile appear on Ned’s lips when he heard that question. He watched as he turned his head and looked at him and Sansa.

 

"My Hand will return to Winterfell while I am beyond the wall... He will help lead the North with my wife, Queen Catelyn and daughter, Princess Sansa.” 

 

Tyrion shifted his line of sight to the redheaded girl sitting next to him; it appeared she was as surprised by the King’s announcement as he was. He did not have long to think before Ned started speaking once more.

 

"We will leave soon my Lords... I will take some of my own men with me. The men joining me on this quest will be Jory, Alyn, Harwin, and Hallis." He watched as the King eyed the four men, who were standing in the back of the room, all of whom nodded at the command.

 

"But, your Grace..." one of the Northern Lords started to protest.

 

Ned simply raised his hand from the table, and the grumbling stopped. "I have made my mind up my Lords and Ladies. I thank you for your concern. However, my decision is final. That will be all!" Everyone appeared shocked by their King’s statement, but accepted their Kings decision without any more loud quibbling; they were now quietly talking amongst themselves.

 

Once the room was almost silent, he turned his gaze back towards Sansa and asked, "Has he ever been so straight forward with the people of the North?" She silently shook her head no. 

 

Everyone’s attention was snapped to the doors of the Great Hall when they swung open. He watched as seven men entered the Great Hall. Maester Luwin was standing in front, and behind him were four Stark Household Guards and two men he did not recognize... but by the clothes were wearing, they were definitely not from the North. One was a younger man, maybe about seven and ten, who was tall and lean with shorter brown hair and piercing blue eyes. The other man was shorter and stout, with darker skin, wild black curly hair and brownish-black eyes. He glanced at the King in the North who was smiling down at the two out of place men.

 

"What can I do for you today?" The King asked as he smiled at the Maester and the two newcomers.

 

"Your Grace,” the Maester said as he bowed his head, “This is Gendry Waters, a blacksmith, and this Syrio Forel, a water dancing instructor from Braavos. They have come to Winterfell as requested." 

 

'Gendry Waters... What does the King of the North want with a bastard blacksmith and a dancing instructor?’ 

 

"Syrio Forel... Did my son, Jon Snow, summon you to Winterfell?" The King kindly asked.

 

〰️"Yes, your Grace ... He asked me to train your children, Sansa, Arya and Rickon, as well as your wife, Queen Catelyn, the art of water dancing." 

 

The Northern Lords and Ladies started whispering to each other. ‘This is quite interesting... why would the King’s bastard send for a dancing master?’ The Imp thought. He looked at the King and Queen, both of whom appeared bewildered. 

 

Ned quickly washed the confused look off his face, looked toward a few of the servants and handmaidens against the back wall and said, "Would you mind preparing suitable chambers for our new arrivals and please bring a warm meal to my study for them while they wait on their accommodations?"

 

"Of course, your Grace," the servant in the middle stated as all three bowed their heads, and quickly left the room.

 

The King then looked at him and smiled. "Lord Tyrion... I have matters to attend to at the moment... Would you please escort Gendry and Syrio to my study chambers? I will join you all shortly.”

 

"Of course, your Grace," Tyrion answered. He then got up from his chair and walked towards the two men. "If you would, please follow me and I will show you the way to King Eddard’s study." 

 

The two men nodded and followed him outside of the Great Hall. As they walked through the halls of the castle, he looked at the younger man, Gendry, and thought ‘This boy looks familiar.’ He also thought the boy looked a little tense, so as they walked he asked, "Gendry, it appears the King was expecting you arrival, but if I may ask why were you asked to come to Winterfell?" 

 

Gendry smiles, "I was lead to believe that the Warden... I... I mean King in the North... uh... his bastard son sent me a message saying his father was in need of a man whom could reforge Valyrian Steel... They offered me coin and free chambers, as well as a permanent position in Winterfell’s forge." 

 

Tyrion was surprised, 'Why would Ned need someone whom can rework Valyrian Steel?' He then turned his attention towards the man named Syrio Forel. "And you... Syrio... why is Winterfell in need of a dancing instructor?”

 

"The king in the North's Bastard son sent me a message, via carrier, requesting that I come to Winterfell to help his younger siblings and their lady mother the art of the Water Dance." 

 

Questions started to arise in his mind, 'Why would the Bastard of Winterfell request a water dancing master teach his siblings and their lady mother a type of Braavosi swordplay? Why did he do this without even informing his father?' 

 

He felt that he had been quiet for too long so he asked, "Have either of you actually met the Bastard of Winterfell... the King’s son, Jon Snow?" 

 

The both shook their heads no. 

 

"I had not been in King’s Landing for long, when a Northern Lord, named Wendell Manderly, came to me with a sealed scroll. It was an offer, signed by Jon Snow, and I accepted the offer." 

 

Tyrion was still confused. "May I ask why?" He asked.

 

The Water Dance Master looked at him and smiled. "He requested I teach his family so they will know how to protect themselves... Also, I was tired of the City... I was tired of seeing so many people suffer... I was also tired of the heat and smell of shit... Therefore, I figured I might as well travel North, so I could teach my skills... When I accepted the position I never expected I would be teaching a Royal Family the art of the Water Dance." he smiled. 

 

They finally stopped before the King in the North’s study. Tyrion opened the door and led them in. Once the two men were seated on a couch across from the desk, a couple of servants brought in warm stew and ale for the men. 

 

When they began to eat, Tyrion asked, “Is there anything else that I can do for either of you at this time?”

 

They both shook their heads no.

 

Tyrion smiled, "Well then, please wait here until the King is done with his other matters. If you need anything there is a servant just outside the door that can assist you." 

 

Tyrion took his leave, and began the walk back to the Great Hall. As he walked through the empty halls, he thought to himself, 'Things are getting interesting in the North.'  Just before he reached his destination, The Queen in the North, Catelyn Tully Stark, stopped him.

 

"Lord Tyrion,” she called with a smile. 

 

"Your Grace, what can I do for you?" He responded with a smile.

 

"I just wanted to thank you, for what you did for my family last night. If it were not for you for, your sister’s men would have wrongfully butchered my daughter’s Direwolf. Also, because of your actions, my daughters’ names were cleared.”

 

Tyrion felt humbled by her kind words. "It was nothing, your Grace. I was just doing the right thing.” 

 

She smiled at him and turned to leave, but he stopped her by asking, "Your Grace, if may I ask, do you know why Gendry Waters is here?" 

 

She looked at him and nodded, "He is here to reforge Ice" 

 

He raised his eyebrow. "Ice?" 

 

"Ice is the great ancestral Valyrian Steel Sword of House Stark. My husband had decided to have the great sword reforged into two new Valyrian Steel swords, one for him and one for his brother, Benjen. Gendry has been trained how to rework Valyrian Steel, so my husband has commissioned him to complete the task and offered him a permanent position in Winterfell.”

 

He now knew why the blacksmith was here, but he was still confused on to why. "Your Grace, may I ask you why the King is having Ice melted and forged into two swords?" 

 

She kept on smiling as she answered, "You will find out soon enough Lord Tyrion." 

 

The Queen in the North then turned and walked away. He was now alone, standing in front of the doors of Great Hall with questions arising in his mind then answers that he received......


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen 

 

 

 

Dany and Jon walked into the kitchen and were about to grab some food so they could break their fast. She was surprised to see Robb, already in the kitchen, filling a plate with an assortment of foods. He had not seen that they had entered the room, so she smiled and called, “Robb!” When he looked up, she added, “Good morning.” 

 

"Good morning, dear good-sister… Brother… You all are up earlier than I expected,” he said with a knowing smirk. He set down his plate of food on the counter and then walked over to embrace her husband. He whispered something in his ear that she could not hear, but a giggle escaped her lips when she Jon’s face filled with a crimson blush at the words. Robb then walked over to her, and she was shocked when he pulled her into a crushing embrace. As soon as he was done with his embrace, he looked at her and smiled. "I see Jon gave you the sparing clothes… You look beautiful.” After he said these words, it was her husband’s turn to laugh as she blushed a shade of scarlet.

 

Suddenly, she was startled when she heard a screech from behind her good-brother. The next thing she knew Sarogon way flying over to the counter were they were standing and began eating some roasted fish from one of the platters. She smiled at the sight of the small grey dragon, who then looked at her and gave her a welcoming hoot. She looked at Robb and smiled as she asked, “Did our child behave for you last night?"

 

"Aye, he did… Though we did have to visit the kitchen for snacks several times last night.” He then chuckled as he added, “I do not think he is ever full.” 

 

She walked past her good-brother and scratched the babe dragon under chin earning some loving nudges into her hand and some purrs of delight. As she loved on her winged child, she was surprised at how fast the dragon was growing. ‘When I first saw him a couple of days ago he was barely bigger than two hands placed together and now he was the size of three hands placed together.’ 

 

She was pulled from her thoughts when Jon started speaking. “Robb, we are going to break our fast and after that I am planning to teach Daenerys the basics on how to wield her sword… I would like to watch her form and stances, so, would you mind to be her sparring partner?” 

 

Robb’s answer was immediate, “I would like nothing more to help my new sister with her sparing.” 

 

Daenerys could not believe what she had just heard; she was filled with such joy and happiness as she thought, 'So, this is what it feels like to have a true loving brother.’

 

Jon then handed her a plate and they began to fill them with different foods that were in platters on the counter. She filled her plate some scrambled eggs, fresh fruits, some roasted white fish and a rasher of bacon. Jon then led her to the dining hall and she sat down across from her good-brother, while her husband sat next to her. She began eating her food, not realizing how much of an appetite she had worked up from her and Jon’s activities the night before. They sat in a comfortable silence as they all broke their fast. 

 

After several minutes had past, Robb finally broke the stillness in the air when he asked, “Daenerys, ever since Jon told me that he had married, I have wondered, just exactly how did the two of you meet and fall in love… I am sorry if these questions came out of the blue, it’s just my brother has yet to tell me.” 

 

This shocked her. She was not shocked that Jon had not told her good brother how they met and fell in love… However, she was shocked that she could not herself remember how they had come to be married. "I... I am sorry Robb, but I cannot seem to remember..." She then looked over at her husband who did not seem the least bit shocked that she could not remember such an important event in their past life.

 

“It is fine Daenerys. It is not your fault that you cannot remember... I was thinking that the reason some of your memories of me are lost is because you mentioned your past companions or past lovers when we first met.” 

 

She raised an eyebrow in confusion and asked, "What do you mean Jon?" 

 

She watched her husband taking a deep breath before he started to talk. "When we met..." She heard him chuckle "We really did not care for each other… I believe it would be safe to say that we hate one another.” 

 

She was surprised by her husband’s statement and by the look on Robb’s face, she could tell the statement shocked him as well. "We did?” She finally breathed out.

 

“Aye,” he chuckled again, “Let me start from the beginning… I was newly named King in the North when you arrived at Dragonstone. I received ravens from both you and Queen Cersei Lannister, requesting that I go south and bend the knee. I ignored both scrolls, because I knew my people would not submit again to a Southern ruler… And, I was also preoccupied trying to find a way to save my people from the threat beyond the Wall. Then, I received another raven from my friend, Samwell Tarly. In this message he informed me that there was Dragonglass on Dragonstone. That is when I made the decision to travel to Dragonstone, in hopes to form an alliance with the ‘Dragon Queen’ and that you would allow me to mine the Dragonglass in the caves of the island. Let’s just say that the Northern Lords and Ladies were not happy with my decision,” he paused momentary to chuckle, “They all believed that you would feed me to your dragons or burn me alive or seduce me into bending the knee… When I arrived you were not happy with me because I was a man claiming to be King of the Northern most Kingdom,” he then shifted his gaze to her, “and you believed that you were the rightful heir and Queen to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, therefore I was in open rebellion against your crown… You demanded that I bend the knee. Let us just say that when I refused, and continued to refuse, my defiance frustrated you…because you had asked me repeatedly to bend the knee and I never did… Well at least not at first,” he added with a sigh, as if he was trying to push a painful thought from his memory.

 

She gave him an encouraging smile, and sighed again before he continued, “In our first conversation, you mentioned that you were sold like a broodmare, raped, and defiled, chained and betrayed… You later told me that it was your brother, Viserys, who had sold you to Khal Drogo in exchange for an army, and that he was the man who had rape you repeatedly before you thought you had learned to love him.” He paused again and took a long sip of orange juice. While he drank, she thought, ‘So that is why he holds so much anger towards my brother. It makes sense.’  She then placed a comforting hand on his thigh, and he smiled at her after he put his glass of juice down.

 

"As I was saying… when we first met ... We hated each other. You wanted me to bend the knee, and I told you I would not bend the knee to you or to any other queen because my people would not accept a southern ruler. I told you that there was a threat beyond the wall much greater than that of Cersei Lannister. We were having a heated discussion… I was so frustrated because you did not believe me about the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead… I tried everything to convince you that they were a bigger threat… I even told you that if we did not stop them it would not matter whose bones sat on the Iron Throne… I honestly think you were about to order your guards to feed me to your dragons, but it the conversation was stopped when Lord Varys, who was one of your advisors, entered the Throne Room and informed you that you had lost two of your allies. As soon as you received the news you sent me and my advisor, Ser Davos, to chambers, had baths drawn for us and sent us food… I was so mad because you refused to let me leave..." 

 

When he said this, she cut him off by asking, “Did I take you as my prisoner?" 

 

He smiled and shook his head, “When I asked if I was your prisoner, your exact words to me were ‘Not yet,’ but in reality I actually was… I wanted to leave the island but you would not let me… but you did allow me to walk the castle and the grounds… I came to enjoy brooding on the cliffs overlooking to the Blackwater,” he chuckled, which made them all laugh.

 

‘How in the world did this man go from becoming my prisoner to the man I love and would die for,' she wondered to herself before he began speaking once more.

 

"You knew we had to make peace in order to become allies, and one of your advisors persuaded you to allow me to mine the Dragonglass as a peace offering and in hope that it would sway me into eventually bend the knee... After you allowed me to begin mining the Dragonglass, I started to respect you more… Moreover, I believe that you respected me a little as well, because you saw what I was risking to save my people… Then while mining we discovered some old cave drawings… depictions of the first men and the children of the forest coming together to fight against the White Walkers… I then brought you to the cave and showed them to you… It was then that I decided that I was starting to care for you… in more than a political sense… I mean, you still frustrated me because you said you would only help my cause when I bent the knee…Then I knew that I cared for you when you went riding into battle on the back on your largest dragon… I was so scared that something would happen to you… that you would have been struck by an arrow or killed… I stood on that damn cliff overlooking the Blackwater brooding and praying that you would return, because you were important to all those who followed you… I did not know what would happen to them if you feel in battle… Then I knew that you cared for me when you came back from the battle.” 

 

“Why is that?” Dany asked with furrowed eyebrows.

 

“Because when you returned you landed your largest dragon right in front of me! All I saw was sharp teeth in my face… but then, when I looked in his eyes something stirred inside of me… I removed my glove and rubbed his snout, just like if I was showing love to Ghost. When I looked up to you, I saw the fear in your eyes that he was going to harm me… That is how I knew that you cared for me…”

 

"So when did you know that you loved her? When did you actually fall in love?” Robb blurted out. She blushed at the question and looked at Jon waiting for his answer, but Jon looked at his brother as he answered.

 

"I went beyond the Wall... On a stupid suicide mission to find a wight so we could take it to Cersei to convince her that the threat was real." She watched as her love took a deep breath before continuing. “The mission was doomed… we were surrounded by the dead… It was as if they knew of our plans… that knew we were coming… I was able to send one of the men who followed me on this quest back to the Wall and he sent a raven to Daenerys… The situation was dire… We had captured the wight, but we were trapped on a rock in the middle of a half frozen lake with no way out… Then when the lake froze completely, all hope was lost… But, to my surprise, she came reigning fire on the undead soldiers with all three of her dragons… She got the message, and she risked her life to save me and my companions…” She noticed that he looked at Robb when he spoke and she watched as he took another deep shaky breath before he continued, “I was getting ready to take her hand and climb on the dragon, but I noticed that my men were still being attacked, so I retuned to the battle… Then, once all my men were safely on her dragon’s back, I went to get on, but before I could get on her dragon... I was attacked again… I yelled at her to ‘Go and Leave Now’ as two wights pushed me into the icy waters of the lake… After I got loose of their grasp I swam and got out of the lake… You had already gone… I somehow found Longclaw… In the past I would have just gave up… I was tired of fighting for the shit life I had been dealt… but for some reason... I found a purpose to continue the fight." He then looked at her and smiled. 

 

‘It was me… I was the reason he chose to continue the fight.’ She wanted to know more, so she asked, “I cannot remember… what happened next, my love?”

 

He smiled and took her hand. "My Uncle Benjen came out of nowhere… He came in riding a horse and saved me from the swarm of wights… He put me on that horse and sent it back to the Wall… He gave his life to make sure I was saved.” She squeezed his hand and gave him a comforting smile, hoping it gave him the courage to continue the story.

 

“When I arrived back at the Wall I was unconscious… I later heard that you stood on top of the Wall for hours waiting for me to return… Though, the next thing I remember was waking up in a room… but it was not my room... I woke up in your chambers on a boat. You were watching over me while I was literally out cold…that is when I knew I was in love with you… That is also when I bent the knee… You proved to me that you cared about your people, and that you were what my people needed to get though the Long Night.” She looked at him and felt her heart was beating in a tremendous speed. 'If Robb was not here I would have taken him on this table,’ she placed a hand on her his cheek and pulled him for a kiss. 

 

When she pulled away, she heard Robb speaking. “Okay… So when did you know that she loved you too?”

 

“I knew that she loved me too when we began to make arrangements to move her armies North… and she took my advice to sail together with me to White Harbor and then travel together to Winterfell… When all of her advisors advised against it she did not care…”

 

“Now… I do remember that boat ride, Jon Snow.” She then leaned over to whisper very quietly into her husband’s ear so that only he could hear, “I am pretty sure that is when we conceived Rhaegar.”

 

“It is not that hard to believe that you two hated each other when you first met... You are both fucking stubborn as hell!” When Robb said this, they all erupted in laughter.

 

"Aye, we both are!” He then stood, took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles. He then said to her, "I'm going to speak with Bako and our other blood riders and see how our prisoner is doing.” 

 

She smiled at him and nodded in response. He put his hand under her chin, tilted it upwards and kissed her on her lips. After he pulled away, he looked at her and his brother and said, "I will see the both of you in the training yard shortly.” 

 

She smiled and kissed him again before he smiled at his brother, and retreated from the dining hall. After he left she looked at Robb whose smile had morphed into a frown. “What is wrong, Robb?”

 

"Did Jon have any nightmares last night?" 

 

Which made her take a deep breath and nodded, “Yes, he did... When I asked him how he slept, he told me that he had slept peacefully... However, I could tell that he was lying… I know that He only said it so that I would not be worried about him… He is keeping something from me, Robb..." 

 

She watched as he took a deep breath. "We need to find out what it is... Daenerys I need you to try again. I am sorry that I am pushing you… but please understand he is my brother and my family. I need to protect him. I promised my father I would keep my eye on him..."  

 

She cut him off his rambling. "Robb I understand… His my last relative, that is if you are not counting my horrible excuse of brother. I love Jon with all of my heart… I do not like or enjoy that he is keeping something from me… I will try again tonight..." She took a deep breath.

 

They sat in silence and finished their meal. When they were done Robb said, “Come on, let’s go to the training yard, I am sure that Jon will be waiting for us.”

 

She nodded her head and stood up. As they walked out of the dining hall Robb stated, "I see Jon has given you Dark Sister.”

 

“Yes, he did,” she answered shyly, “Although, I am not really sure that I should be the one to wield it… I am not sure that I have earned the right to wield this sword.”

 

“Daenerys trust me. Jon would not have given you that sword if he did not think you should wield it… Have faith in yourself… Between Jon and myself, you will be the next Warrior Queen the seven kingdoms sings songs about.” Robb said with a smile, “So come on… Your first lesson is today… Show us what a Targaryen Queen is made of.”

 

She laughed at her good brother’s comments. They then walked side by side to the training yard to meet with her husband, so she could learn to become a Warrior Queen.

 

When they entered the training yard, she saw that her husband had a smile on his face as he was speaking with Ser Jorah. As they approached, the she watched as the old knight smiled at her husband and slightly bowed his head as he turned to walk away for the training yard. When the old knight passed them, he offered her a Robb proper greeting before her continued on his way.  When Jon noticed their arrival, he smiled widely and walked over to meet her and his brother.

 

When they reached him, Dany asked, "What did you and Ser Jorah discuss?" 

 

He smiled at her, "Well apparently in the few days that we have been here, Sarogon has eaten through Illyrio’s white fish storages, so I asked Ser Jorah to go down to the markets and pick up some more... I just cannot get over how fast he is growing and how much he is eating!” He chucked as he grabbed both of her hands.

 

She smiled and nod, “Well he is growing fast... I cannot remember how fast my dragons grew in the past.” She mused. 

 

"I am not sure either... they were quite large when I first met them... I believe they were about six years old.” He answered and then placed a tender kiss on the knuckles of each hand before letting her hands go. 

 

He then turned to his brother and said, “Thank you again, Robb, for agreeing to help me with Dany’s training.” Jon then placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes as he continued in a serious tone, “Ensuring that all of my family is going to be prepared to fight when the Long Night arrives means the world to me... I vowed that I would not fail you all this time.”

 

“Of course, brother. I can think of no other place I would rather be.” 

 

He then turned back towards her and asked, “Are you ready for your first lesson?" 

 

She smiled and nodded. 

 

Jon then pulled Dark Sister from its scabbard on her back. He careful looked at the smoky blade and then back to her, then with stoic seriousness he stated, “Dany, this is no toy. It is Valyrian Steel so you must handle it with care or you will with yourself... But the first lesson of swordplay it to stick them with the pointy end.” All three of them then erupted in belly busting laughter.

 

They both looked at Robb who removed his sword belt, and placed it on the table. He then looked through the many training swords until, she guessed, he had found one that was a similar weight and size to his own. She turned her gaze back at her husband who smiled at her. He kissed her forehead and stepped back.

 

"Let's begin... Now Dany, the first step in sword fighting is a proper stance." She nodded at her husband’s words. He then placed Dark Sister in her hands, and wrapped her fingers around the hilt. 

 

After she had a grip on the sword he stepped back and said, "Always remember. Your stance... Left foot first," he demonstrated as he drew Winters Wolf from its scabbard and placed his left foot in front of him. She mirrored what he did.

 

“Next, you put your right foot back and stand your ground by bending your knees." She followed his lead and figured she was doing it right because he smiled proudly at her.

 

She felt silly standing this way and did not understand why this was so important so she stood up straight and asked, "Jon why is this necessary?" 

 

He smiled and walked over to her, and she heard Robb trying to sniffle a chuckle that threatened to escape his lips as Jon answered, "You need to have a proper stance, otherwise it will easy for your opponent to knock you down... Like this.” She was shocked when he put his hand on her shoulder and easily pushed her down to the ground. She could not believe what he just did to her. She looked up at him and noticed that had a smirk on his face.

 

"If you do not use a proper stance you will be dead in seconds. A proper stance helps you stand your ground in a dual, a fight or in battle. Please Daenerys, I promise you everything I teach you is way to make sure you will not die… It will be key to your survival should you find yourself battling an enemy during the coming wars.” She was surprised by is tone, he held such worry and fear in his voice. He then held out his hand to help her up. She grabbed it and he easily pulled her to a standing position next to him.

 

“Now, let’s try again.” 

 

She did as he asked and took the stance he had just taught her. 

 

“That is good... Now watch.” This time when he pushed on her shoulder again, she wobbled a little, but she did not move her feet or fall to the ground. She was surprised.

 

“See, a proper stance will help you stay in your feet… Now take Dark Sister and swing it around slowly, so you can get a feel for its weight and balance.” 

 

She did as he asked and slowly swung her sword. She felt the way she had control over her Valyrian Steel sword… It felt like an extension of her body. She admired the smoky blade of Dark Sister and watched how it shimmered and shined when the rays of the midday sun hit it.

 

After a few minutes, Jon called, “Wonderful. Now, sheath your sword.”

 

“Why would I sheath my sword? I though you wanted me to learn to wield it?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Aye, I do,” he chuckled, “However, you must start with a training sword… I do not want for you to accidentally cut yourself or my brother.”

 

She felt her face blush as she sheathed Dark Sister on her back, and then walked over to select a blunt training sword that felt similar in size and weight to her sword. Once she selected on she walked back over to where her husband was standing with her good-brother.

 

"Now take your position and spar against Robb,” Jon stated.

 

She looked at her good-brother who smiled at her. She gripped the hilt of her training sword and stood in the stance Jon has taught her.

 

“Dany, take your time… there is no rush right now.” Her husband called. “You need to make sure that your sword is balanced perfectly with your movements.” 

 

She took a deep breath and took a few practice swings. 

 

“Good! Now, try to strike Robb.” 

 

She did as he asked. She took her sword and swung it to Robb. He easily blocked her swing and she felt the way her harms shivered when steel met steel. She swung the sword several more times, and each time her swings were easily stopped by her good-brother. After a few minutes she was surprised how sore her arms gotten. She looked at Jon who kept on smiling.

 

“That is very good, Dany… I can tell how sore your arms are getting... Your arms are not yet used to fighting yet.” Her husband said as he came over and rubbed the tops of her arms. “However, you cannot give up. With practice, you will become stronger and stronger and the pain will lessen. Now, try again.”

 

She nodded and stood her stance again. She did as she asked and did it again and again. She was determined not to give up. She continued to spar against her good brother in order to prepare for the long night……

 


 

Gendry Waters

 

 

It was just after midday in Winterfell and the sun was beyond its peak. Syrio and Gendry were sitting on a couch in the King in the North study chambers awaiting his arrival and directions. They had finished their meal of rabbit stew and brown bread and they were now talking amongst each other while they waited for their new King to arrive. After their travels from King’s Landing to White Harbor via boat and then from White Harbor to Winterfell, the young man considered the Braavosi man to be his friend. A  a little time had passed, their attention was pulled from each other, and towards the entrance when they someone enter the room. 

 

"Syrio Forel, Gendry Waters, please forgive me for keeping you waiting. As you are aware, my name is Eddard Stark and I am the King in the North,” the man said in a welcoming tone as he walked towards were they were sitting. He and the Braavosi man quickly stood and smiled at the King.

 

“It is an honor to meet you, King Eddard.” Syrio stated as he bowed down before the King, “As you know, I am Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos, and Water Dancing Master.

 

"Syrio Forel, it is an honor to have you here, and the hospitality of Winterfell is yours.” The King in the North said as shook his friend's hand before he continued talking, "My Maester told me that my son, Jon Snow, asked you to come to Winterfell in order to train my youngest children and wife in the art of water dancing?" 

 

"Yes, your Grace... Your son sent a message to via from a man named Manderly. It stated that you were in need of a dancing instructor, so that your family would be able to defend themselves, if need be, in the wars to come.”

 

Gendry did not know what to think of his friend’s words... ‘The wars to come? What is that supposed to mean?’ However, The King in the North seemed to clearly understand because a smile appeared on his face and he smiled. 

 

"Thank you Syrio Forel for traveling all the way to Winterfell. I presume you will need your rest. I want you to start training my wife and children at first light tomorrow. If you need anything at all, please ask for the castle Master at Arms, Ser Rodrik, and he will ensure that it is brought to you. Or if it is something that we do not have we will make sure that we get it for you.”

 

“Thank you, your Grace,” his water dancing friend stated respectfully with a nod of his head and a smile on his face. "It shall be my honor to train your family, your Grace." 

 

The King then looked behind him, in the direction of the chambers door and called, "Hodor! Please come here!" 

 

Gendry then heard loud, heavy footsteps approaching the chambers. He was sure that he jaw was hitting the floor when the largest man he had ever seen entered the chambers.

 

“Hodor!” The large man happily exclaimed.

 

"Hodor, would you please show Syrio Forel to his new chambers?" The King asked as he smiled at the gigantic man.

 

"Hodor!" The man said as he quickly nodded his head and motioned for his water dancing friend to follow. 

 

Syrio stood from the couch and walked the towards the humongous beast of a man. He then smiled and said, "Show me the way, Hodor." 

 

The gigantic man smiled, said “Hodor,” once more and motioned his hand out to side, gesturing for Syrio to follow him outside the chambers.

 

After Hodor and Syrio had left, the King looked at him, smiled kindly and said, "You must be Gendry Waters." 

 

“Yes, I am... uh, milord... I mean, your Grace." The young man stated as he bowed his head in respect. 

 

When he saw the King’s eyes widened, at first he thought that he had upset the man by calling him by the wrong title. But then the man stared at him and walked closer, it appeared that he had a look of shock on his face. Then the King breathed out, "Gendry, if I may ask, who your father is?" 

 

He was surprised by his question. "I... I am not sure, your Grace... but you were not the first person who has asked me that question.” 

 

"Who else has asked you about your parentage?" 

 

He took a deep breath, looked down at his hands and then answered the King in the North’s question. "When I was in King’s Landing, working as a blacksmith’s apprentice, the Hand of King Robert, Jon Arryn came to the shop, just to talk to me... he asked me about my mother and if I knew my father... it was all very strange." 

 

The next thing her knew the King put two fingers under his chin and lifted his face. He then looked directly into his eyes and whispered, "I do not believe it... Jon had to have known." He then started pacing the room, as Gendry’s eyes followed.

 

The King then started talking again, but the blacksmith felt as though he was no longer talking to him, but that he was talking to himself. “You are a bastard... Gods if my hunch is right, you are the spitting image of your father when he was younger..." 

 

'Does he know or think he knows who my father is?' Gendry thought to himself. However, he felt that right now was not the right time to voice that question out loud, so instead he interrupted the King from his thoughts by asking about the task he was commissioned to complete. "Your grace.... Your bastard son, Jon Snow, asked me to come to Winterfell to rework a Valyrian Steel and offered a position as a blacksmith. May I please see where I will work?" 

 

The King smiled and nodded. “Of course, Gendry. If you would, please follow me, and I will be happy to show you where you will be working.” Gendry stood up from the couch and followed the King out of his study. 

 

When they reached the hallway, they were joined by another man, who had a sword and was wearing Stark armor. ‘Must be a member of his Kingsguard,’ Gendry thought as the man followed closely behind them as they walked through hall and into the courtyard.

 

When they arrived at the forge, the King introduced him to an older Smith, named Mikken. The King then smiled at him with kind eyes and said, “This is where you will work Gendry. I hope they are suitable and please, do not hesitate to ask if you need anything at all. I want you to be comfortable in your new home. I also wanted you to know that we are very pleased to have you here in Winterfell." he smiled and nodded.

 

"Your Grace if I may ask... I what do you want me to reforge the Valyrian Steel sword into?" 

 

The King looked at him, smiled and said, “Aye, I need for to reforge the ancestral greatsword of House Stark into two new Valyrian Steel swords. One for me and one for my brother, Benjen.”

 

"Your Grace, may I please see this greatsword? I would like to start working on it as soon as possible and it would be nice to know what I am working with and if there will be enough steel to complete the task." 

 

The King appeared to be slightly surprised for just a moment, but then he looked towards the man who had followed them and said, “Jory please fetch me Ice." 

 

The man smiled and nodded. "Right away, your Grace." 

 

The man, Jory, quickly left and just a few minutes later returned with the great Valyrian steel sword named Ice. When he handed the scabbard the King Gendry was surprised just how large the sword really was. 

 

Gendry was starting to feel a little nervous, he had worked with Valyrian Steel many times with Tobho Mott, but most of the pieces they had worked with hand been pendants and brooches and a few daggers. “May... May I please see the sword, your Grace?" He asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

 

The king looked at him smiled and gave him the sword.

 

Gendry admired the craftsmen ship of the Greatsword and was in awe of how flawless the steel was impressed how well the sword had been constructed. This is truly the most remarkable piece of work I have ever seen.’ When he looked up from the sword, he could tell the King was looking at him and that he was waiting for an answer, but he felt completely tongue-tied.

 

He felt the anxiety in the King’s voice when he asked, "Will you be able to reforge Ice into two new Valyrian swords?" 

 

Wordlessly, he placed it onto the table and measured the length and width of the sword. In his mind trying to see if there was enough steel there to complete the task. After he was certain of the answer, he looked at the king and smiled. “Yes, your Grace. I will have enough steel to be able to reforge Ice into two new Valyrian Steel Longswords... If that pleases you, your Grace.” 

 

He saw that the King in the North was smiling. “That would be perfect. Thank you, Gendry... but do you mind if I ask, how long will it take you to complete this task?”

 

"Your Grace, if I started working on it tomorrow... It would take me no more than a few days."

 

"That is excellent news Gendry! Thank you. I need you to work hard so please rest for the day and start in the first light," The King said with a smile so big that it made his eyes crinkle.

 

Gendry smiled at the King and said, “I will start at first light, your Grace.”

 

"If you need any help... Our other blacksmith Mikken shall be at your service.” 

 

"Thank you, your Grace. And thank you for this opportunity.”

 

The King took a deep breath, looked at Ice for a moment and then smiled back at him and said, "I am sorry Gendry, but I have other matters that I must attend to at this time. Please, if you need anything or any help feel free to ask on of the servants for assistance. When you are ready to head to your chambers, please ask one of them and they will be happy to show you the way. I am sure that you are tired from your long journey. When I get back to the castle I will ask some handmaidens to draw you a bath and supper will be served in the Great Hall at sundown.”

 

“Thank you, your Grace.”

 

"I will see you tomorrow Gendry.”

 

The King in the North then turned and left the forge. Gendry stood at his workstation and admired all of the tools and supplies that he had been provided. He felt happy to begin his new life in Winterfell......

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

 

 

 

It was evening in Pentos and the hot sun was finally starting to set over the Narrow Sea. However, Dany, Robb and Jon were still in the training yard at Illyrio’s manse practicing swordplay. She felt arms tingling and her hands were sore as hell but she was determined to fight through the pain and vowed not to give up.

 

 

She was still sparing against Robb and Jon was watching her form and helping her to correct her many imperfections. When she paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, and get a drink of water she heard her husband ask some of the servants to prepare baths for them. She then heard him walking towards her and her good brother.

 

 

“Robb, Dany,” he called, “I think that you both have trained enough for one day. Let’s retire for the evening.”

 

“As you say, brother.” Robb said as he look at Jon. He then turned his gaze to her and said, “Daenerys, I will be more than happy to spar with you anytime. You did an excellent job today.” 

 

 

“Thank you for all of your help, Robb. However, I feel you are too kind in your assessment. I know that I still have a long way to go until I become the next Warrior Queen.” She said with a chuckle as her good brother pulled her in for an embrace.

 

 

When he released her from the hug, her husband pulled him into an embrace as well and she heard him whisper, “Robb, thank you again for all of your help. You truly do not understand how much this means to me.” 

 

 

“Anytime brother... and honestly, I really did have a wonderful time... Now if you do not mind I am going to take my leave, bathe and find some dinner. You two have a good night.”

 

 

After he said this Robb quickly put away his training sword and made his way inside the manse.

 

 

Even though Jon had said they were done for the night, she wanted to use the last few rays of sunlight to practice. So she continued to swing her sword, even though her arms felt limp, while her husband was watched from the other side of the training yard.

 

 

Her concentration was broken when Jon began to walk towards her and calmly remarked, "Dany, you need to calm down. You are not moving right.” 

 

 

She stopped swinging the training sword as her husband approached. He stood behind her, placed both hands on hers and guided her swings with the sword so that they were now fluid.

 

 

"Do you feel the difference?” He asked. She nodded and then he continued, “The sword does not control you, Dany... You control the sword," he murmured in her ear as placed his head against her shoulder and guided her with the sword. She felt her heart beat increasing because of the way he was holding her. 

 

“Now, practice that swing on your own.” He said as he removed his hand from hers and placed them on her hips. 

 

 

After one swing of the sword, she smiled, turned around and looked at him and threw the training sword on the ground. She could tell he was surprised by her actions.

 

 

"Dany, are you do..." 

 

 

However, before he could finish his question she pulled him down to her for a kiss. They kissed each other passionately for several minutes when she finally had to pull away for air. As she caught her breath, she breathed out, "I am going to take a bath and I want you to join me..." 

 

 

He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. He then whispered, "As you wish, my Queen.” He sighed before he raised his tone when he continued, “But, before I join you... I need to speak to your horrible excuse of a brother." 

 

 

She knitted her eyebrows, before she asked in a calm and even tone, "Care if I join you?"

 

 

Dany could tell he was surprised by her question when he raised a since eyebrow and asked with concern in his voice, "Are you sure?" 

 

She placed another kiss on his lips. "I'm sure. Please, Jon, let me join you... I need to see him.” 

 

 

He had a nervous smile on his lips as he nodded and replied, "If that is what you wish." 

 

She smiled and nodded, "It is."

 

 

He now had a genuine smile on his face as he placed his both of his hands on her cheeks and pulled her for a kiss. After a few moments he pulled away and said, "Let's go see him then." 

 

 

After he said this, he took her hand and they both walked to the basement chambers were Viserys was being kept. They stopped in front of Bako. She heard Jon speaking to him in Dothraki and was excited when she was able to pick-up a few of the words. He smiled and opened the doors for them. Once inside the room, she saw the other two blood riders, who promptly stood from their chairs and left.

 

Her heart started to race at the sight of her brother. He was tied and chained to a wooden chair in the center of the room, his hair was stringy and he smelled of onions. She then watched as he slowly looked up from the floor and his eyes focused on her. She noticed that his eyes opened wide when he realized it was her.

 

 

"Dany! Dany, tell this bastard of the usurper’s dog to set me free! I am his rightful King!” he screeched.

 

 

She smiled as she thought, 'He does not yet know that I have married this man he believes to be a bastard.' She looked at Jon, and squeezed his hand to get his attention. When he looked her, he returned her smile and she winked knowingly at him. She then put her hand around his neck and pulled him down for a fiery kiss. As they kissed, she soon felt his hands kneading ass as he deepened the kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see this irritated her brother.

 

 

"Daenerys! What are you doing! He is a BASTARD!" Viserys wailed.

 

 

She reluctantly pulled away from the kiss and smiled at her husband. She turned her gaze from him to her brother and nonchalantly said, "Viserys, don’t you think it is normal for a wife to kiss her husband? I know that I do." 

 

 

She saw his eyes widened in surprise. "Husband… Husband,” he shrilled, “Dany, you cannot be serious… There is no way that you have really gone and married him… You know better than to sully yourself with the likes of his kind… He is nothing but a bastard!" 

 

 

She felt her face flushing with anger as she gritted out, "He is not a bastard Viserys! He is our older brother’s last surviving son! He is the trueborn son of our brother Rhaegar and his wife Lyanna Stark... He is Aegon Targaryen one of our last kin and true heir to the throne… not you!" 

 

 

Viserys evil mocking laugh echoed throughout the room. "I see he has seduced you with his pretty face and pretty hair and cock... You, sweet sister, are nothing but a stupid slut, a dragonwhore! How does it feel like to be fucked by a bastard?" 

 

 

She felt like her dragonblood was boiling to the surface. She looked at Jon in an attempt to calm herself and could not believe what she saw. She watched as his eyes turned from grey to a dark burnt orange. He placed his hand of the hilt of Winters Wolf but she grabbed his hand before he could unsheathe the sword. She looked in his eyes and said as calmly as she could muster, "Jon, don’t do it... we need him later." 

 

 

When he took a deep breath, she watched in amazement as his eyes changed from the dark orange to dark blue and then back to his normal Stark grey. She smiled at him and nodded her head, signaling to him that he should calm down while she handles her brother. She looked at her brother and closed the three-step distance between them. She looked him square in the eyes and smiled as she slapped him hard across the face.

 

 

"You dare wake the dragon!" He squealed.

 

 

Which made her and Jon laugh, she laughed so hard that she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Once she composed herself, she looked at him and stated, "You are no dragon!" 

 

 

He appeared to be taken aback by her comment. "Of course I am! I am blood of the Dragon! I am blood of old Valyria… I have the blood of Aegon the Conqueror in my veins!"

 

 

"Aye, you are blood of old Valyria but that does not mean that you are a dragon! A true dragon cannot burn." Her husband stated calmly, which made her smile.

 

 

"Daenerys, what does he mean by that!" Viserys squeaked.

 

 

She smiled as looked at the burning torch on the wall, which was the only source of light in the dark room. She walked over and removed the torch from its perch on the wall, then walked back to where her husband stood next to her chained brother. She then placed her hand on the fire. She kept her eyes on her brother’s mortified expression; it brought her joy to see him so stunned.

 

 

"Aegon and I are the last Dragons.” She looked at Jon who smiled. She took his hand and placed it in the flaming torch as well. She then turn her attention back to Viserys who’s eyes were still wide open in shock. “You are nothing but a fool of a man thinking his the heir to the throne, which is not truly his, and never was… You are a fool to believe that people are drinking secret toasts to your health and sewing dragon banners… Aegon is the rightful heir to the throne and I am his Queen... together we will rule Westeros and save our people from the coming darkness… But you, dear brother… You will die for your crimes against your rightful Queen! Trying to sell your sister to a rapist! What kind of a brother does such a thing! You are a horrible brother Viserys... You truly are cruel and mad just like our father!"

 

 

Which made him laugh. "The people to toast to me! They are counting down the days until I return… You honestly think the people of Westeros would follow a half-blood and the little dragonwhore that killed our mother… Who killed the beloved Queen!" 

 

 

She felt as her hands turned into fists as her dragonblood was now boiling. She was about to slap him again, however, before she could unclench her fist, Jon punched him in the face so hard that the chair he was secured to fell to the floor.

 

 

Jon then stood over him and gritted out, "Listen to me you mad cunt! Your days are numbered. When the time is right, you will be burned alive for your actions against our family... For the way you abused Daenerys and touched her inappropriately... and for trying to sell Daenerys to a rapist for an army to take a throne what is not rightfully yours!" 

 

 

When Jon looked at her, she could see those flaming-orange eyes again. 'What is wrong with his eyes?' to her surprised her brother grabbed her ankles. 

 

 

"Dany… Dany, please! Please let me go free! I am sorry… I promise I will never harm you again… I will leave you alone… I will live the rest of my days in exile… Please, Dany… Don’t do this do me!" He pleaded.

 

 

She looked down at him, but felt no remorse for what they planned to do, she tried to calm her rage, but was unsuccessful, as she seethed, “I do not care if you are sorry! I do not care if you are my brother. The brother you once were died in Braavos when we left the house with the red door… You are nothing to me now… You are no brother of mine… And you will be burned! My true family is now with me here! Our nephew whom I made my husband last night. I have my good brother Robb Stark, who in the two days I have known him has been more of a true brother to me than you ever were! I also have the Starks… They are my family now… And they have been our family all along… The Usurper’s Dog you called his uncle… when in reality he was the one protecting the last living heir of Rhaegar for the last eighteen years He took him, claimed him as his own bastard to keep him safe and loved him as a father should love a son! And you, Viserys… you will die for your actions for trying to sell me to a rapist!" She could see the surprise in his eyes because of the fierceness of her tone and passion in her voice and made her smile.

 

 

She could see the fear in his eyes as his voice quivered when he cried, "Dany, please... understand I only did it for us!" 

 

 

She laughed at his comment. "For us! You did it for yourself. What did you say to me? You said you would let Khal Drogo, his whole Khalasar and their horses fuck me if that is what it took for you to get an army! If it wasn't for Aegon traveling from Westeros to Pentos to save me, I would have been raped and defiled!" She then moved so that she was standing over him. She looked down into his eyes and stated, "You will soon die, dead brother… You will burn for the way you treated me!" She unsheathed Dark Sister and placed her sword on her brother throat. "This is Dark Sister! I can cut your throat with it if I wanted… but what fun would that be… That death would be too merciful for the likes of a person like you… I would much rather see you burn for the way you treated me!"

 

 

She saw his eyes going wide opened. "Dark Sister! It was said to be lost beyond the Wall... Brynden Rivers last wielded it... It was rumored that Rhaegar had found it when he went beyond the Wall! Where did you find it?" She looked at her husband who only smiled.

 

 

"Our brother Rhaegar kept it at the Tower of Joy, in Donre, where my husband, our nephew, Aegon was born. His uncle Eddard Stark kept it safe for him. He then gave it to me… As he is training me to wield it, so that I can protect myself from men like you!" She took Dark Sister and sheathed it back onto her back. "The next time I see you brother is when I kill you... When I burn you!" She turned around and placed a kiss on her husband cheek. "Let’s go Jon." 

 

 

Jon offered her his arm, which she took. As they left the chambers all she could hear, was Viserys screaming, "Dany… Dany… Daenerys! I am sorry! I'm sorry please forgive me."

 

 

Jon smiled and nodded at Bako and their other two blood riders, and she watched as the two Blood riders entered the chambers once again.

 

 

She smiled at her husband who smiled back at her as they walked back to his chambers. 'I need to find out what is it what you are keeping from me Jon,' she thought as they walked through the winding halls of the manse. When they reached his chambers, Jon opened the door and allowed her to enter first. When he bolted the door, they removed their swords and placed them against the wall.

 

 

She looked at him and pulled him at her. She gave him a fierce kiss on his plump lips. When she broke the kiss, she murmured in his ear, "Let’s go take a bath, my love... We both smell like shit." 

 

 

“Aye, we do,” he chuckled. 

 

 

They walked hand in hand into the private bathing chamber, attached to their rooms. She was happy to see that the room with filled with steam from the boiling water in the tub. She looked at him, smiled and purred, "Take off your clothes, my love.”

 

 

He happily complied by taking off his shirt, followed by his boots then his breeches, and small clothes. She admired his toned muscular body and his already hardening cock. She smiled and licked her lips. He smiled at her and closed the short distance between them. He placed one hand on her ass, and the other began to caress one of her breasts through her shirt as he kissed her on the mouth passionately.

 

 

He started to help her taking off her clothes. When he got her out of her silver shirt her breast were exposed and he quickly began suckling her one nipples like a newborn babe as he rolled and pinched it’s twin; the pleasure caused a moan to escape her lips. She then took off her skirt then her breeches and small clothes and he continued to give her chest attention. Once she was naked as well, she took his hand and led them both into the boiling water of the bath. She knew the water would be scalding to normal people but she knew they were not normal… They were both dragons.

 

 

She pushed him lightly, which caused him to fall in the bath and place his back against the wall. She smiled as she lowered herself into the water and sat across his lap. She kept on kissing him and she felt him squeezing and cupping her breast. Finally, she pulled away, took the soap and wash cloth from the side of the tub, lathered it, and started cleaning his chest. She looked up at him and he was smiling lovingly at her.

 

 

Daenerys then felt his sigh before he spoke, "I am sorry for what your horrible brother said about your..." 

 

 

She cut him off. "It is fine Jon. Please, do not think about it," she took a deep breath. She knew it was time to ask him her questions. "Jon when did you learn how to use two swords... I can only remember you using your Valyrian Steel sword Longclaw."

 

 

She watched him swallow hard before he answered, "I learned how to use two swords after you, died Daenerys." 

 

 

She raised her eyebrow she could tell there was more to the story… He was not lying to her, but he was not telling the whole truth either. Therefore, she prodded a little deeper. "If I may ask, Jon why did you, learn to wield two swords?" 

 

 

She heard him swear under his breath as he ran a hand through his raven curls. He was quiet for several moments before he finally breathed out a question instead of an answer, "Why Dany… Why do you want to know Daenerys?" 

 

 

She took a deep breath, hoping to cause her nervous anxiety. "Jon... Robb and I are becoming worried about you... At times you do not even act like yourself… Like the man that I love... I understand that you changed... However, yesterday you pushed Bako in the face… It was not even a real fight… Jon, you are not fighting honorably... In our past life, even in battle, you would fight honorably... Robb thinks something happened to me after I died which caused you to fight brutally... Jon, please let me in... I know it has something to do with your nightmares... Please my love, I am here and I want to help.”

 

 

She watched as he took a deep breath. But it did not appear to calm him because he gritted out, "Daenerys I do not want to talk about you death or what happen after your death…” His tone got softer as he continued, but he would still not look her in the eyes, “I do not mind talking about the happy times, but the painful ones are just too much. Please Dany, do not ask me again, we have been through this… I cannot tell you what happened in our past life after you died... what happens in my dreams... it is too painful and I do not want you to share my burdens... Dany it is ju…" 

 

 

That is when she cut him off. "Jon, please just tell me... Unburden yourself… I do not care what happened in our past life... If you tell me what happened we could prevent whatever it was from happening again... Just please... Jon it pains me see that the person whom I love most in this world brooding about something he does not wish to share with me. Please, Jon, tell me," she said this as she placed both hands on his cheeks so he would look into her eyes.

 

 

"Daenerys... I do not want to talk about it!" he growled

 

 

She was surprised by the hard tone he of his voice. "Jon please just..." She again shifted his face so he had to look her in the eyes.

 

 

He had his eyes closed when she turn his head, then when his eyes opened, she noticed the irises of his eyes were turning to dark orange. "Daenerys, I have changed! You want to know why I no longer fight honorably… it is because I had to learn how to survive! Every day I was running from those dead cunts that took my sisters, that took you, and our son!” She noticed as he said this, tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. “It is a nightmare, Daenerys… A fucking nightmare that was my life! It is something that kept chasing me no matter where I went or what I did and it is still chasing me!" He then lifted her up from her lap, stood up, and started to make his way out of the water. He looked at her and she saw the tears running down his orange eyes and then on his face. "Please, Dany do not ask me what happened in my dreams or after you died again. I promise you that that it is for the best… you do not need to burden yourself with my past failures." After he said this he turned to leave, but she stopped him by grabbing his arm.

 

 

"I'm sorry Jon for bringing it up ... Please don't leave me..." She said as the tears now began to fall down her face as well.

 

 

He gave her a sad smile and nodded. She saw his eyes turning back to dark blue and then to grey as he climbed back into the tub.

 

 

She pushed him back against the wall in the tub and sat on his lap. She then cupped her hand in water and threw the water onto his hair. Which made them both laughed. She then cooed, “I already cleaned you, Jon Snow… However, I am still dirty…”

 

 

He took another soap bar and started rubbing it against her breast. She looked down and saw the tender attention he gave her breasts. She watched as he moved them with the soap. She looked at him and saw the affect it on him, which made her smile. "Do you love my breast, Jon Snow?"

 

 

He looked up at her and saw he appeared surprised by the question. He chuckled and said, "Aye, I do. They aren't too big or too small their perfect," he said as he threw hot water on her breast so that the soap was rinsed off.

 

 

She looked at him and smiled as she purred, "They were meant for you as was I meant for you..." She saw him smiled at her words. She then saw him moved his head forward and started to suck on nipple as he cupped and squeezed. Which had her moaning once more. But she knew that now as not the time as she hope she would be able to get him to answer a couple of other questions that were not linked to her death or after her death.

 

 

"Jon... When you told my brother Viserys that it was not the right time to burn him what did you mean by that?"

 

 

He released her nipple, pulled away and smiled at her. He then splashed hot water in her face as he chuckled and said, "In order to hatch our dragon eggs we need to make a bonfire and we have to have a human sacrifice. I was planning on making Viserys our sacrifice… as long as you are okay with that…" He then caused her to giggle before she could answer because he bent down and began to place open-mouthed kisses to her stomach.

 

 

"I do not mind at all. Let him suffer for the way he treated me." She was able answer between chuckles.

 

 

"I am glad to hear that you are okay with my plan." 

 

 

She took a deep breath before she asked her next question; she did not want to upset him again, but she knew that they had lived so it must not have been too painful. "Jon, I was thinking… Earlier, when you told Robb that you fell into a frozen lake. Why would I leave you? Why would you even tell me to leave? I mean… you already said I was in love with you… So it does not make sense to me… Why would I leave the man I love to die at the hands of undead monsters and ice creatures?"

 

 

She saw him looking down at her, surprise showing in his eye by her question. She watched as he swallowed hard and could tell that he was thinking hard.

 

 

"Jon did something happened on that suicide mission what you're not telling me?"

 

 

She watched as he took another deep breath before he finally answered, "Aye, I am... When you arrived to save us, you brought all three of your dragons... I thought that the Night King would not stand a chance against you... I thought that the dragons were invincible…" She saw him taking a deep breath, and then he continued, "When you landed with your largest dragon, Drogon, on the tiny island we were stranded on, you wanted us to get on the dragon’s back. I did not grab your hand. I fought against the dead in order to make sure everyone was on Drogon first... Then when Ser Jorah called me, I did not hear him and the next thing I saw was the Night King grabbing an Ice Spear. He looked at one of your dragons, the smallest one, named Viserion and threw it at him. The spear went through his scales like it was nothing and Viserion fell into the Frozen lake...." 

 

 

She saw on his face that there was more so she encourages him by saying. "And what happened next?"

 

 

He took a deep breath. "The Night King brought Viserion back to life... He became a slave to his army... Daenerys when we have all of our dragons hatched we need to keep them far away from his army... Only a dragon with a rider will be safe... I will not allow him to make our children part of his slave army.”

 

 

She was surprised by this.'Dragons are not slaves if the Night King gets his hands on them it would be all over.' She thought before she spoke aloud, "I agree Jon. We need to keep our dragons as far away from him as possible." 

 

 

He smiled an nodded. "We will only use the dragons we mount...  The other four will need to stay far away from his reach.”

 

 

They finished cleaning themselves in a comfortable silence. After they left the bathing chambers, they entered their bedchamber, and she was happy to find that most of her clothes and other belongings had been moved from her chambers to his chambers by the handmaidens and servants.

 

She looked at him and he smiled at her. They both were still dripping wet and naked from their bath and the site of his arse sent sparks through her body and straight to her core. When he started to put on his shirt, she grabbed his arms to stop him. She could tell he was surprised, and she watched as his eyes grew hungry when she placed one hand on his chest and pushed him onto the bed.

 

 

She began to stroke his manhood while kissing him fiercely. She then climbed in the bed, on top of him and straddled his hips. She then took his cock and guided it towards her leaking, needy cunt. She could tell he was surprised by this as he whispered, "I thought you were sore.”

 

 

She then smiled and nodded. "I am but I do not care… I need my husband to fuck me and conquer me" As she said this she felt his cock entering her cunt and just like that, she kissed roughly on the lips as he filled her deliciously.

 

 

She started to moan at the pleasure it felt like having his cock inside of her. She took his hands and placed them on his breast. She then started to move her waist until she was riding him in a furious pace. They fucked each other hard like only a dragon would mate with another dragon....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I know what you are all thinking ... Jon will be extremely overpowered with the dragons but don't worry he won't be. This will only help balance the war a bit on both sides. But anyway please tell us your thoughts and ideas in the comments below!!

Pls, let us know your thought on the chapter in the comments below!! :)

Chapter 11: Marriage Alliances

Summary:

*IF YOU GUYS ARE WONDERING WHERE IS CHAPTER 12 WITH STANNIS SECTION ITS IN THIS CHAPTER EDIT IN. WE ARE BUSY WITH CHAPTER 12 ON A DRAFT!!

Notes:

Hey guys sorry for waiting for the update. This is not a story chapter update. This is a chapter on all of the Lords who reacts on the ravens of Joffrey saying that the North is independent. Which will be important for the story. We will release next chapter the upcoming weekend. Thank you all for the support!! Opinion and ideas are appreciated in the comments below. As I always said sit back relax and enjoy the chapter. The chapter below was done by my co-writer I just wanted to thank her for all of her hard work!! I was busy planning for the upcoming chapter and we decided that she should write the amazing chapter you see below but anyway I hope you all enjoy the chapter!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Olenna Tyrell

 

‘Another fucking Golden Rose,’ Olenna thought to herself as her granddaughter, Margaery, showed her her latest embroidery project. “It is beautiful just like you,” she said instead as she placed a tender hand on her granddaughter’s forearm.

 

“Thank you, Grandmother,” the young girl said as her eyes twinkled as she smiled. She then dropped a perfect curtsy and her golden brown waves swayed as she scurried back to her chair. 

 

‘When did life become so dull,’ she mused to herself as she ate a bite of her lemon cake. ‘Sitting around all day eating lemon cakes and sipping wine, pfft.’ 

 

“Mother,” she heard her son Mace call from the doorway. “Could you please come with me... We have received an interesting raven from King Robert... It was sent from Winterfell.” 

 

“Is it really so important that you must pull me away from sewing and lemon cakes?” she asked sarcastically. 

 

“Yes, I believe it is, mother.” He son responded with a serious look on his face.

 

“Fine,” she said as she stood from her chair and followed her son from the room. 

 

As they walked through the halls of Highgarden, she thought to herself, ‘Maybe this day will not be so boring after all.’ 

 

When they entered Mace’s study, he closed the door. After the door was secured, he walked into the room and sat down in a wooden chair at a small square table by the window.  

 

“Please, Mother, sit down and read this.” He said as he placed a raven scroll down on the table and then proceeded to pour them each a goblet of Arbor Gold. 

 

She sat down in the chair across from her son and took the parchment from the table. She then read through the note as her son sip his wine and smiled. 

 

 

 

 

For the crimes committed by The Crown Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, against Sansa and Arya of House Stark, I have granted the Kingdom of the North Independence in exchange for the life of my son. Eddard of House Stark will now be known as the King in the North.

Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

  

When she finished reading, she placed the scroll back on the table, grabbed her goblet of wine and drank the entire glass down it in one gulp.  

 

“What in seven hells did the boy do that the King would just hand over one of his Kingdoms without a fight!” she exclaimed after she placed her glass back on the table.

 

“Don’t you see, Mother... This is our chance to offer the King a betrothal between Margaery and the Crown Prince! This is her chance to become Queen! Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms believed that the King was going to offer to Eddard Stark the opportunity to marry his daughter, Sansa, to the Crown Prince... I don’t care what that boy did... the Starks did not accept and now my Margaery has the opportunity to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” 

 

“You stupid oaf!” Olenna declared, as she slapped her son upside the head. “I can not believe you would consider marrying your beautiful daughter, our golden rose, to Joffrey Baratheon, after he did something so heinous that his father, King Robert, had to give the North their independence! He gave away one of this Kingdoms! If he had not have done that the boy’s head would be on a spike outside the gates of Winterfell as we speak!” 

 

“But Mother, this is Margaery’s chance to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Mace retorted. 

 

“Six Kingdoms,” Olenna quickly corrected her son. “We need to offer her hand in marriage to someone worthy...” 

 

“Mother, I do not understand... the only way Margaery would become Queen is if she marries the Crown Prince, Joffrey.” 

 

“There is another Prince.” Olenna mused as she poured another glass of wine.

 

“Mother, Prince Tommen is just a boy! Are you saying we write King Robert and have him renounce Prince Joffrey as his heir?” 

 

“Not Tommen, you fool! And I have a feeling The Six Kingdoms are going to be demanding answers as to why the North is now independent... as to what exactly Prince Joffrey did to those Stark girls soon enough... which could lead to Rebellion... And who knows how that would turn out... We need a better alliance.... a strong alliance with an honorable Royal family.” When her son sat there staring at her like she had grown another head she sighed and added, “The King in the North, Ned Stark has an unmarried heir.” 

 

“But Mother... then she would only be Queen of one Kingdom...” 

 

“Gods you are an idiot! If the Prince did something so vile that the King gave up a Kingdom to save his son’s life, do you really think the Six Kingdoms will stay united?” 

 

Mace sighed, “What do you suggest, we do Mother?” He asked with knitted eyebrows. 

 

“We need an alliance with the North... and we should offer more than one of you children to the Starks...” 

 

“Why more than one?” Mace asked with a perplexed look on his face. 

 

“Gods, sometimes I wonder if I really gave birth to you! The King in the North will not accept all the offers, so if you can marry at least one of his children to one of yours, it would make a strong alliance with the North. I would prefer Margaery marry his heir... but if Loras or Garlan married one of his daughters that could help us secure our position in the North...” If only the spring fever hadn’t taken Willas, she mused with a hint of sadness. 

 

“I see mother.” He muttered and by the look on his face she could tell he finally did understand they should not unite with the Lannisters and Baratheons.  

 

“It is about damn time... why are you just sitting there. Write a scroll to the King on the North and request the betrothals already!”......

 


 

 

Oberyn Martell

 

The midday sun was blazing down over Sunspear as Oberyn made his way to Doran’s chambers. He was confused as to why his brother had summoned him so suddenly. ‘Something major must have happened,’ he thought to himself as his brother’s guards opened the door for him.  

 

When he walked into the chambers he did not immediately see Doran. He scanned the room and saw his brother’s personal guard standing by the door that led to the balcony overlooking the Water Gardens. He walked over and the guardsman opened the door. 

 

As he walked onto the balcony he saw his brother had a determined look on his face and held a ravens scroll between his fingers. “Brother, you have summoned me. What is so urgent that you disturbed my time with Ellaria?”  

 

Doran wordlessly handed him the scroll that he held between his fingers. Oberyn quickly read through the message. When he finish could feel the anger rising as his blood coursed through his veins.  

 

“Doran, this is our chance! We need to call the banners and strike now! With the full force of Dorne the Lannisters will never know what hit them and I will finally be able to avenge the deaths of Elia and her children!” Oberyn proclaimed as he returned the scroll to his brother. 

 

“Be patient, Oberyn,” His brother said calmly. 

 

“You really expect me to accept the rule of a boy whom has done something so horrible that his Father gave away a Kingdom in exchange for his life... Give me a dozen spears! Then I will take them and my daughters and we will defeat the Lannisters! They will never expect it!” 

 

“I agree with you... We can never swear reality to the Baratheon boy. However, his Father is still King, and we cannot defeat the Lannisters alone. We need allies!” 

 

Oberyn was getting frustrated. Dorne had never really completely accepted the rule of the Seven Kingdoms, that is why their sister had been married to Prince Rhaegar... to bring them into the fold. “What are you suggesting, Doran? That we wait until the fat King is dead to strike?”

 

“No... we need to create an alliance... An alliance with someone who has as much hatred for the Lannisters as we do... the North...” 

 

“The North?” Oberyn spit out, “They are partially responsible for Elia’s death!”

 

“Yes... but apparently the Crown Prince did something so vile that it has fractured the friendship between King Robert and Eddard Stark so badly that the North has been named an Independent Kingdom... The North is no longer loyal to King Robert... We need to join forces with the North... then when the time is right we will get our revenge.”

 

“How are you planning to create an alliance with the North? They do not care for wine, you will have to offer them something in return... a marriage perhaps?” Oberyn mused as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. 

 

“Exactly... I plan to offer my second son, Prince Trystane to his daughter, Princess Sansa... a Prince for a Princess...”

 

“That could work... I would prefer to show the Lannisters the wrath of Dorne... But I will wait, for now,” Oberyn reluctantly agreed 

 

“Bring me a quill, inkwell and some parchment... I need to write a letter to the King in the North.”......

 


 

 

Lysa Arryn

 

‘It is not fair!’ Lysa seethed to herself as she paced around her chambers clutching the raven scroll in her hand. ‘That sister of mine got everything! The better marriage! The love of her husband! The large family! And now she is Queen of a Kingdom!’ 

 

She then picked up an empty wine glass and threw it across the room, watching as it shattered into thousands of tiny sparkling shards. “This was not part of the plan Petyr!” She screamed in the empty room, not caring if the servants and handmaidens heard her rant. 

 

She continued to pace around her room trying to figure out their next move. ‘I have already sent the rider to Winterfell, informing my sister it was the Lannisters that killed my husband... Now are plans are foiled... They have their own Kingdom now... Why would they fight to put my Sweet Robin on the Throne? Unless I offer them something... I must write to Petyr and see if he thinks it is wise to offer my sweet boy’s hand in marriage to their Little Arya... That could bring The North back into the fold and their daughter would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...’ 

 

She wrote a quick note to Petyr and then sent a handmaiden for a courier... She could not trust this message to a raven... if it was intercepted their plans to put their son on the Throne would be spoiled......

 


 

 

Bronze Yohn Royce

 

The bronze knight reread the scroll the Maester gave him over once more, still not believing the words... ‘Robert has given Ned the North... But why? What could the sort of crime could the Crown Prince have committed that Robert gave Ned the North in exchange for his son’s life? When Robert and Ned grew up here in the Vale there were best friends... What did Joffrey do that was unforgivable Ned wanted his head? Ned was always a quiet one and never quick to anger... I was actually expecting to receive a raven stating that Robert had made Ned his hand and that they were going to join their Houses.’ 

 

“My Lord, what does the scroll say,” the old Maester asked softly. 

 

“It states that King Robert has granted the North Independence because of crimes committed by the Crown Prince, Joffrey against House Stark.”

 

“Does it state what the crime was my Lord?” 

 

“No... that is what surprises me. “ The Lord of Runestone replied as he ran his calloused hand through his balding hair. “Maester?”

 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

 

“I am going to write a message for King Eddard Stark, will you please prepare a raven... I need answers... I need to know just what Joffrey has done... and I need to know if I should continue to serve House Baratheon in the future... Something is going on... First Jon Arryn dies suspiciously and now the North is given the Independence...” 

 

“But my Lord, shouldn’t you request this information from Lady Arryn?” The Old Maester asked with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“I am sorry, Maester. I know that I should, however I do not trust that strange woman... something is off with her.” 

 

“Very well, my Lord,” The Maester said as he bowed his head and readied him self to leave the chambers.

 

“Maester,” Yohn called before the man left the room.

 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

 

“Do you know if any of King Eddard’s children are betrothed?” 

 

“None that I am aware of my Lord.”

 

“Thank you. I will meet you in the rookery shortly with my scroll.”

 

“Very well, my Lord.” The Maester said quietly as he bowed his head. 

 

With that, the Maester left his chambers and he penned a message to the man who grew up a ward of the Vale......

 


 

 

Randyll Tarly 

 

“My Lord, a raven from Winterfell has just arrived. It is sealed with the King’s personal seal.” 

 

The Lord of Hornhill took the scroll for the Maester’s outstretched hand, grumbled a thank you as he quickly retires to his private study. He was angry at the North; he still did not understand why they took a liking to his fat, worthless older son, Samwell, and sent him to the Citadel. ‘And now King Robert is announcing he has gone and named Eddard Stark his Hand and betrothed the Crown Prince to the eldest Stark girl,’ He thought to himself as he broke the seal. 

 

He sat down in the chair behind his desk and started to read the scroll.

 

 

 

 

For the crimes committed by The Crown Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, against Sansa and Arya of House Stark, I have granted the Kingdom of the North Independence in exchange for the life of my son. Eddard of House Stark will now be known as the King in the North.

Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

 

Randyll Tarly sat there stunned as he read through the scroll again. ‘Well maybe that fat son of mine is not worthless after all... when he completes his training he will be the Maester to the Royal Family of the North!’ 

 

He then got up from his chair, walked over and poured himself a glass of Arbor Gold. He took a long sip and swallowed it down. The suddenly it came to him... ‘Lord... no King Eddard Stark’s daughter is not betrothed to the Crown Prince... They seemed to like my weak son, they will love my strong worthy son, Dickon... I could request to have Dickon marry the Princess Sansa...’

 

He quickly walked back to his desk, wrote a letter and sealed with his sigil. He then went in search of the Maester to send his scroll to the King in the North......

 


 

 

 

Walder Frey

 

Walder Frey was sitting in the Great Hall of the Twins, waiting for his supper. As the young girl set his meat pie on the table he smacked her ass and told her to stay. ‘After I eat this pie I can take this young kitchen wench to my bed chambers and maybe create another bastard,’ he mused to himself as he picked up his spoon. Just as he was getting ready to put his spoon in the meat pie his son Black Walder rushes in the room. 

 

“Father! A raven from the King!” His son exclaimed as he tried to catch his breath. 

 

“Can’t you see that I’m busy you worthless piece of shit! What does the damned thing say!” The raunchy old lord retorted. 

 

“I don’t know, Father. The message is sealed.”

 

“Well open it and read it to me boy... I swear ya got your Mother’s brain...”

 

As he put a spoonful of meat pie in his mouth Black Walder broke the seal of the scroll and began to read the message.

 

 

 

 

For the crimes committed by The Crown Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, against Sansa and Arya of House Stark, I have granted the Kingdom of the North Independence in exchange for the life of my son. Eddard of House Stark will now be known as the King in the North.

Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

 

Walder Frey dropped his spoon as he nearly choked on his meat pie. He quickly downed his glass of wine to clear his throat and then said, “Does it say what crime that idiot Prince committed?”

 

“No Father. It just said crimes against the Stark girls.” 

 

“What the fuck, could the boy have done that his Father would give the North their Independence?” The Old Lord questioned in a loud raspy tone. 

 

“I don’t know, Father.” Black Walder responded. 

 

“Well you had better go and find out! I swear that I think your mother must have fucked someone else because you have no brains boy!” 

 

“Yes, Father,” His son responded and then turned to leave the room. 

 

“And send the Maester, boy... I need to send a letter to the King in the North.” Lord Frey hollered at his son. 

 

“Right away, Father!” 

 

‘I have a shit ton of worthless mouths to feed... I will make an alliance with The King in the North, and no one will ever talk bad about house Frey again. This is going to be a good night indeed.’ Walder Frey thought to himself as he pulled the sweet young kitchen maid into his lap......

 


 

 

Edmure Tully 

 

Edmure was perplexed as he was pulled from the training yard and told to report to his Father at once. ‘What could be so important that he has pulled me away from my archery practice?’ He thought to himself as he walked to his Father’s study.  

 

When he arrived at the wooden door it was closed so he knocked swiftly five times. When he head his Father tell him to enter he did not pause as he turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

 

“You wanted to see me, Father?” he asked as he stood in the doorway. He noticed that his Father was sitting behind his large wooden desk, in front of the window that overlooked the rivers surrounding River Run. He also noticed that he appeared to be angry and stressed. 

 

“Yes, Edmure. Please come in, bolt the door, and then take a seat.” His Father answered in a serious tone as he poured two glasses of wine. 

 

After the door was secured he walked across the room and sat down at the seat in front of his Father’s desk. Once he was seated his Father pushed one of the glasses of wine towards him and told him to take a drink. He picked up his glass and did as he was told.  

 

After he took a sip of wine, he put his glass back on the desk and asked, “What is wrong, Father?” 

 

“Read this,” his Father said as handed him a raven scroll with the broken seal of King Robert. “I thought it was going to say that my Good Son had been named Hand of the King and that young Sansa would become the next Queen... I did not expect this.” 

 

Edmure quickly read the message... He felt his heart rate rising with every word... “Father... what did the Prince do to my nieces?” 

 

Lord Hoster Tully sighed before he answered, “I do not know... but it must have been something horrible if it is punishable by death... All I know is what that scroll says... that the Crown Prince committed a crime against Sansa and Arya, and in exchange for his son’s life, he granted the North Independence.” 

 

“What are we going to do?” Edmure asked as he knitted his brow.

 

“We need to find out what happened... I need to know if we need to write a letter to King Robert to either request Independence for the Riverlands or ask him to denounce Joffrey’s claim to the Iron Throne...”

 

“What can I do to help, Father?”

 

“Son, I am going to write a message to my daughter, Queen Catelyn and her husband, King Eddard to tell them that you are coming to visit.”

 

“Me?” Edmure gasped in disbelief, “Why don’t you send a raven and ask?”

 

“Yes, I am sending you to Winterfell for answers... I believe that your sister would have sent a raven telling us everything if it was safe to share... For some reason she feels that it would not be safe. Therefore, I need you to get the answers... I need to know if I need to call my banners.”......

 


 

 

Balon Greyjoy

 

The winds and rain were beating down against the castle of Pyke. He stood by the fire and reread the raven scroll the Maester had given him several times, as he waited for Yara to come to his chambers. ‘The Whoring King has granted the North Independence for crimes the Crown Prince committed against the daughters of House Stark... His once best friend is now the King of the North... What did the King who stole my original heir... a son who is now dead to me... I am sure the Theon has forgotten how to pay the Iron Price... Luckily I still have Yara...’ His thoughts were disturbed when he heard a knocking on his solar door.

 

“Father, you asked for me,” he heard Yara call from the other side of the door.

 

“Yes, come in.” He answered.

 

“What is it that you need?” She asked as she walked into the room, pushing the door shut behind her as she did.

 

“Apparently... King Robert has given up control of the North... He has declared the North independent of the Seven Kingdoms...”

 

“Why would he do something like that?” Yara asked with a look of confusion on her face.

 

“Apparently the Crown Prince Joffrey did something to Eddard Stark’s girls and the man called for the boy’s head... instead of letting his son’s head rot on a spike he gave the North their freedom.” He answered with a scowl on his face.

 

“Father... this is our chance to get Theon back!” Yara exclaimed.

 

“No... Theon is dead to me... don’t speak his name again... He is no Ironborn...” Balon stated with fierceness in his tone.

 

“Father he is your son... write to Lord... Kind Eddard and demand Theron’s retu...”

 

“Yara! You are my heir... Theon is gone! He has been with the wolves longer than I had him... He has been on dry land for too long, he knows nothing of sailing or the seas... if he wants to return so be it... However, I have no desire to ever lay eyes on that weak boy again!” The Lord of Pyke said through gritted teeth.

 

He watched as his daughter forcibly exhaled and said, “As you wish, Father... So, what are your plans, if you do not wish to have Theon returned, what is it you want?”

 

“Yara, the remaining Kingdoms will demand to know what exactly the Prince did... and they will either force King Robert to denounce Joffrey’s claim to the Throne or there will be a Rebellion... This is our chance to make him pay the Iron Price... We need to start planning for war....”

 

“War?” She questioned.

 

“Yes... We will show those Lannister and Baratheon cunts the what it means to pay the Iron Price.”......

 


 

Howland Reed

 

It was a cool summer night and Howland Reed, his children Meera and Jojen, and Bran and Willis had stopped and made camp for the night. They had left Winterfell about three days ago, they were making great time in their journey, however, they still had at least a week left to travel until they reached Greywater Watch. Meera and Bran were hunting for dinner and Willis and Jojen were gathering firewood while he put up there shelter for the evening. 

 

Once the shelter was erected and the campfire was made, Willis went to a nearby steam to water the horses and to refill their skins and Meera and Bran returned with several rabbits. He sat on a log and observed as Meera showed Bran how to properly skin a rabbit and he smiled at how well the two seemed to get along, ‘Those two seem to have a deep connection... Maybe one day they might decide to marry if that is what the gods have planned for Bran... He would be a good match for Meera,’ he thought to himself as he started to gaze into the flames of the campfire.

 

“Father, I need to speak with you.” He heard his son say as he sat down on the log next to him, pulling him from his thoughts.

 

“Aye, what is it that you wish to speak to me about, Jojen?” The Lord of Greywater Watch asked.

 

“Much happened after we left Winterfell.”

 

“What happened?” The Crannogman asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Eddard Stark has been named The King in the North.” Jojen stated flatly.

 

Howland felt as if all the air had been pushed from his lungs as he asked, “What? Why? How?” 

 

“The Crown Prince Joffrey attempted to rape Sansa Stark because he was upset that she refused to marry him... He wanted to sully her so that no man would claim her... The Arya came to her defense to prevent his attack... When they turned to leave, the Prince tried to strike Arya with his sword... She was saved when her direwolf, Nymeria, bit him... Lord Tyrion saw the entire interaction and told King Robert, Queen Cersei and all the Lords and Ladies of the North the truth of what happened when the Queen demanded the direwolf be killed and Eddard Starks daughters punished... King Robert granted the North Independence in exchange for the Prince’s life... The Royal party has left Winterfell and is traveling south back to King’s Landing... The Queen and Joffrey will be executed if they ever return to the North.” Howland was getting ready to speak but Jojen answered his question before it left his tongue, “Do not worry, Father, they will not find us... The Royal Party is traveling slow along the Kingsroad.”

 

Howland’s head was spinning. He looked back into the flames and watched them dance as his thoughts consumed his mind. ‘Ned is now King... What will this mean for Jon? Will the remaining six kingdoms descend into war? Will this make it easier for Ned to make alliances for Jon?’

 

“Father.” Howland moved his gaze from the fire and again focused on his son. “You need to request a marriage between Meera and Bran... I have seen that they are meant to be together... She is the one that is destined to be his protector... When the Great War comes she will be the one to ensure his safety from the Night King... She must remain by his side... You must send a raven now, before he decides on another match for Bran,” Jojen stated evenly.

 

“I have no raven son... how will I get the message to him?”

 

“You write the message... I will get a raven for you.”

 

Howland wordless nodded. Then Father and son got up from the log. Howland walked into the shelter and penned the letter to his King. As soon as he sealed the scroll Jojen returned with a raven......

 


 

 

Tywin Lannister

 

Tywin was furious. This was supposed to be a rise to power for the Lannisters... It had worked out better than he could have ever wished... He was thankful that Eddard Stark has refused the King’s offers because now the power was his... He was to be Hand of the King... He was to be in control of the Throne while the King drank himself into an early grave. Then once Robert died the Throne would be completely in control of House Lannister.

 

He read the scroll once more before he clinched his fist around the words. ‘How the fuck did this happen... Why did Cersei have to coddle that pathetic self-entitled son of hers... What the fuck did he do that his whoring Good-Son had to give up one of the Kingdom to prevent his Grandson’s death.’

 

He then looked at the second scroll, ‘This cannot be any worse than the first,’ he mused as he broke the seal. 

 

He was wrong... 

 

 

 

 

Tywin,

Lord Varys has informed me that his little birds have sent word that a man who claims to be Aegon Targaryen has hatched a dragon in Pentos... We need to stop this fucking Dragonspawn... I want them all dead! Get to King’s Landing now... We will plan our move as soon as I arrive back in the Capital.

Also, Eddard Stark, King in the North, has named your son, Tyrion as his Hand... 

Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

 

 

The Lord of Casterly Rock and new Hand to King Robert felt all the blood drain from his face... not only were the remaining Six Kingdoms going to be on the brink of Rebellion... He now had to worry about the Targaryens if Varys information was correct... and his imp of a son had betrayed his own family...

 

Twyin was beyond furious... He wanted to slap his daughter for her stupidity... kill the imp for his betrayal... and crush the Dragonspawns...

 

However, first, he had to come up with a way to prevent a Rebellion and as much as he hates it the Fat King needed to remain alive... for now. He grabbed a quill, ink and parchment and wrote a letter to his daughter......


 

 

 

Stannis Baratheon

 

It was late at night as Stannis found himself seated at the head of Aegon’s Painted Table in top floor of the Stone Drum in Dragonstone, pondering over the two scrolls he had received from his brother. There was a storm brewing over Blackwater Bay; claps of thunder were rattling the round room and lightening was filling the sky. He had retreated to Dragonstone nearly two moon turns ago when Jon Arryn urged him to to leave the Capital and return to the island, so that he and his family would be safe as he completed his investigation into Robert’s dozen bastards. 

 

The proud military man glanced around the room at the people he had gathered. Sitting at the table were his wife, Selyse, his most trusted friend, Ser Davos Seaworth, his Maester, Creesen, and the Red Woman, Melisandre.

 

Stannis threw the scrolls on the table in frustration and gritted out in frustration to no one I particular, “What am I to make of this? What am I to do?” 

 

“What is it that they scrolls say, my Lord Husband?” His wife asked quietly.

 

“One states that the Crown Prince, my nephew, Joffrey, commented a crime against Ned Stark’s daughters. It does not say what the crime was, but apparently it was so awful that my brother gave the North Independence in exchange for his son’s life!” The Lord of Dragonstone exclaimed.

 

“King Robert gave up one of the Seven Kingdoms?” the old smuggler asked.

 

Stannis sighed loudly and then answered, “Yes… That is what the scroll states... However it does not state what the little shit did to the Stark girls…”

 

“Well… what does the other scroll say, my Lord?” The old Maester asked.

 

“The other is stating that I am needed in King Landing immediately… To prepare the navy for war…”

 

“War?” his wife questioned. “What war? Does King Robert feel that the Kingdoms will go to war over the North being granted Independence?”

 

“The scroll does not state anything about the Kingdoms… He wants me to come to discuss the Targaryens.”

 

He noticed that the old Maester sat up a little straighter in his chair at the mention of the family that he had once served before he spoke, “But my Lord… The Targaryens are all gone… The last two Targaryens, Viserys and Daenerys have not been seen in years… Since they escaped across the Narrow Sea to Essos at the end of the Rebellion… It has been over eighteen years!”

 

“Well apparently that is not the case… Apparently, Lord Varys’ Little Birds have informed him that they are alive and well in Pentos… That a boy, going by the name of Aegon has hatched a dragon and married the girl, Daenerys.” Stannis said as he go up from the table, walked to a cart by the side of the room and poured himself a glass of wine.

 

“But my Lord, Aegon is dead…” the Maester started before Stannis interrupted.

 

“Everyone knows that Prince Rhaeger’s son was slain by the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane during the Sack of King’s Landing! This is Aegon is nothing but a murmur!” Stannis roared as slammed the bronze chalice down on the Painted Table before he took a deep calming breath and continued, “However, I called you all here to ask what I should do… Should I return to King’s Landing or should I stay here on Dragonstone?”

 

Everyone one was quiet for several moments, when suddenly Melisandre got up from the table, with wide open eyes and walked directly to the fire burning in the brazier by the window. Everyone watched in silence as she looked into the flames.

 

“My Lord… You must return to King’s Landing and tell your brother that you will face the Targaryens… However, you must not take an army or navy… Just one ship… In the flames. I see you, Ser Davos, Shireen, you wife and a small group of sailors sailing across the narrow sea… I see you fighting against a man under a warm bright sun… It is part of your destiny to fight against this murmur… He has a powerful sword that will be needed to bring the dawn…”

 

Stannis stood there speechless. He looked around the room. He noticed that Maester Cressen appeared to be holding his tongue so he shouted at the man, “It is your job to advise me… Speak Maester… or are you still loyal to the Targaryens?”

 

The Old Maester barked out a laugh, “How can you believe that witch! I agree you should go to King’s Landing… However, I cannot advise you to go and fight in a war against a man with an actual dragon! How can you believe the words of a woman who states that the flames tell her what to do!”

 

Stannis stood there silently as Melisandre made her way over to the Maester. She then grabbed his face, looked into his eyes and evenly said, “The night is dark and full of terrors, old man, but the fire burns them all away.” She then released his face and took her seat at the table and looked directly into his soul and said,  “The Lord of Light believes that you, Stannis, will bring the dawn… You must acquire your sword… and that sword is currently in Pentos.”

 

The Lord of Dragonstone had made his decision, “Selyse, pack what you and Shireen will need for this journey… Ser Davos, I will need you and you son by my side as well… We will be leaving for King’s Landing in a fortnight…”

 

“Lord Stannis, shouldn’t we leave sooner… for King’s Landing… You said the raven scroll wants your there immediately?” The Onion Knight asked with a knitted brow.

 

“Ser Davos, my brother will take at least a month to return to the Capital from the North and I do not want to spend any more time in that city then I have to… We will leave in a fortnight so I can speak to my brother and then we leave that wretched city behind city behind us.”

 

Everyone, except Maester Cressen, nodded in agreement and then left The Chamber of the Painted Table…..

 

Notes:

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Chapter 12: Even Death Can't Part Us

Notes:

Hey guys New Story Chapter as requested!!! Thank you all for your support we really do enjoy all of the love we receive. Please comment it helps us a lot knowing if you guys enjoy the story. As always opinion and ideas are always appreciated in the comments below!! As I always say sit back reflex and enjoy the long chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Snow

 

 

He saw the huge black double doors in front of him and took a deep breath. He placed both hands on one of the doors and pushed it open. As soon when he entered the room, he shocked at the sight in front of him. He looked at the Dragonglass Throne and he saw his beautiful wife, sitting on it before him; she looked just as powerful and beautiful as the first time he saw her. His felt his heart rate rising when he saw the baby in her arms.

 

He gasped at the sight before him and choked out in a voice just above a whisper,

“Dany?"

 

Her gaze left the babe in her arms and her eyes met his. "My Dragonwolf," she murmured with a serene smile on her face.

 

He could not believe it as he walked up the carved stone steps to get to the Throne. “How… How are you here? Where are we? Are we in one of the seven heavens or seven hells?” He felt the tears beginning to form in his eyes and noticed her eyes were glassy as well. 

 

“You know where we are…  We are on Dragonstone, my dear husband,” she answered tenderly with a chuckle as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through the babe’s silver-blonde curly locks.

 

He looked at the baby in her arms and realized it was their baby... The baby in her arms was their son… It was their sweet babe, Rhaegar.

 

Jon was confused, “How? Why am I here? Why?” However before she could answer, the anger from the pain and heartbreak broke to the surface as he gritted out, “Is this some sort of sick, fucked up joke? Some way for the Night King can make me even more miserable! Some way to torment me by making me see everything that I have lost!" He could no longer look at her… he closed his eyes and looked down and willed the tears behind his lids not to fall.

 

She smiled and stood up. She shifted the babe to her hip and pushed his chin up with a single finger from her free hand. Once their eyes met, she stated in a soothing tone, "No, my sweet dragonwolf, I am truly here... With our sweetling… our baby boy, Rhaegar." 

 

Jon’s gaze left hers when he heard his baby boy squealing, with a toothless smile and purple eyes twinkling in delight. He then looked back to her and could no longer keep the tears away as he fell to his knees in front of the Throne. “Daenerys, I am sorry ... I am so sorry," he whispered in a raspy tone as he clung to her legs like a small child.

 

"There is nothing to forgive my love; it was not your fault. You did what you had to do," she stated gently with a slight smile on her face.

 

He looked at her with tears cascading down his face. She squatted down in front of him and he noticed she had tears falling as well. He wiped the tears that had begun to trickle down her face with the tips of his fingers, then he pulled her and his son close and paced a chaste kiss her on the cheek. He tried to keep his voice from cracking as he mumbled in her ear, "I... I failed you, Dany… I failed our son…” He sighed before he continued, “I was a horrible husband and father… I did not protect either of you… If I…” 

 

She cut off his rambling when she pulled away from his embrace, placed a hand on his shoulder looked him in the eyes and declared, “Jon, you did what you had to do… There is nothing for me to forgive… You need to forgive yourself for what happened… It was not your fault.” 

 

"I can’t Daenerys… I will never be able to forgive myself… I made a vow to protect you, to protect Rhaegar… and I failed...I should have been there… If I had been by your side, it would have never happened… Or if I would have taught you how to wield a blade…” He stopped his maundering speech, exhaled and met her gaze and softly stated, “Dany, every time I shut my eyes, I see nothing but those fucking blue eyes staring back at me. I see..." 

 

She stopped him. "Jon, you did what you had to do… You know it was the right thing, the only thing… By doing what you did, you were able to buy more time… Save more people… I know it is painful, but it was the right decision.” 

 

He was frustrated… He did not understand how she did not blame him… He stood up and walked down the stairs not looking at her; as much as he loved seeing the Dany he fell in love and his son it was still painful… and he felt responsible for their deaths. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he began to pace around the room. After several minutes, he finally looked back up to her and his son and gritted out, “Why am I here? Why are you both here? You are probably not even real! This is just some fucked up joke!” He then noticed the earnest smile on her face.

 

She then started walking down the stairs as she spoke to him in a soothing tone, “Jon, I am real. Rhaegar is real… We live inside of you… You and I are bound to each other for eternity,,, Rhaegar and I are a part of your soul." 

 

Jon looked down at his baby boy… Gone were the smiles and baby giggles from a few minutes ago… The babe now had a quivering lip and tears falling from his amethyst eyes. He felt guilty that he had upset his son, he rushed over and cooed, “I am so sorry, my boy… Papa is sorry… I love you my sweetling." He watched as the tears stopped falling and a smile once again graced the boys face. He felt a smile spread across his face as well… No matter how shitty of a day it had been, the smile of his son had always had the effect on him; when his son was alive, he could always bring him from his melancholy with one of his smiles. He then bent down and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead, hoping that the babe would be able to feel how much his Papa loved him. 

 

He then looked at his wife and saw tears staining her cheeks as he pulled her face to his and kissed her lips. After he broke the kiss he whispered, "I wish I could be here with you... Be with you in the afterlife... With you and our baby boy...  Daenerys, I broke our promise... We said together..." 

 

She shook her head. "No, my wolf… It is not your time… You are exactly where you are supposed to be… I know what happened after I was gone... Tyrion and Tormund were able to stop you from putting the Catspaw Dagger into your own heart... And I am glad that they did..." He watched her sigh and thenhe looked so deeply into her eyes he could swear she was looking into his soul as she stated, "Jon, if you would have killed yourself you would have never returned to the past..." 

 

He just felt the tears falling down from his eyes once more. His gaze never left hers as he breathed out, "I… I do not understand, Dany. How... How is it even possible that I am here with you?" 

 

She smiled as she tenderly touched his cheek, wiped away one of his tears and spoke, “As Melisandre said, I am the princess who was promised… I am meant to be with you, the prince who was promised." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, when he opened them; he noticed she now had a teasing smirk on her face. "You know, Jon Snow, usually when man’s wife dies he finds a new wife to warm his bed… I do not believe I have ever heard of the man going to his past life to find and marry the same woman.” She looked at him with raised her eyebrow and added, "Your new wife is beautiful." They both chuckled. 

 

"Aye, she is and she is fucking stubborn!" They both burst out in true laughter. He then wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him for a kiss. After the kiss, he placed his forehead on hers and quietly said, "I miss you Dany... You and Rhaegar so much..." 

 

She cut him off. “Jon, we miss you too…” as she spoke, he placed another kiss to the top his son’s moon-kissed hair. “And I never thanked you…" she added quietly.

 

He was confused. He looked at her with a furrowed brow and asked, "Thanked me? Thanked me for what, Dany?"

 

He saw the smile on her face, as she answered, “I never thanked you for saving me from Drogo... You returned to the past and one of the first things you do... You sail across the narrow sea to Pentos to save me from my brother and his evil plans."

 

He smiled and kissed her on the mouth. “I love you, Dany… I could never see you suffer at the hands or your brother or Drogo… I knew that I had to save you… We are better together.” He said as he took her hand in his, “I made a vow to you… and I was raised to be an honorable man, and what kind of husband would I be to let you suffer.” He pulled her into his arms and held her for several moments in a comfortable silence.

 

She had he head on his should when she broke the silence, “Jon, you need to tell her... I mean the younger me the truth… It is not fair that you are keeping this from your wife… About what you did in the past… and about why you did it… She deserves to know." 

 

He looked at her with a bewildered expression and sighed, "Dany if I tell you, the current you the truth... I… I am afraid that you will see that I am a monster… That I became a monster" 

 

She took his head in her hands, looked in his eyes and firmly stated, "You are not a monster Jon… You did the right thing..." 

 

He took a deep breath and then whispered, "I want to stay here with you and Rhaegar… I am scared Dany… I do not think that I am strong enough to face what is coming…" 

 

She shook her head, "No, my love… My Dragonwolf… You do not belong here with me… You are currently right where you belong, with the living me." 

 

He was surprised by this. "Dany, I cannot leave you… I do not want to leave you." 

 

"You are not leaving me... You are staying right where you belong with me. In the world of the living."

 

"But what about you?" 

 

She looked at him and smiled. "You will return to me when your fight is over.  When you have done your part we will be together again."

 

He smiled and nodded. “Gods I will miss you… I love you both so much.” He placed another kiss on her mouth.

 

"I love you so much my dragonwolf..."

 

He saw the tears on her eyes. He then saw blue eyes behind her. The next thing he knew he saw the ice spear through her heart… and the rest of the nightmare that plagued him every night.

 

"Noooo!" He screamed as his eyes snapped opened.

 

Jon felt the rage inside him rising to the surface and his eyes turned golden-orange. He looked around his surrounding as he tried to calm his breathing but he still panted and felt like he could not draw a true breath. He looked next to him and saw his wife peacefully asleep. ‘Thank the gods I did not wake her.’ He sighed and pressed a soft kiss to her temple as he vowed to himself, ‘I will not fail you this time… I will not let the Night King take you from me again.’

 

He knew there would be no return to slumber, even with his wife laying safely next to him, so even though the sun had not yet broken on the horizon, he got out of the bed donned the first clothes he found and left their chambers. He needed to clear his mind, so he headed to the only safe place he could go to vent his frustrations and anger, to the training yard to practice his swordplay.

 

Unknown to him, the moment he closed the door of their chamber, Daenerys opened her eyes. She could not believe what she heard from his mouth while he was asleep. 'Please Dany ... Do not do it! If you hurt him… I swear on my Father's grave I will kill you myself!' She took a deep breath... Trying to figure out what happened in her husband's dreams.


 

 

Illyrio Mopatis 

 

 

The winds were kind and seas were calm, therefore it took only four days for Illyrio’s ship sail across the Narrow Sea from Pentos to King’s Landing. The sun had just began to rise when his ship dropped anchor and he saw his friend, Varys, waiting for him off to the side of one of the docks. As he disembarked the vessel, he smiled at his friend and his friend returned with his own tiny turning up of the lips. 

 

When he reached King Robert’s Master of Whispers, he greeted the man with a slight bow of the head and a genuine smile, “My dear friend, Lord Varys, it is good to see you!"

 

"Illyrio, my friend how have you been?" 

 

"I have been very well, thank you Lord Varys." Illyrio noticed that his friend raised an eyebrow at this response.

 

"Does your visit pertain to the news what my Little Birds have sent to me from Pentos?" He saw his friend looking around trying to make sure no one was observing them or trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

 

Illyrio knew that this conversation was not safe to be had where they were, even though the sounds of the workers on the docks would make it difficult for anyone to overhear what they had to say. Therefore, he took a deep breath looked his friend in the eyes and softly stated, "There are too many ears my old friend… I think it would be wise if we speak somewhere more private."

 

A sly smile of appeared on Varys’s face as he nodded in acknowledgment. His friend wordlessly escorted him thought the shit-covered streets of King’s Landing, going in many different directions, which Illyrio figured was to positive that they were not being followed. After a long walk, they finally reached a discrete white house, next to a stream, which emptied into the Blackwater Bay. His friend checked their surroundings once more to ensure they were indeed alone. 

 

“Please after you, Illyrio.” Varys insisted as he pushed open the wooden door. Illyrio quickly entered followed by the eunuch.

 

The Master of Whispers silently led them through a maze of old passages that finally opened up to where King Robert stored the dragon skulls that once used to decorate the Throne Room. When they reached this room, the spider spoke, "So tell me, my dear friend, just how did our plan fail?"

 

He took a deep breath before he answered, “I presume that your little birds informed you that Khal Drogo was murdered." He saw his friend raising his eyebrow.

 

"Brutally murdered you mean? I heard from my little birds, that not only was his head severed from his neck, but that his left arm was cut off as well... A most gruesome death I would say… Do you care to explain what happened?" 

 

He took a deep breath and walked around the Dragon Skull trying to figure out what to say first. He then looked at his friend finally knowing what to say. "Khal Drogo was murder by a man named...” However, before he could say the name his friend completed his sentence.

 

“Aegon Targaryen...”

 

He nodded his head and exhaled as he answered, “Yes, his name is Aegon Targaryen.”

 

He saw his friend taking a deep breath before he calmly spoke, "So this Aegon Targaryen brutally murderers Khal Drogo? Takes our rightful King, Viserys, as his prisoner? Then you treat him like a Royal guest? He has married and bedded Daenerys Targaryen... and I can presume she will soon be, if not already, growing his child within her womb? Our plan has failed a large amount I would say." 

Illyrio felt the smile growing on his lips as he shook his head. He watched as Varys’s eyes grew wide in disbelief as he mumbled, “Care to explain?”

 

"Our plan has not failed. It is not even close to failing, my old friend... It has greatly improved actually." He mused. He looked at his friend took a deep breath, knowing how confused Varys was by the perplexed look on his face. "Let me start from the beginning my old friend." 

"Oh please do, my dear friend Illyrio, as I see no way that our plans are not foiled." 

 

Illyrio nodded and walked forward. "The young man, Aegon Targaryen, is a trueborn son of the deceased Crowned Prince Rhaegar Targaryen." 

He saw his old friend raised his eyebrow. “The boy’s head was crushed against the wall by the Mountain as an infant! I was there when his body was presented to King Robert... How... There is no way that boy is alive." 

 

Oh my dear friend when you meet him you will have a story of a lifetime! I am still surprised that your little birds never were able to uncover the truth!' He thought to himself. However he knew he could not give away too much of his King's heritage because he asked him not to tell the master of whisperers, that he wanted to tell him himself. "I would love to tell you the tale, my friend, unfortunately, I am not allow to share that information… This is because My King would like to tell you of his heritage for himself… " 

He saw that his old friend was surprised. “Your King?”

 

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, he is a trueborn Targaryen... The son of Rhaegar Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne… We can be thankful that Viserys Targaryen is not the true heir." 

 

He watched as his old friend took a deep breath before he said, "My little birds told me that this boy... This Aegon Targaryen, has successfully hatched a Dragon egg... and that he has been granted Khal Drogo's Khalasar by his death... Do my little birds sing a true song?" 

He nodded as he placed a hand on Balerion the Black Dread’s skull. "Yes, it is true… I have seen his Dragon with my own eyes… as well his blood Riders." He could tell that his friend was baffled by the confirmation of the information he had received from his little birds. 

After a few moments, Varys muttered with a look of awe on his face, "He truly has a Dragon?"

 

Illyrio smiled widely and nodded. "Yes he has... a grey dragon and he has named the dragon Sarogon... Fierce little beast.” He chuckled before adding, “And it is growing at an extremely fast pace."

 

"Does this Aegon Targaryen have the same madness that plagues Viserys Targaryen or the Mad King before him?" The Spider asked with a furrowed brow.

 

He smiled and shook his head as he placed a hand on the Master of Whisperers shoulder, looked in his eyes and said, "No, my dear friend he is not mad. He is quite kind once you get to know him." He chuckled as he remembered how angry the king was at him for trying to sell his beloved wife to the rapist Khal Drogo. "But, he does seem to have a Dark Side..." 

 

He saw his old friend raised his eyebrow. "Dark side?" 

 

Illyrio nodded, as he recalled what had happened. "He would hunt down anyone and kill them if they ever dare to hurt his family... especially his wife, Daenerys. If you ever raised a hand to her he would cut you in half like he did with Drogo." He felt shivers in his spine remembering what his King said to him if he ever tried to hurt his queen. He noticed that his old friend had a smile on his face.

 

"His family?"

 

“Yes, my friend. The King is very protective of his loved ones.” Illyrio answered evenly.

 

"Has this, Aegon Targaryen, informed you of his goal?" 

 

"The King has informed me that he needs to retake his rightful Throne and unite the Seven Kingdoms… in order to fight the threat beyond the wall."

 

He saw his friend raised his eyebrow as he asked, “The threat beyond the wall?”

 

He took a deep breath knowing he will sound crazy. "His Grace has informed me that the Night King and White Walkers are real. That he has seen them with his own eyes and that he had fought against them... According to him, the Night King has an army of dead filled with men, women, children, giants, horses and mammoths… And that he is coming to the wall and will not stop until he has killed everything in his path."  

He could tell that his friend was thinking hard, as if the information that he provided added another piece to a puzzle he was trying to solve. "My little birds have sung to me that the King in the North, Eddard Stark, has reported that his two eldest sons have gone missing beyond the wall… That he sent them to investigate some disturbing reports he had received from Castle Black and from his Northern most bannermen... Are these reports what your King speaks of?" 

 

Illyrio was shocked. 'So the king is right an army of dead people and creatures… That the army of the dead was truly coming to the wall. We need him now more than ever as our King.' However, instead of saying that aloud, he smiled and nodded; he knew that both of Eddard Stark’s sons were safe in Pentos. Then something Varys had said left him shocked, “Eddard Stark is King in the North? I was unaware that the North was in rebellion against the crown.”

 

“Oh, no my dear friend… King Robert granted the North their Independence.” The Master of Whispers stated.

 

“Why? Why would King Robert give up one of his Kingdoms?” Illyrio questioned as he thought, ‘This may be beneficial to my young King… The North is his home…’

 

“Apparently the Crown Prince tried to rape one Lord Stark’s daughters and murder the other… and in exchange for his son’s life, King Robert gave up the North.”

 

“That is an unexpected development,” Illyrio mused as his mind was racing. ‘King Aegon will be very upset when he learns about the Prince Joffrey’s actions… gods help that boy if the rightful King is ever alone with him.’ 

 

“Yes it is… However, my friend… You never did inform me what your King desires of me… Why he sent you across the Narrow Sea to speak with me in person?”

 

"I have a simple answer to that question, my dear old friend. King Aegon wishes a personal audience with you." He saw that his friend was surprised by his answer.

 

"And why does he wish to meet with me?" 

 

Illyrio smiled, “The King is aware of your many talents and he wishes for you to serves as his Master of Whispers... He wants for you to serve as his spy in the capital... he want you to give him information on what the king is currently doing or he is planning to do... He wants for you to be one of his advisors."

 

"Why would he wish for me to become one of his advisors? And why would I meet him?" Varys questioned.

 

"He told me that I should tell you that he knows you do not serve the King; that you serve the realm… That you want what is best for Westeros... he also told me to ask you if you would rather let a king rule the seven kingdoms who does not give a fuck what happens to his kingdom? One who does nothing but drink and fuck whores? Or would you like to serve his mad son, who is actually a bastard sired by the queen and her brother Jaime Lannister? Or do you want a true king who cares about the people of Westeros and wants to help us live through the next Winter?" 


He watched as his old friend’s eyes flew open. "How does he know that... how could he know who I serve... and how would he know that Prince Joffrey is nothing more than a bastard?" 


Illyrio’s cheeks hurt because of the smirk on his face as he answered softly, "He knows a great many things, my old friend. That is why he is so interesting." He saw his old friend nod so he continued, "Come with me when I leave for Pentos. Share an audience with My King... You will want to meet Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen... The rightful King and Queen of Westeros. Let them show you that they are the best hope for Westeros... I believe that they are the rulers this country needs.” 

 

He saw his friend take a deep breath and nod. "Alright my dear old friend Illyrio... When do we leave for Pentos? I am intrigued to meet your King and Queen."

 

"Tomorrow, just before first light... Get your things ready my old friend," 

 

"Then I will see you tomorrow on the docks, my old friend. I bid you a good day." However, before Varys could leave, he grabbed his arm and stopped him, because he remembered what else, he wanted to ask of his old friend.

 

"My dear old friend sorry to stop you on your way out, but may I ask where Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys dragon eggs were hidden?" 

 

He saw how shocked his old friend was by his question. "Why my dear friend?” Varys asked with a knitted brow.

 

He then smiled and proudly stated, "My king already have hatched one dragon from an egg, which was left to him by his sire... He also holds three more dragon eggs and plans to hatch them as well... I mentioned to him that you were able to hide the dragon eggs that had belonged his siblings...” 

 

"Siblings?" His friend asked.

 

"Yes, Aegon and Rhaenys... Can you please give me the other two dragon eggs?" 

 

His old friend exhaled and nodded. He watched Varys walked behind the skull of Balerion and moved a few chests. Once the chests were moved, it revealed a hidden wooden door on the ground. His friend grabbed hold of a metal ring and pulled the dusty door open. A slight smile appeared on his friend’s face as he removed the eggs from where they had been hidden for the last eighteen years. The spider then gently handed him the dragon eggs, one at a time. 

 

Illyrio took the blue eggs first, and placed it it a burlap satchel. However, he was surprised when Varys handed him the red one... felt different... it was not as heavy or cold as the blue egg or the eggs he had gifted the Queen at her wedding. He shook his head and placed it in the sack with the other egg. 

 

Once both eggs were safely in his bag, he looked at his old friend smiled and said, "I remembered correctly, you had told me that the blue dragon egg belonged to Princess Rhaenys and the red egg had belonged Aegon." 

 

His old friend simply gave him a slight nod and and half smile.

 

"Thank you, my friend for giving me the eggs.” Illyrio said respectfully as he patted the satchel containing the dragon eggs, “I will see you tomorrow, just before first light, on the docks."

 

His old friend nodded and said, “I will be there.” 

 

Illyrio then watched as Varys turned and left the dusty old abandoned room. He then adjusted the bag on his arm, and made his way out of the chamber. He smiled to himself, knowing that his King and Queen will be glad that his quest was successful…...


 


Lord Varys



Varys walked through the castle and was on his way to the small council meeting. As he walked to the chambers where the meeting would be held he thought about everything Illyrio and told him and how he had more questions than answers. 'Why did Illyrio name Aegon and Rhaenys this Aegon Targaryens his siblings? Did Princess Elia have twin and one sent away for his safety? Did Prince Rhaegar have a child with the Lady Lyanna? However, if he did, the child would have been a Blackfyre or some other bastard name not a Targaryen. Where has he been for the last eighteen years? Why does he care so much for his wife Daenerys Targaryen if he just met her? Why does he have a dark side? Who is this family he speaks of? How did he hatch his dragon named Sarogon?' He then took a deep breath trying to calm his spinning mind, knowing that his questions would soon be answered. However, the suspense was maddening.

 

When he finally arrived at the council chambers, he took another deep breath and pushed the door open. When he opened the door, he saw Renly Baratheon the Master of Laws, across from him sat Petyr Baelish the Master of Coin, as well Grand Maester Pycell sitting at the end. He smiled at them he soon realized that they were both having a discussion before he disturbed them and quickly made his way to his seat. Lord Baelish and Renly returned the smile, however Grand Maester Pycell coughed dryly in greeting.

 

"Lord Varys, it is good to see that you finally able to join us in this important meeting,” Renly said as the eunuch pulled his chair out from the table and sat down.

 

The Master of Whispers slightly bowed his head and gave a polite smile as he spoke, “I apologize for my tardiness, my lords. I unfortunately had other important matters that I had to urgently attend to." 

 

The Master of Laws nodded, Lord Baelish had an unnerving smirk on his face and the Grand Maester again coughed in response.

 

"Lord Varys, we were just discussing the contents of the raven scrolls that arrived from my brother last night... It states that the North has been granted Independence for the Seven Kingdoms because of crimes committed by the Crown Prince, my nephew, against Sansa and Arya Stark." The King’s youngest brother stated.

 

The Master of Whispers nodded and replied knowingly, “Yes, I am well aware of this… unusual situation.”

 

“Do you know how this happened? Do you know what exactly my nephew did, that my brother found that his only option at peace was to grant the North independence?”

 

Lord Varys alternated his gaze between the three men as he spoke, "My Lords, Grand Maester, my little bird have sung a song to me… One that states that the Crown Prince tried to… dishonor… Lady Sansa Stark and that he also attempted to murder the younger Stark sister, Arya." When he said these words, he head the Grand Maester gasp and then begin to cough, Lord Baelish sat there with a tiny smirk across his lips, and the Master of Laws eyes were open wide in shock.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Lord Renly asked in a whispered tone.

 

"Apparently, my lord, the Crown Prince did not take kindly to the news that Lady Sansa did not want to marry him,” Varys stated in his wistful tone, “So he cornered her in Winterfell’s training yard and attempted to force himself on her… If my little bird is correct, he told Lady Sansa that he was the Crown Prince of Westeros, therefore he could have whatever he wishes or desired… And that he wanted her...” He paused for a moment before he continued, “Then the younger girl, Arya Stark, told him not to touch her sister and to go away… And if he did not follow her wish, she would cut his face." He took a deep breath and saw the surprised on Lord Renly's face and the look of amusement on Lord Baelish’s face. "You are smart men, so I take it you have figured out that the Prince did not listen to the little wolf’s warning because he again tried to force himself on the girl… he even ripped her dress and exposed her breasts and began to touch her inappropriately. That is when Arya cut his face with a little sword. She told him if he does not leave them alone, that she will kill him herself. The girls then began to leave and that is when Prince Joffrey grabbed his sword and was about to strike Lady Arya… but his attack was prevented when a direwolf came from the shadows and bit the Prince on his sword arm."

 

Varys was amused at the surprised look on all three faces.

 

Again, it was Renly, who broke the silence. "A direwolf? I thought that there were no direwolves south of the wall."

 

The Spider nodded his head once and said, "Yes, if my little birds are correct, each of King Eddard Stark’s six children has their own Direwolf."

 

"The other day you informed us that a Dragon has been seen in Pentos and now you tell us there are Direwolves south of the Wall… Why is this happening?" The Master of Laws questioned to no one in particular. He then shook his head and said, "I am sorry, Lord Varys, you were busy explaining to us why my brother is now King of only six kingdoms... Please continue."

 

Varys smiled faintly and nodded before he continued, "It would seem that the beast was protecting her companion. Prince Joffrey ran directly to the Queen and told her lies... The Queen quickly gathered everyone, all of the visiting Lords and Ladies, all of the Lannister’s and members of the Royal Party, in the Great Hall for a trial of sorts… Once Lord Stark arrived with his daughters, Queen Cersei demanded the Stark girls be punished for their actions against the Prince and that the direwolf needed to be put to death…”

 

Varys took a moment to look at the bewildered faces, and then continued, "Once Lord Stark stated that Prince Joffrey had attempted to rape his daughter there were a great number of angry Northern Lords and Ladies… Of course, the Prince denied the accusation… However, Lord Tyrion stepped in and told them what happened; apparently, he was a witness to the entire situation... The Northern lords were furious and demanded the Prince’s head or that he should be sent to the Wall… However, the King and Queen did not accept those punishments. Of course, this angered the Northerners, and they all declared that they would not follow a King who tried to kill and rape their Lord’s daughters… Therefore, King Robert asked what would take for the North to move past his son’s actions… And that is when they ask King Robert for their Independence. His once best friend, Eddard Stark stated that he could never be loyal to a King that almost raped and murdered his daughters… and much to Cersei’s displeasure, the King agreed and named Eddard Stark as King in the North." He then took another deep breath.

 

"This... This… The news of what the Prince did cannot be released… If the Kingdoms find could cause a Rebellion against the throne! We need to do something and fast!” the Master of Law exclaimed.

 

“The prince must be punished for his actions." Lord Baelish stated, still with the hint of a smirk on the corners of his lips

 

"Punished?" Maester Pycell coughed out, “He is the Crown Prince! The King and Queen will allow harm to come to him!”

He watched Lord Renly sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke, "You are right, Grand Maester, the King and Queen will not punish him… However, we do need to do something... We need to get ready for war. If we are not ready we will soon see a Dornish King or Stark King on the throne."

 

They all nodded. 'Add Targaryen King to that list my dear Lord.' Lord Vary pondered to himself, but before he spoke Lord Baelish, the master of Coin made his presence known.

 

"Lord Renly, I think you are seeming to forget the main threat the Throne faces at this time..." He saw the master of laws raised his eyebrows

 

"Who?" The King’s brother questioned.

 

Varys saw a wide smirk form on the Master of Coins face as he answered, “The man across the Narrow Sea... The man who is calling himself Aegon Targaryen…"

 

"At this time, he does not appear to be a threat.” Renly stated.

 

'Oh but he is.' Varys said to himself 

 

"My Lord, if the rumors are true he has a real dragon. He has a Khalasar of over 40,000 Dothraki Screamers... He has married Daenerys Targaryen... and he names himself as the true heir to the Iron Throne." 

 

"I am well aware of the rumors that he has an actual living breathing dragon and a Khalasar… However, Lord Baelish, have you forgotten that the Dothraki will not cross the Narrow Sea… I believe they call it the ‘poisoned water’. He is nothing but a pretender." The Master of Laws stated.

 

He silently observed as the Master of Coin shook his head in disagreement. "Lord Renly. I have received word that the Dothraki call him the rider who mounts the world. That they believe he was sent to them by the Great Stallion... and that he will be the greatest Khal who has ever lived… I would only guess that they would gross the Narrow Sea for him." 

 

"If that is true, my Lord, the savages will follow him where ever he wishes to go," Grand Maester Pycell interjected, and Varys could see that he had fear in his eyes.

 

"Well unfortunately my Lords, Grand Maester... I can do nothing to him in this very moment…” Renly said with a sigh. “I can give no commands... You all know what my brother stated in the raven... That he personally wants to approve any plans concerning how we will finish off the last Targaryens… So we are stuck here, unable to do anything while the Kingdoms fall apart and there is a threat just across the narrow sea.”

 

"My Lord, there is nothing we can do until the King or his Hand arrives in King’s Landing, which could be up to a month."

 

"I am aware of this Lord Varys." The Master of Laws answered and then loudly exhaled before asking, “Grand Maester, has my brother, Stannis, sent any word from Dragonstone?" They all looked at the Grand Maester Pycell.

 

The old man coughed before he answered, “He has my Lord. He stated that will come back to the Capital once the King has returned."

 

He then saw the smirk on the Master of Law face as he mused, "Of course he will wait until the King arrives... Actually, with his hate of the city I am surprised he even agreed to return at all.” Renly then stood from the table and stated, “I think this meeting has gone long enough.” All of them nodded in agreement. Renly then continued, “Well, I guess that we will reconvene once my brothers and Lord Tywin Lannister arrive in King’s Landing.” 

 

After The Master of Laws adjourned the meeting, he and the Grand Maester were quick to take their leave, leaving Varys alone in the room with Lord Baelish.

 

"So, Lord Varys... Tell me, what matters were so important that you  were late to the small council meeting?" The Master of Coin asked as he raised an eyebrow.


He took a deep breath and smiled as he nonchalantly said, "I was talking with one of my little birds." 

 

Lord Baelish pushed for more information, "About?" He asked with a smirk.

 

'Oh, aren't you a curious one, Lord Baelish?' The Master of Whispers mused to himself before he answered, "I have received word that the King in the North Eddard Stark is going beyond the wall to investigate disturbing reports he has recently received... Apparently, he first sent his two his eldest sons... However, they seem to have vanished beyond the Wall... Therefore, he also intends to find out what has become of his heir and his bastard." 

 

To his surprise, he saw the disappointment on the Master of Coins face, so he pushed, "You seem disappointed my Lord?" He saw that the Master of Coin was shocked when he asked this.


Lord Baelish was uncharacteristically mum for a for moments before he said, "It is nothing my friend... I just… I have known Catelyn Tully since I was a small boy... Knowing that her son is missing is a tragedy… She must be beside herself with worry."

 

He then nodded. "Yes, it is a tragedy, isn’t it." 

 

He then saw the disappointed face on the master of coins face disappear and turned into a fake smile as he stood from the table and said, "If you would excuse me, Lord Varys, I need to attend to some matters." 

 

He smiled and nodded. The Master of Coin then took his leave.

 

He soon after also left the small council meeting room and went to prepare for his journey across the Narrow Sea, to meet the Dragon King and Dragon Queen…...


 

Gendry Waters

 

It was early morning and the sun had just began to rise over the battlements of the grey stone castle. Gendry and his new companion, Winterfell’s blacksmith, Mikken, had worked endlessly for the past four days melting down the Stark ancestral Greatsword Ice, and then constructing the molten Valyrian Steel into the two new longswords, as requested by the King in the North… His new King. For a nameless bastard from Flea Bottom he was still amazed how welcoming the King and his family had been towards him and for the first time in his life he felt like he truly was where he belonged.

 

Gendry and Mikken waited patiently and the two swords finally cooled enough to attach the two new pommels that he had constructed. As he lifted one of the twin swords he took a few moments to admire the smoky grey appearance of the blade in awe of its deadly beauty as it glistened when rays of sunlight touched the surface, ‘it looks almost like storm clouds,’ he thought to himself. He then attached the black direwolf with golden honey eyes pommel to its hilt, while Mikken attached the brown direwolf with the same honey pummel to the hilt of the other sword. After the pommels were attached, the two smiths laid the swords on the craft table. 


The young smith pulled up the edge if his apron to wipe the sweat off his brow and let out a sigh of relief. He then looked at Mikken and smiled widely as he announced, "The blades are finally done!"


“Aye, they are… And they are beautifully crafted as well, if I must say,” The older blacksmith said with a smile. He then placed one of his hands on the young man’s shoulder and said with an honest tone, "You truly have a wonderful gift, Gendry."


He smiled at the compliment and nodded, "I thank you for your kind words, Mikken"


"Well, young man, they are true... We best let the King know his new swords are ready," The older smith announced with a proud smile.

 

“Aye, you are right.

 

The young blacksmith was proud of the work, but he was still nervous at the thought of presenting the swords to his new King.


"I will take the swords to the King in a bit... I just need to wrap them and break my fast... and maybe just rest for a few minutes...”

 

"Aye, I could also use some rest as well.” Mikken said with a kind smile, after a few moments her added, ”By the way, I wanted to thank you.”

 

Gendry was perplexed, he looked at his new blacksmith companion, raised his eyebrow and asked, "What for, Mikken?" 

 

The blacksmith smiled and let out a small chuckle before he said, "For teaching me how to work with Valyrian Steel. It is truly an honor to be one of the few men left in Westeros who now knows how to properly melt and reforge Valyrian Steel." 

 

The young blacksmith smiled and replied, "Mikken, if it hadn’t have been for your help I would still be working on those Valyrian Steel swords!” Gendry said as he pointed at the two swords on the table. “So, I am more than pleased that you now know how to work with Valyrian Steel." The two smiths smiled at each other and were getting ready to wrap the two swords in white cloth when they were disturbed by a loud banging sound just outside of the forge. 

 

They both looked at each other confused because they were not expecting anyone to come to the forge. The next thing he heard was the sound of a young girl’s voice.


"Nymeria, stay. Wait for me!" 

 

The two smiths heads snapped towards the front of the forge as the youngest Stark girl sauntered inside. Gendry did not really know much about her but had seen her before and noticed she would sometimes watch him and Mikken as they worked with the steel. He was also surprised that the direwolf pup, which was quite a bit larger than a small dog, sat patiently where her companion had told it to sit as she walked into the forge.


"Princess Arya," his fellow blacksmith greeted the young Stark girl with a bow of his head and a smile.


"Good morning, Mikken," the girl happily replied as she looked at the other blacksmith. She then whipped her eyes towards him and said, "You must be Gendry Waters... the blacksmith from King’s Landing that my brother sent for?”

 

"I am, mi’lady... I... I mean my princess." Gendry hastily corrected himself, afraid that he had offended the Princess and would have to leave the place that had quickly become home. There was a silence in the air as they both looked at each other.

 

"I am sorry, Princess Arya,” Mikken said kindly, breaking the silence, “Is there a way that we can be of service to you this morning?”

 

Arya looked back towards the older blacksmith and smiled. Gendry let out a sigh of relief as she cheerfully answered the question.


"Yes, Mikken ... My father wanted me to ask you two if you could make training swords for us... I mean me, my sister, Princess Sansa, my littlest brother Prince Rickon, my mother, Queen Catelyn and his Hand, Lord Tyrion. We would like the training swords to be made in the Braavosi style... just like my Needle." 

 

He looked from the Princess to his fellow blacksmith and sighed as he thought to himself, 'So much for getting a little rest in... Luckily training swords are much faster to make than a normal sword... but what the fuck is her Needle?’

 

Mikken smiled at the young princess and answered, "It shall be our honor my princess... We shall have them completed in about two days." 

 

As Gendry turned his gaze from Mikken back towards the Princess, he thought ‘At least Mikken know what she means by this Needle.’ When he saw the Princess he smiled because of the stupidity large smirk on her face. He then watched as her eyes doubled in size. He turned his head in the direction she was looking and realized that she was eyeing the the two new Valyrian Steel longswords.


"Are those the Valyrian Steel swords you made for my father and Uncle Benjen?" She asked as if she was praying the answer would be yes.


"Aye, they are," Gendry answered. He then watched as she made her way over to the table and traced one of the hilts with the tips of her fingers. Gendry felt pride in his work as her eyes danced with awe. However the moment was short lived when she grasped the hilt with her hand and went to lift the sword from the table. As the sword started to fall he gasped, envisioning the young Princess cutting her self on the razor sharp blade. He let out a sigh of relief when she placed her other hand over the hilt as well and placed it back on the table. 

 

"Please... be careful, my Princess... If your father knew that you were hurt he would punish me... he would probably make me leave Winterfell or take my head!" Gendry exclaimed in a little rougher tone than he intended. He sighed in relief when he noticed that she still had that ridiculous smirk on her face, but then anxiety returned when her face went happy to solemn in the blink of an eye.

 

"I'm no Princess and I’m not a lady... That’s not me." 


"You are the daughter of the King in the North, of course, your a Princess, mi’lady... I mean my Princess,” he fumbled out. 

 

He then snapped his head towards the other blacksmith as he heard him laughing.


"She is right... She is no princess or lady... She is a she-wolf just like her Aunt Lyanna before her." The Old blacksmith said though his bout of laughter.

 

He looked at the girl and saw her smiling and chuckling as well. ‘Wow this place is so different... I am definitely not in King’s Landing anymore.’ 

 

This statement was confirmed a few moments later, when the young girl looked at him and stated,  "I would love to have my own Valyrian Sword or dagger one day." 

 

He smiled as he laughed out, "You are not quite a normal girl are you... not a normal lady or princess.”


"I am going to become a warrior princess like Visenya Targaryen or Daenerys Targaryen" 

 

Gendry was surprised by her words, ‘Daenerys Targaryen? I know who Visenya Targaryen is, but I have never heard of this Daenerys Targaryen.’ He brushed his thoughts aside and instead said, “You know what... I’d be happy to make you a real real sword one day... When you are bigger I mean." 

 

Arya laughed and so did Mikken when he said this. Gendry was confused, but he got his answer when Mikken said, “I have already made her her first sword... a skinny little blade she named Needle.”

 

Gendry felt himself blush in embarrassment. ‘Well that explains what she meant by her Needle.’


"Thank you, Mikken and Gendry... If you would excuse me, I really need to get going... I am going to break my fast with my family." 

 

With those words, the young Princess left the forge. Gendry watched as she and her direwolf ran off, back towards the castle.

 

“Come on lad, let’s get these swords wrapped up for the King,” Mikken said to him.

 

Gendry turned his gaze from the girl and her wolf and back towards the older blacksmith. He nodded wordlessly, grabbed the white cloth and prepared to wrap one of the newly reforged Valyrian Steel Longswords......


 

 

Eddard Stark

 

The King in the North, Eddard Stark was in Winterfell’s Great Hall breaking his fast with his family, Queen Catelyn, Arya, Sansa, Rickon, and Benjen, and Lord Tyrion, his hand. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits as they were eating and laughing. Ned sighed, knowing that he would be leaving for the Wall later that day. He looked at his new Hand and saw that the Dwarf of Casterly Rock appeared to be happy being in Winterfell. He loved that his Hand has helped his family when they needed him and that his children were beginning to accept him as a family member, as if he were an adopted uncle. He was currently telling them a story about his childhood, which had the whole table laughing.

 

After Tyrion had finished his story, the King of the North looked at his wife and smiled as he asked, "Cat, has Syrio began your and the children’s Water Dancing lessons yet?" He had a smirk on his face and looked at his wife Queen Catelyn waiting for her answer. There was comfortable silence, which is when Tyrion spoke.

 

"Yes, Queen Catelyn I would also like to know how the Water Dancing is coming along," he smiled at his Hand and saw the smirk on his face knowing that his wife hated it because she is a lady. They both looked at his wife and which is when she rolled her eyes trying to hid the ghost of a smile on her face as she sighed and then answered, "Lord Tyrion, you are part of the pack and part of the Stark family… However, you do not want push your position so soon." Which caused the entire table to burst out in laughter. 

 

"I am sorry, your Grace for asking," Tyrion said as he continued to chuckle.

 

He watched as a true smile appeared on his wife’s lips as she nodded then exhaled before she looked between the two men and answered, "It is strange learning the art of Water Dancing… and I am quite surprised that I am actually enjoying the lessons… Especially if they will help me to defend myself if need be.” She then directed her gaze straight towards his Hand and added, “Lord Tyrion, you should join our lessons."

 

Tyrion nodded. “I would find Water Dancing quite interesting, but I am afraid I have no sword… and I am a little on the small side so a normal sword just would not do…”

 

“You do not have to worry about a practice sword, Lord Tyrion… I asked the blacksmiths to make you one this morning.” His youngest daughter interrupted proudly with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

 

Ned was amused to find his Hand speechless for a few moments. When Tyrion finally found his voice, he could hear the gratitude in his tone as he spoke, “Well my Princess, once I return from our trip to the Wall, I will be honored to attend some Water Dancing lessons with you.”

 

Arya then jumped from her seat and Tyrion a hug, and Ned could have sworn that the Imp’s eyes had turned glassy as he returned his youngest daughter’s embrace.

 

His youngest daughter then informed the rest of the table that the new training swords would be ready in a couple of days. As she told the family, Ned looked around the table and noticed that Rickon was very excited about having his first training sword, but he was surprised to see that both his wife and eldest daughter seemed to be excited as well. Seeing the excitement on everyone’s faces brought a smile to his face as well.

 

After a few more minutes of discussing the new training swords his head was pulled towards the front of the Great Hall as Maester Lewin entered sack that appeared to be full of scrolls.

 

"Good Morning, Your Graces.” The Maester greeted him and his wife with a slight bow of his head once he reached the table.

 

Ned could tell that the kind old Maester had some business that needed to be discussed, so he asked, "What is it Maester Luwin?"

 

A weary smile appeared on the Maester face as he handing him the bag and said, "Your Grace, you seem to have received several correspondences that require your attention."

 

Ned was curious when he looked inside the bag and saw many scrolls; each was sealed with a different sigil. He noticed that there was one from most of the major houses and several minor houses from each Kingdom in Westerso. He took a deep breath, knowing that these scrolls would need to be addressed sooner, rather than later, and he had a good guess as to what was written on each of those scrolls.

 

The King looked at his children and forced a smile as he said, "Arya, Sansa and Rickon go on to your lessons with Syrio…." He saw that his children were surprised but they nodded. 

 

After his children stood up from the table, Arya and Rickon excitedly ran from the Great Hall, however he noticed that and his oldest daughter Sansa, was looking at his wife.

 

“Sansa, is everything alright?” His wife asked with concern in her voice.

 

"Mother, aren’t you coming with us?" Sansa asked shyly.

 

His wife looked at him, and by the look in her eyes he could tell that she wanted him to answer the question for her. So the King stood from the table and walked towards his daughter. When he reached her he knelt down, put a hand on her shoulder, looked her in the eyes and said, “Sansa, I need your mother to help me with the raven scrolls today.” 

 

His daughter wordlessly nodded in understanding. 

 

He then let out a sigh of relief, gave his daughter a small smile and added, “Will you please let Syrio know that your mother and Tyrion will not be able to attend this morning because I need their assistance and we have urgent matters that need to be discussed?” 

 

“Of course, Father,” she answered with a slight smile of her own.

 

He pulled his daughter in for a tight embrace and kissed her brow. When he let her go he pat her shoulder, smiled and said in an encouraging tone, “Now go on... make me proud.” 

 

She nodded and smile, “I will do my best, Father.” She then turned and left the Great Hall. 

 

After the child had left the room, he turned around and headed back towards the table. As he walked he noticed that his wife, brother, and his Hand appeared confused. 

 

When he sat down at the table, Tyrion looked at him and asked,  "What is it, your Grace?" 

 

He took a deep breath as he opened the bag and the emptied all the raven scrolls onto the table and said, “We seem to have received several messages this morning.” He then took another deep breath, looked into the faces of Catelyn, Benjen and Tyrion and continued, "I believe that all of these are requests for marriage alliances.”

 

He noticed that Lord Tyrion had a look of disbelief, his wife had knitted brows, and Benjen was trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smirk. Ned and Benjen knew that this was their chance helping Jon making alliances. 

 

"We need to go through all of them and see which offers will be most beneficial for the North in the coming wars," The King announced as he grabbed one of the scrolls. He looked at his wife, brother, and Maester Lewin who all nodded in acknowledgment. He looked at his Hand, Lord Tyrion and noticed that he had a perplexed look on his face.

 

"Coming wars, your Grace?" Tyrion asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Ned took a deep breath, 'I cannot let him know the truth yet,' he thought as he looked at his Hand, hoping he could not press for more information as he answered, "Aye, your Sister, Queen Cersei, will most likely want her revenge on the North... The North is strong but we need more alliances if and when war does arrive." 

 

His Hand smile sadly and said, "I see my dear friend... You are smart not to underestimate your friends or foes." 

 

Ned nodded, “Aye, I do not." He turned his gaze back at his Queen, who took a deep breath.

 

"Ned, I thought we agreed we would let the children decide who they marry." 

 

He took a deep breath and nodded. “Aye, will let them... However, we know that we need alliances, Cat. We will read through all these letters... We will choose the ones that can offer the North the most support, then ask them to bring their son or daughter to Winterfell... This way we and the children can meet their intended... if we like the character of the potential match, we can let the child decide if they agree or do not agree to marry... If our child agrees to the match we will allow for them to marry when they come of age, if they do not agree... well, then we will have to respectfully decline the offer and look for the next best choice.”

 

He saw his wife surprised smile and she nodded in agreement. 

 

The five of them then quickly started opening and sorting through the scrolls. It did not take them long to sort the scrolls into piles of potential choices. Overall, all the offers except two seemed genuine... and those two betrothal requests made Ned’s blood boil in rage. 

 

The first one that angered him was Roose Bolton’s request that he legitimize his bastard, Ramsey Snow and then allow the bastard to marry his daughter Sansa. As he read the scroll he closed his fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white... All Ned could think about was how Ramsey had repeatedly raped Sansa when Littlefinger had had sold her to Roose in her past life. However, receiving this request had reminded him the he would have to do something about the House that was plotting against him and House Stark. 

 

The other marriage request that made him furious was the one he had received from Walder Frey. He could not believe that the Old man had the audacity to ask for any one of his children to marry one of his many children or grandchildren... He even asked if he would be willing to ‘Marry his bastard, Jon Snow, to one of his trueborn daughters,’ and he said would pay Ned the girl’s weight in silver. ‘Gods help us, that is one sick old man!’ Ned thought to himself as he threw the scroll on the table. 

 

After he took a deep breath a small smile did grace his lips because he knew that his son, Jon, was already married to the love of his life... To a young woman whom he has heard to be the most beautiful women to ever live and who had been the mother to Jon’s son in his past life. He was excited to meet his new good-daughter, Daenerys Targaryen... and hoped that one day he would be able to hold his grandchildren in his arms... However, Ned knew that it would most likely be years until they were meet.

 

He was pulled from his long thoughts when he heard the sound of his wife, Catelyn, pound her fisted her hands on the table. She then angrily exclaimed, "I cannot believe that Walder Frey and Roose Bolton dare try to make a marriage betrothal to any of our children! After what they did to our family!" 

 

Ned looked at Benjen and Maester Luwin who both appeared upset by the requests as well. He then looked at Tyrion, and who appeared confused as to why they were so upset about these offers.

 

He moved over to his wife and whispered into her ear. "Cat remember Tyrion does not know what happened... We need to keep that way for now." 

 

Cat looked at him and nodded, then turned her gaze to his Hand, smiled and said, “I apologize for my tone Lord Tyrion." 

 

Tyrion returned the smile, "It is fine your Grace." 

 

He took a deep breath and then took two scrolls from the top of the pile; the two he felt were the best option for the North. He placed them both in front of the other four people gathered around the table and watched as they looked at the two raven scrolls. 

 

"Our best options for the North are the offers from Martell of Dorne and House Tyrell of the Reach." He took a deep breath and grabbed the raven from the Tyrells. "Lord Mace Tyrell has proposed the hand of his daughter, Margaery to my heir Robb... He states that she will one day make a lovely Queen of the North and that she would give my son many beautiful children." 

 

He looked at Tyrion who smiled and agreed, "Your Grace, that marriage alliance would be a great alliance for the Reach and the North. The Reach is well known for their food production and for their armies." 

 

He then looked at Maester Luwin who smiled and nodded. "Lord Tyrion is right, your Grace. The Reach has a large army and is the largest producer of Grain in Westeros... It would be very helpful for feeding armies at times of war as well as boasting our stores for the Long Winter that is predicted by the Citadel."

 

He was glad that everyone appeared to be in agreement of this proposal. “Maester Lewin, could you please get me some parchment, an inkwell and a quill?”

 

“Of course, your Grace.” The Old Maester answered as he quickly went to retrieve the requested items.

 

As he waited for the Maester to return he thought to himself, 'Robb did tell me he will only marry for an alliance for Jon's war for the Throne,' he smiled when he thought of the man his son has become. 

 

When the Maester returned with the requested items he wrote a letter addressed to Mace Tyrell, even though he knew his mother, Olenna, was the true force behind the Reach.

 

 

 

 

Lord Mace Tyrell,

I have received your request of alliance through the marriage. I am willing to accept the offer of your daughter Margaery and my oldest son and heir, Robb. 

However, before I can accept this generous offer, my wife and I would like to opportunity to meet your daughter, whom we have heard is a true golden rose. I am aware that you are a busy man, but I would like to invite you, your mother, Olenna, and daughter Margaery to Winterfell so we can meet in person and discuss terms of this alliance that may one day allow your daughter to become Queen in the North. 

I am preparing to go on mission beyond the wall to investigate some disturbing reports, I have received. Therefore, I will be unable to entertain guest until I have returned. I will send another raven when I leave Castle Black to inform you when I will return.

I look forward to hearing your response and to meeting you and your lovely daughter.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North

 

 

When he was done, he looked at the kind Maester who smiled. 

 

"Maester Lewin, I need for you to send his letter to Lord Tyrell," the King said in an authoritative tone.

 

“Of course, your Grace. I will send it as soon as we have concluded this meeting” The Maester answered as he took the scroll from the King’s outstretched hand.

 

He looked at his wife who he knew was surprised. He was aware that she did not agree that he just arranged a marriage for their eldest son but knew he would have to tell her soon that Robb had informed him, before he left for Pentos, that he wishes only to marry for an alliance that would aid his brother in unseating the Lannisters and Baratheons from power. He then noticed that his Hand, Lord Tyrion also appeared surprised by his action. Ned gave them both a weary smile as he said, “I know that Robb would want me to do what is best for the North and for his family.”

 

After those words, his Queen and his Hand stayed quiet but nodded in understanding. He then grabbed the letter from House Martell. He took a deep breath and said, "I will ask Doran Martell to send his second son, Trystane, to Winterfell... This will give us and Sansa a chance to meet the young man. Then if we believe him to be a suitable match, we will her decide if she wants to marry him." 

 

He looked at his wife who then saw her frown turn into a smile and nodded. He then looked at Tyrion who also smiled.

 

"That seems to be a good idea, your Grace. However... I am surprised as to why you are not requesting his eldest son, Quentyn for Sansa’s hand?" 

 

Ned smiled as he said, “I feel that Trystane would be a better match, considering he and Sansa are closer in age.”

 

The Dwarf of Casterly Rock, nodded and agreement and the King took another piece of parchment and started writing.

 

 

 

 

Prince Doran Martell,

I have read your request for the marriage alliance. We would like to entertain a betrothal between your second son, Trystane, and my eldest daughter, Sansa.

I must inform you I told my children they could choose who they wish to marry. You may send Trystane, along with his personal guards and a representative from House Martell, to Winterfell, so that our children can meet. If my Queen and I feel this is a suitable match after meeting your son, and Sansa agrees, then I will accept your request of a marriage alliance.

I am preparing to go on mission beyond the wall to investigate some disturbing reports, I have received. Therefore, I will be unable to entertain guest until I have returned. I will send another raven when I leave Castle Black to inform you when I will return and at that time, we will be happy to receive you at Winterfell.

I look forward to your response

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North

 

He took a deep breath, rolled the parchment into a scroll and handed it to Maester Luwin. "Please, send this message to Prince Doran Martell... I believe these will be the only two responses I have for now... later today, if you could, please send replies to the other requests, respectfully declining their offers at this time.”

 

"Of course, your Grace. I will head to the rookery now." The Maester, gave him a slight bow of his head, then took his leave to send to two scrolls to House Tyrell and House Martell. 

 

After the Maester left, he sighed, knowing that he had so much to do before he left for the Wall. He then looked at Benjen who smiled widely and Ned rolled his eyes but also smiled. It was then that he saw that Lord Tyrion had picked up the scroll from Walder Frey and was reading it with a furrowed brown. Ned sighed, knowing that that his Hand would suggest accepting a marriage alliance between Jon and one of the old man’s daughters or granddaughters.

 

"Your Grace... Walder Frey states that he would be willing to make an alliance by marrying one of his daughters or granddaughters to your bastard, Jon Snow! This is an excellent opportunity!" 

 

Ned looked at his wife Catelyn and brother Benjen, with pleading eyes, but neither offered their assistance in the situation. ‘Gods what should I say,’ he thought before he exhaled and said, "Aye, I know." 

 

Tyrion raised his eyebrow and asked, "Your Grace, why don't you send a raven to Walder Frey as well? You are King now... You can legitimize your bastard... make him a Stark... which would probably make the Old man even happier... he is even offering the girls weight in silver!" 

 

Ned took a deep breath and looked at his wife who smiled and nodded in approval of Jon being legitimized. He then pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to prevent a headache as the thoughts swirled through his mind, ‘Jon is already married and already has a name... what strange rumors would be said in the other kingdoms if I legitimize Jon after eighteen years?’ Ned sighed again then answered, "I know I can legitimize, Jon... but I will not... I will not dishonor my wife or her family in the Riverlands... I have already pained her enough by raising my son alongside of our trueborn children... Jon is not a Stark." 

 

He saw his wife was about to protest but he shook his head, she stopped herself nodded. However, she gave him a look, letting him know that they would be discussing this later. The sound of Tyrion’s voice pulled him away from the silent conversation he was having with his wife.

"Your Grace, even if you do not legitimize your bastard, you can still accept Walder Frey's marriage request... An alliance with the Frey’s would be beneficial to the North because if war does arrive, you will need the bridge at the Twins to travel South." 

 

He smiled and shook his head no as he mused to himself, 'Jon's dragon will be able to take care of that,’ before saying out loud, "Thank you for your counsel, Tyrion. However, my son, Jon Snow, has told me he does not wish to marry..." He was then cut of by his hand Tyrion.

 

"I do not understand, your Grace... Does the boy not like women?" 

 

'That is definitely not the case, considering he is already married to a beautiful Targaryen Princess... should I tell him that Jon is already married... no, I cannot... if I do he will start asking more questions... he will want to know where Jon’s wife is, because she is not here...' So he smirked at his Hand, and told him something that the old Jon would have told him, "Jon does like girls, however, he does not wish to bring more bastards into this world." 

 

Tyrion shook his head, and Ned could tell he was not willing to give up the fight. "Your Grace, if he marries he can have another name than Snow... Even if you do not give him the Stark name, you can give him a new name." 

 

'He is getting curious... Gods I hope he will drop this for now,' he thought as he shook his head and said, "I am sorry Lord Tyrion but that is my decision. Jon has told me he does not wish to marry and I will not force him to do something he does not wish to do... and besides House Tully is loyal to House Stark. Lord Tully is the Liege Lord of the Riverlands, and House Frey is one of their bannermen..." 

 

He watched as his Hand was searching his mind for a retort, but they conversation was halted when the doors to the Great Hall opened. They all turned their gaze towards the doors and he saw his new blacksmith entering the room with a smile on his face and two packages wrapped in white clothe.

 

"Your Grace!" Gendry said with a smile as he walked towards the table where he was sitting with his counsel. 

 

The King quickly got up from his chair and went over to the young Blacksmith. "Gendry!” He happily exclaimed, “Do you have news for me on my swords?" 

 

“Mikken and I finished them this morning... I have them here, your Grace,” he answered as he lifted the two packages he held in his arms.

 

Ned turned his head towards the table at the sound of a chair scraping across the stone floor and saw Benjen walking over to them. 

 

"Swords? What swords, Ned?" Benjen asked with a furrowed brow.

 

He looked at his brother and smiled. He then looked back as Gendry and said, “Come on lad, let’s set them down on the table.” 

 

The blacksmith nodded with a smile, and walked towards the table with him and his brother.

 

When Gendry places the packages on the table he unwrapped them and proudly said, "Two new Valyrian Steel longswords as requested, your Grace... One for you," he said as he handed Ned the sword with the black Direwolf pommel. 

 

Ned drew his new sword from it scabbard and was blown away by the beautiful craftsmanship. He was in awe of the rippled pattern in smoky blade and the intricate design of the direwolf on the pommel. He smiled and Gendry and said, “This is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined... Thank you, lad.”

 

“You are welcome, your Grace,” the blacksmith answered with a smile. He continued to smile as he grabbed the other sword from the table, looked at his brother and said, "And one for you, Benjen Stark..." 

 

Ned smiled as he saw the look of disbelief on his brother’s face. He swore he saw tears in his eyes as he removed the Valyrian Steel Sword with the brown direwolf pommel from it scabbard. 

 

"How... How did you make new Valyrian Steel swords Ned?" Benjen mumbled as he admired his new sword.

 

However, before he could answer, his wife started speaking. "We heard that Gendry had been trained in melting and reforging Valyrian Steel... so we offered him a position in Winterfell’s forge... We then had him reforge Ice into two new Valyrian Steel Swords... one for you, Benjen and one for my husband." 

 

He still saw how surprised his brother was as he whispered as he looked at the sword, "You did this for our Journey beyond the wall..." 

 

“Aye,” The King answered with a smile as he watched his brother began slowly swinging the sword with a smirk on his face.

 

"Thank you ... brother... This means more to me than than I could ever express with words.”

 

“You are welcome... I will do anything in my power to keep my family safe,” Ned responded with a smile.

 

Benjen then looked at Gendry and said, "Young man, this is truly amazing work... You did a marvelous job... Thank you." 

 

He watched Gendry smiled and nodded.

 

“Gendry, my brother is right... this craftsmanship is remarkable... I don’t think you yet understand how important this task was to me and my family. We will forever be thankful for your service to House Stark and the North... and know that you will always have a place here as long as you desire.”

 

"Thank you, your Grace... I am truly thankful to be here... For the first time in my life I feel like I have a home..." 

 

He then walked over to the blacksmith and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Again... This is truly amazing Gendry, and please give my thanks to Mikken as well." 

 

He saw the blacksmith smiled and nodded. “I will, your Grace... I guess I had better get back to the forge and help Mikken with the training swords for your family.” With those words Gendry left the Great Hall, closing the door behind him as he left.

 

There was a comfortable silence for a few moments and Ned took the opportunity swing his new sword. He was surprised how much lighter it was compared to Ice or normal sword. The silence was soon broken when his Hand began to speak.

 

"Your Grace, Benjen... I have always heard that all great swords have a name... What will you two name your new swords?" 

 

The King smiled as he admired his Valyrian Steel Sword, and he could only think of one name. "I will name mine Frost," He decided. He then looked at his brother, who was smiling at his sword as well.

 

"That is a good name, brother.” Benjen said as he looked up from his sword and towards him, “And I will name mine Winter Storm." 

 

"After Winters Wolf?" Ned asked with a raised his eyebrow. 

 

He saw his brother smiled and nodded as he confirmed, "Aye, after Winters Wolf." 

 

"Winters Wolf, your Grace?" His Hand asked with a knitted brow.

 

He smiled and nodded. "Aye, after one of on my son Jon’s, Valyrian Steel swords." 

 

He saw the surprised look on the Dwarf of Casterly Rocks face. "Swords?" 

 

He smiled and nodded. "Aye, one of his swords is named Winters Wolf." 

 

He saw his hand take a deep breath. "And his other sword?" 

 

"Dark S..." but before he was able to tell the truth Benjen finished his sentence.

"Storm... I think it was named Dark Storm... Right Ned?” He said with a knowing smile.

 

“Aye, the swords are named Winters Wolf and Dark Storm.” Ned answered as he gave his brother a silent look of thanks. 

 

The King then looked at his Hand, and could tell he wanted to ask more questions, so he cut him off before he could ask. "We best be getting ready to leave Lord Tyrion. We will begin our journey to the Wall later today." 

 

He saw his hand smiled and nodded. "Of course, Your Grace. I will take my leave then to finish my packing." 

 

"Aye, I will meet you in the courtyard after our midday meal."

 

Tyrion nodded, and was about to take his leave when their attention was pulled back to the table by his wife's voice. "Ned, there is one more scroll."

 

Ned then turned to his wife, who was still sitting at the table, and he was surprised when she held up one last raven scroll that had not yet been opened. He walked over to the table, sat down and took the scroll from his wife's outstretched hand. When he turned the scroll he saw the it was sealed with the sigil of Reed. He took a deep breath and opened the scroll. He quickly read through it and smiled. He then looked at his wife Catelyn and gave her the letter to read. After she read through it she sighed, and had a slight frown on her face but nodded in agreement.

 

"If you would excuse me I need to send a raven too Howland Reed, letting him know that our son, Bran may marry his daughter, Meera, when they both come of age." 

 

He saw the surprised look on Benjen and Tyrion’s faces. He then heard the doors opened again and saw Maester Luwin enter.

 

"Maester Luwin I was about to go and look for you." The King of the North called to the older man.

 

He saw the Maester raised his eyebrow, "What do you need, your Grace?" 

 

He then smiled and said, "I have one more letter I must write." He took the quill and another peace of parchment and started writing a letter addressed to Howland Reed. After he was done writing he looked at the Maester and smiled.

 

"Send this letter to Winter Town. There is a young man named Jojen Reed waiting for this message." 

"Of course, your Grace." The Maester replied as he took the letter from Ned's hand then and left the Great Hall. 

 

He then sighed knowing that his son Bran was know betrothed to Meera but understood that it was necessary for the future. He then turned his gaze back at his wife who still had a frown on her face. He then looked towards his hand and his brother, who appeared perplexed as to why he would accept a betrothal that did not help to secure an alliance for the North. He decided to address it at a later time, so he instead said, "Benjen and Tyrion you best be getting ready. We will soon travel to the Wall." 

 

They both nodded and then took their leave. When he turned back around, he saw that his wife was still looking at him. He sighed and waited for her to speak.

 

"Ned, do you care to explain why you are so willing to accept Tyrell’s offer without Robb's consent? We did not let Robb have a choice in his betrothal..." 

 

"Aye, that is true... However, before Robb left, we had a conversation. He told me he will only marry for a alliance that would aid his brother... and besides Cat I heard that Lady Margaery Tyrell is one of the most beautiful young women in all of Westeros. I have also heard that she is kind and has a big heart to help others." He exhaled as he closed the distance between then, and then in a soft tone added, "We need allies Cat, for the Great War that is coming." His wife taking a deep breath and nodded. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

 

After the kiss she looked him in the eyes and asked, "Ned why did you not legitimize Jon to Jon Stark?" He then smiled.

 

"Cat... You know why I cannot make him a Stark... He already has a name... He is the true Crown Prince... Aegon Targaryen... Also, if I legitimized him now, after eighteen years, it would cause rumors to start once again..."

 

"Ned... I treated him horribly... All he ever wanted growing up was to have a name... and to have a Mother's love... If I had known... I could have loved him like he deserved..."

 

He smiled at her, "Cat, I know you feel horrible about your treatment of Jon... But it is my fault... I just wanted to keep him safe... If you did not treat him badly, it would have caused rumors..." He watched him wife sigh, and gave a sad nod in agreement. He then kissed her forehead once more, then said, "I need to get ready for my quest to the Wall." 

 

He watched her nod. He smile at her then turned and left the Great Hall to finish preparing for his quest beyond the Wall.


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

 

Daenerys knew that she should be up, preparing for the day and putting on her sparring clothes. However, she was still laying in bed, thinking about what her husband had mumbled in his sleep...'Please Dany... Do not do it! If you hurt him! I swear on my father’s grave I will kill you myself!'

 

She felt tears that had welled in her eyes starting to trickle down her cheeks... She wanted to know why Jon would ever threaten to kill her. What did she do to dishonor her love to him? She was thinking about who she was going to hurt that would evoke such a reaction from the man she loved. 'Was it his best friend Samwell Tarly? Was it their good friend and Hand, Tyrion Lannister?'  She sighed... She wanted to know... needed to know what had happened... What she had done to her lover... What did she do that was so horrible that it haunted her husband’s dreams... She sighed again because he had vowed that he would never tell her.

 

After a few more minutes of brooding, she got out of the bed to ready herself for the day. She walked over to her chest, and noticed that the servants had laid out her sparing clothes for her. She put on her small clothes, followed by her breeches, silver shirt, and the her boots. Once she was dressed, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, sighed once more in an effort to shake the lingering thoughts, before she walked to the door, opened it and left her room. 

 

She walked through the halls of Illyrio’s manse in search of her husband. When she found him, he was speaking to Ser Jorah Mormont in the hallway outside of the kitchen. She smiled as noticed that they both appeared to be in good spirits, laughing while having a conversation. She walked over towards them and her husband saw her approaching he gave her a smile so big that it reached his eyes. The old knight also gave her a smile and after a good morning greeting he took his leave, leaving her alone with Jon. 

 

She then saw her husband holding his hand out for her, and a natural smile spread across her face as she took his hand. To her surprise, he pulled her hand, bringing her to his chest and he kissed her roughly on the lips. When he broke the kiss she pulled away and giggled. She then looked at him, and murmured, “Good morning, my love.”

 

His face lit up with the beautiful smile that caused her heart to fill with love and her sadness and curiosity to fade away.

 

She felt how his hands traveled down to her waist and then he pulled her back flush with his front and kissed her on the mouth once again. Soon their tongues were battling each other which cause her to moan into his mouth as he growled into hers. When she finally pulled away and giggle again and took deep breaths in an attempt to calm her growing arousal. She looked up to his eyes and saw the desire in his eyes as well. His hands then meandered from her waist to her ass and when he pulled her close. She smiled contently as she placed her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and felt happiness coursing through her body because she was being securely held in the warm embrace of the love of her life.

 

"My love... How did you sleep?" She asked as her head left his shoulder and looked up at him.

 

She saw him smile again. "I slept wonderfully," he murmured into her ear.

 

She smiled at him and said, “I’m glad you slept well.” She then placed her head back onto his shoulder and thought, 'Will he ever tell me what happens in his dreams? And stop lying to me?' She closed her eyes and snuggled into his shoulder, trying to wash away those thoughts as  his strong arms tightened their embrace. When he tightened the embrace he also squeezed her ass and she could feel his growing bulge pressing into her lower abdomen. She smiled as he pressed kisses her head over and over again. He then placed his head on hers and there was a comfortable silence between them being in each other's arms. After a few tranquil moments she was about to suggest they go back to their chambers but he husband spoke first.

 

"Let's go break our fast, my love," he whispered in her ear.

 

She looked up at him, smiled and kissed him once more on the mouth before she pulled away nodded. He took her arm and guided her to the kitchen. 

 

They soon entered the kitchen she saw Sarogon eating some fish that had been left out on the counter. She smiled as she walked over to their child and scratched his chin. She turned her gaze back at her husband who smiled at her.

 

"He's growing up so fast... he can barely sit on my shoulder anymore." He mused as he walked up behind her, put his chest against her back, wrapped one hand around her waist and used the other to love on the dragon as well. She smiled as she looked at Sarogon, purring as he nuzzled into Jon’s hand. 

 

After a few minutes, he took his hand away from the dragon and used it to encircle her waist. He then stated to trail open mouthed kisses from her cheeks down her neck, which cause her to giggle and smile. She turned her head to look at him and placed her lips on his. Jon then turned her around so their chest were pressed together. She wrapped her arms behind his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. They kissed each other passionately and Dany began to feel the slickness pooling between her thighs. She was in the process of moving her hands from around his neck, with the intention of unlacing her husband’s breeches when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them. She whipped her head to the sound, and saw her good-brother Robb, standing in the doorway.

 

"I see I'm interrupting something. Do I need to come back to break my fast after you two are done?" He asked.

 

She felt the blush rising in her cheeks as her husband tucked his head into her neck and chuckled. When he pulled his head from her neck, he looked at brother and said, "No, its fine Robb we were about to break our fast... Do you wish to join us?" 

 

She looked at her good brother who had a smirk on his face. "I would like nothing more brother... I did come to the kitchen so that I could break my fast." 

 

Her good-brother then walked over to them, first embracing her husband and then her. After he pulled away she looked at him, smiled and asked, "How did you sleep, good brother?"

 

“Wonderfully... and the two of you?" He asked with a smirk and raised his eyebrows knowingly.

 

“I slept very peacefully.” She answered with a smile. 

 

"I slept peacefully as well, brother." Jon answered before turning around to get a plate. 

 

As her husband began to fill his plate, her good-brother looked at her. She knew he was silently asking how Jon slept the night before. She shook her head, letting him know that he did not sleep peacefully. She saw him silently sigh and also nod, letting her know that they should talk about it in private.

 

She turned around, walked to her husband and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek as she grabbed her plate for herself and began to fill it with a variety of foods. He mouth began to water as she placed some fresh fruit, a honey cake and some bacon and fried eggs on her plate. When she was done, she walked over to the table and sat down in a wooden chair next to her husband. Robb joined them a few minutes later and the three of them had a pleasant conversation as broke their fast. They spoke the time Theon and Robb took Jon to a brothel for his name day... and how upset Theon got because Jon would not do anything with the whore because he thought of himself as a bastard. She smiled as she remembered that Jon has only ever bedded two women in their past life; herself and a wildling girl named Ygritte. She felt a little jealous knowing that is old lover was still breathing in this new life, but smiled knowing that Jon saved her not the wildling girl.

 

After they finished breaking their fast, her husband kissed her on the cheek, which made her blush as she smile at him. He then took her hand and kissed it before he stood up. Once he was on his feet, he looked at her apologetically as said, "I need to go see how my horrible uncle... Your horrible brother is doing... I will meet the both of you in the training yard shortly." 

 

She watched as her husband then walked over to Sarogon, who quickly jumped onto his shoulder. He smiled at the two of them and then left the dining room with he dragon. When she was sure that her husband was gone and out of ear shot, she turned towards Robb, who had a worried look in his eyes.

 

"Tell me what happened Dany?" He pleaded.

 

It felt good that her good-brother called her Dany and not Daenerys... it made her feel like a true member of the pack. She was glad that they became good friends and in the week that they had known each other, she was beginning to feel what it was like to have a true sibling. 

 

She sighed, as she stood-up from her chair, and began to pace around the room. She did not know exactly how to tell her good-brother what had happened. After a few moments she turn and looked at him and quietly said, "He... He seemed to have the nightmare again... but this time, when he woke-up this morning he screamed out loud..." 

 

She looked at her brother who raised his eyebrow and softly asked, "Was... was there more than just screaming?" 

 

She then remembered those words that he had mumbled before he woke... and again the thought of those words sent shivers down her spine. 'Dany do not hurt him!.. I swear on my father’s grave if you hurt him... I will kill you myself!' She sighed as she felt the tears trickling down her face. She looked at her good-brother who quickly stood-up, walked around the table and embraced her.

 

"Dany... tell me what is wrong?... What happened this morning?" He asked, with his voice dripping with concern as she buried her face into his shoulder, refusing to let go of his embrace. When she finally calmed herself down, Robb let go of the embrace and looked at her into the eyes and said, “Please, Dany, tell me what happened...”

 

"Robb... He... He mumbled something horrifying in his sleep..." She whispered.

 

"What did he say Dany? Talk to me...”

 

She took a deep breath. "While he was sleeping, he said these words 'Dany do not hurt him! If you hurt him I swear on my fathers grave I will kill you myself!' I am scared Robb... I don’t know what I did... But it had to have been something terrible!”

 

When Robb did not respond she glanced at him and saw a look of surprise on his face. She then took a few steps back from him, turned around and tried to calm down. She took a few deep breaths before she started talking again. "I first thought it might be Samwell Tarly or Tyrion Lannister...” Suddenly a realization hit her, she spun around and looked at her good brother with fear in her eyes as she gasped and whispered, "What if ... What if it was Rhaegar? What I killed our son?" 

 

Robb rushed over to her, embraced her as she started to cry once more and said,  "You would never kill your son Dany..." 

 

She cut him off. "I would never have hurt our baby boy... I would never kill our son... I would have done anything in my power to make sure he remained safe..." She pulled away, took a few steps back, looked at her good brother in the eyes and said, "I... After I was killed... The Night King must have changed me into a wight... I must have been the wight that stabbed our babe to death..." 

 

She saw the look in her good-brother’s eyes, telling her he wanted to say something or wanted to protest but was interrupted when Ser Jorah Mormont entered the dining room. She turned around and wiped the tears off her face, not wanting anyone to see that she was crying.

 

"Lord Robb... There was a raven what arrived for you... it is sealed with the sigil of House Stark... it says it is from the King in the North." The old knight handed him the scroll.

 

She was surprised by this, ‘The last King in the North was Torrhen Stark... who knelt to my ancestor...’ she thought to herself only to be pulled from her thoughts when she heard her good brother chuckle. She looked his direction.

 

"So my brother's plan must have worked." He said to her between chuckles.

 

"Plan?" She asked him with a furrowed brow.

 

She saw her good-brother looked at her and nodded. "Aye, Jon knew that Joffrey Baratheon, the bastard of a prince, would do something stupid... Something that would anger the Northern Lords which could lead to the North’s Independence and Father being named King in the North.” She saw him smile as he said the next words "We will have the full support if the North behind us to help take back the Iron Throne, Dany." 

 

She was surprised by this, "The North will aid us in the war for the throne?" 

 

Robb nodded, "Aye, that was our plan... I mean Jon's plan from the start... for the North to be independent when you travel back to Westeros... Father will also be working to secure other alliances.”

 

She felt her heart rate rising. 'So my husband has learned how to be an excellent player in the Game of Thrones?' I believe I will need to ask Jon more about his plan on retaking our throne.' She was then pulled from her thoughts when she heard her good brother spoke to the old knight.

 

"Thank you Ser Jorah ... You may take your leave.”

 

The old knight smiled slight and nodded his head, then said, “Please, let me know if you need anything, my Prince.” Robb chucked as Ser Jorah then turned around and left the room. 

 

After he had left, she watched as her good-brother open the scroll and began to read. As he read she watched the smirk fall from his face, and was replaced by a myriad of emotions. When he was finally finished reading she could see his eyes wide open and his arms were shivering. She was confused as to what was wrong so she walked over towards him, as softly asked in a concerned tone, "Robb, what happened? What is wrong?" 

 

She then saw him swallow hard as he looked down at the scroll. He then looked at her and gave her the raven scroll and simply said, "Read it." 

 

She was surprised but nodded. She opened the scroll and started reading it.

 

 

 

Dear Robb,

I have bittersweet news. Jon's plan worked... However, Joffrey is even more cruel then I had imagined... The bastard tried to rape Sansa and murder Arya... Arya would be dead if Nymeria had not intervened by biting his arm, which made for an uneasy situation.  

The Northern Lords was furious when they learned what happened and asked King Robert to make the North independent. Which was granted in exchange for Prince Joffrey’s life. I have named Tyrion Lannister as my Hand... Jon said he is a good person as well as a good friend. I'm glad to hear that Daenerys has been saved from Drogo and her brother Viserys.  Please help Jon to keep my good-daughter safe, as I would like to meet her and my future grandchildren in this life. 

Robb, I have other news. Lord Tyrion has been reading an old Valyrian book and has proclaimed that the shooting star in the sky is a symbol of the return of The Prince who was Promised. Also, he states that according to this book, Jon’s dragon is not an Ice Dragon or a Fire Dragon... he states it is a Hybrid Dragon, which will breath fire or ice based upon its rider’s emotions. The rider’s eyes will change color based on his or her emotions... Eyes will be a dark blue color for calmness or happiness for breathing ice or an orange-red color when the rider feels lost or heartbroken or rage, which leads the dragon breathing fire... He also stated that if the rider is filled with too much with rage, both the dragon and the rider will be uncontrollable and will kill anything in sight... anything that stands nearby, whether it be a friend or family (including his wife) or foe. You need to help him remain calm him... otherwise no one will be able to help him. No one will be able to stop him.

I will be leaving Winterfell in a few days, to accompany Uncle Benjen on his mission beyond the wall. Gendry has arrived safely and is busy reforging Ice as we speak.

I miss both of my sons, and hope to hear from you soon.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North

 

She was mixed with emotions while reading the letter... she felt anger at Prince Joffrey for what he had done to Jon’s younger sister. She felt love that she knowing that her Good-Father cared about her wellbeing, and smiled, knowing that she now also had a father and a true family. She then but soon was now felling confusion and fear taking over her. 'Jon... I need to speak to Jon. He cannot keep this thing from me. If he does not share... I will lose him forever.' 

 

She sighed and sat on the chair again. She heard her good brother walking over towards her.

 

"Dany ... Has Jon's eye color ever changed?" Robb asked with worry in his tone.

 

She looked up into his eyes, exhaled and nodded before she breathed out, “More than once." 

 

"When did you notice his eye color change first?" He asked softly.

 

She took a deep breath. "The time I noticed was the night of our wedding... Before the ceremony his eye color changed to a dark blue color." 

 

He smiled and sat next to her. "That is a good thing... If what my father said is true, that meant he was happy... calm.” 

 

She smiled and nodded.

 

Robb then asked her, "Have his eyes ever changed to an orange color?" 

 

She took another deep breath and nodded.

 

"When... When did this happen Dany?" She could hear the concern on his tone.

 

"His eyes change orange every time I asked him about his dreams... and every time he has tried to hide what happened in his dream." 

 

"We need him to share what happens in his dreams Daenerys. If we do not ... We might lose him forever." 

 

She took a deep breath and nodded.

 

"However, Dany... By doing this we need him to open up on his terms, not ours." Robb said with a frown on his face.

 

She knew he was right she took a deep breath and whispered, "You are right, Robb... we cannot push or we might lose him." she looked at him and saw his frown turned into a sad slight smile.

 

"Now, Warrior Queen let's go join my brother at the training yard for our sparing session.  Otherwise, Jon will be furious." 

 

As he said this she saw a goody smirk on his face, which made her laugh. He then help her up from her chair and they both took their leave from the dining room to join husband her husband in the training yard. 

 

As they walked through Illyrio’s manse, she told herself that she would become a warrior queen... she would not fall in battle this time... she would not make her husband have to kill her mindless body in this life......

 


 

 

Joffrey Baratheon  

 

They have been traveling for four days along the Kingsroad on their way back home, to King’s Landing. Joffrey was frustrated because they kept stopping, and would only travel about 50 miles per day. Tonight they had stopped somewhere just outside of the Borrowlands... only about are two hundred miles south of Winterfell, however, that was not enough for the Crown Prince. Joffrey was walking around the makeshift camp with his sworn sword, the Hound, and uncle Ser Jaime Lannister following closely behind. As they walked, they past by several common folk as well as some children. He noticed that all of them were looking at him as though he were a common thief. 'These peasants! They are all traitorous bastards... I cannot wait until the day I can take their heads for glaring at me as they are...' 

 

While they were walking someone threw an apple on to his face and yelled, "Get out of the North you rapist!" 

 

Joffrey did not see which one of the peasants threw the apple, but as he wiped of the apple juice from his face he then saw all the common folk shouting at him. The Hound quickly moved in front of him shielding him from further rotten fruit. The Crown Prince was furious. He felt like his blood was boiling as he screeched at the top of his lungs, "Who threw that! Who threw that! I changed my mind... I don’t care who threw it... Dog bring me all their heads!" 

 

He then noticed his father, red faced and frowning as he stomped a angrily towards him. Joffrey swallowed hard as his father approached, with Ser Barristan trailing closely behind... he could the King was pissed and was about to embarrass him even further.

 

When his Father reaches him, he grabbed him by the tunic and roared into his face, "Listen to me, you stupid boy! You can not kill everyone who treats you like shit!" 

 

He laughed and shook his head, "Father I'm the Crown Prince! Mother told me I can do whatever I want and have whatever I wa... awhhh”

 

He was shocked into silence when his father as he slapped him across the face. He placed his hand on his face as his eyes welled with tears... He to cry, but he willed the tears not to fall... his Mother told him that in order to be a good leader, the people needed to fear him... and if they saw him crying like a little bitch, they would never follow him... and he could already hear the Northern peasants laughing as his father scolded him like he was the child of a whore.

 

"You, thinking that you can do as you please is the reason why we lost one of the Seven Kingdoms! We may even lose more because of what you did... because of your stupidity! You really are a dumb cunt... I swear sometimes I think that your mother fucked someone else to create you!" His Father yelled and then slapped him across the face once again.

 

"I am the Crown Prince! The Seven Kingdoms will fear me and they will follow me!" He gritted out through his teeth.

 

He looked at his Father, he noticed the his nostrils were flaring, his face was as red and he swore steam was coming out of his ears as he shook his head. He took a deep breath, the slowly spoke in a gruff tone, "You... tried to rape the one of the daughters of a man who was my best friend, the Warden of the North... well now King of the North... and then when you did not have your way, you attempted to murder his other daughter! No one will ever follow you. If the other Six Kingdoms find out what you did... they will be a rebellion... they will all want to be independent." His Father then took a couple of steps back and was taking slow deep breaths.

 

He silently nodded his head, but thought to himself, 'I'm am the Crown Prince... I am the true heir to the seven kingdoms! When I become king I will have my revenge on the North! I will kill all of those Stark peasants!' He was pulled from his thoughts when one of the children of the common folk bumped into him. 

 

"I... I am s..sorry, Milord," the young child stuttered.

 

He felt as his blood boiled of frustration. 'He dares call me milord? I'm the prince! He is supposed to call me my Prince!' He placed his hand on his sword and roared, “I am not a Lord! I am your rightful Prince, and I will have your head!” He was about to pull his sword from it’s scabbed when he saw his father looking at him with shock fury in his eyes. 

 

It did not take longer than a second before his Father closed the distance between then and slapped him across the face twice more. Joffrey brought his fingers to his lip and wiped away a trickle of blood. He regretted what he did because now the tears were falling down his face, making him look weak in front of the stupid Northern common folk. Just when he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, his Father lashed out at him again.

 

"Listen to me you bastard!” He gritted out as he smacked him once more, “You has better start acting like a leader instead of a spoiled little bitch! You had better start showing me that you will be a King that the people look up to... If you do not start acting like a proper King, I will give your little brother Tommen, the Iron Throne and send you to that damn Wall!" His father then smacked him so hard that that he fell to the ground. However, his Father did not let him stay down, because he pulled him up by the tunic, looked him in the eyes and continued, “We need the kingdoms to be united more now than ever! Aegon Targaryen, who has a fucking living, breathing dragon, is just across the Narrow Sea, plotting his return to Westeros! He has named himself the True Heir to the Iron Throne... Do you actually think he will stay at Pentos for long?"  

 

He was shocked by what his father said, he could not speak, so he shook his head.

 

"He is said to have a Khalasar more than 100,000 thousand Dothraki savages! He has also married Daenerys Targaryen! I can not have my heir raping and murdering young girls! I need an heir who is kind and a warrior! Joffrey if you do not change your ways I will send you to the Wall! Do you understand me!" 

 

He opened his eyes wide in shock, not believing what his father said. "You will not send me to the Wall!" He squeaked our when he found his voice.

 

He saw the redness in his fathers face. "If it means that if I need to send you to the Wall in order to kill the last dragonspawns, then that is what I shall do! Not even your mother will be able to save your sorry ass!" 

 

He was surprised and swallowed down the bile that was rising in his throat. However, before Joffrey could retort, they were disturbed by his Father’s Kingsguards.

 

"Aegon Targaryen, your Grace?" He saw as his father looked at the Kingsguard member with a scowl on his face.

 

"Yes, Ser Beristain! Are you still loyal to those dragonspawns?" 

 

He saw the old knight man swallow and shake his head as he said, “No, your Grace... but Aegon was killed during the sack of King’s Landing.”

 

“I know that... but somehow... there is a man with a dragon, across the Narrow Sea with a dragon! Can I count on you if the war arrives?”

 

“Of course, your Grace.” The old Kingsguard answered as he bowed him head.

 

“Good.” His father then turned his gaze back towards Joffrey and gritted out as he waved a finger in his face, "I am warning you Joffrey... If you don’t shape up soon you will be at the Wall before the summer ends." His Father then sighed and walked away with Ser Barristan as the Hound and Ser Jaime escorted him to his personal tent......


 

Cersei Lannister

 

The sun hung low in the horizon when they finally made camp for the night. The Queen of the six southern kingdoms was thankful to be out of the fucking wheelhouse and sitting in her tent. However she was frustrated to still be in the North and she was still angry that the Traitorous Stark Dogs... Angry at their plotting and scheming against the Crown... and furious that they were able to trap her beloved Joffrey, causing him to lose his temper which led to their banishment from the largest of the seven Kingdom, which rightfully belonged to her son.

 

She walked around her tent trying to figure out how she will have revenge on the Stark dogs. She stopped to pour herself a glass of Dornish Red, to a sip and contemplated... she knew they needed to die... but how. She took another sip of her wine as she pondered just how she would achieve her vengeance... should she have them poisoned them or stabbed to death in their beds. She finished her glass of fine and smiled when she concluded the best way to make the Starks pay... She will have Sansa and Arya Stark assassinated for their actions against the Crown Prince... and she knew just the right man for the job.

 

She sent one of her guards to find the man... he was a just common sell sword who she had travel with them... because you never can know when you will need an assassin... He was disguised as one of the cooks so no one even knew he was really a killer. She poured another glass of wine as she waited. After about fifteen minutes the man entered her tent along with the guard she had sent to find him.

 

"You wanted to ask me something, your Grace?" Her sell sword asked.

 

She looked the man in the eyes. He was not much to look at, he was not strong and lean like her brother, but she had every confidence that he would be able to complete the task."Yes, I do.” She said coldly and evenly. She then turned her piercing gaze to her guard and authoritatively said, “Leave us... and when you do take ten paces away from this tent.”

 

“Yes, your Grace,” the guard answered before he bowed his head and took his leave.

 

Once they were alone and away from prying ears she poured the assassin a glass of wine, smiled at him and as she handed him the glass of wine said, “Please sit,” as she gestured towards the small table just in front of him. Once he was seated, she continued, “How would you like to have a pile of gold dragons?" 

 

The man smiled exposing his yellow teeth. "I would like nothing more, your Grace." 

 

She smiled as she opened the small wooden chest that was sitting on the table. She watched the man’s eyes grow wide when he saw exactly how much gold she was talking about. She then closed the box and the man looked up at her as she said, “You may have this if you kill two little girls for me." 

 

"Who is it that I need to kill, your Grace?" The man asked as he raised a questioning eyebrow and took a sip of his wine.

 

She smiled as opened the other box on the table and took out the Valyrian Steel danger. She ran her fingers down the side of the dagger as admired the rippled pattern in the metal and how it contrasted with the black bone handle. She then placed the dagger in front of the assassin, looked the man in the eyes and calmly stated, "The daughters of the King in The North... Sansa and Arya Stark." 

 

The man nodded and smiled, showing her his rotted yellow teeth as he said, "It shall be done, your Grace." He then picked up the dagger and put it into his sword belt.

 

She smiled wickedly as she slammed the chest containing the gold coins shut and stated, "Good... You shall receive your payment after you have completed your task... and you can also keep that dagger." 

 

She saw as the man nodded, finished his wine and then left her tent without another word. She smiled and then poured herself some more wine into her empty golden goblet.  She then sat down on a chair and smiled, knowing that she will soon have her revenge on the North. She was enjoying the tranquility of the moment, sipping her wine when suddenly she heard the tent’s flaps open. She looked up from her wine and saw her cousin, the King’s squire, enter.

 

"Your Grace, a raven has just arrived for you... It is from Casterly Rock and is sealed with your father’s sigil." 

 

‘Fuck... Father will be demanding answers... he will want to know why we have lost the north.’ She thought to herself as she took the scroll from Lancel’s outstretched shaking hand. Once she had the scroll she wordlessly nodded her head, signaling for him to leave. When he left the tent, she sighed and opened the scroll.

 

 

 

Cersei,

I have heard the news that we have lost one of the Seven Kingdoms because of your son's arrogance. I am disappointed that you allowed this to happen... You need to teach him discipline! Your son must learn how to control himself... how to become a good king... otherwise we will lose the six remaining kingdoms before the damn boy can even sit on the throne. If you do not discipline him and teach him right from wrong, will send him to the Wall myself! Because of your stupidity and coddling of the boy, the throne is vulnerable to a rebellion. I will see you at the capital soon to discuss this and other urgent matters with you... I would like to hear from you and your brother, Tyrion, betrayed his family and became Hand to the King in the North.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of The King, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock

 

She felt the rage returning to her veins as she tried to calm herself by taking another sip of wine... It was not helping. ‘I have to see Jaime... he will know what to do,’ she thought as she stood up and went to in search of her brother’s tent. 

 

Cersei pulled her cloak tighter over her shoulders as she walked through the camp. When she reached his tent, she told her guards to stay and she pulled open the flap, and entered unannounced. When she entered, she saw him, he was in the process of removing his Kingsguard armor.

 

When their eyes meet, he sighed and softly said, "Cersei, this is not the best time... When we are in a camp and there is no privacy.”

 

She let out a laugh and then in a quiet but rough tone stated, "That is not why I came here... I came here to discuss the matter of my husband." 

 

She could see the look of surprise on the face as he walked closer to her, wearing only breeches and a thin cotton tunic as he asked with a knitted brow, "Your husband?" 

 

An evil smile spread across her face as she nodded. She then began to pace around his tent as she spoke, "I was thinking, Jaime. Maybe it is time that my husband took a permanent leave..." She stopped her pacing and looked him in the eyes, and was shocked when he did not seem to share her enthusiasm. 

 

“You mean to poison your husband?" He asked in a disapproving tone as he forcibly exhaled and looked down at the ground.

 

"What is wrong Jaime? I thought this was something that you, of all people, would want? We could be rid of my husband... and we could be together...” she added as she rubbed he hand down the side of his face and lifted his chin so he had to look her in the eyes.

 

"Yes, it is... I hate seeing how he treats you... but... Cersei, I do not think it is the best time to kill your husband?"

 

"And why not Jaime?" She gritted out through her teeth.

 

She watched as he frowned and sighed before he answered quietly, "We need him at the moment... Do you honestly think, after Robert has died, the kingdoms would immediately follow Joffrey? After what he did it is going to take time to regain the trust of the people... Therefore, we need the Fat King alive... in order to stop the other six kingdoms from rebellion against the Throne... As long as King Robert lives we still have time to sort out the vile actions of our bastard son." She could not believe what she just heard she wanted to protest but was cut off by her brother. "And besides Cersei... Have you not heard about the a man across the Narrow Sea?”

 

“What man?”

 

“The young man calling himself Aegon Targaryen... He is a much bigger threat to deal with at this time... If the rumors are true, the man has hatched a dragon, he has married Daenerys Targaryen... and has an Army of Dothraki screamers..." 

 

"He is nothing than a pretender..." she snapped as she cut him off.

 

"A pretender, who has a dragon, who is married Daenerys Targaryen... and who has a large army... Cersei we both know if he is a true Targaryen or a Blackfyre or even a pretender... if the Kingsdoms are not united, he will easily conquer Westeros... Cersei, he calls himself the true heir to the Iron Throne... and if he proves himself to right, the Targaryen Loyalist will swarm to his side... Our son Joffrey has no Baratheon or Targaryen blood in his veins... the only Kingdoms that might aid us are the Westerlands and the Stormland." 

 

She took a deep breath opened her mouth and was about to talk, but he held up a finger indicating that he was not done. When she closed her mouth he continued.

 

"War is arriving Cersei... The Targaryen are coming to Westeros to take back their throne. And as much as I hate to say this, we need your shitty husband to help us to fight the war against the Targaryens... We cannot kill him, because if we do, the kingdoms could either declare their own independence or join this Aegon Targaryen's side... they will not care if he is trueborn or a bastard... they will see him as someone better than Joffrey."  She wanted to protest but her brother continued with pleading eye, "Please Cersei... Do not poison him until we speak with father. We must seek his counsel before we decided what we should do." 

 

She sighed and reluctantly nodded, knowing that her brother was right for now.

 

"Now Cersei, is there anything else you wished to discuss with me?" 

 

She she shook her head, smiled at her brother lover, and then said, "Good night, Jaime I will see you tomorrow." 

 

Which made her lover smile. After he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, she left his tent and walked back at her own makeshift shelter.

 

'I will never allow this, Aegon Targaryen, to take the throne that belongs to my Joffrey,'she thought as she began scheming ways she could get rid of this pretender who calls himself Aegon Targaryen......

 

 

Notes:

Comment below land let us know what you guys think of the chapter!!

Chapter 13: Truth

Notes:

Hey, guys finally new chapter woohoo!! Thank you all for your wonderful support and love! We really appreciate it!Next chapter is going to be massive!! So hope you guys are looking forward to that! But anyway let us know what you guys think in the comments below. Comments and opinions and ideas are always appreciated but anyway as I ways say sit back relax and enjoy the new chapter!! And last thing I would just like to thank my co-writer to make the chapter in the amazing form you see below but anyway enjoy the chapter!! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon Snow

 

Jon reached the secret chambers at Winterfell that he shared with Daenerys... Where his son and wife were being protected by Sam, Gilly and Ghost. He opened the door and was surprised when he saw blood splattered all over the floor... he gasped as he saw his best friend Samwell Tarly dead on the ground surrounded by a pool of crimson blood. Beside his friend he saw Gilly, Little Sam and Ghost also slain on the ground... They had all been stabbed multiple times. He shivered when he saw Sam’s family Valyrian Steel sword, Hearts Bane, on the ground. He knew Sam had died trying to protect his family as well as his babe, Rhaegar. He did not have time to breakdown and cry because he heard the wails of his son.

He snapped his gaze to where he heard his son’s cries and gasped at the sight before him... Across the room he saw his beautiful wife... his Dany... with haunting light blue eyes. Her skin blue as the sky. And there was a crown of ice upon her head. His mindless wife looked at him not saying a word. She picked up their baby from his crib and cradled him in her arms. The only sound he could hear was the bawling of baby Rhaegar... He knew that his son knew that that was no longer his mother.

He felt tears coming down his face as he cried out,  "Daenerys... let go of him! Daenerys... don’t hurt him... if you hurt him I swear on my father’s grave I will not hesitate to kill you myself!" He felt numb... the only thing he could feel were the tears on his cheeks. He stared into his undead wife’s blue eyes, which were filled with frozen tears.

Jon could tell she was trying to fight the Night King’s spell... her hand was wavering over their sweet babe’s round face. “Please, Dany! Let him go! Fight that fucker... Just put him down... I know you don’t want to hurt him.”

The King stood frozen in place. He was afraid to move. He knew if he moved the wrong way his son’s life would be over. He knew he had to plead with the Queen that used to be his bride. "Daenerys, take me instead. I do not care what you do to me! You can tell the Night King I will take his place just please... do not hurt Rhaegar!"

She clutched their baby boy closer to her chest as she looked away from Jon and stared into the babe’s violet eyes. He watched as she went to place her icy blue hand on the infant’s face. He gasped... he knew what she was going to do to their baby boy.

“No! I will not allow you to make him into one of your mindless slaves! Nykeā zaldrīzes iksos daor nykeā buzdari! A dragon is not a slave, Dany!” He hollered.

The next thing he knew the five mindless wights surrounding the Night Queen began to walk towards him. He drew Longclaw from his sword belt and prepared himself for a fight. However, she moved the babe on one arm and raised the other... when she did this he scanned the room and gasped as he saw his dead direwolf, Ghost, shaking and rising up from the ground. He then noticed well his best friend Samwell, his wife Gilly, and even Little Sam beginning to rise... and when they did they walked straight to the Night Queen’s side... He felt alone... Everything he held dear was gone... Everything but his son... His son was the only thing left he had to fight for.

Jon stared into the now blue eyes of his direwolf as he began to stalk towards him like he did his prey. "Stay back Ghost!" He commanded when his forever loyal companion growled at him. His gaze was pulled away from the undead direwolf when he heard his son begin to cry once more. The tears were pouring down his scarred face once more as his dead wife placed her one of her shaking hands just above the babe’s cheek.

"Daenerys, fight the FUCKING NIGHT KING. I KNOW YOU CAN! DON’T TOUCH HIM! Please, Dany... Don’t you dare fucking turn him... Please Dany!"

He was about to run to his wife, to try and rescue his son, however he was stopped when his dead dire wolf tackled him to the ground. “Ghost, off,” he yelled as the direwolf lunged at this throat. He could not believe that his most loyal companion was trying to rip out his throat. One of his hands went up defensively in an effort to push the direwolf’s head back, to keep his fangs away his throat as he used the other to tighten his grip on Longclaw. He cried out as he stabbed his sword through Ghost’s head, which caused the last of the Stark direwolves to fall to the ground in a peaceful death.

The King did not have time to grieve for his four legged companion because he heard the ear piercing terrified shrieks of Rhaegar. He used all of his strength to stand up and he was mortified at the sight... His wife had placed her icy hand closer his baby boy’s face.

"Dany... please... please do not do it! Try and fight him!" He pleaded. He noticed that her hand still shivered... he knew that his wife was still in there. He watched the her frozen tears fall as he once again cried out, "A dragon is not a slave! Please, Dany, let go of our baby boy!"

The next thing he knew, a group of wights, five that he did not know and then Sam, Gilly and Little Sam, descended  in front of him, waiting for her commands.

"Please, Dany... I beg you... I will do anything... Just please do not turn our baby boy into one of those fucking dead cunts!" He dropped Longclaw to the floor and raised his hands in the air... he needed to calm the tension. “I surrender... Take me... just let our babe be... Don’t do it... Please.” 

He could see Daenerys’ hand shaking as she tried her best to fight the Night Kings orders but... It was too late... He hand went down and touched Rhaegar’s rosy red cheek.. He heard his baby boy crying... He watched as his baby boys eyes turned from Lilac to Light blue. He was shocked. He could not believe he lost everything... His wife and now he's son...

"Noooo!!!!" He screamed as he fell to his knees with tears cascading down his face.

Something snapped inside him when he looked at the smug smile on the Night Queen’s pale blue face. At that second, his wolf side disappeared; his wolf side died inside of him as his baby boy turned into a Baby White Walker. He closed his eyes and let out an agonizing scream into the freezing cold Winterfell air. He opened them and they turned golden orange.

He looked at his wife... The Night Queen, as she placed the  baby White Walker in his son’s crib. She then grabbed her ice spear from where it was resting against the wall. He looked around the room... he was alone and surrounded... at this point knew his fight was over... He had no reasons left to continue the fight... the Night King had taken everything from him... Sansa, Arya, Sam, Gilly, Ser Davos, Ghost, all of the dragon’s, and now... His Dany and his son were gone as well... he had no reason left to live... but he planned to free his friends, his wife and his babe from the Night King’s control... then he would join them. He saw Longclaw just in front of where he was kneeling on the ground and Hearts Bane was just a couple of feet away... He quickly grabbed them both as the wights started running towards him.

He spun the two swords and fought against all the wights at once. There was no fight... He easily killed them... However he did it with tears clouding his vision... his heart shattered as he sent Samwell, Gilly, and sweet Little Sam to their final peace with the two Valyrian Steel swords... Now it was only him, against his dead wife, the Night Queen. He looked her in her lifeless blue eyes as she tightened the grip on her Ice Spear.

"I promise you Dany... I will set you free... I will not allow him to keep you... We said together... I failed you... But I will not fail you any longer... We will be together again so my love... Me, you and our babe," Jon cried out as he spun Longclaw and Hearts Bane. He took the two swords and attack her. He was surprised when she blocked his attacks. He swung Hearts Bane and attack her once more, but she easily blocked the attack. However, she wavered on her feet and he pushed her against the wall. He then took Longclaw and pushed the ice spear out of her hands. He cried out as he used all his strength to plunge both Valyrian Steel swords through her abdomen. As he did this he heard a World shattering scream come from her mouth, like nothing he had ever heard before.

He looked down and started crying as he saw the two swords impaled in her stomach. He then heard her screams change from something unnatural to a gasping moan of pain. He was stunned when he looked back towards her face and noticed that her eyes turned from the haunting pale blue back to her loving amethyst irises and the icy blue skin turned to shade of pale cream.

"I'm sorry, Jon... I’m so sorry..." his beautiful wife choked out as blood began to spill from her lips.

“Dany, don't speak..." he murmured as he caught her falling body. He gently lowered them both to the ground and caressed the soft skin of her cheek.

"I... I tried to fight him..." she whispered with wet tears falling down her face.

"It's not your fault, Dany... I should have been here to protect..."

"Jon it hurts,” she moaned as she interrupted him, “It hurts so much.... The pain..."

He felt helpless as she choked on the blood in her mouth. When he dropped his head to wipe his tears he saw the blood pulsating out from her stomach. He knew she didn’t have long. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he pulled her to his chest. He then pulled Longclaw from her stomach as he kissed her mouth. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes... He heard her screech out in agony as he pierced Longclaw through her heart... Then there was silence. He screamed out as he saw her final tears falling down her lifeless face.

"I'm sorry, Dany... I'm so sorry my love... Please forgive me," muttered in her ear between sobs as he held her limp body in his arms. He cradled her body to his chest and kissed the top of her head as his tears fell onto her moo kissed hair. “I’m so so sorry.”

His grieving for his wife was halted when he heard a monstrous noise coming from Rhaegar’s crib. He gently laid down his dead wife’s body and stood up. He gasped when saw the White Walker infant pulling himself up and screeching in an inhuman tone. He pulled Hearts Bane from his wife’s stomach and walked the two steps to the crib. He picked up the White Walker baby and held him in one arm. “Please forgive me... I am sorry, my son..." He then took Hearts Bane and placed it through the baby’s heart. When he did this the babe shattered into thousands of shards of ice and he felt like his heart shattered as well.

As his son dissolved into thin air he fell to his knees and grabbed his wife's body. He held her as he closed her dull purple eyes. The tears continued to fall down as he kept on kissing her moon lock silver hair. "Please forgive me, Dany... I had no choice... I had to free him... I had to free you..."

He then looked up to wipe the tears from his face and saw the catspaw dagger on the ground, under the baby’s crib. As his dead wife lied in his arms, he grabbed the dagger. "Together... We always said together." He gripped his hand tightly around the dragon bone hilt of the dagger, took a deep breath and was about to place it through his heart. However, before he could accomplish his goal he was startled as he saw the chamber door flew open. His head snapped towards the door and saw Tyrion and Tormund enter the room. He saw the looks of shock on their faces as they saw him holding his dead wife in his one arm and the catspaw dagger close to his heart.

He broke down in tears when he saw Tormund running towards him knocking the dagger from his hand just before he plunged it into his heart. The large ginger Wildling then pulled him up from the floor and wrapped his arms around the King’s chest.

“I won’t let ya do it, King Crow... don’t be a fookin coward... your people need ya!!” Tormund exclaimed as he tightened his grip around Jon’s chest, causing the dagger to fall to the floor.

"Let go of me! Let go of Me! Let me join them! Let me join my family!" He cried as Tormund held him. "Let go of me!!! Let me be with her! Let me be with her! Let me be with my son!"

He screamed in the air as he felt the pain of a broken heart. He felt grief and remorse because he had killed both his wife and his son.

 

"Jon! Jon!” He heard his wife calling his name, pulling him from his nightmarish sleep.

 

When he opened his eyes he gasped for air. He looked around his surroundings and sighed in relief when he realized he in his bed, in his chambers, in Illyrio’s manse, in Pentos. He felt his tears on his cheeks and pulled a hand up to his face to wipe the tears away. Once his eyes were dried, he opened them and saw his wife, his beautiful Daenerys, on top of him holding him down to the bed.

 

"Tell me what happened! Jon! Tell me what happened in your dream!" She exclaimed. “Let me help you! Please, Jon, quit torturing yourself!” 

 

He could see the fury in her face and unshed tears in her eyes as she held him down by sitting on his abdomen and pressing down on his shoulders with each of her hands.

 

"Let go of me!" He pleaded. “Please, just let me go.”

 

She shook her head, “Not until you tell me what happened in your dream!"

 

He was surprised when he tried to sit up but could not... She was stronger than he remembered and she was able to keep him firmly pinned down on his back.

 

"I will not!"

 

"And why not Jon?" She firmly stated as he saw the tears freely streaming down her face.

 

He took a deep breath, "Because...." However he was unable to finish because his wife interrupted.

 

"Because of what,  Jon? What are you so afraid of?"

 

“I just can’t,” he whispered as he shook his head.

 

"Just tell me! What are you so afraid of?"

 

"I'm afraid..."

 

She then raised an eyebrow and in an exacerbated tone cried, "Afraid of what Jon! Just tell me! What are you so afraid of?"

 

He couldn't hold it in anymore so he then knew it is time she knew the truth and it just rolled out of his mouth. "I am afraid that you would see me as a monster!"

 

"Why Jon? What did you do? Talk to me, my love..." she asked in a tone that was dripping with concern as she removed her arms from his shoulders allowing him to sit up.

 

Daenerys,” He said with a sigh as he ran a hand through his unruly raven curls, then looked into her eyes as he continued, “I... I lied to you... I told you a wight killed our son, our sweet Rhaegar... but that is not truth... I... I was the one who killed him." He could see the look of shock on her face.

 

"Why? Why would you kill our baby boy?" She muttered as the tears began to fall once more.

 

He exhaled deeply as he pulled his wife to his chest and answered in a voice just above a whisper, "Dany... after you died... Your body turned pale blue... Your eyes turned blue... You... You became the Night King’s Queen..."

 

"The Night Queen?" She asked cutting him off.

 

He sigh and nodded, "Aye,  you became the Night King’s most important poppet... A slave ..." He took a deep breath and continued. "Daenerys only four people knew where we kept Rhaegar... Me, Samwell, Gilly and You... After you have died... Somehow your memories were retained in your mind."

 

"No... No... I would never hurt our baby boy," She cried. “I would have given my life for him!”

 

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it firmly. "It was not your fault... You tried to fight the Night King... But he was too strong for you." He took a deep breath, adverted his gaze from her to a random point on the wall and continued, "When I entered our secret chambers and saw five wights as well Samwell, Gilly, Little Sam and Ghost bodies on the floor... And.. And I saw you. You were standing next to Rhaegar’s crib... He was crying and I... I could not move... All I could see were your blue eyes Daenerys... they give me sleepless nights..."

 

She placed her hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her as she stated. “My eyes are purple, Jon... Not blue..." She pulled him for a kiss and broke free and calmly said, "Continue... Please... You said you entered our chambers when I was the Night Queen..."

 

He took a deep breath and nodded, "I... I... Begged you... To please let go of our son... I knew if you placed your hand on his cheek you would turn him into a White Walker..." He paused when the tears started to spill from her eyes. He wiped them with the tips of his fingers, pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and then continued, "You placed Rhaegar in one of your arms and raised your arm... and they rose... Sam, Gilly, Little Sam and Ghost all raised as slave wights in the Night King’s army... Ghost... When he was reanimated he attacked me..." He felt the shiver in his tone. "While he attacked me I heard Rhaegar crying... I grabbed Longclaw and killed Ghost for the last time... I stood up and saw the frozen tears in your eyes... I could tell you were trying to fight the Nights King command..."

 

He stopped talking when his wife kissed his cheeks were his tears were falling. He then kissed her lips and then took her hand once more, for strength as he continued the story, "I... I kept on begging you to put down our son... to take me instead... I kept on asking you to fight him..."

 

Jon moved his wife from his lap and got out of the bed and began to pace. ‘How do I tell her what happened? It was all my fault! I should have been with her and she would have never been changed!’ He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and saw his wife with a look of concern on his face.

 

"What happened next?” She whispered.

 

He could not face her when he told her what happened to Rhaegar, so he turned his head back towards the wall in front of him, sighed and in a sorrowful tone said, "You... You placed your finger on our son’s cheek and he changed into a White Walker... The fucking Night King used you to kill our son and turn him into one of his slaves..." He then turned around and looked at her. He saw her eyes wide open... by the look on her face he knew that his eyes turned Golden Orange.

 

He began pacing the room as he began to recite more of what happened. "I... I felt a rage inside of me arise... I felt like I died that day and something else inside of me awoke." He then took a deep breath and continued. "I saw Longclaw and Hearts Bane laying on the ground... grabbed them both... I had Longclaw in one hand and Hearts Bane in the other... I killed the wights, including Sam and his family... Then it was only you... The Night Queen... you had an Ice Spear in your hands..." He took a deep breath as the tears spilled from his eyes once more. "I... I fought against you... I ended the fight by placing both swords into your stomach... I promised you I would set you free from the Night King slavery..."

 

“Oh, Jon!” She sighed.

 

"I heard you squeal... I looked at you... And saw your skin go back to a milky cream and your eyes were purple eyes... I knew you have returned to me."

 

When he finally faced her he realized she was stark naked. He saw the tears in her eyes as she embraced him and whispered loving endearments in his ear giving him the courage to continue as he was engulfed in her loving embrace.

 

"You... You cried of the pain... About how much it hurt... I... I placed Longclaw into your heart... In order for the pain to be stopped..." He tightened the embrace and he kissed her cheek.

 

"I... I then heard... These unnatural, monstrous noises from our son... I walked over towards him and held him... I could only... Only see the blue eye on his face... I took Hearts Bane and placed it in his heart... He shattered... shattered in thousands of tiny shards of ice... there was nothing for me to hold or say goodbye to... He was just gone..." He looked at her and they both had tears on their faces. "I'm a monster...” he muttered.

 

She wordlessly shook her head no and then pulled him for a kiss.

 

When the kiss broke she held his face in her hands, looked him in the eyes and firmly stated, "You are not a Monster, Jon. You did what you had to do... You set us free... You saved us from the Night King’s slavery... I am sorry for putting you through that... I am sorry that you had kill me and our baby boy... But you did the right thing... You saved us."

 

He shook his head, "Dany... It was not your fault... It was mine..."

 

She silenced him with another kiss, which quickly became much more passionate than the others. He noticed as they were kissing, she was guiding him back towards the bed. When he felt the back of the bed behind his knees as they fell into the bed, not once breaking the kiss. She climbed on top of him and placed a leg on each side as she kept on kissing him roughly on the mouth. She pulled away and took his face to force him to look at her.

 

"Jon... Never feel like it was your fault... You did what you had to do... It was not your fault... You saved us when you set us free... You are a wonderful, caring father, husband, king, and friend... You only killed us because we were not us anymore... it was the best thing for the realm... Never doubt your decisions..." He watched as her tears cascaded down her cheeks, landing his chest. He wiped her eyes with soft kisses and then gave her another quick kiss on the lips before she continued, "I know what happened to Rhaegar was a tragedy... It was not your fault or mine... It was that fucking Night King... We will destroy him with Fire and Blood... We will make sure that we have our revenge after what he did to our family, our friends, our dragons and Ghost... After what he made me do to Rhaegar!"

 

“I promise you, Dany... you will not have the same fate... I will die before I allow him to take you from me again... I will not fail you, Ghost and our family this time.” Jon vowed as he looked into her shining amethyst eyes.

 

"Jon... There is no reason to keep secrets from me... I am your wife... your love... your Queen... My soul is yours... I am yours and you are mine... Please, my love, do not keep any secrets from me anymore."

 

He sighed and nodded. "Aye, I promise," He said sincerely as he her final tears came down her face. She leaned down to him for one more kiss. As the kissed their tongues began to battle, however, before he could satisfy his growing arousal she pulled away and smiled at him.

 

She then climbed off him and got out of the bed. He turned his gaze to follow her movements and he watched her plump, perfect naked arse as she made her way to the wardrobe and took out her sparing clothes. She turned around, clothes in hand, and smiled at him as if she knew he’d been staring at her. "Like my arse Jon Snow?" She asked in a teasing tone.

 

He smiled and nodded.  "Aye, the most beautiful arse in all of Essos and Westeros..."

 

He saw her smile as she walked back over to him, pulled him up to a sitting position and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. She then leaned over to his ear and whispered seductively, "Maybe I will let you fuck me in my arse one day... If you promise you will no longer keep secrets from me." As she said the words she took both of his hands and placed one on each of her arse cheeks.

 

He was in awe of the words she had did in his ear and his cock quickly rose to attention in anticipation. He knew she was teasing him and tried to lighten the mood... and he still had mixed feelings about taking her from behind because of what happened to her at the hands of Drogo. He was embarrassed when he noticed her looking down and bit her lip as she stared hungrily at his hardened cock. He swallowed trying to cast the thoughts aside... all he could think in that moment is what it would feel like to have his cock in her arse... He smiled and shook his head to try and clear the vivid pictures from his mind as he muttered, "I best be getting dressed."

 

He then got out of the soft feather bed, walked towards his wardrobe and pulled out his sparing clothes. Once he had donned then, he turned around and saw her still sitting on the bed, naked, and staring at him, like she had something on her mind. He smiled at her and softly asked, “What is on your mind, Dany?”

 

He saw her take a deep breath before she started to speak, "Jon... I was just wondering... Would you be okay if... When the dragon eggs arrive... Would it be alright with you if I... I hatch them alone... Without your help? I mean you hatched Sarogon in front of all the Dothraki, letting them know that you are the Khal who will mount the world... I would like them to see me as your Khaleesi who will mount the world alongside you... I want them to see me as your equal and not just your bedmate."

 

He could not stop the smile that engulfed his face as he heard her say these word. ‘Finally she is making her mark just like she did in our past life.' He took her hand and pulled her up from the bed for a kiss. When they parted he smiled as he placed his forehead on hers and murmured, "Dany... We are equals in this marriage... You do not have to ask me permission for anything... I only hatched Sarogon in order to gain control of the Khalasar... So the Dothraki would follow me and would cross the Narrow Sea for us to take back our Throne.” He then placed his hand on her cheeks, “You were known as the Dragon Queen, who was able to hatch dragons from stone... I stole that important part from your life...  However, you will do it again... But this time you will hatch five dragons... And all of Westeros will know what you were able to do… Never think for a second that ever have to ask me permission for anything... I trust you with my life, Dany... You can make your own decisions… You are the rightful Queen and I am the rightful King."

 

She smiled and pulled him for a kiss. As their lips parted she had a smirk on her face. "I know I can do as I please... I just thought you would be disturbed that everyone will see me naked when I hatch the five dragons."

 

He gasped as he heard her burst out in a fake laughter. "Aye, I will... But... I will be fine with that," he tried to lie, however he could tell that she could hear the lie in his tone.

 

"Let’s be fair Jon Snow... When you hatched Sarogon... Every Dothraki woman got to see your cock… A cock which rightfully belong to me…"

 

Jon smiled as he started to kiss her roughly on her neck. "Aye, that is true... I'm fine with you hatching the dragons..." He smiled as he then moved over to her ear and whispered. "Your cunt rightfully belongs to me as well." He smirked when he felt her body shiver as he lightly bit her earlobe. He then moved down her body and sucked her nipples… he then moved his head further south to her stomach and finally met her cunt. He looked up at her with a wicked smile as he saw her smile knowingly back at him.  He lightly pushed her, as a growl escaped his lips causing her to fall onto the bed. He saw her looking at him waiting for him to put his mouth on her wet cunt. He wanted to show her that her cunt belongs to him and only him. He smiled as he pressed another light kiss to her stomach. He then took both hands, pushed her legs apart, and pulled her dripping core to his face.

 

He heard her gasp as his mouth attached to her cunt. Then when he forced his tongue inside of her moist heat he heard her moan with pleasure. He looked up and saw that her eyes were closed as he brought her pleasure. He then moved one of his hands from her arse to squeeze one of her hardened nipples. When she gasped he cupped her breast and began to kneed is roughly. He kept hearing her moan in pleasure, motivating him to his tongue deeper and deeper her wet cunt. He could hear her scream of pleasure as he inserted two fingers from his other hand into her core. It did not take long until he felt her muscles tightening around his fingers and she her body began to shake as he brought her to her climax.

 

He looked up at her and saw her keep on pushing her head backward as she grabbed his head. He smiled as he kept on kissing and licking her wet pussy. He smiled as she finally screamed the words he longed to hear her cry.

 

“Jon… I…  keep on going… I’m about to…" she moaned.

 

"I want to taste your full wetness, my love." He purred as he continued his task.

 

The next thing he heard was his wife, screaming out in pleasure as he brought her to her peak and as her juices were expelled from her cunt. He smiled as he lapped and suck up all the juice her cunt had to offer.

When he was done he looked up at her and saw the content smile on her face. He smiled as he moved up her body and started kissing her lips.

 

She pulled away and smiled at him "Is it wrong if I want you to fuck me right now?"

 

He chuckled and nodded shook his head. He moved over to her ear and whispered. "I will properly fuck you after we sparred today... Robb is probably already waiting for us to break our fast ..."

 

 

He smiled at her as he looked at her in the eyes. Grey meeting purple... She giggled as she pulled him for another kiss. When they broke apart, he murmured, "Dany I love you with all my heart... My heart is yours until the end of my days." He saw her smiled which warmed his heart. 'Gods I love her… I still do not know what I ever did to deserve this woman.' He smiled as he kissed her one more time on the mouth.

 

When he parted their lips she smiled and whispered, "I love you with all my heart, my Dragonwolf..."

 

He smiled and kissed her one more time before he helped her from the bed. Once she was dressed they left their chambers to join Robb in the dining hall to break their fast…...

 


 

Theon Greyjoy

 

 

Theon was laying in bed praying that the room would stop spinning and his head was throbbing after the long night he had in the brothel with Ros. No matter how much he drank and how much he fuck whores he could not get the thought to leave his mind. ‘I do not understand... Why did Lord Stark... I mean King Eddard... send Robb and the bastard on a mission beyond the Wall without me? Robb is my friend... He is like a brother to me... If I would have gone maybe they would not be lost... Does he not trust me? He has been more of a father to me than mine has ever been... I thought that he trusted me? Maybe I am just a hostage here after all... And how the fuck did the bastard get so good with a sword... Did Ser Rodrik give him extra lessons in private? It is almost like he was a completely different person.’

 

He was startled from his thoughts by a knock on his chamber door. He looked up and saw just a few rays of light beginning to filter through the pulled shutters of his chamber’s window. ‘Who the fuck would wake me at this time of the morning,’ he thought to himself as he pushed the furs from his body. 

 

“Theon, I need a word with you.” The strong voice of the King in the North called as he knocked on the wooden door once more.

 

The ward from the Iron Islands was now awake. “One moment your Grace,” he called as he quickly got out of his bed and donned a pair of trousers that he had thrown on the floor the night before and made his way to the door. ‘Fuck... I hope I don’t smell like the brothel!’He thought as he pulled open the door. 

 

When he opened the door, he bowed his head and said, “Good Morning, your Grace.”

 

“Good Morning, Theon... I would like to speak with you for a few minutes... Can I come in?” The King asked kindly.

 

“A... Of course your, Grace... this is your castle after all... you don’t need permission to enter a room in your castle.”

 

“Thank you, Theon,” The King answered with a chuckle as he entered the room.

 

The two men then made their way over to a small wooden table and chairs by the hearth. The King sat down while Theon threw another log on the smoldering fire. Once he had the fire once again burning, he took a seat across from the King in the North and asked, “What can I do for you this morning, your Grace?”

 

“Theon, I have something I need to ask of you,” The King spoke slowly.

 

“What is it, your Grace? Do you need my help to look for Robb and Jon?” Theon asked hopefully as he thought, ‘Maybe he does want my help! This can be my chance to prove to him that I am more than just a hostage!’

 

“Son... as much as I would like to take you with me I cannot.”

 

“But, your Grace... Robb and Jon are like my family... they have been like brothers to me since I was nine years old!”

 

“I know, Theon... but you do not need to worry about them... I know that they are safe.”

 

“How? Did they send you a raven?” Theon asked excitedly.

 

“No... I have not received word from beyond the Wall... but I... I just know that they are safe.” He watched as the King let out a sigh.

 

Eddard Stark’s ward was frustrated, ‘Is the King lying to me? How does he know that they are safe if he has not received any messages from beyond the Wall? Something is not adding up!’However, before he could form a proper question, The King in the North started talking once more.

 

“Theon... I have something very important to ask of you... Something that I need for you to do for me while I am away.”

 

“What is it, your Grace?”

 

The King put his hand on the Ward’s shoulder as he looked him in the eye and with a serious expression stated, “I need for you to watch over Sansa, Arya and Rickon while I am gone... I know that there will still be plenty of House hold guards staying at Winterfell while I am away... but I would feel better know that someone they think of as... an older brother... someone they love like family... was making sure that no harm comes to them.”

 

“Of course, your Grace... I think of your family as my own... I will let no harm come to them while you are gone.”

 

“Thank you, son.” The King stated as he stood from his chair. He then made his way over to Theon, embraced him and said, “You may not have my name, Theon Greyjoy, but you are a Stark. I have raised you along side my own children and I will always consider you to be part of this family... Never forget that.”

 

Theon was momentarily speechless as he felt tears beginning to fill in his eyes and he willed them not to fall. He took a deep breath as the King released the embrace and whispered, “Thank you, your Grace.” Then in a stronger tone he vowed, “I will make sure that no harm comes to our family in your absence... I hope that you have a safe and successful trip, your Grace.”

 

“Thank you, son. I am truly thankful that you will be here to protect our family while I am away.” The King then took his leave.

 

After the door closed, Theon wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled, ‘He does consider me to be one of his pack... I will not let fail him... When he returns with Robb and Jon the pack will be whole once more.’ 

 

Theon then readied himself for the day. He washed up, brushed his unruly hair, trimmed his beard and put on fresh clothes. He felt like a new man... a man with a purpose. He took one last look in the mirror before he left his chambers and made his way to the Great Hall to break his fast with his family.


 

 

  Eddard Stark

 

It was early morning in Winterfell and although the sky was still grey, the summer snows had finally stopped falling for the first time in two days. The King in the North and his party were preparing the horses for their impending departure for the Wall. Eddard had competed packing his saddle bags with the necessary supplies and his horse was fed… The only thing left for him to do for the journey was to saddle his horse. He looked around and noticed he was the only one completed so he decided to take a walk. He walked in silence and soon found himself standing at the entrance to the crypts. He took a deep breath and decided that he would pay one more visit to his sister before he left on his mission.

 

He took one of the torches from the entrance and opened the heavy ironwood doors. He descended the stairs and soon walked past the old King of Winter and Lords of Winterfell, not stopping until he arrived at his sister, Lyanna's, crypt. He took a deep breath as he looked at her statue. He held his torch in one hand and placed his other onto the statues outstretched hand. He bowed his head and silently prayed for several minutes. After his prayer he whispered, “I am sorry Lyanna... I'm sorry for not seeing the truth." He removed his hand and turned his head when he saw the light from another torch and heard a voice that sounded familiar.

 

"There you are!" his hand exclaimed in a tone of relief.

 

"Lord Tyrion, what can I do for you?" The King in the North asked with a smile.

 

The dwarf smiled as he closed the distance. "Your Grace, I just was told to inform you that all of the supplies have been packed... We are ready for our journey to the wall."

 

Eddard smiled at the dwarf, "That is good news, my Lord Hand." He then turned his gaze back to his sister’s statue and he noticed that Lord Tyrion looked at the statue as well.

 

"I take it this is your sister, Lyanna?” The Dwarf of Casterly Rock asked in a sympathetic tone.

 

“Aye,” the King responded with a slight nod of the head as he looked back towards his Hand.

 

“I have not been here long, but in the time I have; I have not heard you speak about your sister, your Grace… I... I have heard many stories about her... I was merely a child when the Rebellion broke out... I do remember some of the stories… Some were good… Like she was beautiful and a free spirit, who could captivate anyone she met… Which was why the Prince crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty over his own wife, Princess Elia Martell… And of course I heard the tragic story of how she was kidnapped and tortured at the hand of the Crown Prince… I am truly sorry, your Grace, for what became of her at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen.”  

 

‘If we had only known the truth of their relationship everything would have been different Elia and her children would be alive. Lyanna would have had access to a Maester and she could be living and Jon would have known his mother… Ser Arthur and the rest of the Kingsguard would be here… And Prince Rhaegar, Jon’s sire could have raised him to be a proper Prince.’ He thought before he smiled at the dwarf and said, "It is fine Lord Tyrion... It is not your fault… And besides, it is all in the past… and there is nothing that anyone can do about the tragic events of the past."

 

He saw the dwarf raised his eyebrow. "Your Grace... I was wondering ... Why are you not afraid of Daenerys and Aegon Targaryen… They have named themselves the true King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros... If it is true, and the young man does have a hybrid dragon... They could come to the North and reign fire and blood to take back what they believe was stolen from their family… Why won't you aid King Robert in the wars to come?"

 

Ned took a deep breath, ‘I cannot yet tell him the truth… I need to ensure his loyalty.’After a few moments of silence, so that he could find the right words, he stated, "As I said to King Robert... House Stark and the North will have no part in the extinction of House Targaryen... They were merely babes in their mothers’ bellies at the time of the Rebellion… The events of the past were not their fault… What Rhaegar Targaryen or The Mad King did to my family... to the whole of Westeros... was not their doing… I will still have no part in the extinction of house Targaryen. Do you agree with me Lord Tyrion?” He felt his heart beating hard as he waited for his Hand to respond… He was worried about what could happen to Jon and Daenerys and even Robb if Robert did declare war on them before the Kingdoms were ready for their arrival.

 

He saw his hand nod. "Actually, I do agree with you, your Grace... We should not blame Daenerys Targaryen for her father’s crimes… We do not know enough about her or her character to know if she has inherited her Father’s madness… As for this, Aegon Targaryen... I am not sure who his father was or is... It is not known if he is truly the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell or The Mad King… or he is truly even a Targaryen or Blackfyre... For all we know, he could be a pretender and as much as I want to believe what I have read about that comet… Without actually seeing a dragon, we do not know if it is true. We have no right killing them... They were too young to have done something wrong... They are nothing but children... And they should not have to pay the price of what their family has done… You are right, they have committed no crimes.”

 

He sighed in relief and agreed with his Hand as his gaze turned back to his sister’s statue, "Aye, they are... And now, an angry King is on their tail trying to murder them." He took a deep breath to calm himself and to make sure he did not tell Tyrion any of his secrets just yet so he changed the subject. “We had best be on our way, Lord Tyrion. It is best that we leave Winterfell before the sun has reached its peak..."

 

He saw the dwarf smile and nod in agreement.

 

"I am going to finish paying respects to my sister, then say farewell to my family. After that I join you and my brother, Benjen, in the courtyard." The King stated.

 

His hand bow his head as he said, "I will be waiting in the courtyard, your Grace."

 

With that the Hand of the King in the North took his leave leaving Ned alone in the crypts under Winterfell. He looked back at his sister's statue and smiled and whispered, ‘I know that you would be proud of your boy, Lya… He and his wife are just what Westeros needs to get through the Long Night.’ He then took his leave up the stairs and went to the Great Hall where his wife would be waiting for him to say good-bye.

 

When The King in the North entered the Great Hall, he saw his wife, Queen Catelyn reading a letter. It was bigger than a raven scroll, and it must have been good news because she looked up from the letter and smiled at him as he walked toward her.

 

"Ned... I have news..." she stated with a smile as he neared.

 

He raised his eyebrow as his lady wife stood up from the table and closed the distance between them.

 

"What is it Cat?" He asked as he embraced his Queen.

 

She pulled back and the smile was still on her face as she said, “I... I have received a letter, via courier, from my Lord Father... My brother, Edmure, is on his way to Winterfell..."

 

He was shocked by this new. "Why... Why is he on his way here?"

 

She took him by the hand and guided him toward the table where she had been sitting. She took the letter from the table and handed it to him. He took a deep breath and sat down on a bench at the table as he began to read the correspondence.

 

 

My Dearest Catelyn,

We have heard the disturbing news that Joffrey Baratheon has done something so terrible that the North has been granted independence... We wish to know the truth of what transpired from yourself or his Grace the King in the North and not the story that King Robert will tell. I do not trust this news via raven. Therefore, I am sending your brother, Edmure in my steed. We will stand behind The North and House Stark in the coming wars.

Edmure and his two guards should arrive in Winterfell in a few days, as I told him to ride hard.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands

 

While he was reading, his wife had sat down as well. He looked at her and took a deep breath. "Cat… I am leaving for the Wall today… My journey has already been delayed… I cannot wait for Edmure to arrive… What will you tell your brother?"

He saw his lady wife taking a deep breath before she spoke, "I... I... was thinking, Ned… I think we should tell him the truth... The whole truth..."

 

He was shocked and cut her off. "Cat, are you mad! If word gets out that Jon is Aegon Targaryen... Robert would call all his banners... All Six Kingdoms! Cat, I have kept the rightful Targaryen Heir hidden in Winterfell… He would not hesitate to kill us all and then put our heads on spikes for betraying him for the last eighteen ye......"

 

"I understand that Ned,” His wife interrupted, “But if you forgot your nephew... I mean your son, Jon, will have dragons... He and his aunt… I mean wife, will not have just one but four dragons... His dragons will be able to protect us from..."

 

"Cat,” The King of the North cut her off, “It will be years before their dragons will be large enough to make a difference… before they will be able to aide in any wars..."

 

“Aye, it will be years before the younger ones, once they are hatched are able to help… But not Sarogon... We both know that Jon is no ordinary boy Ned..."

 

He sighed, "Aye, he is not..."

 

"Ned, he has a hybrid dragon! If the Maester is right, Jon’s dragon will grow much faster than a normal Fire breathing or Ice dragon!"

 

He was surprised, 'How does she know so much about Jon and his dragon?' He took a deep breath. "Cat... how… who told you Jon had a Hybrid Dragon?"

 

She knitted her eyebrows before she sighed and whispered, "Maester Luwin told me earlier this morning."

 

Ned sighed and looked at the Maester.

 

"I am sorry, your Grace, I was not aware that I was not able to share this information with the Queen… I actually thought that she was already aware."

 

He looked at his wife who was confused."Why did you not want me to know the truth about Jon's dragon?"

 

He took a deep breath and looked at Maester Luwin. "I... I did not wish you to worry about Robb…"

 

"Why would I worry about Robb… Is there something wrong with our son?" She asked in a ton of both confusion and worry.

 

The King shook his head as chose the best words to calm his wife’s fears. "No... Cat, Robb… Robb is fine.” He stated as he placed his hand on her shoulder. He then sighed and breathed out, “It is Jon… Jon is the one that concerns me… As you are aware, he does not possess a normal dragon... His dragon can breathe ice or fire based on it’s riders emotions... Fire for when the rider is angered and ice for when the rider is calm or relaxed... If the rider becomes too angry or enraged, the dragon and it’s rider may become uncontrollable... He and the dragon could kill anything that stands in their way… That includes his wife or brother or anyone else whom may be innocent..."

 

He saw the looks of fear, shock and disbelief spread across his wife’s face as she breathed out, “Have… Have you at least warned them about the danger? Have you informed Daenerys and Robb what could happen if Jon becomes too angry?"

 

Ned was about to answer his wife’s questions, however, Maester Luwin spoke first. "We have, your Grace. We sent a raven to Robb as soon as we discovered the possibility and we have already received a raven from him in response. He stated they were aware of Jon's emotions and were trying to get him to remain calm down as well as open up about his traumas of the past... They state that there is nothing to worry about at this time."

 

The King hoped his Queen would not worry about Robb. He saw her take a deep breath and nod. "That is good to hear,” she said to that Maester, she then turned her gaze towards him, “Now Ned, what should I tell Edmure... They are my family... They said they would stand behind the North in the wars to come… They are family, Ned… Family, Duty, Honor… They would never betray us."

 

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to weigh the consequences and make sure that nothing would go wrong in her plan. After a few moments of tense silence he took another deep breath and relented, "You may tell him what Prince Joffrey did as well who Jon truly is... Just please Cat… You must be careful... Only speak behind closed, locked doors in low tones... Make sure that no servants or guards are present… The only you and Maester Lewin should be present in the room."

 

His wife smiled, "I promise… I will make sure that there are no prying ears… I will not let word get out..."

 

Ned nodded his head and embraced his wife. He then looked her in the eyes and said, "It is time for me to leave for the Wall…Lord Tyrion, Benjen and my guards are waiting for me in the Courtyard…"

 

He saw her sigh and nod. They stood from the table and she walked him to the door. He took his wife by the hand and pulled her in for a kiss. After the kiss he told her, "I will say goodbye to Sansa, Arya and Rickon... It will take us up to a fortnight to reach the wall…  After our quest is complete we will return home… I hope to be back in less than two moons"

 

He saw her taking a deep breath and in a concerned voice said, "Please Ned, promise me that you will be careful..."

 

He smiled and nodded, "Aye, I will and I will have Frost with me as well and Benjen who will have Winter Storm..." He kissed her forehead and looked at Maester Luwin as he asked, "Do you know where my children are Maester Luwin?"

 

The kind old Maester smiled, "I do your Grace... They are in the Courtyard with their Water Dancing Master.”

 

"Thank you, Maester Luwin..." The King said as he nodded his head in thanks. He gave his wife one final kiss on her forehead and then took his leave from the Great Hall. 

 

He approached the Courtyard and saw Lord Tyrion sitting on a wooden crate, watching his children practicing and shouting out words of encouragement with a smile. He stood silently observing them practice and was proud that Arya seemed to be quickly grasping the techniques. He also noted that both Sansa and Rickon seemed to be doing better than he though they would.

 

After a few moments he took a deep breath, walked over towards them and called, "Arya! Sansa! Rickon!"

 

His three children all stopped what they were doing and looked at Syrio. The dancing master nodded his head and the children quickly ran over to him. When the met, he gave them each a big hug and kissed their cheeks. When the greetings were finished, in knelt down and looked them each in the eye as he said, "I will leave for the wall now, with your Uncle Benjen, Lord Tyrion and my personal guards... Please be safe while I am away... Do not leave Winterfell not even to go to Wintertown or the Wolfswood... Stay with Guards or your Mother or Maester Luwin at all times while I'm gone... I will not want anything to happen or to lose any of you while I am gone on my mission..." His children quickly embraced him and wished him luck on his quest. They also told him to be safe and to stay with Uncle Benjen because he knew what it was like beyond the Wall. He closed his eyes as he had all of his children in his arms.

 

When he was finally able to pull away from their tight embraces he smiled at them and in a reassuring tone he stated, "Please do not worry about me… I will return in approximately two moon turns… If I am delayed for any reason I will send a raven." He saw them nod in understanding. He kissed each of his children’s foreheads one last time and smiled as he noticed his little brother had joined them.

 

After Benjen had said his good-byes to the children, he looked at his brother, and asked, "Are we ready to go, Benjen?"

 

"Aye, we are," his brother replied with a smile.

 

He smiled back at this brother and he then looked at his Hand, who was still sitting on the wooden crate. "Come on Lord Tyrion, you are the one who said he was so eager to piss off the edge of the Wall..."

 

He saw his Hand chuckle as he stood from where he was seated, "Indeed I did, your Grace."

 

The stable hand brought their saddled horses to the courtyard. Once they were all seated in their saddles the King looked at his children once last time before his departure. He smiled at each of them and waved. He then saw his Queen exit the Great Hall. He nodded at her and then took their leave from Winterfell with his brother, his hand and his four guards in tow. He wanted to ride hard for the Wall of ice and see the threat with his own eyes. He also prayed that he would safely return to his family and that his family would be there waiting for him……


 

 

Olenna Tyrell

 

The bright yellow sun has barely reached its peak in the sky over Highgarden as Lady Olenna sat on her cushioned chair under a green and gold canopy in the luscious gardens. The Queen of Thorns took a sip of wine as watched her eighteen-year-old granddaughter, Margaery, walking through the gardens with one of her friends, picking a variety of different wild flowers. She sighed, 'Gods hopefully something interesting happens today… I am tired of sitting around all day doing absolutely nothing.'

 

She also thought about a conversation that she had had earlier in the day, with her granddaughter. When they walked out to the gardens, the young woman had asked if her father had decided on her betrothal, now that she was of age. Olenna held her tongue and stated that her Father was still waiting on a reply. She also told her not to fret because she would never marry a Baratheon or a Lannister. The Queen of Thorn’s saw a relieved smile on her granddaughter’s face because she had originally told her father that she wished to wed Renly Baratheon, as suggested by her brother, Loras. However, as soon as she had heard what type of person Joffrey was, she no longer wanted to wed the Lord of the Stormlands… that in fact, she wanted nothing to do with anyone of Baratheon blood. Olenna had easily agreed with the Golden Rose of Highgarden, and ensured her that her she had made sure her Father would not offer her to a Lannister or Baratheon.

 

Her thoughts when interrupted when she heard the echoing of feet hitting the stone walkway behind her. She turned her head and saw her son, Mace, making his way over her, nearly running, with a smile on his face.

 

When he arrived under the canopy, he was red-faced and breathing hard as he choked out as he gasped for air, "Mother... I… have… received… news..."

 

“What news have you received?”

 

She saw him continuing to take deep breaths, “Raven…” he managed to say as he took a seat across from her.

 

"A raven, from whom? Is it confirmation of what happened between Joffrey and the Stark girls? Is it from the King in the North?” When he just continued to pant, she started to lose her patience and exclaimed. “Speak you buffoon... I do not have all day!"

 

She watched as her son her finally caught his breath and a wide smile spread across his face. He then lifted up the raven scroll that he had in the palm of his hand, turning it to show her the broken seal with the Direwolf sigil of House Stark.

 

She looked up at her son’s beaming smile as he said, "Mother... The King in the North has replied to our betrothal request." 



She was happy, but would not smile until she had read the content of the message... she needed to know what The King in the North had written in his reply.

 

"Give me that scroll, you oaf!" She exclaimed, taking the raven scroll from her son’s pudgy hand. She quickly unrolled the scroll and started reading what was written.

 

 

 

Lord Mace Tyrell, 

I have received your request of alliance through the marriage. I am willing to accept the offer of your daughter Margaery and my oldest son and heir, Robb. 

However, before I can accept this generous offer, my wife and I would like an opportunity to meet your daughter, whom we have heard is a true golden rose. I am aware that you are a busy man, but I would like to invite you, your mother, Olenna, and daughter Margaery to Winterfell so we can meet in person and discuss terms of this alliance that may one day allow your daughter to become Queen in the North. 

I am preparing to go on mission beyond the wall to investigate some disturbing reports that I have received. Therefore, I will be unable to entertain guest until I have returned. I will send another raven when I leave Castle Black to inform you when I will return.

I look forward to hearing your response and to meeting you and your lovely daughter. 

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North 

 

She could not help of the smirk that graced her face and the chuckle escaping from her lips after she read the contents of the message. ‘Old Eddard is smarter than he appears... making sure to invite me as well... I guess he knows who truly runs House Tyrell,’ she thought to herself before she looked at her son and smiled. "As I said, you buffoon... Your daughter shall be a Queen and now she will be the Queen of the largest land in all of the Seven Kingdoms." 



She saw her son taking a deep breath. "But Mother... How can you be so sure? This is definitely great news... However, King Eddard has not yet accepted the betrothal between Margaery and his heir, Robb Stark... We can't just assume she will become the Queen in The North just yet." 



She barked out a single sarcastic laugh when she heard the words her son just muttered. "Did you not read the letter... He has already made his mind up... He would be a fool not to accept... Just a small portion of the grain grown in the reach would be able to feed the entire North for an entire winter... He will marry his eldest son, Robb to our Margaery... He only wishes to meet her to make sure that she is kind hearted and will give his son beautiful heirs." She saw her son taking a deep breath, looking as if he had more to say, “What is bothering you now, boy?”

 

"Mother will you be joining us on the journey North to meet The King in The North Eddard Stark? It is a long trip and could be difficult for a woman of your..." 

 

"Of course I am going, you idiot! I may be old by I am not dead and I am not weak!” She chastised her son. “I was invited, after all... and I would very much like to meet and judge the character of our Golden Rose’s Prince... I need to ensure that he is good enough for my Granddaughter’s hand... I am also looking forward to meeting the head of the most honorable House in all of Westeros and the new King in the North... The only negative thing I have heard about the man is that he dishonored his new bride during the Rebellion... but he even had enough honor to raise his bastard alongside his own trueborn children... now that takes balls!”



Her son nodded his head with an uneasy smile. She then she then saw him take another deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak, however no words came out.

 

She sighed then barked, "Just spit it out you damn fool" 



"In the letter, King Eddard Stark said that he would send for us once he has investigated the disturbing reports beyond the Wall... What do you think that is he investigating?"

 

"I guess we would ask him when we meet him... Won't we...  My guess is that it is just increased Wildling sightings... you know the Starks do like to remind us that ‘Winter is coming’ and after this long summer, they know it will be a long winter...”

 

Her son nodded his head in agreement, then asked, "Mother, should we let Margaery know now that she is going to marry Robb Stark?" 



She smiled as she answered, "Of course... and I will be the one to tell her. I will have to prepare her meeting with The King in the North...” 

 

She laughed to herself when her son let out a deep sigh of relief. He then said, “Is there anything I should do while we wait for word to go to Winterfell?”
 
 

“Gods boy! You must prepare for our trip! We are going North! We will all need new woolen clothing and fur-lined cloaks... It is cold in the North and I haven’t lived this long just to die from the cold!”
 

“Yes Mother... I will go and speak with the seamstresses and tailors to have new winter wardrobes commissioned for us... while you break the news of the trip and betrothal to Margaery.” Mace said with a smile.
 
 

“And you must prepare a gift,” Olenna added quickly. When he son gave her a blank stare she let out a frustrated breath and added, “Gods... did the Maesters teach you nothing growing up! We will need to take a gift of food and supplies with us when we meet with the Starks... You cannot just show up at the King of the North’s castle with just the clothes on our backs!
 
 

"You are correct Mother... I will take care of our new clothing and the gift... While you prepare Margaery.” Mace this stood up from his chair and added, “I will leave you, so you can tell my daughter." He smiled, gave his mother a parting kiss on the cheek and then took his leave back into the castle.
 
 

She smiled, knowing her granddaughter would become a Queen... A Queen the North would be proud to call their own. She knew that she would have to teach her much about the north and their simple ways and about the Old Gods, the Northerners held. However, she knew that Margaery would do brilliantly... It was her idiot son she was worried about... she would have to make sure they all had clothes for the journey and a gift befitting of the North. 
 
 

She looked into the picturesque garden and saw her beautiful granddaughter sitting on one of the white wooden benches, laughing with her friend. She smiled and got up and walked over to them.

 

“Margaery, my dear!" The Queen of Thorns called as she made her way across the garden.

 

Her granddaughter was momentarily startled and then looked at her with a bright smile as she happily said, "Grandmother!” 
 
 

Olenna look at her granddaughter’s friend and smiled, then in a kind tone said, “Sweet child, would you mind to leave us... I have somethings I need to discuss with my darling granddaughter.”
 
 

The young girl quickly stood. “Of course not, my lady.” The girl then dropped a perfect curtsy and took her leave.

 

She sat down on the bench with Margaery and once they were alone; she took her granddaughter’s hand in her own and said, "I have good news, my dear." 
 
 

Her beautiful granddaughter’s face lit up with a smile. "Good new? What is the good news, Grandmother?"

 

She smiled knowing her granddaughter would be happy knowing that she would not have to marry a Lannister or Baratheon. "I have found you a suitable husband… And if the young man is anything like his father, an honorable one as well." 

 

She saw her granddaughter smiled and saw her getting excited.

 

"Who is he? Please, tell me it is not Renly Baratheon? I know that the Baratheon’s are a very old and powerful house… However, I do not trust the Crown Prince… and besides, I am not Lord Renly’s type." She smiled and laughed aloud as her granddaughter said this. She watched as Margaery quirked an eyebrow and asked, "What is so funny, Grandmother?"

 

"Oh, child… Anyone with eyes could see that no woman is Renly’s type… And besides, as I told you earlier, I would never allow your Father to marry you off to a Baratheon or a Lannister… Not after what Prince Joffrey did… That family is poison and I will not expose you to that vileness."

 

She saw her granddaughter raided her eyebrow as she inquired, “Grandmother, were you ever able to find out exactly what happened between the Crown Prince and the Stark girls?”

 

"Darling girl… from the rumors I have head, Joffrey Baratheon attempted to do two of the most vile things that a man could do... that he attempted to force himself on one of the girls and then attempted to murder the other… Therefore, in exchange for his son’s life, King Robert granted the North their independence, which also lead the Warden of the North... Eddard Stark to become the King in the North." She saw the look of horror flash on Margaery’s face before she soften her tone, "And that leads me back to your original question… Whom will you marry? ... The King in the North’s heir, who would be the Crown Prince of the North, Robb Stark, is the same age as you…" She saw her smile on her granddaughter widened.

 

"I have always heard how honorable the Starks are... I have also heard his eldest son, Robb, is quite comely..."

 

Olenna then broke off her granddaughter’s musings. "Then, my sweet child, you would be pleased to hear that the King in the North has accepted our request of a betrothal between you and his heir... And you will one day become the Queen in the North..."

 

She watched as a look of contentment and then a smile washed over her granddaughter’s face. "Grandmother… you mean to tell me that I will marry Prince Robb Stark, become a real princess, and bare him more little princes and princess and then one day become the Queen in the North? I will be wed to the next King of Winter?"

  

She smiled and nodded, "Yes... my dear… That is exactly what you will do… You will be." 

 

She then saw her granddaughter’s smile disappear and the look of concern return when she asked, "Grandmother… This... This just sounds too good to be true… Has the King in the North really accepted the betrothal request?"  

 

She could not help the chuckle escape her mouth as she squeezed her hand once more, "Yes, my dear. You are already betrothed to him... However, King Eddard does wish to meet your before you before he officially announces the betrothal." 

 

She saw her granddaughter frown turned back to a smile. "When will I meet the King in The North?"

  

Olenna smiled and said, "We will be traveling to Winterfell once The King in the North has returned from his mission beyond the Wall."

  

She saw her granddaughter raised her eyebrow. “Why would the King in the North go on a mission beyond the Wall?”

  

“That is one of the questions that we will have to ask once we meet the Northern King.” 

 

"Did the message at least mention how long it might take before he returns?" 

 

The Queen of Thorns shook her head. "Sadly, it did not my dear ... But I would guess it would take nothing more than two moons… Which will give us time to prepare." She saw her granddaughter smiled and nod.  

 

"Did the King in The North say where we will meet?"

  

"Yes, we will travel to the North, and meet him in Winterfell… Which will one day be your castle as well."

  

She saw her granddaughter smiled but then she saw her eyebrow raised her eyebrow. "Grandmother… I do not know the Northern ways… Will you help me learn the customs of the North? I have heard that in the North they still follow the Old Gods… If those are the gods my betrothed follows, then I wish to marry before the old gods… I am sure that will please him." 

 

Olenna smiled, 'Oh Robb Stark you will have a wonderful wife.' She took a deep breath and nodded, "Yes, my darling, I believe a good place to start would be a trip to our Godswood… to visit our Weirwood trees… The Three Singers… I will teach you as much as I can, to ensure that you are read with the King of the North informs us to leave for our journey.” 

 

As they walked arm in arm towards Highgarden’s Godswood, the Queen of Thorns informed her Granddaughter how the three Weirwoods were said to have been planted by the High King of the First Men, Garth Greenhand years before the first sept was built in Highgarden. She also informed her granddaughter that Weirwoods were sacred to the followers of the Old Gods and that Northern Weddings took place in front of the faces carved into Weirwood Trees……


  

 

 

 


  

 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

It was evening in Pentos and the setting sun was casting hues of reds and orange on the cloudless summer sky. Daenerys found herself still in the training yard of Illyrio’s manse, practicing her swordplay, sparring against her good-brother Robb. They had been in the training yard for hours now - since her Dothraki language lesson with Doreah had ended at midday - her arms were stiff and she was covered from head to toe in sweat and dirt.

 

"Again!" Her husband called from the side of the training yard.


She looked at him and nodded. ‘I will not let him down. I will not allow myself to be killed by the Knight King in this life... I will not put my final resting on him once again,’ she vowed to herself, as she tightened the grip on her training sword.

 

Dany turned her gaze towards her good brother and waited for him to make the first attack; after nearly ten days of sparing with him, she was getting comfortable with his fighting style and knew that he would strike first. She expected he did attack and she was easily able to block his calculated swing with her sword. She stepped back to regain the grip on her sword and swung her practice sword towards his shoulder; her good brother successfully blocked her attack. She took a deep breath and the spar continued for several more minutes. The both continued to swing and parry each other’s attacks. She was about to give up when suddenly he lost his footing in the dirt after a wide swing. She took this opportunity to sweep his leg, the way Jon had taught her, and when he fell to the ground, she placed the tip of her sword at Robb’s Adam’s Apple and asked, “Do you yield?” 


She saw how surprised her good-brother was that he has lost against her in a sparring match. “Aye, I yield,” he replied with a bewildered look that quickly turned to a proud smile.

 

She knew that Robb was not, taking it easy on her, but he was also not going full force either. Still, she was extremely proud of herself, and could not help but smiled as she looked from her good-brother to her husband, so she could see his reaction. Her smile widened when she saw his eyes open wide and a satisfied smile on his face.

 

"Excellent Dany,” he called, “You have improved tremendously... I am very proud of you and your progress. Soon you will be able to hold your own against any foe." 

 

She blushed as her husband said this. She then heard her good-brother sigh.

 

"I see you are getting better and better Dany... You are a quick learner... One day you might even become a better swordsmen than your husband." Robb said as she offered him a hand to help him to his feet.

 

She smiled and looked back at her husband and asked innocently, "Jon, will you honor me with a spar? ... Perhaps now... before the sun has completely set and we are forced to retire for the night?" 

 

She saw the surprised look on her husband’s face as he looked at Robb, whom was also waiting for his answer. When he did not say anything, Robb appeared to speed his thoughts.

 

"I think you should spar against her, brother... You are a much better swordsman than I will ever be... She would probably learn a lot more sparring with you verses me..." 

 

She saw her husband nod. "Aye, I will spar against you..." 

 

She could not help as her smirk showed on her lips. She looked at her good brother and smiled. “Thank you Robb, for sparring against me and next time... please do not hold back at all... the only way I will continue to improve is with a challenge." 

 

Robb smiled and kissed her cheek, then said, "Of course, sister... Now if you two would excuse me... I do not care to see Jon knock you on your ass... I will take my leave to bathe and then head to the kitchen for some supper... You should join me once you are done out here.” 

 

“I will most likely be a while before I dine, but Dany can dine with you, if she wants.”

 

“Of course, I will dine with you... I will meet you after I am done here.” Dany said kindly as she thought,‘Robb, I have so much I need to tell you... I know what happened to Jon... I know why he holds so much rage in his heart.’

 

“Thank you, again Robb... I do not think you could ever understand how thankful I am for your help with Dany’s sparring lessons.” Jon said as he embraced his brother before he pulled away, pinched his nose and teasingly added, “You are right... you need a bath, you smell worse than pig shit!”

 

“Good Night, brother. I will see you on the morrow... Dany, I will see you later, in the dining hall.”

 

She and Jon both nodded in agreement. Robb then walked to the arms table, put away his training sword and disappeared back into the manse. Once they were alone, she smiled at her husband as he walked over towards the training swords and selected one she would guess was similar in size and weight when compared with Winters Wolf.

 

He turned around, smiled at her and instructed, "Take your preferred, but a proper, fighting position, my love.”

 

She smiled as she gripped her training sword, took her stance and watched as he also got into his preferred fighting position. They both spun their swords; she knew he was waiting for her to attack first. However, she had been paying attention to her husband’s fighting style whenever she watched him spar against their bloodriders and Ser Jorah; she knew he was waiting for her to make the first strike.

 

They circled each other and she continued to hold out for him to make the first attack. After what felt like several minutes of circling, she noticed he was beginning to lose his patience. He darted towards her and swung his blunt blade at her left side. She quickly moved her training sword and was able to parry his attack. She was proud of herself; however, when she looked at him noticed that he had a smug smirk on his face... She knew then that she had fallen directly into his trap... before she could comprehend what was happening, he had taken his training sword and quickly swung it towards her stomach. As she saw the blade approaching her stomach, she attempted to dodge the attack, which caused her to lose her footing and stumble backwards. She let out a gasp as she closed her eyes and put her free hand behind her, hoping to catch herself as she fell to the ground. However, instead of the ground she felt a firm hand grasping around the wrist of her sword hand. When she opened her eyes, she saw the smiling face of her husband.

 

"Are you alright?" He asked with a smile as he helped her to regain her balance.

 

She smiled and nodded, “I am fine... Thank you, for the hand, Jon.”

 

Once the Queen was firmly standing on her own two feet, she returned to her spare position and he did as well as he asked, “Ready to try again, Dany?”

 

She nodded her head and spun her practice sword to show him that she was in fact ready to begin. She decided to change her approach by going on the attack first. She swung her sword towards her husband’s right thigh, which he blocked with ease. She smiled as she quickly regained control of her training sword, spun her body around and struck at the left side of his abdomen. He effortlessly parried this attack as well. She continued to try multiple different attacks for what felt like hours, but none of her efforts were successful. Throughout the training yard, the only sounds that could be heard were the songs of blunt steel clinking against blunt steel. She was getting extremely tired; she was struggling to breathe, her chest was burning and her arms and legs were limp from the hours of training in the Essosi sun. She looked at her husband who did not show any signs of distress or fatigue and he even had a smirk on his comely face. She felt herself getting angry and frustrated because she knew that he was holding himself back during the match.

 

Dany took a deep, painful, but calming breath and adjusted her grip on her training sword. ‘If I am going to defeat him, I am going to have to try a different approach,’ she thought to herself as she sent another attack towards his stomach. Again, he parried the swing with ease, which made her smile because he did what she was hoping he was going to do. When he blocked her attack, she took a chance and brushed his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Just as she hoped, this action caused him to become momentarily stunned and she took the opportunity to slap her training sword against his, causing his sword fall onto the ground. She knew that she was his weakness; therefore, placing her hand on his cheek would cause a break in his concentration. She smiled, grabbed his tunic with her left hand pulled him in to her for a passionate kiss on the lips.

 

When she finally pulled away, she wickedly smiled at him as she placed the tip of her blunt edged sword on her husband stomach. "Looks like I win, Jon Snow..." she purred teasingly.

 

She saw that he was trying to hide a smirk as he relented, "Aye, you did... However, you cheated… You only won because you know that your body would be my only weakness."

They both chuckled as she pulled him back to her to continue their kiss.

 

After a few minutes, Jon pulled away from her and gasped for air. She smiled, dropped her training sword on the ground, placed both hands around the back her husband's neck and pulled him back for another kiss. As the kiss intensified, she felt his hands meandering from the sides of her torso, down to her waist and then settled on her arse.

 

She pulled away when he roughly squeezed each cheek and smile at him and teased, “Jon Snow… If you continue that you will have to take me right here in the training yard.”

 

He let out a chuckle, placed his forehead on hers and teased, “Gods you are a wicked woman.” He then sighed and continued in a serious tone, "Unfortunately, I need to go and bathe so that I go and check on your pathetic excuse of a brother… After that I will grab a quick dinner and then return to our chambers..." She smiled as he placed his mouth against her ear and she felt the warm heat of his breath as he whispered, "When I return to our chambers... I am going to fuck you until you scream my name out in pleasure.”

 

A shiver of anticipation shot down her spine when he nibbled her earlobe before he pulled away. She watched him and the way he muscles moved under the thin fabric of his tunic and trousers as he put his training sword away and then took his leave. She smiled wanting to know what her husband had planned for her that evening. The thought of his cock thrusting into her cunt was enough to increase her heart rate, send a tingling sensation to her core. When she felt the dampness beginning to pool between her legs, she sighed trying to curb her desires, knowing that she did not need to be daydreaming about fucking her husband while she dined with her good brother… She had important things to say to Robb… She needed to tell him what Jon had confessed that morning. She sighed once more as she took her training sword back to the storage rack and then went to the kitchen to meet with Robb.

 

She opened the door to the kitchen and saw Ghost and Greywind eating some sort of meat and Sarogon was eating some roasted fish as Robb was filling his plate with meat pie and fresh fruit.

 

When the door closed, he looked up at her, smiled and asked, "So, Dany… How did the spar go?"

 

She tried not to blush as the thoughts from the training yard flooded back into her mind. She took a deep breath to clear her mind as she smiled and answered, "It was great... I just hate it when he goes easy on me… However, I did find a way to defeat him…"

 

She saw the look of shock on his face as he stuttered, “How… How… Since Jon came back, he has never been defeated… Not even when he took on five opponents at the same time…”

 

She grabbed a plate and began to fill her plate, as she now could not stop the blush that spread up her neck and across her cheeks. She was unable to look him in the eyes as she muttered, “How I defeated him would not work for you or anyone else…”

 

Her good-brother barked out a laugh as they walked to an open table in the dining hall. When they sat he poured them each a glass of water as he said, “We did not get the opportunity to speak privately earlier today… However, it looks like you have had something on your mind… Is it about Jon? Did he have another bad dream during the night?"

 

"Yes… Yes he had another nightmare in his sleep..."

 

Robb cut her off, “I wish he would just let us help him… Gods he is so fucking stubborn!”

 

She took a deep breath, and quietly stated, “Robb… He told me… He told me everything.”

 

Daenerys could see a myriad of emotions dancing across her good-brother’s face as he breathed out, “What? What happened?”


"He… He was screaming and crying in his sleep... He was in so much pain… I could not take it anymore so I woke him up and demanded he tell me what had happened in his dream." She paused for a moment to steel her composure; she knew that she needed to tell Robb what had happened. She looked up to meet his gaze and took a deep breath before she breathed out, “Somehow, in our past life I... I was turned into the Night Queen."

 

"You where the Night Queen?" he asked in a whispered tone.

 

She sighed and nodded, "Unfortunately I became his slave... His most important poppet... Jon was miserable watching me do the Night King’s bidding..." She took a deep breath as she felt a few tears beginning to spill from her eyes. "The Night King used me... He used me to find our son… Our sweet innocent babe against my will... He wanted our son… The Night King wanted our babe, for what I do not know exactly… But, he used me… He sent me to find where Rhaegar was hidden and to change him… The Night King forced me to change Rhaegar into a White Walker… he force me to turn our babe into one of his poppets! ... Before I could succeed in his plans Jon entered our chambers,” she paused to wipe the tears from her cheeks, “Jon begging me to stop what I was doing... He begged me to let go of our son... He said that I tried to fight the Night King... But in the end I did as the Night King commanded... Robb, I changed our baby boy into a monster..." She gasped as the tears came down. She looked up when Robb put a comforting hand on top of hers and he had tears in the corners of his eyes as well.


"Dany, you don’t have to tell me anymore if it is too painful..."

 

She took a deep breath and shook her head, “No Robb… I need to tell you… After Rhaegar was changed, Jon lost it…


“Jon ... Jon was forced to kill me and our baby boy Rhaegar... After I changed our son, he stabbed me in the stomach with two Valyrian Steel swords… He said that I cried out in pain and that somehow when he stabbed me I returned to the living, but that I was dying... He was forced to place a sword into my heart in order for the pain to stop… He said that Rhaegar dissolved into thousands of shards of ice and that he tried to stab himself in the heart... However, before he could take his own life he was stopped by two of his friends."

 

She saw how shocked her good brother was by the revelation "Gods…No wonder my brother has changed so much... That he has a dark side.” He muttered to himself before he look up at her and said in a sympathetic tone, “This is good Dany... He opened up to you... I hope that he will start to get better now that he has unburdened himself… We still need to keep an eye on him… But I think he will be easier to calm" She took a deep breath and nodded. He grabbed her hand and smiled sadly, "Dany, I'm truly sorry about what happened to you in the past. I promise you... The Night King will pay for what he made you do to your son."

 

She took a deep breath, “Thank you, Robb.”

 

They began to eat their meal. As they ate, Robb told her the story about how Jon had covered himself in flour, hid in the crypts and pretended to be a ghost so that they could scare their younger siblings.  They laughed and shared other childhood stories. As they were finishing their meal, they were disturbed when Ser Jorah came and smiled at them.


"Your Grace, we have received a raven from King’s Landing… It is addressed to his Grace, your husband… He asked me to give it to you while he visited the prisoner."

 

“Thank you, Ser Jorah,” she said kindly as she took the raven scroll from his hand. She quickly broke the seal of the scroll and began to read:

 

 

 

My King Aegon, 

I am glad to report my quest to the capital has been a success. Lord Varys has agreed to meet with you and is traveling with me to Pentos. He has also given me your older sister and brother’s dragon eggs. 

We should arrive in Pentos within in a day or two of the arrival of this raven scroll. Lord Varys look forward to meeting you, judging your character and seeing if he believes that you are what the realm needs.

Your Faithful Servant, 

Magister Illyrio Mopatis

  

She smiled and gave the scroll to her good brother. She watched as smile spread on his face as well. He looked at her and Ser Jorah and smiled. "Ser Jorah... Do you know where my brother is? I would like to go and give him the good news."

 

Daenerys was about to answer, however, the old knight answered first. "My Prince, he watching over the Queen's brother... to give the Dothraki guards a break."


Robb stood up from the table, smiled and said, "Then I best be on my way." He then walked around the table, embraced her and said, "I will see you on the morrow, good-sister."

 

She smiled at him, “I will see you on the morrow, Robb… Oh… And please tell my husband not to be too long.”

 

She heard Robb snort as he took his leave with Ser Jorah following behind. She then took her leave from the dining hall as well and decided to go take a bath.

 

After she had bathed, she walked into the bedchambers that she shared with her husband; she was about to grab her nightgown when she was momentarily startled by the sound of the chamber door closing and the sounds of clothes falling to the ground. She smiled and dropped that towel that she had wrapped around her knowing that Jon had returned to their room.

 

She felt her smile grow wider as he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his naked muscular chest against her bare back. She then moaned as he started to press sloppy, wet open mouth kisses on her neck; she could feel her arousal blossoming as she felt as his hands shimmy down her waist and one hand came around to tease the bundle of nerves between her legs. As he did this, he pressed his hardening cock into her lower back and whispered, “You are naked…” before he resumed kissing her neck.

 

"These are my chambers as well Jon Snow,” she mused.

 

She moaned as he continued to send jolts of pleasure throughout her body as he massaged her clit and slowly began to insert the tip of one finger into her entrance. She placed her hands on top of his, and encouraged him to do more as she guided the hand from her hip up to her breast. She moaned again as began knead her breast and pinch her nipple between two of his fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled, taking a moment to relax into her husband’s capable hands.

 

It did not take long before she felt herself getting lost in pleasure, but she wanted more so she turned her head towards his face, licked her lips and pulled his face to hers for a kiss as he continued to rub her clit and squeeze her breast. When she parted her lips, his tongue begged for entrance and she found herself moaning into his mouth as their tongues battled. As their kissing intensified, her cunt began to drip with moisture and throb with desire… She needed his cock fill her up. She pulled away and smiled as she said, “Jon, I need you to fuck me.”

 

"Not yet my love… I am just getting started." He whispered with his warm breath tickling her ear.

 

His whisper sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. She needed him to stop teasing especially when his hard member kept on rubbing against her arse. ‘I wonder what it would feel like to be fucked in the arse… I do not think he ever fucked me in the arse before… or even from behind… I will have him fuck me from behind tonight so I can know what to expect as he fucks me from behind… Then in the future, he can fuck me in the arse.’ "Jon… Stop teasing me and fuck me... I want you to fuck me from behind… I do not remember you ever taking me from behind!" She was surprised as he stopped kissing her neck and pleasuring her breast and clit. She looked at him and was surprised. "What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

 

She watching him gulp, "It’s just ... You do not have fond memories of being taken from behind..."

 

She raised her eyebrow, 'What does he mean?' "Care to explain my dear husband?"

 

She saw him taking a deep breath. "Dany, that was the position Drogo used to rape you…"

 

She was surprised know she knew why her husband has never taken her from behind. "So I have never asked you to fuck me from behind in our past life?"

 

She saw him taking a deep breath as he shook his head, "You did... You told me you would only let me take you in that position… You told me that you trusted me and I knew would never hurt you… However, I never allowed it... I did not wish you to think on those memories... I was afraid… I never wanted to cause you any physical or mental pain.

 

She was surprised by his answer and it made her love him even more, ‘He was willing to give up his own pleasure not to bring me pain.’ "I understand Jon, why you do not wish not to fuck me from behind... But... I cannot remember being raped... So it will not stir any unpleasant memories... So please, my love, fuck me from behind... I want to know how it feels to have you thrust into me from behind... I do trust you and know that if I am ever uncomfortable you would stop." 

 

She saw him taking a deep breath, "Are you sure?" 

 

She smiled, "I am... I promise if I do not enjoy it I will let you know." 

 

She saw him taking a deep breath and nod. She then let him take her hand and lead her towards the bed. He then playfully pushed her onto the bed so that she fell on her hand and knees. She moaned as he kissed each of her arse cheeks and then he began suck on her sopping wet cunt.

 

"Oh gods, Jon,” she moaned as he thrusted his tongue into her core and then began to kiss from her arse all the way up to her shoulders then her neck.

 

Dany then felt as he placed both of his hands on her hips in order to position her in the right position.

 

He then removed one hand and the next thing she knew was that she gasped and saw stars as she felt his cock filling her needy cunt from behind. Her gaze met his as he paused and looked her in the eyes, silently asking permission to move forward with his task she smiled and nodded. As soon as she consented she felt his cock lightly thrusting inside her cunt. 

 

Fuck Jon!" She moaned and screamed with pleasure. She felt as his cock thrusting against her womb as he slowly and carefully fuck her. ‘I want more... I need more.’  She took a deep breath and stated, "Jon fuck me... fuck me harder and faster." 

 

She looked back at him as his hands gripped her waist just a little tighter. She saw him take a deep breath before he asked, “Are you sure?" 

 

She nodded as she panted out, “Yes, Jon... I need more... It feels so good!” 

 

She could tell he was fighting off taking her hard. She smiled as his eyes turned to Dark Blue. 'Gods I love it when he's eyes turn from Grey to Blue.' Blue meeting Purple. He took a deep breath and started to thrust harder and faster. She gasped as she moaned in pleasure that she had never before experienced. She looked back and saw him that he could not hold back anymore. She knew he wanted to fuck her hard. That he want to show her that she belonged to him and only him.


She was surprised as he tightened his grip on her waist with one hand and moved the other to begin massaging her clit as he began to thrust his cock even faster into her dripping wet cunt. Her eyes flew opened and started to scream out in pleasure as her core muscles began to tingle around his member. All she could hear were the sounds of flesh slapping flesh. She watched as her breasts bounced to the rhythm of his thrusting… She could not believe how fast he was fucking her. She screamed at the pleasure, as she knew she was getting close to her climax.


She was surprised at what he was did next. He removed him hand from her clit, grabbed her hair from behind, using it to pull her back against his chest as he continued to fuck her hard. Once she was flush against his chest, he started kissing her neck with sloppy open mouth kisses, while he again began to massage her clit with the fingers of one hand and the other roughly squeezed her breast. The pleasure was nearly overwhelming. "Seven hells Jon! Fuck!" She screamed as her orgasm shot through.


Daenerys could no longer hold herself up and fell back on her hand and knees. However, Jon did not stop. Her dragonwolf continued to fuck her wet cunt at a frenzied pace... He placed his hands back on her waist as he started to thrust even deeper and faster. She felt him pulling her hips closer to him with each of his thrusts getting impossibly deep and kissing her womb with each thrust. She gasped in a pleasure-filled pain and she knew she could not take much more. Her husband continued to fuck her at the frantic pace, causing her arms to go numb and her to fall onto her stomach. She gasped as he fell with her onto the bed and continued to thrust.


"FUCK!" She shouted as she kept on feeling his cock kiss her womb. She was panting and could feel another organism approaching. She knew it would not take much longer for her to come undone. She was stunned when Jon grabbed her hair, and fell backwards on the bed. This caused their position to change so that he was now on his back and she was laying down with her back on his chest. She could not believe that he did all this while continuing to pound his cock into her cunt. She moaned as one of his hands returned to her breast and the other back to her cunt. 


She then felt his warm breath on her ear as he whispered, "Cum for me, Dany... Cum for your husband."

 

At those words, she came completely undone as she reached another climax. She screamed in the air as another, more powerful, orgasm washed through her. "Fuck! Jon!" She felt as her wetness escaped her cunt and dripping between them. To her surprise, she felt the hand her husband had on her bundle of nerves leave although he continued to thrust his hard member into her pussy… He then placed his finger in her mouth… “See how sweet you taste, my love.” The taste of her own juice caused her to moan.

 

Jon then rolled her back onto her hands and knees and continued to thrust inside her cunt. While he was fucking, she felt as one of his hands went down her stomach and up to her breast as he continued to squeeze and cupped them while its twin was slapping against her flesh.


"Fuck Daenerys!" He growled as his pace picked up.

 

She knew he was close… The feeling of his cock twitching in her cunt was amazing and she knew she was nearing yet another orgasm. She gasped when he grabbed her hair and pulled it so that she fell back against his chest once again. He kissed her mouth and both broke apart as they both screamed as they both reached their peak. She felt her core muscles constricting around his member as her needy womb milked every drop of seed from his cock. She smiled as she felt his warm seed inside her cunt and silently prayed it would take root in her womb.

 

They both panted for air as he wrapped his arms around her chest. She could still feel his cock inside her cunt she smiled as he kissed the back of her shoulder. She heard him taking another deep breath as he pulled his cock out of her cunt fell and moved her so that she was no longer laying on top of him, but next to him in the bed. She smiled at him and pressed a kiss to his lips before she snuggled into his sweaty chest. They both giggled as the cuddled, both still out of breath. ‘Gods he has never taken me that hard before.’ She looked into his grey eyes and smiled. "Why… have we not… done that sooner?" she asked between pants.

 

She heard him chuckle. "I hope I wasn't too rough," her husband stated as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.


She smiled as place a leg passively over his hips as she purred, "You were very rough... And I loved it."

 

"I love you, Dany... And I am sorry... I am sorry for lying to you... for keeping the truth from you."

 

She smiled and kissed him on the mouth. "It is all in the past Jon... Just please, promise me you will not do it again."

 

"Aye, I promise." He vowed as he kissed her lips.

 

She smiled as she snuggled back on his chest. She smiled because it felt like she had her old Jon back. She knew he would always have his dark side but she was glad knowing he would never lie or keep things from her again. She closed her eyes, as she felt peaceful rise and fall of his chest under her cheek. The King and Queen both fell asleep peacefully intertwined in each other’s arms… And for the first time since they had been reunited her husband did not wake her from her slumber calling out or gasping for air……

 


 

Petyr Baelish

 

It was an almost late evening in Kings Landing. Petyr was in one of his brothels reeling over his failed plans... The Stark’s, including his beautiful Catelyn were supposed to come South... he was to feed snippets of the truth regarding the Queen’s children to Eddard Stark when he became Hand of the King... but before he had the whole truth was revealed the King would die... The Stark’s were supposed to be on the verge of waging war against the Lannister’s... and Eddard Stark was supposed to die or be sent to the Wall... He was supposed to be there to pick up the pieces for Cat when her world came crumbling down... Now all his years of careful scheming and plotting to take the Throne for himself and have his Catelyn as his Queen have been all for naught. 

 

He was also furious of this Aegon Targaryen... Could it really be true that he had hatched an actual real life dragon? It is also rumored that he has a horde of nearly 100,000 Dothraki savages and screamers and that he has married Daenerys Targaryen... And how could he forget that he calls himself the rightful heir to the Iron Throne... Would Westeros truly bow to the dragons once more? 

 

He sighed as the stood up from his chair and walked over to the table and poured himself a full glass of summer wine. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip as he tried to figure out who this Aegon Targaryen truly is and how has he married Daenerys Targaryen... How had he hatched a dragon? And how the fuck did he gain control the largest Dothraki Khalasar ever know to exist? 

 

He sighed again as he sat back down in his chair and took another long sip of wine. He needed a new plan... Was now the time to get rid of Robert? The more he thought the more he was sure that the fat King needed to live... for now... at least until Robert had gotten rid of the threat across the Narrow Sea... He wondered what were The King’s plans for disposing of the Dragonspawns? All he knew was that they needed to be eliminated before any future plans he concocted could start to take root.

 

He closed his eyes trying to think of any way he could change the recent events towards his favor...  The Lannisters has dishonored the Wolves... and now the North was independent... He needed to gain favor with the North... Cat trusted him when they were children... would she still trust him now? He needed to get one of his whores into a brothel in Wintertown... Now that Winterfell was the capital of the North more people would be traveling there... he needed eyes and ears... surly one of the Prince’s or Ned’s ward or house hold guard would frequent the brothel... Yes, getting one of his whore’s up north was a must... 

 

He took another sip from his wine while he was deep in his thoughts…'Chaos is a ladder... soon the Starks, Targaryens, Lannisters and Baratheon will be in each other's throats.' He took another deep sip, he needed to come up with a way to divide the kingdoms even further...

 

'The Targaryen's will return to Westeros and try to take back their family Thorne. They will not stand for the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s reign.' He felt shivers run down his spine at the thought of their return... Fire and Blood. Would the Kingdom’s unite to fight the dragons or would the bow down before them.

 

'If they do return and do have a dragon ... All of my lives work would have been for nothing. They will end House Stark, House Lannister and House Baratheon for their part in the Rebellion. I need the all the Houses to fight against each other... I cannot let one house prevail and wipeout all the other... They must all become extinct.' He took another deep breath as he took another sip from his wine.

 

He was soon disturbed when he heard a knock on his door and one of his male whores say, "My Lord... a rider has brought an urgent message for you... It is from Lady Arryn." 

 

‘What is fucks name could that damned woman want now... I sent her to the Vale to get out of my hair,’ he thought as he got up from his chair. He walked over to the wooden chamber door, put a false smile on his face, then gripped the handle and  pulled it open.

 

"Thank you,” Lord Baelish said as he took the letter from the blond hair man’s hand. The man smiled at him, bowed his head, then turned and took his leave. 

 

He slammed the door shut, walked back over to his chair, opened the letter and began to read what the crazy bitch wrote.

 

 

 

 

My Beloved Petyr,

Your plan has failed! You promised me that our son, our Sweet Robin would become King if I poisoned my husband and sent the letter to my sister stating it was the Lannister’s.

Now my sister is a Queen... After the North was granted Independence they will not aid us in the fight against the Lannister’s!

We need another plan. We could join houses with the Stark’s... Why don't we ask my sister for a marriage alliance? One of her daughter’s, Sansa or Arya, could marry our Sweet Robin and become Lady of the Vale and then Queen of the Seven Kingdoms... Surely after we take the Throne they will rejoin the other Kingdoms of Westeros...

If we have a war against the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s I know my sister and the North will aid us, especially if one of the Princesses is married to our boy...

Family, Duty, Honor. 

Let me know if you have a better plan. I will wait for your input before I pen a letter to my sister. 

I hope to hear from you soon.

Lysa Tully Arryn, Lady of the Eyrie

 

He felt his fist closing around the base of his glass wine chalice and then he threw it against the wall, shattering it into thousands of tiny pieces. 'The Starks would never marry one of their daughters to Robin. They will make other alliances because they think House Arryn is already loyal to them! Gods that woman is so fucking delusional!' 

 

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. Now he had to think about the crazy woman he has played since they were child in Riverrun on top of everything else on his mind... 

 

He knew there was no hope in calming himself because he then remembered that now of his spies have seen the Master of Whisperers for days.

'Where are you Lord Varys? What could the plump eunuch be doing that he has remained hidden for nearly three days? I need to know what scheme his is weaving! I will have to do something soon. My main concerns are the Dragons and the Wolves ... Eddard Stark is going beyond the Wall to investigate strange matters and to find his heir and bastard. He is not threat to the throne... yet. I will soon have my whores spying on the Starks... and I will send more to Essos to spy on the the Targaryens... The Targaryens are my main concern at this time.' 

 

He took a deep breath to try and get his head to stop spinning. 'If I do not eliminate the Targaryen’s, I will never sit on the Iron Throne... They are all mad and will burn King’s Landing to the ground to take back what they think is theirs!' 

 

He then smiled when an idea came to mind, ‘The Faceless Men are in Braavos... I can convince King Robert to hire them... We can let them eliminate the Targaryen’s... Robert will love this plan!’ A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he now has a plan to end the Targaryen family for good... the rest of his worries could wait... for now......

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Let us know what you think about the chapter in the comments below! :)

Chapter 14: Mother of Dragons

Summary:

Jon, Dany and Robb join the Khalasar and are surprised by what they see. Varys and Illyrio head to the Khalasar and Varys meets with Khal Aegon. Theon has a run in and is sent on a mission by the Queen. Eddard and company continue their trek to the Wall. Viserys fate is sealed in true Targaryen fashion.

Notes:

Hey, guys thank you for being patient. This chapter did take more than 2 weeks to write so if there are any errors with words please forgive us because this chapter is 58,000 words long ... It's basically the length of three chapters so sorry if a few words are errored. Thank you all for your support. We truly do appreciate it! :) Your ideas and opinions, as well as your love, are appreciated in the comments below. I just want to say thank you to my Co-Writer for staying up late 02:00 in order to finish the section.

Oh, one thing a few rules BEFORE READING PLEASE!

1. Grab a wine or ale.
2. Sit down or lay down on a bed.
3. Then read the chapter so that you can enjoy this extremely long chapter.

As I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Daenerys Targaryen I

Daenerys was naked, laying on her side under a thin silk sheet, in the middle of plush featherbed she shared with her husband in their chambers within Illyrio’s Pentoshi manse. She was beginning to wake as streams of sunlight that filtered through the drawn curtains of the room. She shivered and began to mumble as the sheet shifted behind her and she felt fingertips softly trailing down her bare back making their way down towards her arse. When the hands stopped, she then felt two warm calloused hands, give her arse cheeks a firm but mischievous squeeze.

She kept her eyes closed as she smiled; she knew her husband was the one behind her, squeezing her bare arse cheeks. She shivered again as she rolled over onto her stomach and put her face in her pillow, in an effort to keep her smile away from her playful husband. She felt him press kisses each of her arse cheeks as he continued to massage them before he started slowly kissing up her uncovered back until he finally reached her neck. When his mouth arrived at her neck, he began to give her wet, sloppy, open mouth kisses and when he began to nibble and suck on her earlobe, she could no longer keep silent as a moan escaped her lips. ‘Gods… I could come undone just by his kisses.’

“Dany... Dany…” her husband murmured into her ear between kisses.

"mmm,” she moaned into her pillow as Jon continued to pepper her neck with his lips.

“It is time to wake up and get out of bed,” he whispered as he teasingly nipped on her earlobe

She moaned, “Not yet,” as she shook her head and then pulled her pillow overtop of her head. She smiled underneath the pillow when she heard him chuckle.

"So... You want to play this game again?" He said between chuckles.

I wonder what game exactly he would like to play again?’ She thought to herself as she kept her mouth shut and head under the pillow, trying to keep her own laughter at bay. She got her answer when he pulled the pillow from off the top of her head. He then grabbed her hips and turned her around onto her back, exposing her smiling face, round breasts, flat stomach and already wet cunt. 

Daenerys watched as he observed her body for a moment before he smiled and leaned down to kiss her on her passionately plump upper lips. She placed her hands around his neck to deepen the kiss, licking his bottom lip so that he allowed her tongue entrance. Their tongue battled with ferocity until she had to pull away for air; they both smiled as they both panted in an attempt to catch their breath. 

She saw her husband with a wicked smile on his lips as he moved down her body, showering the pale skin of her neck and chest before he began suckling on one of her pink erect nipples. A throaty moan escaped her mouth as he twisted the nipple and squeezed her other breast. Her gut tingled with desire as her kissed across her chest and began giving her other breast the same suckling attention he had just given its twin. She looked down and noticed that a large red mark on the breast he had finished devouring, ‘He has claimed what is his,’ she thought as she grabbed his hair, pulling his face to hers kiss for another kiss. When he reached her face, she moved her hands from his hair to his cheeks and she felt him place one of his hands on her stomach and the other behind her head, pulling her closer to him, intensifying the kiss. 

She removed one of her hands from his cheek while they were kissing each other and moved it down to his cock, but was disappointed to discover he was completely clothed. She moaned in dissatisfaction, pulled away from him and noticed that he was dressed in his finest dark brown leather breeches and stark grey tunic. She then teasingly asked him with the best perplexed look she could muster, "And why are you not naked, Jon Snow?" 

She saw a smirk on his face as he answered, "Well, my love... I had to outside... In order to get everything ready... I very well could not do that without clothes on." 

She was confused when her husband said this, ‘Why was he up and outside before the sun came up? He did not wake me with any restless sleep, so I know that he slept well,’ she mused to herself as Jon placed a chaste kiss on her lips. When he pulled away, she looked him in the eyes and saw no signs of distress. She then remembered that Illyrio would be arriving today with Lord Varys, so she smiled at him and asked, “What were you doing up and outside so early? Are we going somewhere?" 

She moaned as she placed on finger in her wet cunt thinking of how it was when his cock was inside it the previous night as he fucked her hard from behind. She was pulled awe from her thoughts as he said while he growled kissing her neck.

"We... My dear wife, are going to join our Khalasar...” He stated between sloppy open-mouthed kisses to her neck. “Which is where Lord Varys and Illyrio are going to meet us,” he added as he teased her lower folds with the tips of his fingers.

She momentarily lost her train of thought when he inserted one finger into her entrance. She moaned as he kissed her neck and finger fucked her now dripping cunt with one hand and cupped and caressed one of her breasts with the other; in the moment all she could think about was the way that he had fuck her hard from behind the night before. She was pulled from her trance when he released a growl.

"I... Oh gods... I thought we would meet Illyrio and Lord Varys here... In the manse?" she was able to ask between squeals of pleasure.

She opened her eyes when husband pulled away from his attack on her neck as he smiled at her and softly said, "We would have, my love... However... I want Lord Varys to see you hatch the Dragons... I want him to see that the Targaryen’s have returned and that we will resume our place as the rightful rulers of Westeros... Therefore, I told Ser Jorah to meet them at the docks and take them to the Khalasar."

She smiled as she pulled him in for a kiss. Their tongues battled she took her one of her hands from behind his neck and went down to his breeches. She started rubbing his cock and when she began to feel the beginnings of his erection, she started to pull on the laces of his breeches so that she could free his member from his leather dungeon. However, before she could complete her task she was halted when her husband grabbed hold of her hand and pulled it away.

"Dany,” he stated as he pulled away, rested his forehead on hers and smirked as he teasingly stated, “As much as I want to make love to you… We just do not have time for that right now.  Robb and our Blood Riders are waiting on us so we can head to the Khalasar."

She heard him chuckle as she sighed and flopped back on her pillow in defeat. She then rolled her eyes at him as she got out of bed and walked over to her dressing table, while she seductively swayed her hips in hope that her husband would change his mind and take her from behind. Much to her disappointment, all he heard was him laughing from where he was sitting on the side of the bed.

When she reached her dressing table, she noticed a pile of new garments placed on the table. She looked at her husband with knitted brows and asked, "More new clothes? Are you trying to tell me that you have a problem with the way that I dress, Jon Snow?"

Jon shook his head and chuckled as got up from the bed. He walked over towards her and placed both hands low on her hips. The then started pressing tender kisses to her neck as she heard him murmur, "These are Dothraki clothes... I asked Bako to take Viserys to the Khalasar before dawn this morning… and when he returned, he brought these… They were made by the women of the Khalasar, especially for their new Khaleesi... "

She smiled as she moaned and pulled away from him as he began to nibble on her ear. “Jon, I will never be able to get ready if you keep this up!” She teasingly protested as she pick up her new garments. She then turned around and added, “That is unless you would like that Khalasar to meet their new Khaleesi… Unclothed...”

Her husband snorted in response and then said, “I feel that I would very much like you to be wearing clothing when you meet the Khalasar.”

She chuckled as well and admired the clothes that had been made for her; there was a pair of dark brown leather gloves, a soft brown, forest green and cream twill midriff top with matching wrap skirt and brown leather riding breeches. While she was admiring the new clothing, she turned to face her husband and gasped when she realized that the chest containing her three eggs was gone.

"Jon!” She exclaimed in panic, “Where is the chest with the dragon eggs?"

Her anxiety dimmed a little when she saw the amused smile on her husband’s face as walked over to her and softly stated, "They... were taken to the Khalasar... Along with all of our other personal belongings." 

She smiled when he grabbed her by her hips with both hands and pulled her closer towards him so that her naked chest was against his chest. "Do you know how to speak Dothraki?  ... You will need to know the language in order for our Khalasar to know who you truly are." 

She smiled as she pulled him in for a kiss. As always, the kiss quickly became a battle of tongues and she moaned into his mouth as the kiss intensified. When she pulled as away she answered his question in Dothraki tongue. "Anha tiholat hash tat speak Dothraki anna athfiezar.  Tat vo worry anna zhavvorsa verf" (I know how to speak Dothraki, my love. Do not worry my dragon wolf)  

She saw an impressed smile on his face as she said this and he answered, "Anha tihat Doreah et taught yer chek" (I see Doreah has taught you well). 

Her smiled widened as he placed both hands on her arse and kissed her on the mouth again. He then pulled away and began to press warm kisses down her neck, to her chest until he reached her already erect nipples. She laced her fingers in his loose hair and let out a loud moan of pleasure when he also gave her arse a tight squeeze. 

Suddenly, much to her dismay, he stopped pleasuring her breasts, looked up at her with a twinkle in his sable eyes and a smirk on his face and said, "Hash yer step mra ki bonfire fin tikh yer astat tat Khalasar." (When you step out of the bonfire what will you say to the Khalasar).  

She moaned and grabbed his hair when he attacked her breasts once more. She then breathed out, “Anha zin Daenerys Targaryen.  Jin vezhven Khaleesi ki Khal Aegon.  Anha zin jin Khaleesi fin mounts jin rhaesheser vi ma the vezhven Khal Aegon.  Anha tikh give yer jin vezhven vezh fin mounts jin rhaesheser.” (I am Daenerys Targaryen. The great Khaleesi of the Khal Aegon. I am the Khaleesi who mounts the world along with the Great Khal Aegon. I will give you the great stallion who mounts the world.) 

She shivered as he started kissing her flat abdomen. She then heard him mutter, "Astat me again.  Anha zala tat make sure yer tikh remember me." (Say it again. I want to make sure you will remember it.) 

She moaned into the air as he went back onto suckling on one of her nipples, while he twisted the other between two fingers and squeezed her arse with his other hand. She then took a deep breath before saying it again in a clear loud voice, as she “Anha zin Daenerys Targaryen.  Jin vezhven Khaleesi ki Khal Aegon.  Anha zin jin Khaleesi fin mounts jin rhaesheser vi ma the vezhven Khal Aegon.  Anha tikh give yer jin vezhven vezh fin mounts jin rhaesheser.” (I am Daenerys Targaryen. The great Khaleesi of the Khal Aegon. I am the Khaleesi who mounts the world along with the Great Khal Aegon. I will give you the great stallion who mounts the world.) 

After she said the last syllable of her speech, she gasped as one of his fingers entered her aroused cunt. He then worked his head up from stomach to her mouth and kissed her fiercely before he pulled away, placed his forehead on hers and breathed out, "Anha zhilak yera ma ei anna zhor.  Anna zhavvorsa" (I love you with all my heart. My Dragon)  

She smiled, looked him lovingly in the eyes and stated softly, "Anha zhilak yera ma ei anna zhor.  Anna zhavvorsa verf .” (I love you with all my heart. My Dragon Wolf.) 

He smiled back at her and gave her another another quick kiss on the lips before he took a few steps back and said, "Dany, you need to get dressed... I have something that I need to show you." 

She raised her eyebrow and asked, “What is it that you need to show me?”

“You will see, my love... it is a surprise... and you will see it after you have dressed and we have broken our fast.” 

She sighed in defeat and quickly dressed in her new Dothraki clothing. When she finished dressing, she donned the brown leather riding gloves and strapped Dark Sister to her back. She then turned to face him and nervously asked, “So... How do I look?”

She smiled as he walked over to her, grabbed her waist, looked her in the eyes and whispered, "You look like a true Khaleesi, Dany." He then pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and added, "Gods... I do not know what I did to deserve you." 

She smiled, placed a kiss on his lips and stated, "You do deserve me, Jon. I should be the one asking what I did to deserve you." She then began to lick his neck and placed wet, open mouth kisses upon it, which made him growl. 

She saw a smile on his face as he pulled away from kisses. He then placed both of his hands on her breasts, overtop the cloth of her cleavage exposing top. As he playfully cupped and squeezed them, she smiled at him as she teasingly said, “Jon Snow, I take it you like my breasts?”

"Gods, Dany...  Your body will be the end of me... Your perfect round breasts... Your cunt that is always wet and ready for me.... Your smile can always pull me from my brooding... Gods you are the most beautiful women in the world."

She felt a blush spread up her chest and across her cheeks as he said this. She could not help but to pull him in for another kiss. When he pulled his face from hers and removed his hand from her chest, she sighed because of the loss of his touch. 

"Come on my love... Let us go break our fast... then you will get your surprise.” He said with a smile as he offered her his arm.

She smiled, took his arm and he led her out of their chambers to the kitchen. As they entered the kitchen, side by side, she saw her good brother smiling at them from where he sat in the corner of the kitchen. 

"Good morning Dany... I see Jon was finally able to wake you." Her good brother said as he stood up from the table, walked over to her and pulled her in for a warm embrace. 

When the embrace broke, she looked him with a quirked brow and asked, "Robb, have you been awake for long?"

He chuckled with a smirk and nodded, “Aye, I have been up for a few hours now... I mean your husband needed to help to make sure all of our belongings were sent to the Khalasar... Also, your pathetic excuse of a brother was quite loud this morning... I am actually surprised he did not wake you... The site was really amusing... He kept on squealing and shrieking when Bako placed him on the horse... He continued his whining even after they left the manse." 

“That does not surprise me,” She said with a sigh as she thought, ‘At least after tonight no one will ever have to listen to another word or shriek or squeal from him ever again... After tonight, I will have justice for the way he treated me for all those years... He will suffer... What kind of brother would sell his only family, like a broad mare... After tonight the world will never have to worry about his madness and he will never be able to harm me or anyone else ever again!’ She was pulled from her thoughts when her husband spoke.

"Dany we best break our fast,” He said as he handed her an empty plate, “We will most likely not eat again until late evening." 

She smiled and nodded as she took the plate and began to fill it with a variety of meats, cheeses, fruits and freshly baked bread. She then saw their child, Saragon, when he screeched and landed next to her on the counter. She offered the grey dragon a piece of sausage and chuckled as he scarfed it down so quickly she doubted he even tasted it. She was also surprised when she realized how much he had grown, ‘I swear... he has had to have doubled in size since I saw him last night! Gods he is almost as big as Ghost! He is so big he cannot even climb on Jon’s shoulder anymore!’ She was pulled from her musings as the two young direwolves came running in the room, requesting pets and their own plates of meat. As she placed some bacon and fish on the floor for both Grey Wind and Ghost she was astonished that they too seemed to have grown over night; they were both now the size of a large hound. 

She then made her way over to the table, sat down next to her husband and began to eat. As they ate, they spoke about their plans for the day and what she should expect when they finally reached the Khalasar. 

Once they were done eating her husband stood up, offer her his hand and with a smirk on his face said, "Come with me, Dany... I believe that it is time for your surprise...” 

She looked from her husband to her good brother and noticed that he also had a knowing smirk on his face. She smiled as she accepted Jon’s outstretched hand and allowed him to led her out of the manse towards the courtyard. When they reached the courtyard, she saw two large black stallions, that she knew belonged to her husband and her good brother.

As they approached the horses, she noticed that her good brother had followed them. When they stopped in front of the horses as he looked at her, smiled and asked, "We are leaving to join our Khalasar, Dany. Are you ready?" 

She frowned when she answered, "I am ready to meet them... However, I see a problem... How am I supposed to get to the Khalasar... You and Robb already have horses... Remember, I do not have a horse... Am I going to ride with you?” 

She saw the smirk on her husband's face as he pulled her in for a quick kiss on her lips. The them mused, "This morning, I came to remember... That I never did give you a wedding gift." 

She smiled as she shook her head and stated, "Jon... There is no need for you to give me gift... You have already given me so much... You saved me from a terrible fate..." 

He smiled as he placed his hands on her cheeks and softly said, "Then I hope that you will be angry to hear that I already got you a wedding gift." 

She was confused, 'A wedding gift?’ She soon saw one of the handmaidens bring with a beautiful mare, with a silvery-white mane and coat that matched her own locks, into the courtyard. She smiled at her husband, and asked, "Jon... she is beautiful... How... Where did you get her?" The handmaiden brought the horse to her and she scratched the snout of the horse and continued to smile at her husband.

Her husband smiled back at her and answered, "I asked Bako if there were any horses within the Khalasar fit for their Khaleesi... He told me that Drogo had planned to gift his horse to you... He told me that she was bread to be gentle and quick... That she is the best horse in the whole Khalasar... So I asked him to bring her here... I know that she was supposed to be Drogo’s gift to you... However, when Bako described the horse, I remembered you telling me about her... how much you loved her... and how she was the perfect horse... I know that Drogo chose her... He may have been an evil man... but he did know horses and she is a good horse... I would like to give her to you as a wedding gift... Since I am the Khal my Khaleesi must have a worthy steed." 

“Thank you, my love. She is perfect.... Also, thanks to you... I never had the chance to meet Drogo... The man whom would ride though villages, terrorize, rape, steal and enslave...” She replied with a smile as she pulled her husband in for a kiss. ‘Jon had told me, previously that I had learned to love Drogo in her past life... However, I fell nothing for him now... I cannot remember anything about him... All I know now are the stories I have heard... about how he fucked women like they were horses... and how he did not care about their feelings or how he hurt them or their families. I am glad that my true love, my Jon, killed him for saying what he would do to me.’ 

When the kiss was broken she rested her forehead on his and he whispered, "Are you ready to meet our Khalasar?" 

She smiled and nodded. Her husband smiled back as he took her hand guided her to the horse. He then placed both hands on her hips and lifted her up like a pillow onto the silvery-white mare. Once she was on her horse she smiled at her good brother and husband and they both mounted their own horses. 

She looked back at Illyrio’s manse... Knowing that this was the place where her husband saved her... This is the place he traveled to all the way from Winterfell... From across the Narrow Sea, just to save her from her horrible excuse of a brother... From a madman that wanted to sell her to a rapist. 

After a few moments, her husband brought his horse over to her and said, "Come one Dany, let’s go... Tonight you will prove to our Khalasar and to Lord Varys, that you are a worthy Khaleesi and Queen." 

She looked at him and smiled. Then, with a gentle pull of the reins, Daenerys, Jon and Robb left the manse to meet the Khalasar…...

 


  

Theon Greyjoy

It was still early in the morning at Winterfell and Theon was in the training yard, wielding his sword against one of the straw filled training dummies set up by Ser Rodrik. It had already been a day since Lord Stark left Winterfell and his Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister, his brother Benjen and his four guards. The Heir to the Iron Islands and Ward of Winterfell wished that he had been allowed to go to the Wall and search for the two young men whom he considered to be his brothers… He was worried about Robb and Jon… alone and lost beyond the Wall… However, he knew his duty… The King in the North, the man whom had become a father to him, entrusted him with his most important possessions…  He trusted him, Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, to keep his family, his children and his wife safe from anyone whom would try to cause them harm. 

As he swung his sword against the training dummy, he thought to himself, ‘I will make King Eddard proud… I will prove myself and my loyalty… No harm will come to his family… They are my family as well...’ Even though the air was crisp and cool, he starting to sweat as he continued to slash at the dummy. 

When he decided to halt his training for a minute, to take a drink of cool water from his water skin, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He saw two men that he had never seen before, whom were wearing Stark Household guard uniforms. What caught is attention is that they as they walked around the castle they appeared to be lost and they were also wearing the uniforms incorrectly. ‘Maybe the King hired new guards prior to his departure… But surly, I would have been informed… And someone would have at least given them a tour of Winterfell… Something just seems off with those two… Lord… King Eddard likes his staff to be clean and presentable… Those two look like they have been riding for days… I will find out what they are after… I need to follow them and make sure that they are not a threat to my family.’ 

As the two men entered the castle, Theon quickly stabbed his blunt sword into the training dummy. He then picked-up the scabbard containing his castle forged steel sword from where he had rested it against the base of the dummy and followed the two men who appeared out of place. He walked over to the doors where they entered and saw them looking around, ‘They appear to be looking for something or someone… They keep looking around… Like they want to make sure that they are not be followed,’ Theon thought as he hid in the shadows. 

He continued silently following them around the dimly lit stonewalled halls of the main keep, keeping himself hidden from their sight behind walls as they continued to walk aimlessly through the halls. He became concerned when they took a right hand turn, ‘They do not appear to know where they are going… What are they doing in this section of the Castle anyways… This hall leads to the family wing… Surely, they do not want to harm the Starks… I need to confront them… But how… I do not want to let them know that I followed them… Maybe I can act like I am on the way to my chambers and can ask them if they are in need of directions…’  

He was just about to make his presence known and ask them if they were in need of directions when they suddenly stopped in the middle of the hall. He then noticed a young servant girl on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stone floors. He hurried to press himself against the stonewall around the corner, about 30 feet away and strained his ears when one of the men started to speak. 

"Sorry... Ma... mi’lady... Can you please... Is there any way that you could help us..." the larger of the two men stuttered nervously. 

Theon waited, around the corner, behind the stonewall of the hallway, doing his best to overhear what was being said. He prayed that his suspicions were wrong and the men were in fact just lost.  

"Of course,” he heard the young woman reply in a kind tone, “How is it that I might help the two of you?" 

He poked his head around the corner... he was not able to see either of their faces, but he heard one of them ask, "Can you please tell us where are the princess chambers?" 

He then gasped as his suspicion that these men did not belong at Winterfell became even clearer. ‘Why do they want to know where the princesses’ chambers are located?’ He thought to himself as he took a deep breath. 

He noticed a look of confusion on the servant girl’s face, “I am sorry… but what business do you have with the princesses?” 

The smaller of the two men spoke this time, “Their Father, the King in the North hired us… the other day… He wanted us to watch over them… to make sure that they are safe while he is away.” 

Theon was momentarily stunned by what he just heard, ‘That is not true… The King definitely would have told me… He asked me to keep them safe… These men want to harm Sansa and Arya!’ 

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the young servant girl say, “Oh... okay... their chambers are just over there... the second door on the left is Princess Sansa’s and directly across is Princess Arya’s.” 

He turned the corner and was now in a position to see the sinister smiles on each of their faces as the larger man said, "Thank you, kindly for this information… The King would be very proud of you for doing everything possible to make sure that his family stays safe in his absence.” He added with a tip of his head, “Milady.”  

Theon observed that the two men had satisfied smiles on their faces as they took their leave in the direction of the princesses’ chambers. He hesitated for a minute, ‘I should get help... I cannot defend both rooms at the same time... one Princess will be harmed no matter which room I go to. Fuck... I have to go after them... I cannot allow anything to happen to either Arya or Sansa...’ He shook his head to clear his mind and saw that the servant was still scrubbing the floor as he hurried down the hall after the men, he looked at her and stated, “Get help! Those are not Stark guards... go! Now!” He was they young girl take off in the other direction as he ran down the hall after the intruders. 

He was just about ten paces behind them when the two men kicked the doors of each princesses’ chambers open. He watched  as the two strange men enter the chambers and then he heard one of them angrily call, "They aren't here!"  

“They aren’t in here either,” the other man called in a frustrated tone in response. 

Theon released a breath he did not know he was holding and decided he had to strike now, while they had their guard down; he knew he did not have time to wait for help. He drew his sword and was about to call out to the two men when he heard the voices of Arya and Sansa coming from down the hall behind him. 

He heard as the two men began to stomp towards the exits of the the room. ‘Fuck what should I do... I have to keep them safe... I promised King Eddard I would protect his family!’ He was pulled from his thoughts as Arya and Sansa neared and he overheard their conversation. 

"Arya... We must hurry... Master Syrio is already waiting for us in training yard!" Sansa exclaimed with an exacerbated sigh. 

"I know... But I need to change clothes... I cannot wear this to our lesson! I cannot fight in a dress... I don’t know how you do it... Don’t worry... it will just take me a minute!" Arya retorted.  

“Theon? What are you doing here?” Sansa questioned with a furrowed brow, before stating, “Your chambers are at the other end of the hall.” 

He was about to warn them not to come any closer, when the two men began to emerge from the princesses’ chambers with daggers in their hands.  

He gasped, “Arya! Sansa! Run! Run Now! Get out of here,” as he turned around and started running towards them.  

They both stared at him and he could tell by their furrowed brows that they were confused. He heard Sansa let out an ear shattering scream and he knew that they saw the men with the daggers coming towards them. ‘I have to keep them safe... I must protect them... I promised their father… The King… That no harm would come to his family...’  

He turned around and gripped his sword as he was about to strike them. One of the two assassins swiftly grabbed his own sword and parried his attack. He pushed him away and then ran in front of the two girls he considered to be his sisters. ‘I promised their father I would keep them safe.’  

"Stay behind me!" He choked out as he turned around to face the assassins, tightening the grip on his sword as he did. 

Theon quickly parried the smaller of the assassins strike and pushed him back once again. When he blocked the other’s attack, pushing him away from the Stark sisters as well and screamed, "Who are you? Who sent you? Why do you want to harm the princesses?"  

The larger of the two men smiled, exposing his rotten yellow teeth, spit on the ground and slowly stated, "None... Of... Ya fuckin’ business."  

The Winterfell ward stood his ground as the two men started walking towards him. ‘I need to keep their attention on me and away from the girls... I need to keep them talking... Help should be here soon.’ He took a deep breath before he demanded, "I need answers! ... Who sent you? ... Why do you wish to kill the Princesses?"  

No words came from the would be assassins mouths; both just had inauspicious smirks on their faces. Theon raised his sword and again readied himself for the false guards attacks. ‘I will protect them... I will keep Arya and Sansa safe just like I promised their father I would,’ Theon told himself repeatedly as he waited for one of them to strike first. He took a deep breath and held his sword up as the larger of the assassins tightened their grip on their own short sword and swung it at the Iron Born young man. He defended himself by parring the attack with his long sword. He then quickly went on attack and swung his sword, but it was blocked. He backed away and was about to strike at the assassin once more, however, before he was able to strike he heard loud growling of two pissed off direwolves coming behind him. Theon noticed that the man in front of him froze in fear as the two direwolves rushed to his aid and tackled him to the ground. The assassin screamed out as Lady and Nymeria began to tear into his flesh like they had not eaten for seven days. The next thing he knew, he saw Nymeria rip the man's throat out as and the man went lip. ‘Thank the gods one of them is dead.’ 

Theon then turned his attention to the smaller assassin. He saw the man shiver in fear as he pissed his pants. He adjusted his grip on his sword and the assassin turned and began to run down the hall as the dagger fell from his hand. 

“STOP YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!” Theon screamed out in anger as he began to chase ager the man. 

As he chased the man through the halls, he saw two Stark Household Guards that he recognized at the end of the hall. "Help me! We must stop him! He tried to murder the princesses!" He called out as he continued to sprint through the halls of Winterfell. 

The two guards had looks of surprise on their faces, but luckily did not question and removed their swords from their scabbards and joined the chase. 

‘Holy fuck this man is fast!’ Theon thought to himself as he and the two Stark guards continued to chase the man. They were almost to the exit that lead to the courtyard. ‘Shit we cannot let this fucker get away!’ he thought as the would be assassin pulled open the door. However, before the man could exit the castle, he was stopped by a fist to his face and fell to the ground holding his jaw. He looked at the man who had punched the false guard in the face, and saw that it was the Water Dancing Master, Syrio Forel, who was shaking his head in disbelief. 

Theon reached the man just a couple of seconds later. He grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, pushed him against the grey stone wall, put the tip of his sword at the man’s throat and exclaimed, "Trying to kill the Stark Princesses was a grave mistake… You worthless cunt!" 

When the guards finally caught up, Theon lowered his sword, pushed the assassin towards the guards and seethed, “Set up the block! We need to execute him now! This man tried to kill Sansa and Arya!” 

He watched as the guards roughly grabbed the man and were about to lead him into the courtyard, however, before they were able to open the now closed door, Syrio stood in front of the door and exclaimed, “Do not do it… Not yet at least!” 

Theon and the Stark Guards looked at the Braavosi man with dumbfounded expressions and the Iron Island native knitted his bow and retorted, "Why not? Than man is guiltily… I watched him break into one of the Princess’s chambers! If she would have been in there, she would be severely injured or dead… One of King Eddard Stark’s daughters would be DEAD! 

"Yes that is true, Lord Theon… However, he man must be kept him alive for questioning... Queen Catelyn will surely want to know why he tried to kill her daughters as well who hired him… And the King or Queen may want to be the one whom determines the sentence." 

He looked back at the assassin and saw the man squealed, “Don’t hurt me… I will tell you everything! Just please… don’t hurt me.”

‘Fuck, Syrio is right… The King needs to pass this judgement.’ He sighed and nodded in agreement. He then looked towards the two guards, whom were hold the attempted assassin’s arms, and gritted out, “Take him to the cells! Then inform the Queen… And sweep the castle for anyone else who does not belong… We need to make sure that the castle is secure!”

The two men nodded and one of them said, “Right away, Lord Theon,” as they forcefully escorted the would be assassin to the prison cells of Winterfell.

His heart rate began to calm as he watched the guards escorting the man, suddenly he gasped when realized that he had completely forgotten about Sansa and Arya and that there were alone and unprotected. He then cried out, "Fuck… We need to make sure that the princesses are safe!"

Theon and Syrio swiftly rushed down halls and towards the girls’ chambers. When they arrived, panting for air, they found both girls sitting against the stone wall, next to the dead body, embracing and with looks of shock on their faces. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that they were safe and that Nymeria and Lady standing guard.

He slowed his pace to a walk, slowly made his way over to them got down on his knees in front of the two girls and embraced them, just like a big brother would. “Shhh… it is okay... you are both safe now,” he murmured as he held the backs of their heads on his shoulders, “I am here… Syrio is here… We will not let anything happen to you… Your mother should be here at any moment… We will make sure that you have guards with you at all times.”

The two girls clung to him tightly as they began to cry onto his shoulders. After a few moments of silence, he heard clanging of metal rushing down the hall. He quickly stood and Nymeria and Lady rushed to his sides. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that it was Queen Catelyn, Maester Lewin and two other Stark Household Guards rounding the corner and hurrying towards them.

When the Queen arrived, she gasped when she saw the man dead in the middle of the hall, in a pool of his own blood. Sansa and Arya rushed to their mother, who welcomed them with open arms. Once the girls had calmed, she looked at Theon with terror and unshed tears in her eyes and asked, “What happened? … The guards said something about assassins.”

“Your Grace... I saw two men dressed as Stark guards, walking around lost… I followed them… They were heading towards Princess Sansa and Princess Arya chambers… Luckily, they were not in the rooms, but when they came out the girls were coming up the hall… I was able to hold them off until the direwolves arrived… Then I and two other Guards chased down the man that got away… Syrio prevented the man from escaping the castle… I would have killed the man… But Syrio stated the man needed to be questioned… that that you or the King needs to be the one to pass the sentence…”

"Were there only the two assassins?" She asked, as she looked him with worried eyes.

Theon shook his head, “We are not sure, your Grace. The guards whom are taking the assassin we were able to capture, thanks to Syrio… are going to sweep the castle once the prisoner is secured in the cells.”

She looked at the Water Dancer with a slight smile of gratitude, "Thank you, Syrio... House Stark and House Tully are forever grateful for you actions..."

The Water Dancer cut her off. "There is no reason to thank me, Your grace,” the Water Dancer stated humbly as he bowed his head. He then looked up and continued, “I have come to deeply care for your children... I would never let that assassin leave Winterfell without punishment."

The Queen gave a slight nod of acknowledgement to the Braavosi man before turning her attention back to her daughters. Theon saw the concerned look on her face when she knelt down and asked, “Are you two alright?”

He saw Arya and Sansa nod, which sent waves of relief throughout his entire body.

"We are fine mother,” Sansa said softly as she embraced her mother tightly. She then looked at her in the eyes and added, “I fear if Theon was not here... We would have been killed.”

The Queen and the two princesses looked at him with sincere smiles. Little Arya then, looked at him and said, “Thank you Theon… Thank you for saving us.”

Theon watched as The Queen in the North pressed a tender loving kiss to each of her daughters’ foreheads. She then looked at the Water Dancing Master and asked, "Syrio... Would you please escort both my daughters to my chambers... And please stay with them… keep them safe until we are sure that Winterfell is secure?"

"I would be honored to protect your children, my Queen." He stated as he bowed his head. “Come on, my Princesses… Let us do as your mother has asked.” After another round of hugs and kisses between the Queen and her daughters, Syrio placed a gentle hand on each of the princesses’ back as he led them down the hall and out of sight.

After the girls had left, The Queen of the North looked at the Maester and demanded, "Maester Luwin... I need for you to make sure and have three of the most trusted Stark Household Guards sent to my chambers… They are to stay with my daughters at all times...” She sighed and then added, “And please, have Rickon taken to my chambers as well... and ask Master Syrio to protect them all my children… To… Please guard them with his life until I can return to my chambers... and please send someone up here to clean up… What is left of this retched assassin and to repair the damages.”

The gentle older man bowed and nodded in agreement and he stated, "At once, your Grace." The Maester then quickly took his leave.

When Theon knew that three of the Stark children within the walls of Winterfell were all safe, he let out a sigh of relief. It was then that he noticed The Queen in the North was looking at him. “What can I do to help your Grace… I would be glad to take shifts with the Household Guards guarding your children so that they are able to have a rest.”

"Theon... I have another task for I need for you to do for me…”

“Whatever it is I will be happy to help.” He responded automatically.

He noticed that the Queen again looked unnerved as she looked around the hall. She then said quietly, “Not here… I need for you to please follow me..." 

He nodded in agreement and followed his Queen as she led him outside the castle and to the Godswood. When they entered the Godswood he was curious as to what the Queen in the North wanted to discuss with him and why she had brought him all the way to the Godswood, ‘She does not follow the old gods… This must be really serious,’ he thought as they continued through the thick serene forest.’

When she finally stopped, he noticed that they were standing in front of the weeping Weirwood tree. It thought that is was odd that she kept scanning their surroundings, making sure that they had not been followed. She finally spoke when he figured she felt comfortable that they were indeed alone.

"Theon... I… I wanted to thank you… It is quite possible that my daughters would not be alive right now if it was not for your bravery.” She stated as she wiped tears from her eyes.

“Your Grace… You, Your husband and your children have been part of my life since I became your ward when I was nine years old… More than half my life… I would do anything to make sure that they remain safe and unharmed… need you to do something for me...." Theon remarked softly.

She then looked him in the eyes with such fear but also determination as she asked, “Theon… I have some news to share with you…”

He nodded respectfully and said, "Of course, your Grace... What is it… What can I do to help?”

He noticed that she still appeared very anxious, and when she spoke, her voice was almost inaudible. "What I am about to tell you... The information I am sharing is to be kept a secret… If this information is heard by the wrong ears… if it gets to the wrong people… It could lead to all of our heads on spikes…" she took a deep breath and paused for several moments.

‘What information could she have that could lead to our deaths… Something really weird is going on…’ Theon thought as he waited for her to continue.

"I... I mean we... We did not wish to tell you the truth just yet… We needed to make sure that you were loyal to us… That you would not turn your back on us and sell this information to the wrong hands... The truth as to where Robb and Jon truly are..."

The Iron Born young man was shocked when he heard this. "Your Grace... I… The King has told everyone they were lost beyond the Wall? … The King told me, before he left for the Wall, that they were safe… and not to worry about them… but it is hard to believe that they are truly safe when no one knows where they are exactly."

The Queen shook her head and almost silently stated, "Robb and Jon are not... lost beyond the Wall."

Theon was confused by what the Queen in the North had said, ‘Why did they not trust him… and why had she call Jon by his name and not the bastard,’ so he cleared his throat and said, "I… I don’t understand, your Grace? ... They are not lost or not beyond the Wall? … And I am also surprised that called King Eddard Stark’s bastard by his given name… I do not think I have ever heard you call him Jon before…" Theon said with a furrowed brow.

He saw that she had a look of fear in her eyes… as if she had said something out of line. He noticed that she swallowed hard before saying, “I am sorry... I meant to say the bastard and my son Robb are just fine… they are safe and on a quest... I thought… Since you saved my daughters… That you proved that you truly do care about the safety of this family… Which we do consider you to be part of… I… I just thought would ease your mind by informing you that we have received word that Robb and Jo… the bastard are doing well."

"Your Grace, where are they? How are you and his Grace so sure that they are safe when they are beyond the Wall… And why did you not tell me the truth? And why did was I not allowed to join them on their quest?" Theon was trying his best to keep his tone calm; however, the cryptic speech of the Queen was frustrating him.

He saw The Queen in the North sigh. "Theon... I was not allowed to tell you that Robb and the bastard were safe... If… If you truly want to know, where they are and why we did not tell you the truth... You will have to ask my husband."

He tried to suppress a chuckle, "Your Grace... Your husband will not return for a few moons..." He saw her raising her hand to stop his rambling

"And therefore you to ride to him… Catch up with his party and inform him of what happened here… about the assassination attempt… I do not trust this information to a Raven… You will ride and go and meet him… If you ride hard you should reach them before they get too far."

He was surprised; he raised an eyebrow and asked, "You really want me to head up the Kings Road… towards the Wall, your Grace?"

"Yes... You to tell him… that assassins have tried to kill Sansa and Arya... as I said… This information cannot be sent via raven…" He nodded.

It appeared that the Queen had more to say so Theon pressed, "Is that all you wish for me to tell him, your Grace?"

She shook her head and whispered, "I need you to tell him that I believe it was… That it was the Lannister’s who ordered the attack."

He was shocked by the Queen’s words. "Your Grace, the Lannister’s?... Why would The Imp want to kill your daughters? … He is the King’s Hand!"

"It was not Tyrion...” She said as she shook her head, “Tyrion… He risked his own life for this family… He saved my girls once already, he would never harm my children... It was his sister Cersei… She was the one who ordered the attack."

He gasped at what he heard, "Cersei Lannister... The Queen of the Southern Six Kingdoms, tried to have your daughters killed, your Grace?" He saw her nod in confirmation, but she did not speak so he continued, "May I ask why you believe it was her, your Grace?"

Queen Catelyn sighed before she answered, "This is exactly something that she would do… She wanted revenge on my daughters for what happened to her bastard son Prince Joffrey."

He was confused 'Bastard?' Joffrey is not a bastard?' "Your Grace... How is he a bastard? He is King Robert’s son…"

He noticed that the Queen smiled as if she knew a secret as she spoke, “My husband and his traveling party left yesterday… You must ride fast and hard if you want to catch them before they reach the Wall...”

He was confused but seven hells he did not care. He was happy that Robb and Jon truly were safe… He was happy that Sansa and Arya were not injured and he was happy that he was going to be joining his King… And that he might get some answers as to what in fucks sake was going on.

He quietly nodded. “Aye, your Grace... I will quickly pack and grab a few provisions and ride fast.” He saw her nod and she turned to head back to the keep.

‘Oh shit... The King asked me to protect his family in his absence! I cannot protect them if I am not here!’ He thought as the Queen walked away, so he called to her, “Your Grace... Your husband told me that I needed to stay here, at Winterfell, to protect you, Sansa, Arya and Rickon while he is away… I will not be able to ensure your safety if I am not here.”   

"It is fine Theon,” Queen Catelyn said with a kind smile, “I will ask Syrio Forel to protect our family at all times… I we will not be without a guard at all times... I need for you to inform my husband… There is no one else I would trust this task to…"

He smiled and nod. "Then I will say goodbye to Sansa and Arya... Pack my provisions and ride hard, your Grace."

“Thank you, Theon,” she answered before she turned and continued towards the castle.

Theon took a minute to pray before the Heart Tree. He prayed for the safe travels of himself and his King… and that the King’s mission Beyond the Wall was successful. He had had not prayed to any gods since he had arrived in Winterfell… There was no way to worship the drowned god of his people… But the Starks were of the North… And if the Starks considered him family, then hopefully their gods would accept him and his prayers. Once he finished his silent prayer, he swore that he heard whispers in the wind as it rattled the leaves of the trees around him. He felt at peace.

After his prayer, nearly ran his chambers, grabbed a bag and threw am extra pair of breeches and a spare tunic into it and then donned his cloak.

Once his clothes were packed, he quickly went to the kitchens to pack some food. As he neared, saw Stark Guards standing at different points throughout the hallway. Then when he entered, he noticed another guard standing at the door with two direwolves as Syrio, Sansa, Arya, and Little Rickon were standing around the counters eating some lemon cakes. When Theon reached the Stark children, Rickon hugged him briefly before running over to the guard and direwolves at the door with a plate full of sweet treats.

"Sansa... Arya? Why are you all here? ... Queen Catelyn… your mother, told you all to wait in her chambers."

He saw them both sigh. 

"We were in her chambers… Then she told us that she needed to speak to Maester Luwin in private... We were hungry and asked her if we could get a snack… So that is why we are here with four guards and two direwolves," Arya retorted.

A chuckle escaped his lips as he nodded. He then cleared his throat and figured that they would like to hear to the news about their brothers. So he walked over to them, grabbed a lemon cake and stated, "I have received some good news."

“What is it? Did they find out why there were assassins? Is that why mother sent us away to speak with Maester Lewin?” Sansa questioned excitedly.

"I… I do not know the answer to those questions,” as he said these words he saw the smile fall from her face, so he quickly continued, “Your mother told me not to say anything… However you are family and I am sure you can keep a secret,” he whispered, “Your mother has told me that Robb and Jon… are both safe…” To his surprise, the two Stark girls did not appear excited by the news.

"You...  You do not seem pleased to know that your older brothers are not lost?"

He saw Arya smiled. "Of course we already knew that they were never lost beyond the Wall… They have been in Pentos this whole time..."

He gasped at the youngest Stark daughter’s words. 'Pentos? Why would they go to Pentos? And why is it such a secret?' He was about to ask why are they in Pentos, however before he could speak Sansa chastised her sister.

"Arya! You weren't allowed to say that!"

"I am sorry Sansa… Theon should know they are safe… He is not going to turn on us like before… He saved us… He is our family."

He was still confused. "Why are Jon and Robb at Pentos? Why would you say I turned on you? I would never cause harm to you all… This is the only family that I have ever know." 

"I am sorry Theon… We know that you would never cause harm to our family… Arya just has a colorful imagination… She has been reading old books again" Sansa answered nervously then added, "Father told us we weren't allowed to tell anyone... He recently got the Raven that they are safe and in Pentos… ah… investigating the reports of Aegon Targaryen… Apparently, they did not tell him that they were going there… He thought that they were going to Castle Black to check on the Wildling reports and weird disturbances the Nights Watch deserter spoke about before he was executed."

He was confused. "Why?" 

He saw her gulped. "We can't say anymore... Sorry, Theon... you will have to ask Mother or Father."

He nodded. "It's fine... I came here to pack some provisions for my quest." He noticed that they both looked surprised so he added, "You mother asked me to ride hard and reach your father… So that I could inform him what happened to you... About the assassins..."

"When will you return?" Sansa asked in a concerned tone.

He smiled, as he answered, "I am not sure... It should not take me long if I ride hard… I should only be gone four... maybe five days" He saw them both frowned which made him smile knowing that they were going to miss him. So in an effort to lighten the mood he added, "I need for you both to be safe while I'm gone… Do not go anywhere without a guard... You know… If anything happens to either of you, your father will behead me…"

Theon saw them both smile at his words and they even chuckled a little. He sighed in relief as embraced them both.

“Promise us that you will be safe.” Little Arya stated as she pulled away from his hug.

“I will… I promise.”

After their embrace, he walked over to the Water Dancing instructor and in a concerned tone he whispered, "Syrio... Please protect them with your life… These girls are like sisters to me… I do not know what I would do if anything happened to them while I was away."

He saw the water dancer smiled and put a hand on the Iron Born young man’s shoulder, "I promise you, Lord Theon, no harm will come to them... I will protect them with my life."

He smiled as he shook the water dancer hand and mouthed a thank you. He then gave Arya and Sansa a final smile and quickly went to go pack some food and some ale before leaving the kitchens with his packed bag.

Theon then entered the stables. He saddled his house and attached his bag to the saddle. Then, with his sword strapped to his hip, he mounted his dark brown steed and started galloping outside of the castle. When he reached the top of the large grassy hill outside the gates he looked back at Winterfell. He smiled knowing that he was loved… That he had a home to return to and that he would be missed while he was gone. As he turned his horse around and rode fast North, towards the King’s Road to meet with King Eddard’s party so he could inform the King what had happened and to hopefully get some more answers to his growing list of questions......

 


 

 Jorah Morment 

Ser Jorah had arrived at the Pentoshi docks early that morning, at the request of his King, to greet Magister Illyrio and Lord Varys upon their arrival and then take them to the Khalasar. It was now midmorning in Pentos, and the hot sun was gleaming down on his face and neck as he was still sitting atop his horse, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the two men from King’s Landing. ‘That is the problem is boats… If the winds are not kind you could be at sea days longer than planned...’  He had been riding his stallion up and down the docks all morning, watching the harbor workers loading and unloading freight and common folk boarding and exiting vessels, when he finally recognized the Fat Magister and a bald man disembarking from the boat that had just sailed into the port. 

He urged his horse towards that Magister’s ship then got off it when the two men took notice of him. The exiled knight offered the two men a welcoming smile, which was returned by Illyrio. He noticed that King Robert’s Master of Whispers had what appeared to be a forced smile on his face and he could tell he had something on his mind. ‘He wants to know why I have not reported to him… I know that he has many questions for me… He will find out why soon enough.’ He exhaled a deep breath, then grabbed his horse by the reins and walked over to greet them.

“Illyrio… Lord Varys,” Ser Jorah greeted them with a respectful bow of his head before raising his head and asking, “How was your journey to Pentos from King’s Landing?”

“The winds where kind and the seas were calm... Thank you Ser Jorah,” The Pentoshi Cheesemonger stated enthusiastically with smile so large that his eyes became squinted. He then noticed that the large man’s gaze shifted to his servants whom were beginning to unload some cargo from his ship. “Pardon me… I will be back in just a moment… I need to check on some precious cargo I have procured for the King.” 

Jorah gave the man a short nod and watched him as he went back aboard the vessel to direct the progress of his staff. He gaze was diverted when he heard Lord Varys sigh. ‘I guess he will be wanting an explanation… Sooner rather than later,’ he thought as he released a breath of his own and met the eunuch’s eyes. However, before he was able to speak, the Spider spoke first.

“I see that you are well, Ser Jorah, considering you have not provided me with any songs since you informed me that Princess Daenerys was to be sold to Khal Drogo… Then when I did not hear about this Aegon Targaryen and his dragon from you, I did fear the worst… That you were dead in an alley somewhere… Then my little birds reported to me that you were now serving this King Aegon… And I thought that you were trying to get close to give me a good report… However, I do feel that you have betrayed King Robert’s trust because you have been in his company near a fortnight and still no songs… Have you truly abandoned our agreement of a royal pardon to be able to return to Westeros?” Varys said with a perplexed look and a frown on his face.

The knight released a breath and then answered, “Aye, I no longer plan to send you information in exchange for a pardon… The Usurper King, Robert Baratheon is not the King that Westeros needs… I now follow the rightful King and Queen, Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen… I believe that they truly are the last and best hope for Westeros…” 

“I am surprised, Ser Jorah… I cannot believe that they would trust if they were aware that you were once one of my spies…” The Master of Whispers stated with a furrowed brow.

“So am I, Lord Vary,” Ser Jorah said as he exhaled, “However, when I was interrogated by King Aegon he was already aware that I was once of your Little Birds… He offered me a second chance… He is an honorable, very much like the man who raised him.” 

The Spider had a perplexed look on his face as he asked, “So you no longer wish to be granted a pardon to return to Westeros?” He then quickly added, “I am certain that King Robert would be willing to offer you money and lands and a title if you so desire for information that could lead to the deaths of the Last Targaryens.”

“No, Lord Varys… I no longer wish to receive a pardon from the false King Robert.” Ser Jorah said with a look of determination, “I have an agreement with King Aegon”

“An agreement?” The eunuch questioned.

“Aye, my lord… King Aegon has offered me a position as part of his Royal Guard, as his wife’s personal guard and has asked me to help him in the wars to come… He stated that after the wars… If I choose, I can continue to serve as part of his family’s Royal Guard or I can return to the North and live the rest of my days in peace as a free man as long as I live by the laws.”

“So tell me, my good Ser… Why is it that you have decided to follow this young man… This Aegon Targaryen... and not King Robert Baratheon?”

Ser Jorah was confused by the Master of Whisper’s question. He knitted his brow and asked, “I am sorry, Lord Vary, but I am afraid that I do not understand what you mean by your question.”

The Fat Eunuch sighed and asked, “What is it that King Aegon can offer or do for you that King Robert cannot? How do you know that he will not begin to drink and whore once he has taken the throne? Why do you feel that he would make a better king when both have offered you a pardon to return to Westeros… To return the North?”

“Because, Lord Varys… King Aegon has told me things… He has told me the horrible things that winter will bring…”

“Horrible things? And what might these horrible things be?” The Master of Whispers questioned.

Ser Jorah released a sigh, looked him in the eyes and stated, “Lord Varys, I am correct in guessing that your Little Birds in the North have sung you a song about the reports from the Nights Watch… About the disturbing reports surrounding and beyond the Wall?”

“My Little Birds are not very dense in the North,” The eunuch admitted with a sigh, “However, I do admit that they have sung some very strange songs as of late… They have said the brothers of the Nights Watch and the Wildlings that have somehow got past the Wall and told them that the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead are stirring beyond the Wall… I cannot say that I believe these reports as they are very vague and come from unreliable sources…” 

The Old Knight gasped when he heard the words come from the Master of Whispers mouth. ‘Dear gods… Everything King Aegon has told me is true... The White Walkers have really returned... And if they are able to get past the Wall come winter it will be the end of everything… Everyone and every living creature will die.’ He then took a deep breath when he saw Lord Varys giving him a perplexed look and said in the clearest voice he could muster, “My Lord, the reports you have received concerning what the brothers of the Nights Watch have said… They are in fact valid... My father, Joer Mormont, is the Lord Commander at Castle Black... I might have dishonored my family… but my Father is honorable, and if he has sent reports that White Walkers have returned, then they truly have returned... And this, Lord Varys, is why I chose to follow King Aegon Targaryen over Robert Baratheon... My King will strive to unite the Seven Kingdoms before winter comes… He knows that the only hope against the Army of the Dead is for Westeros to be united under one King… A King who is willing to fight alongside his people... King Aegon only wants what is best for Westeros... And I believe that he is the best hope we have to survive the long night.”

He was taken aback when the Master of Whispers chuckled and asked, “And just how this King Aegon Targaryen know that the White Walkers truly are real?"

“Because, Lord Varys… My King has seen them with his own eyes… He has been beyond the Wall and he had fought against the threat himself.”

The Master of Whispers appeared to be surprised by his statement, “If what you say is true… It means that Aegon Targaryen has been to Westeros… That he has not lived his entire life in exile like his Uncle Viserys and Aunt… pardon me, wife, Daenerys?”

“Aye, that is correct, my lord… King Aegon was born and raised in Westeros… He only recently came to Pentos to save his Aunt Daenerys from being sold by her brother Viserys to the Dothraki and to prevent her from being raped by Khal Drogo.”

The Spider nodded in understanding. Then his face held a frown as he questioned, “If I might ask, Ser Jorah… Do you know where he has been hiding for the last eighteen years? Who raised him and why would they risk their life to keep the Targaryen heir hidden away?”

A knowing smile spread over the Knight from Bear Islands face as he said, “That… Lord Varys… I not my secret to share… That information belongs to my King… Who plans to tell you everything when the two of you meet later today.”

He sighed at the answer and nodded his head as he said, “That is fair, I suppose… But can you at least tell me about the character of this Aegon Targaryen? Does he have any madness?”

Jorah looked him in the eyes as he stated, “My King is a kind and honorable man... He only wants two things... He wants to keep his family protected and he wants us all to survive the coming winter... However, he does have a dark side.”

“A dark side?” The Master of Whispers asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye... but it only shows when he feels that his family is threatened... If anyone dares to harm his family… they will have to be prepared to face is wrath... Especially if they decide to say something about or try to harm his wife... If anyone were to hurt his wife... I know he would cut them in half with his Valyrian Steel Sword like they were nothing but air.”

“And now tell me... Is your King really that good with a sword? Or is it just a threat? Have you even seen him fight or have you sparred against him?”

A smile spread across Ser Jorah’s face as he answered, “Aye, I have my lord... and he not only defeated me... His Grace sparred with his three blood riders and me at the same time and defeated us all... He had us yielding to him… It was as if we did not even give him a challenge... The Dothraki say that he is the greatest warrior they have ever seen... the guards and servants at Illyrio’s manse say he is the greatest swordsman who has ever lived...” 

The exiled knight was pulled from his speech when he heard the eunuch gasp. He looked at the fat man and he appeared to have finally found the missing piece to a puzzle and was finally able to complete it. He could tell he was getting ready to ask more questions and pry for answers but before he could ask, Illyrio returned with a smile on his face and a bag on his shoulder. He put his hand on the knight’s shoulder and spoke in a loud voice, “Ser Jorah... I apologize for being short when you greeted us upon our arrival. It is good to see you, my friend... However, I am surprised that you are here... I appreciate you coming but I know the way back to my own manse.”

“Illyrio... King Aegon has had a change in plans... He has decided to move this meeting to his Dothraki Khalsar’s camp just outside the city... and he has asked for me to escort you to the meeting.”

He could see the looks of surprise on both the Cheesemonger and the Master of Whispers faces. The Magister said in a perplexed tone, “At his Khalasar... Might I ask why the change in plans?”

Ser Jorah smiles as he answered, “He has decided it would be best to show you, Lord Varys and his entire Dothraki horse, that his wife Daenerys is the Khaleesi who will mount the world alongside of him... He wants everyone to see that his wife is just as powerful has he is and that she is a true Khaleesi and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...”

The Master of Whispers raised an eyebrow and stated, “Six Kingdoms you mean... I guess you might not have heard... The North was granted their Independence from King Robert... Eddard Stark is now King in the North.”

“Aye, I have been informed of this news... The King and Queen are also aware of this development and...” 

Lord Varys then interrupted, “I highly doubt that the North would kneel to the Dragons after the Mad King burned the Warden of the North, Rickard Stark and his son Brandon... and after Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Lady Lyanna Stark... The North considers him responsible for her death... And what do your King and Queen have to say about the Northern Independence? Do they really believe the North would willingly follow the last Targaryens after all the pain their family caused them in the past? As I have been told... The North Remembers.”

“King Aegon and Queen Daenerys are glad the North has received their independence from Robert Baratheon... I believe you will understand better after speaking with the King and his traveling companion.” Ser Jorah responded with a smile.

Luckily, before Lord Varys could try and spin his web for more information Illyrio asked, “Ser Jorah, did King Aegon relay anymore information that we should be aware of before heading to the Khalasar?”

“Aye, he did Magister... He wishes for you to bring his siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon, dragon eggs with you to the Khalasar...The Queen will be hatching them along with the one you gifted her at her wedding, this evening.”

The fat Cheesemonger smiled, “Then it shall be done... I have the eggs right here.” He stated as he placed a protective hand on the bag across his shoulder. He then gestured towards one of his servants who quickly climbed atop a wheelhouse and brought it towards them.

“Good, The King will be pleased.” Jorah said with a nod of his head before he stated, “Come, we had best be on our way... I am sure that The King and Queen have already arrived at the Khalasar by now... We had best not keep them waiting.”

Illyrio and Lord Varys nodded as they climbed into wheelhouse. Once they were inside, Ser Jorah climbed atop his horse, motioned to the Magister’s servant and led them to where the Khalasar was camped outside of the city so the Usurpers Master of Whispers could meet the rightful King and Queen of Westeros......

 


 

Jon Snow

The late morning sun was high overhead and there was little shade to block the hot sun when Jon, Daenerys and Robb finally made it out of the city limits of Pentos. As the galloped towards the Dothraki camp, Saragon flew above their heads and Ghost and Grey Wind ran alongside their horses. After nearly an hour of hard riding Jon saw the scattering of huts and campfires of his Khalasar.

 

Once they entered the camp, the Khal slowed slowed their pace to a trot to allow his people to see their new Khaleesi. None of the Dothraki said a word as they rode past, however they did stop to admire their Khal’s bride. Jon could tell that his wife was nervous to he took one hand off the reins and reached over to touch his wife’s thigh. When she looked at him, he gave her a reassuring smile and whispered, “You will do fine, my love… After tonight they will see you for who you are… A strong woman they will be glad to call their Khalessi.”

“I hope so, Jon,” she replied with a hesitant smile.

A few moments later they were greeted by his three blood riders, Bako, Aggo and Rakharo, when they pulled their horses alongside of his own black stallion. Bako looked over at him with a smile and stated, “Khal Aegon, idde irge tat yeri Khalasar! Yeri chomak hash excited tat tihat jin sash khaleesi. (Khal Aegon, welcome back to your Khalasar. Your people are excited to see the new Khaleesi.)

"Bako. hash et jin khalasar been she anna absence?" (Bako. how has the Khalasar been in my absence?) Jon asked. After he asked this question, his attention was pulled to he left when he heard his beautiful Khaleesi translating his conversation with Bako for his brother. ‘Gods this woman is truly amazing,’ he though as he turned his head back towards his blood rider and awaited his answer.

"Jin khalasar ajjin davra khal aegon.  Jin mahrazhi zhorre fought vi eshna mahrazhi tat tihat fin earned jin right tat fuck jin chiori.  Jin winner tikh arrek fuck jin chiori hard, taking mae allayafi jin stallion.  Mori akka ate hrazef gavat ki mori awaited yeri return." (The Khalasar is good Khal Aegon... The men have fought against other men to see who earned the right to fuck the woman. The winner would then fuck the woman hard, taking her like a stallion. They also ate horse meat was they awaited your return.) His blood rider reported.

Jon nodded in response. He knew Daenerys had most likely forgotten how open the Dothraki were about sex; how they fucked their women like horses out in the open for all to see. He suppressed to urge to chuckle as he imagined her reaction to seeing dozens if not more Dothraki fucking for anyone to see. He took a deep breath to clear his mind and looked at his stunning Khaleesi, who seemed to be surprised at the contents of the statement Bako had made as she struggled to properly translate the words to his brother.

After a few moments of silence Robb asked, “What did he say, Dany?”

His wife looked at him with pleading eyes, silently asking for him to help her translate. Jon just chuckled and shook his head as be braced himself for what she was going to tell Robb that Bako had said. She rolled her eyes at him and sighed. Then in the queenliest tone she could muster she stated, “Bako reports that… that the Khalasar fared very well in my husband’s absence… That they enjoyed plenty of horse meat”

“And, my dear wife, what else did Bako report?” Jon stated with suppressing a smile on his brooding face.

He watched as she glared at him for a moment before sharply inhaling. She then looked at Robb and said, “Bako also reported that the men have been fighting one another… to see who earned the right to fuck the woman hard, mounting her like a stallion..." Both Robb and Jon burst out in laughter as they watch the blush spread across her chest, neck and cheeks. Dany playfully hit him in the chest before they continued their way further into the Dothraki camp.

As they trotted through the camp, Jon continued to observe the people of their Khalasar looking at his wife with expressions of awe; he knew that they were admiring her beauty. He also watched as some of the men would take a woman and fuck her out in the open after looking at their new Khaleesi. ‘They can look at my wife, but they had better not touch,’ he mused to himself as two men drew their arakhs began to fight over a woman.

“Jon, why are they fighting?” she asked in a concerned tone as she touched his arm. When his gaze met hers she added, “Should you not do something to stop them?”

When he chuckled in response she had a perplexed look on her face and exclaimed, “Jon… they could kill each other! Why are you laughing?”

The Khal smiled, leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead before he stated, “Because my beautiful Khaleesi… This is one of the ways of the Dothraki… They will fight each other to see who is the strongest… Whoever wins the duel will get to cut the other man’s braid from his head and will get to have sex with the woman.” He then chuckled and said, “It is ironic to me… In our past life I was the one who was shocked with the Dothraki customs and traditions... And now I suppose I will be the one to teach you everything that you taught to me.”

He then noticed the wicked smile that spread across her face as she asked, “So tell me... My dear Khal Aegon... What are their traditions? ... What are their ways in bed? ... Do they always fuck out in the open, allowing the whole Khalasar to see their cocks?”

Jon nearly choked at his wife’s colorful language in public and Robb let out a bark of laughter and stated, “Yes, my dear brother… I as well would like to be educated in the proper Dothraki customs.”

“They do… They do many things… and they believe that sex should occur under the open sky…” He answered.

“I suppose that you could… show me some of those… many things… later tonight in our tent.” His wife stated with a seductive smile on her lips.

“Aye, I suppose that I will,” He promised with a smile of his own.

After a moment of silence she looked at him and asked, “Jon… you said that the winner will cut the losers braid? Why would he do that?”

“The length of a Dothraki man’s braid shows his strength… The longer his braid, the more powerful he is considered within the Khalasar… You know, before I defeated Drogo he had the longest braid… It is said that he had never before cut his hair because he had never lost a battle.”

“And did you cut his hair?” Dany inquired.

“I did not... I cut his head off instead…” he answered evenly.

“And was my braid ever cut… in our last life?”

“No... No one ever dared to challenge you because they feared you... However, they did fight against me when you named me as your Khal... I had to prove to them that I was worthy of their mighty Khaleesi.”

“Did they cut your hair?” she pressed.

“I fought against your three strongest Blood Riders… and when I defeated them they cut their own braids and saw me as a great warrior and worthy of you… the greatest and most powerful Khaleesi who ever lived.” He answered as he held her gaze.

The continued to stare lovingly at each other, in a comfortable silence as their horses continued to march. Suddenly, their attention was directed towards the sounds of loud cheering.  They all stopped their horses and looked to their left. When they did, they saw that one of the men dueling had been defeated and the man who won was holding up the braid of the now deceased Dothraki warrior. He then observed as the winner took the woman, pushed her onto her hands and knees and began to fuck her hard in the middle of the crowd of people for all to see.

As the woman began to scream out in pleasure he looked towards his wife and noticed that she had a mischievous smile on her face as she bit her bottom lip and observed the scene before them. ‘Is she enjoying watching them fucking each other like animals?’

She then turned to face him with a cheeky smile still on her face as she leaned over and whispered into his ear, “Seeing the way that Dothraki man is fucking that woman hands and knees... Makes me want you to fuck me hard from behind… just like you did last night...” He was the surprised when she put her hand on his thigh and her hand meandered up until she was rubbing his cock through his breeches. He looked around to see if anyone noticed his wife’s antics and luckily everyone was too interested in the Dothraki victor claim his prize to notice.

Jon looked at his wife and smiled as he murmured back, “I will have to see what I can do about that.” ‘Gods I would like nothing more than to take he to our hut right now and make love to her.’ He thought as he looked into her eyes.

Out of nowhere, Dany removed her hand from his groin and back down to this thigh. She then gave him a slight nod, informing him that someone was coming. He turned his head the direction his wife had motioned and saw that Bako was walking over towards them, pulling his horse by its reins. Jon righted himself quickly, hoping that he would be able to hide his growing bulge.

“Great khal aegon, hash yer elat tat show yeri khalaser hash yer fucks yeri khaleesi kash mae screams? tikh yer show us hash yer mount yeri khaleesi allayafi jin hrazef?” (Khal Aegon, are you going to show your Khalaser how you fucks your Khaleesi until she screams? Will you show us how you mount your Khaleesi like a stallion?) His Blood Rider asked with a serious expression on his face.

Jon gasped as he heard these words come from Bako’s mouth. He cleared his throat and looked at his wife and noticed that she appeared shocked as well.

As he tried to figure out a way to politely decline he heard Robb ask, “Dany, can you tell me what he said?” When Jon turned his gaze towards is brother he noticed the smirk on his face as he added, “It must be something good if Jon is speechless.”

Dany looked at him as bit her lip; Jon could tell she was silently asking what she should tell Robb. He sighed in response. She then shrugged her shoulders, turned around, looked at Robb and honestly said, "Bako... Just... Just asked Jon... If he would... Fuck me... and show that Khalasar how a Khal mounts his Khaleesi...”

He could tell by the look on Robb’s face that he was shocked but also amused. He then looked at his wife and could tell that she was also awaiting his answer. He then exhaled sharply, smiled as he looked at Bako as stated, “San athchomari yeraan ha yeri offer Bako, vosma disse anha zin allowed tat tihat anna khaleesi akka mae zheana khado hash anha mount mae.” (Thank you for your offer Bako, however only I am allowed to see my Khaleesi and her beautiful body when I mount her.)

Jon could see the disappointment on his Blood Rider's face as he nodded and tacked his horse and went to join the crowd of Dothraki people.

His wife then caught his attention when she leaned over to whispered into his ear, “In our past life, did we ever fuck each other out in the open or in front of the Khalasar?"

When she pulled away, he met her striking amethyst eyes, smiled and shook his head as he answered, “No, we did not... It was winter and therefore it was too fucking cold to make love outside... That is of course someone wanted to get frost bite in the process… and no, we never had relations in front of the Khalasar or anyone else… Neither one of us ever wanted to… I would also never dishonor you in that way. You are mine and I am yours.”

She nodded in agreement, the raised an eyebrow and asked, "So neither of us have never been fucked in the open sky before?"

‘She would ask me that… I will have to be honest with her… I promised her I would be completely truthful and keep no secrets,’ Jon though as he sighed. He then softly answered, “No... In our past life, I know of one time Drogo took you out in the open..."

“And when did he do that?” she asked with a look of bewilderment on her face.

He sighed again, knowing that what he was about to say could be painful for her. “After your wedding... It is tradition for the Khal to consummate his marriage with his Khaleesi under the open sky… That was the first of many times that he raped you... But luckily, he took you to a secluded area no one saw you..."

He saw her nod solemnly. He was about to tell her how sorry he was, however he saw her mischievous smile return. She leaned over, pulled his earlobe with her teeth as she rubbed her hand on his hardening cock underneath his breeches and hummed, “I guess ... We will eventually have to fuck each other under the open night sky… Under a blanket of stars...”

He was surprised. “You want us to make love under the open sky?” He breathed out a few moments later, still stunned by her statement. 

“Being mounted by you… with your hard by your cock thrusting into my core… or perhaps me riding you like a dragon… All under the open sky... Then falling asleep with my head on your chest as you lovingly run your fingers through my hair… To me it sounds pretty amazing...” she stated softly and wistfully into his ear and then she licked up the side of his neck to his ear.

He could not help the growl that escaped his throat after as she licked his earlobe. He then smiled as she started to suck his neck with her open mouth. He smiled as he then thought, ‘I wonder what she would have said if I accepted Bako’s proposal?’ So, he cleared his throat and asked, "Dany, my love... If ... If I did say yes to Bako… that I did want to fuck you in front of the entire Khalasar… Fuck you for all to see... What… Would you have allowed for it to happen?"

She seemed bewildered by his question and was silent for what felt like an eternity before a smile spread across her face and she stated, “If you would have said yes to Bako... Then yes, Jon... Yes I would have let you fuck me in front if the Dothraki… Although… I probably would have shown them how a Khaleesi mounts her Khal as well...”

He then gasped as he heard the answer that came out of his wife’s mouth, "Are your being serious? You really would not have a problem with me fucking you in front of everyone!"

“Of course I am being serious… Why would I say something that I do not mean?” his Khaleesi asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jon was still in shock as he breathed out, "Why? Why would you allow me to take you in front of everyone? … You would not feel like I am dishonoring you?” He saw her smile as she excitedly bit her lip and nodded.

She let out a playful chuckle before she answered. “Because Jon, that way the whole Khalasar would know only we belong to each other... That only we may fuck each other… That you will not be a Khal that strays away from his Khaleesi to take other lovers… Especially after they would see the way I bring you pleasure as well… They would know that we will only fuck each other.”

He then smiled as he lovingly pushed a stray moon-kissed strand of hair behind her ear, looked into her eyes and in a teasing tone said, “If you want... You and I can get off of these horses… Walk over to that crowd and I can show them right now how this Khal takes his Khaleesi...”

His heart melted even more when he saw her playful smirk. Then as a chuckle escaped her lips she shook her head and cooed, "Jon Snow, we both know you are way too honorable to fuck in front of an audience... And besides, only I should be allowed to know how you fuck a woman… and please her body with your tongue.”

“You are right… You are mine… and no one else is allowed to see your perfect body… Only me,” he stated as he barked out a laugh and he pulled her over for a kiss. He smiled as he pulled her in for a kiss. Their tongues battled and Jon felt his breeches tighten as his wife again began to rub his growing cock and he kept hearing the Dothraki Women scream out in pleasure. ‘Gods I would like nothing more than to pull my wife off her horse, take her to the nearest hut and fuck her until she is the one screaming out in pleasure’

Apparently, his wife had the same idea when she pulled away and asked in a voice dripping with desire, “Jon… Which one of these tents is ours? ...  I... I want to give your… member a proper greeting..."

He shivered as she took one of his hands and placed it onto one of her breast. He looked at his surroundings and was surprised that no one was paying attention to them; all of the Dothraki, as well Robb were continuing to observe and cheer as the men fought and fucked. He turned his gaze back towards his stunningly beautiful Khaleesi, who still had a smirk on her face, smiled as he leaned over to her ear and seductively whispered, "Follow me... My Khaleesi."  When he looked back at her face, he noticed that she was again biting down on her lower lip as she nodded her head. He then took tightened the reins of his horse and began to guide them towards the direction of their tent.

Just as they left the crowd, his brother, whom he did not realized had noticed they were leaving call out to them and ask, "And just where are the two of you off to?" As his brother asked this, he and Daenerys looked at each other and blushed. He saw her raising her eyebrow, silently letting him know he was the once whom needed to come up with an excuse for their sudden departure.

He looked at his brother he felt his cheeks getting even warmer, he then took a deep breath and stated, “I was just bringing Dany to the Khal and Khaleesi’s tent… Ah… She wanted to see where our tent was located and what is inside... I… I am going to show her our tent."

He saw his brother’s knowing smile as he nodded and calmly stated, "Alright… Sure… Okay… Just be fast you two lovebirds... Remember, Varys and Illyrio are on their way as we speak and will be here at any moment"

He quickly glanced at his wife, who was crimson from her chest to her checks, he then looked back at Robb and chuckled as he nodded and stated, "Aye, we will be fast, I promise, brother.” He then looked back at his wife and murmured, “Come on Dany... Let me show you our new accommodations." He noticed her perfect smile as she nodded her head and followed him, continuing the trot towards the Khal's tent.

As they rode past the sprawling tent village of their Dothraki horde, they were greeted with copious amounts of women and men fucking out in the open. He looked at his wife, and when he saw her, she gave him cheeky smile and removed one of her hands from her horses reins. He was momentarily mesmerized as he watched that said hand snake along her curves until it reached her groin… Then when she began to rub her cunt, he kicked the sides of his horse, urging it to move faster… He could not wait much longer… His stones were beginning to ache at the sight of his wife teasing him, by pleasuring her own body in public and knowing that he would not touch her until they were in private. 'Gods I remember how Dany loved to tease me in our past life together… How when we were with our Khalasar... She would always take any opportunity to fuck me the second we were truly alone... She always told me that she was the Khaleesi and she may fuck her Khal whenever she wanted or desired... That it showed them she was strong.' He chuckled as he remembered how sometimes he would not allow her to fuck him, while they were discussing battle plans against the Night King... How that drove her crazy and made it her desire for him more even more... And then how they would ravage each other as soon as the strategy session had ended... He even remembered have her sexual appetite had increased after they discovered she was pregnant with Rhaegar.

Jon was pulled from his musings as they reached their tent. They quickly dismounted from their horses and he took her by the arm to guide her inside the Dothraki Khal’s hit so they could make love. However, before they could reach the opening to the tent, one of their Blood Riders, Rakharo, riding hard towards them.

He looked at his wife, “Go on in, love, I will be in as soon as I hear what Rakharo has to say. She nodded and quickly made her way inside their tent. As the tent flaps closed he saw her look back at him and smile as she grabbed her straps of her top and removed it, exposing her bare back as the tent flap fell into place. He sighed, ‘Godsdamnit I wish I was in that tent!’

When Rakharo dismounted his large brown and white stallion he stated, "Khal Aegon anha zhorre davra news" (Khal Aegon, I have good news).

Jon sighed, at this moment he did not care about any news... The only thing on his mind was his wife and what she was doing inside their tent while she waited for him to join her. He then sighed again and replied in a hurried tone, "Fin ajjin jin davra news Rakharo?" (What is the good news Rakharo?)

The blood rider barked out in laughter; Jon could tell the man knew what he was planning to do to the Khaleesi. Finally, before Rakharo even calmed himself he stated, "Anha tihat jin khaleesi ajjin waiting ha yer she yeri okre. Hash yer elat tat fuck mae hard khal aegon?" (I see the Khaleesi is waiting for you in your tent... Are you going to fuck her hard Khal Aegon?)

He then sigh as his blood Rider asked this he then took a deep breath and nodded, " Sek, anha tikh very san allayafi tat qafat akka make athfiezar tat khaleesi.  Ma rakharo, anha tikh qafat again fin ajjin jin davra news?"(Yes, I would very much like to please and make love to the Khaleesi... So Rakharo, I will ask again what is the good news?)

Jon saw a smile on the Blood Rider’s lips as he stated,"Yer zhorre jin zheana khaleesi.  Khal aegon.  Anha eth astat mae ajjin jin most zheana khaleesi anha zhorre seen ma hezhah.  Tat mae feel davra having yeri cock kijinosi ki mae?" (You have a beautiful Khaleesi ... Khal Aegon ... I must say she is the most beautiful Khaleesi I have seen so far. Does she feel good having your cock inside of her?)

He then sighed as he felt his anger rising. ‘Fuck I hope that my eyes are not turning orange. I would love to slap that smile off his face. Calm yourself down Jon… You know that he does not mean anything ulterior by his words… It is just the Dothraki culture.’ He sighed again to clear and calm his mind before looking at the dark skinned man and asking, "Anha tikh qafat again Rakharo… Fin ajjin jin davra news?" (I will ask again Rakharo… what is the good news?) 

The blood rider laughed before he said, "Ajjin mae rek davra Khal Aegon? Anha zhorre avvos shilo che heard ki jin khal fin tat vo speak about hash mae likes tat make athfiezar tat mae khaleesi.  Hash me ajjin tat fuck mae allayafi jin hrazef." (Is she that good Khal Aegon? I have never met or heard of a Khal who does not speak about how he likes to make love to his Khaleesi. How it is to fuck her like a stallion?)

Jon glared at Rakharo without answering his question; he could tell the blood rider sensed that he was getting angry so finally said the good news. “Khal Aegon.  Ei rek yer zhorre qaf ha ajjin ready.  Jin Khaleesi's weak brother ajjin bound ma fiez akka pyre et been made ha jin Khaleesi." (Khal Aegon... All that you have asked for is ready. The Khaleesi's weak brother is bound with rope and the pyre has been made for the Khaleesi.)

The New Dothraki Khal smiled and with a nod of his the Rakharo finally took his leave. As soon when the blood rider was gone, he then rushed into the Khal’s tent in search of his Khaleesi.

When he entered the tent he saw the wooden table, a cart with wine and an assortment of fruits, their bed… However he did not see his wife. He walked further into the test and continued to look around in bewilderment, but she was nowhere to be found. He was just about to call her name when he felt two hands wrapping around his chest from behind and wet lips against his neck.

"I cannot believe the Dothraki Khal’s tent is this large and extravagant," She whispered into his ear between kisses to his neck.

He then chuckled as he took one of her hands from his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to each of her fingertips. "Aye, the Dothraki are very good at making tents."

When she pressed a kiss to his cheek, he turned around to face her and gasped at the sight before him… Her ice blond hair was pulled back into a simple braid and she was her wearing a beautiful, but very revealing sky blue silk dress... He could not deny that she looked stunning… However, what shocked him was that the blue dress did not completely cover her; she had one breast completely exposed with her erect dusky pink nipple on full display. He looked at her in the eyes and saw her smile; he could tell that she was please by his reaction. "Where... Where did you get this dress?" he finally asked once the shock wore off.

She smiled as she placed both arms around his neck as she purred, "I heard from Doreah, that some women in other parts of Essos wear clothing that exposed one of their breast… so, I thought I would ask her to buy one for me... Do... Do you like it?"

He choked as he placed on oh his hands on her milky naked breast as he squeezed it and cupped it. As he played with the exposed breast he saw her smirk and he stated, "Aye, I... I like it... I like it more than I should… However, you are right… I do not think I could fuck you in front of the Khalasar… Just thinking about another man seeing you in this dress… I truly hope it is meant for my eyes only… I do not want any other man to see your perfect breast."

“Of course, Jon,” She said seductively as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. She then rested her forehead on his and said, “This dress is only meant for your eyes and your eyes alone... I will only wear this when I… reward you...”

He chuckled as he wrapped his hand around her waist and brought her flush against the bulge of trapped cock as he muttered in her ear, "Reward you say?"

A mischievous smile appeared across her lips as she cooed, "Yes... When I reward you..."

He smiled as he lowered his head and began to suckle on her exposed erect nipple. "Please, my love… Tell me about my rewards..."

He heard her moan in pleasure as he sucked her nipple. She then breathed out, "Your reward… Will be that I will allow you to fuck my body as you please... You can take me… Any way… In any position that you desire... You can fuck me in my cunt or in my arse or my mouth or between my tits... Anywhere... Because you are mine and I am yours, my love."

Jon pulled away from her breast and moved to her mouth and they began to kiss passionately with their tongues probing and exploring the other’s mouth. After a short time he pulled away, panting for air, smiled at her and declared, "Gods... I love you, Dany… With all of my heart… You are mine and I am yours, for now and always"

They began to kiss with growing intensity once more, making their way to the bed. When they reached the bed he pushed her down with a growl and began to attach her exposed breast once more as he started to release the straps holding up her dress. Once he freed her from the gown he kneeled above her and admired her beauty. He then removed his shirt while she worked the laces of his breeches. As soon as she was about to free his painfully erect cock from its leather prison, he heard his brother’s voice coming from outside the tent.

“Dany...  Jon...” He heard his brother call nervously from the other side of the tent flap. “I… I just wanted to let you know that Ser Jorah has arrived with Illyrio and Lord Varys... They are waiting for you.” They both sighed as she tried to roll out from underneath him.

“Tell them to wait! I do not wish to be disturbed for at least a half hour... Okay give me fifteen minutes!”  He shouted as he trapped his wife with his thighs.

“No, Jon,” she said with a smile as she put her hand on his chest, “We have asked them to travel so far... We must go and meet with them now... I promise you, my Khal, that you will be able make love to me… Anyway that you please later tonight… After, I have hatched our dragons.”

He sighed and reluctantly rolled off of her and out of the bed. “Okay, Robb… We will be out in just a minute!” He hollered towards the tent flap as adjusted his member and relaced his breeches and as his wife redonned her new Dothraki garments.  

Once they were both dressed and presentable, he held out his hand for her with a smile. She returned the smile as she took his hand allowing him to lead her out of their tent so that they could go and meet Lord Varys and Illyrio

 


 

Catelyn Tully Stark

It was now midafternoon in Winterfell and a few rays of sunlight were breaking through the cloudy grey sky, shining through the windows of the Queen of the North’s chambers. It had been nearly three hours since the attack on her daughters and even thought no other threats had been discovered in or around the castle, Queen Catelyn was still not at ease. She paced around her now quiet rooms, waiting for Maester Lewin to arrive.

Once she had been given word that the castle was secured, after much begging and pleading, she had allowed the children to leave her chambers, with Syrio and several Stark Household Guards to go to the kitchens for a snack before their Water Dancing lesson. ‘That is once more thing I will need to thank Jon for... He understands the importance of his cousins… siblings… family being able to protect themselves from any threat that could arise… Whether it be from the Army of the Dead or Cersei Lannister… Gods I hope the boy will forgive me for the way that I treated him his entire life… Gods I wish Ned would have just told me the truth about Jon… I could have loved him like an aunt should love her nephew… We could have said he was Brandon’s bastard… If we had said that then no one would have batted an eye if I showed love towards him…’ Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a knocking on the door. 

“Your Grace, Maester Lewin is here to see you as requested,” the guard on the other side of the heavy wooden door announced. 

“Please, allow him to enter, thank you.” Catelyn stated as she walked over to the table by the hearth and poured herself a glass of watered summer wine for the pitcher next to the tankard of ale. 

When the Maester entered her chambers, carrying something wrapped in a white cloth, he respectfully bowed his head and said, “Your Grace, you asked to see me. How can I be of service?” 

“Yes, I did, Maester Lewin. Please come in and sit,” she stated as she gestured her had towards one of the two simple wooden armchairs by the hearth. Once he was seated she asked, “Would your care for a glass of wine or horn of ale?” 

“No thank you, Your Grace,” the old Maester replied kindly with a hint of a smile as he shook his head and added, “I have never really developed a the taste for ale and wine dulls my senses.” 

She nodded in understanding as she picked up her glass of wine, walked over and sat down in the armchair across from him. She took a sip of her wine, set the glass down on the table and said, “Maester Lewin, were your able to find the daggers that were wielded by the assassins?" 

“We were, your Grace. We found one under the dead assassin’s body and the other was in the hallway, where the fleeing assassin dropped it.” The Maester replied. 

“And… Was Ser Rodrik able to inspect them?” When the Maester nodded in confirmation she added, “And what did he have to say about the daggers?”

The Maester laid the bundle of white cloth on the table, removed the wrappings, and handed her a rusty dagger with brown leather wrapped around its hilt. “Ser Rodrik stated that this is just a ordinary dagger. It was constructed from a poor quality steel… Therefore, he was not able to say where it came from or where it was forged.” 

“I see,” she said with a sigh as she placed the rusty dagger back onto the white cloth on the table. 

The Maester then handed her the dagger by its black hilt and stated, “This one… He confirmed that this is in fact made of Valyrian Steel and that he believes the hilt to be dragon bone.” 

“Dear gods,” she stated as she unsheathed the blade from its scabbard. She took a moment to admire the smoky blade before she looked up at the Maester and whispered, “This is truly Valyrian Steel?” 

"Yes, your Grace... it is Valyrian Steel... The rarest and strongest metal within of all Westeros and most likely the world..."

A shiver ran down her spine as she thought about what Jon had told her husband... How he had told Ned about the Catspaw assassin. 'So... Queen Cersei Lannister did order the attack on my daughters... Just like she did Bran in our past life' She took a deep breath as she looked at the Maester and breathed out, "So... If this is a Valyrian Steel dagger… The Valyrian Steel Dagger that Jon warned Ned about... This must be the Catspaw dagger... That his once belonged to Petyr Baelish… That he then lost it to Lord Tyrion in a bet… and that it was stolen from him by his sister, Cersei... Then I returned it to Lord Baelish when I went to King’s Landing… He held it to my husband’s throat when Cersei imprisoned him on false treason changes… And that he then later gave it to Bran… Who gave it to Arya before the Long Night." When she laid the Catspaw dagger back on the table, even she was confused by the words she had just said. 

She looked at the Maester who chuckled at her, “I would assume that that is correct, your Grace… It is confusing though… That at the end this dagger ended up in the hands of Princess Arya… And that she was well aware of how to properly wield it.” 

The Queen of the North sighed. She looked at the fire burning in her heath as replied sadly, “Yes, she did learn to wield both a dagger and a sword in her past life... According to Ned… Jon told him that Arya trained in Braavos… With the faceless men and became an assassin...  If what Jon said is true… She was quite good at being an assassin… That she was successful in murdering all of the males of House Frey because they betrayed both House Stark and House Tully… I guess that I had better give up on my dream of her ever becoming a true lady… That is just not who she is." 

She then looked at the Maester and took another sip from her wine as he softly said, “That is true, my Queen… However, she could be just like Lady Lyanna, your husband’s sister… She was a kindred spirit who loved her family fiercely… I remember she never acted like a lady growing up… she was good with a sword and a bow and she was the most accomplished rider the North had ever seen…” 

“I hope that she would forgive me… I fear what she would do to me if she ever knew how I treated her son,” The Queen stated with tears threatening to fall from her eyes, “She would probably rise from the grave and strangle me where I stood… I was awful to Jon for no reason… What type of person cannot love a motherless child?” 

“I believe that she would forgive you, your Grace… I do not know of anyone… Except for the Dornish… That love their spouse’s bastards as their own children… Besides, if you would have known that Jon was not your husband’s bastard son it would have sparked rumors… Lord Varys little birds would have found out the truth and Robert would have killed him… As well as you and your husband for hiding the rightful Targaryen heir.” 

“I suppose you are correct, Maester Luwin.” She paused to take a sip of her wine before continuing her musing, “Have you heard… That Jon told Ned… That he had dreams about me after I had died… That I was brought back to life as someone who called herself Lady Stoneheart… Moreover, that my mission was to murder the men who helped the Lannister’s… Those who betrayed my son, Robb and myself at the Red Wedding…” 

"So I have heard, your Grace... The world is truly... How would I say… Confusing… Even for Jon… He has had dreams… nightmares about the events of his past… And of the events your son, Brandon from his other life… Events that happened long before either were born and about things that have recently happened that no one knew about… and far as I can tell, all of it has been true… So far… Everything he said would happen… In some fashion has happened… However, hopefully we can prevent unnecessary bloodshed and work to stabilize the realm before the evens of the Long Night.” 

“I agree, Maester… Everything that is happening right now is rather confusing, to put it mildly.” She then took another sip of her wine and said, "Now we are certain that this is the Catspaw dagger…” 

She saw him nod, “Yes, your Grace… His Grace described the dagger to me and when Ser Rodrik confirmed that it was Valyrian Steel it leaves no doubt.” 

She took a deep breath and looked back at the Catspaw dagger. “That... Dagger... Was the start of everything… It started the beginning of the end of House Stark… There was also the letter we received from my scheming sister, Lysa… Where she stated that Jon Arryn was murdered by the Lannisters..." 

"Your Grace… We are both aware that Lord Baelish was the one who gave your sister the poison that was used to murder her Lord husband, King Robert’s Hand, Jon Arryn… That he knew the King would ride to Winterfell to ask your husband to be his hand…  They knew your husband would not accept the position, because he felt that his duty was to the North… So they had to give him a reason to accept… Therefore, they sent the letter… Making him believe that the King’s life was in danger… They knew that your husband would not survive the Red Keep… He is far to honorable… They knew that he would expose the truth about Queen Cersei’s children, which would lead to his death… He knew the North would blame the Lannister’s and start a war… A war that would once again tear the realm apart.”  

She sighed and nod. ‘Gods Lysa… What happened to you! How could you forget our family’s words… Family, Duty, Honor… What sick thoughts did that vile man, Petyr Baelish, put in your head! I still cannot believe that you would betray your family! That you would betray your own lord husband… And if what Jon said was true… Birthed Lord Baelish’s bastard while your husband was still alive, and pawned him off as Robin Arryn, Heir to the Vale… I cannot believe that you wanted your sickly boy to marry my Sansa!’ She was pulled from her thoughts when she heard Maester Luwin continue to speak softly. 

"Luckily, your Grace… Jon was able to warn us in time… Before your husband went south… He has also been able to warn us about the coming winter" 

She sighed and nodded. She was about to speak, however, before she could there was a knock on her door. She then heard the Guard state, “Your Grace… There are several raven scrolls that have just arrived.” She looked at Maester Luwin. 

“There were no scrolls in the rookery before I came here, your Grace.” He stated. 

She nodded her head at the Maester then called towards the door, “You may enter.” 

The guard entered the chambers and handed her six scrolls as bowed his head. Once she had the scrolls in hand she looked at the young Stark Household Guard and stated, “Thank you, Raynald… If you would, please resume your post.” 

“Aye, your Grace,” He young man said as he again, respectfully bowed his head before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

She took the six raven scrolls and rolled them over one by one, to look at the sigils and to whom they were addressed to. There were three with the Direwolf of House Stark, two were addressed to her and one to Sansa and Arya. Then she saw the leaping trout of House Tully, on another scroll which was addressed to her as well. The fifth scroll was addressed to her husband and was sealed with the studded shield bordered with runes of House Royce. When she rolled the sixth and final scroll a gasp escaped her throat when she saw The Three-Headed Dragon... the sigil of House Targaryen... which was addressed to The King and Queen of the North.... She was surprised that the guard did not seemed to notice the Targaryen sigil... and she was also surprised that Jon would address the scroll so formally. 

She looked at Maester Luwin and saw his smile. "I see... The Targaryen sigil has returned... I never thought I would see it again..."  

She smiled, “Aye... neither did I.”  

She looked at the three scrolls of House Stark, House Targaryen, House Royce and House Tully. She first put the scroll addressed to Sansa and Arya in the pocket inside the sleeve of her dress so that she could give it to them later. She then pick-up the scroll in Robb’s handwriting that was addressed to her; she wanted to know how Robb and Jon were doing so she opened the scroll and quickly read its contents. 

 

Mother,  

I send you this raven scroll knowing that father will travel beyond the wall. However, I just wanted to let you know that all is well. Our host, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, has been kind enough to have a Targaryen seal commissioned for Jon and Dany and we hope that it should be ready any day. I am sure as soon as it arrives he will pen a letter to Winterfell.  

We have plenty of news to share... Firstly, Jon has sent Magister Illyrio, on a quest to King’s Landing, to ask Lord Varys to meet him and his wife, Dany. We have hopes that King Robert’s Master of Whispers will join our side in the coming wars... and that he will serve as Master of Whispers for Jon and Dany.... Giving us information on the Usurper's decisions on how he plans to fight against the Last Targaryens and the happenings in the Southern Six Kingdoms of Westeros.  

We have uncovered the truth as to why Jon has held so much rage in his heart... He lied... In his past life a wight did not kill his son, Rhaegar... It was the Night Queen... His wife, Daenerys, was changed into the Night Queen and the Night King forced her to turn their son into a White Walker... Jon had no choice but kill the Night Queen, his wife... and his son after he had been turned... Mother, I cannot imagine what he went through... but he did what he had to do at the time... if he had not have destroyed what they had become, many more people may have died... Dany and I hope that since he shared this information, he will be able to control his emotions better and know that he did in fact make the right decision.

That is not all mother... I am hoping that Father has told you that Jon has no ordinary dragon. That it will breathe fire or ice based on his emotions -Fire for anger and ice for calm.  

There is more good news... Apparently, Jon’s sire, Rhaegar gave each of Jon's half-siblings, Rhaenys and Aegon, a dragon egg as well. They were believed to be destroyed during the sacking of King’s Landing... However, Magister Illyrio has said that he has found the eggs and will bring it to Pentos for Daenerys to hatch, along with the three stone eggs they were gifted at their wedding.  

Soon, she will burn her brother, Viserys, alive for his crimes... Mother, Viserys is truly mad like his Father and admitted that he was going to sell Dany to the Dothraki for an army... By burning him alive, she will be able to hatch the five dragon eggs... This will be done in front of the Khalasar, Lord Varys and Illyrio to show them all who she truly is... That she is their rightful Khaleesi and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  

After the meeting with Lord Varys and hatching the dragons, we will travel to Astapor, with the Dothraki, to free the Unsullied slaves. Jon said they were excellent warriors and will be their personal banner Guards.  

We hope that everything at Winterfell is going well and we will send a raven once we have secured Astapor.  

Love your son,

Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell, Heir to King in the North

 

She was confused about a few things in Robb’s letter... ‘Daenerys... she will burn her brother for his crimes? And Jon must have received his seal right after Robb had written his letter and Jon had written his letter to the girls... It is his first letter which is probably why it is so formally addressed.' She also could not stop her mind from thinking about everything that Jon had endured in his past life, ‘Gods the gods were cruel to Jon... First, his mother died giving birth to him… I shunned him, never showing him the love of a family, and forced him to live his life at the Wall... Then he rose up to become Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, then King in the North, only to have everyone and everything he held dear taken from him... I must make amends with him... If I do not, I am sure Lyanna’s ghost will haunt me in the seven hells... And She looked at Maester Luwin and notice the curious expression on his face, so she smiled and handed him Robb’s letter. 

As the Maester read the letter, she watched the changing expressions on his face. After he has read the scroll, he then looked at her with wide eyes open not believing what he has read. 

"They... They will have six dragons?" He breathed out. 

She nodded solemnly as she took a sip from her wine glass. 

"Your Grace... If I remember correctly... your husband, told us that they only had three dragons in their past life..."  

She nodded as she took the last sip of her wine and set the goblet down on the oak table. She then looked at the kind Maester and said, “I cannot believe all that Jon has been through...” She took a deep breath before she continued, “The poor boy had to kill his wife and his son to prevent them from killing his people... I cannot imagine how hard that had to have been for him...”  

She noticed the Maester had a frown on his face as he nodded in agreement and said, “He has been through a lot, your Grace... However... With all that he had to endure in his last life... It has helped him to prepare for the coming winter... The Long Night... He now knows what to expect from the Army of the Dead... He also knows which noble house seek power and wish to claim the Iron Thorne for themselves... He knows what is to come before anyone else... And even though he is changing the what would have been our future, he know who to be weary of... If it was not for him... I would fear that Westeros would have seen the end for House Stark... As well as House Tully… and that is why he is winning the Game of Thrones so far.” 

She nodded her head and said, “That is true Maester Luwin. He is winning the Game of Thrones so far... However, he is going to need allies... He cannot unite the Seven Kingdoms and take back the Iron Throne with only Six small Dragons, and an army of Savages and Freed Slaves... if he wishes to have a large army against the Army of the Dead ... He will need there to be less bloodshed... We will have to do everything in our power to prevent war in Westeros so that every fighting man and woman is available when the time come to fight the Night King and his army!"  

Queen Catelyn saw the old Maester nod in agreement.  

She then took a deep breath as she asked, "Maester Luwin, have we received any ravens from the Tyrell’s or Martell’s?"  

"Nothing yet, your Grace,” the kind older man said as he shook his head. “I believe it still too early for their ravens to arrive... We should hear something from them in the next day or so.” He then paused for a moment and said, “Your Grace, I need to ask you something..."  

She raised her eyebrow as she asked, "Yes Maester Luwin, what is it that you would like to know?"  

She saw Maester Luwin take a deep breath before he spoke, "Your Grace, we will need to aid Jon in the coming wars... Not just Winterfell, but he will need the full support of the North..."

"That is true, Maester Luwin... However, the lords of the North must decide if they will support Jon's claim to the throne... I do not think Ned will force them to kneel before the dragons if they are not convinced Jon has their best interests at heart.”  

She saw the Maester nod as he took a deep breath and then carefully said, "Your Grace... I think they would support his claim to the Iron Throne... He might be a Targaryen but he is also a Stark... A true Stark... He is not and has never truly been a bastard... I myself have provided him with a formal education... I believe the North would want a Stark on the Iron Throne... and I believe they will see him as a Stark... and they would definitely support him over a Baratheon or Lannister, especially after what Cersei’s bastard son tried to do to your daughters." 

She nodded as the Maester said this. "That is true... Jon is a true Stark of Winterfell and the blood of the first men runs through his veins... However, he is also true Targaryen with the blood of Old Valyria... the blood of the dragon running through his veins as well... They might see him as a threat because of his six dragons... As well thinking he has lost his ways and went more his Dragon side since he married Daenerys... his aunt... and claimed a Dothraki Khalasar... They might no longer see him as a son of King Eddard Stark... That he has lost his Stark ways..." She saw the Maester sigh and nod as she said this but before he could speak she exhaled and continued, "The Lords and Ladies of the North would also want Jon to married a Northern girl... Not a Targaryen Dragon Queen who has lived her entire life exiled in Essos... They may see her as a foreign invader or whore who has seduced a good Northern boy.” 

“Your Grace… I agree… the Northern Lords and Ladies would have wished to see him married to a Northerner… However, Daenerys is not his sister… and it is not uncommon throughout Westeros for cousins to marry cousins or aunts or uncles to marry their nephews or nieces... I guess that only time will tell what the Northern Lords think Jon Snow as Aegon Targaryen... If we tell them the truth... That he is not an ordinary young man... That he is The Prince who was Promised… That he has saved House Stark and House Tully from extinction... That he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne… That he will be a King whom only wants what is best for his people and to keep his family safe from those whom would cause them harm... They might support his claim..." 

She nodded as took the letter from the older man and said, “I hope you are right, Maester Luwin.” She then walked over to the hearth and placed Robb’s letter in the fire. Even though it pained her to burn her son’s letter, she knew that no one could discover that the Starks and Targaryens were working together and true intentions are until the time is right… If that information fell into the wrong hands it could be detrimental, causing war and bloodshed, which needs to be avoided at all costs.” 

After the letter was nothing but ash, she returned to her seat and sat back in the chair. As soon as she sat, an idea popped into her mind, she gasped and grabbed the Maester Luwin’s hand, “The assassin… He can tell the Northern Lords and Ladies that Queen Cersei Lannister was the one who hired him to murder my daughters… Their Princesses... He will tell them the truth… Which could help the Northerners understand that as long as the Stags and the Lion’s sit on the Iron Throne they are a threat to the North... If they agree that the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s are a threat the might decide to accept and support Jon's claim as heir to the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“That sounds like it could be a good plan, your Grace... If the Northern Lords and Ladies understand how much of a threat the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s are to the North… That they tried to kill your daughters for revenge… They will realize that the Southern Queen may choose anyone of them to strike against next… They will rally behind the Jon because although he is a Targaryen King... He is also, without questions a Stark, raised in the North by their own Liege Lord… The man they named as their King.” 

She then smiled and was about to request that he send ravens to all the Northern houses, requesting that they ride for Winterfell. She wanted to have them all witness the assassin’s confession… However, before she could voice her plans, the Maester continued to speak. 

"Your Grace... If I may advise you... I think it would be wise to wait for his Grace, your husband to return from his trip before any final decisions or plans are made… We can keep the assassin in the cells, guarded at all times until he returns from the Wall… I am sure that your husband will want to be the man who passes the sentence and swing the sword if necessary.” 

She sighed in reluctance, however she nodded her head, knowing that Maester Luwin’s advice was sound and correct… She knew that she needed to be smarter this time because her rash and quick judgments in Jon’s last life proved to cause many problems for her family and the North. Her husband knew how to speak to the Northern Lords. “You are correct, Maester… We must wait on Ned before we make any rash decisions concerning getting the Northerner to accept Jon’s claim… I thank you for your counsel.”   

She looked at the three Raven scrolls and then decided that she would open House Tully next. She picked up the scroll sealed with the jumping trout and opened it. 

 

 

 

Dearest Sister,  

I am on my way to Winterfell as we speak... I am not sure exactly where I am… but when I sent this raven the inn keeper told me that if I continue to ride hard I should be in Winterfell in 2-3 days… So you will probably receive this scroll the day before I arrive. Father requested that I come to visit so that you can tell me what truly happened to Sansa and Arya at the hands of the Crown Prince Joffrey… As well as what are the Stark’s and the North’s true intentions are after this incident.  

I look forward to visiting with you and my nieces and nephews. 

Love your brother, 

Edmure Tully, Heir to Riverrun and the Riverlands 

 

The Queen of the North gave the letter to Maester Luwin, as she got up to refill her glass of wine. When she sat back down, he appeared to be finished reading the message because he had placed the scroll back on the table. She took a sip from her goblet of wine while she waited for him to respond to her brother’s message.  

"Your Grace,” he said hesitantly, “What do you plan to tell your brother? Did you discuss this with your husband prior to his departure?"  

She then smiled at the Maester and then answered his question. "Ned told me I could tell my brother everything... We will need House Tully and the Riverlands as allies when it comes time for Jon to reclaim his rightful place as King of the Seven Kingdoms..."  

"Your Grace... I would advise you to give him this information at the crypts or Godswood... Where we are sure there will not be any of Queen Cersei’s or or Lord Baelish’s spies...”

She then smiled sadly as she took another sip from her glass of watered wine before answering, “I agree... I will discuss with my brother who Jon truly is in the Crypts... I will tell him in front of Jon’s mother, Lyanna’s, statue... I am sure that there will be no eyes or ears listening and waiting to report information to Queen or Petyr."  

She saw the Maester smile at her response before saying, "Your Grace, after you have told your brother the truth... What will you do then?" 

She sighed as the old Maester asked this, knowing that he would not like her answer. She then took a deep breath to help calm her anxiety and stated firmly, "I am going to tavl to Riverrun... I need to tell my father the truth about Jon… He must hear from my own mouth and no one else..."  

Queen Catelyn could tell that her statement surprised Maester Luwin. He furrowed his brow and asked, "But... Your Grace... Who will serve as ruler of the North and Winterfell in your absence?”

She smiled slightly and honestly answered, "I shall wait for Lord Tyrion to return from his Journey the Wall... You, Maester Luwin, and Lord Tyrion will advise Princess Sansa… She will serve as the Lady of Winterfell while I am at Riverrun..." 

The kind older Maester had a perplexed look on his face as he asked, "Sansa, your Grace?"

She nodded, "Yes, Sansa... If what Jon said is true... She was a good Queen Regent and Lady of Winterfell while he was at Dragonstone... When he met with Daenerys to request her assistance in the Great War." 

She saw him nod and smile sadly as he asked, "Do you know when you will leave for Riverrun, your Grace?" 

She smiled and nodded, “As soon Tyrion returns, I will set out for Riverrun… I trust that you can keep an eye on my children... However, I know that you will be very busy with Princess Sansa running Winterfell in by absence… Therefore, I will need more than one person here to act as a guardian or parent… And seeing how my children see Tyrion as an uncle... I will entrust him to watch my children alongside of you and Syrio Forel.” 

"Your Grace... I must counsel that I do not believe it is the best time for you to leave Winterfell... This is so much uncertainty within the…" 

The Queen raised her hand to stop the Maester. "I'm thankful for your concern Maester Luwin,” she stated curtly, “However, I am going... This is something that I cannot entrust to anyone but myself… My Father deserves to hear the truth about who he believed to be my husband’s bastard from me… I need to be the one to tell him that he never dishonored me and the reason why he kept the truth secret for so long.” She sighed before continuing, “The former First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel will protect my children with his life while I am gone… And they will also be protected with loyal Stark Household Guards at every second..." She saw the Maester nod and when he did not retort she grabbed another of the sealed scrolls from the table and stated, "Now that I have shared my plans to gain the support of the Riverlands let us continue reading these scrolls.” She rolled the scroll she pick-up so that she could see who it was from, and noticed it was the sigil of House Royce from the Vale. She smiled anxiously as she opened the scroll addressed to the King in the North. 

 

 

 

Dear King Eddard Stark,  

Your Grace, I am saddened that you have not accepted my marriage proposal between my daughter and your son, however, I understand why. Your children are Princes and Princesses and they must marry ones that can offer the most come winter and for alliances.  

Your Grace... I am pleased that the North has been granted independence… However, I would still like to know what truly happened to your Daughters, and if the Vale should be concerned about the character of our future King, Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon. I know that I should be speaking with Lady Arryn… However, I have my suspicions about her character and honestly, I am concerned about the future of the Vale…  

That is why I wish to come to Winterfell after you return your journey from beyond the Wall. I would like to know if House Royce should still follow House Baratheon… And I need to know if I need to prepare my men for a Rebellion.

I look forward to your response,

Lord Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone 

 

She gave the letter to the Maester once she was done so that he could read it. Once he had read the message, he looked at her and asked, "What is it that you plan to say to Lord Royce, your Grace... Are you planning to tell him that he is correct to worry about the future of the Vale under the control of your sister, Lady Lysa? And are you planning to tell him that his future Liege Lord, your sister’s son, Robin, is really a bastard of Lord Peryr Baelish? That the child not the rightful heir to the Vale?" 

She sighed with a frown and stated softly, "I guess that we must tell him the truth... About Lord Baelish and my sister Lysa... This could also lead the majority of the Vale following Jon..." 

She saw the Maester nod. "It could your Grace... But it could also lead to war within the Vale if some choose to support your sister’s claim that Robin is Jon Arryn’s son… I would advise that we send him a message, and that once your husband has returned from his quest, that he will be sent an invitation to visit Winterfell…” 

The Queen in the North nodded with a slight frown… She wished that her husband would have shared Jon’s entire plan with her… She understood that Jon did not hold any love for her… and that he had no reason to trust her. Why would he trust me when I have treated him so poorly for his entire life? She was angry at herself. Angry at Ned. And slightly angry at both her husband and Jon for devising a full plan and she was in the dark…  

She looked at the last two raven scrolls, one was sealed with Stark Direwolf sigil and the other with Three Headed Dragon sigil of House Targaryen. She looked at the Maester and smiled nervously picked up the scroll with the seal of House Targaryen, to see what Jon had to say. It was addressed to House Stark and she thought the dark red, almost brown ink used appeared odd as she broke the seal.

 

Dear House Stark  

I am Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of my name, trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen.

Bend the knee to your rightful king and swear fealty to House Targaryen... If you do not, when I return to Westeros, you will face my wrath and I will burn Winterfell to the ground with my dragon... and my army will kill anyone unwilling to bend the knee to their rightful King... The independence of the North will not be tolerated.

I will take back the Iron Throne with Fire and Blood if necessary!

Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of My Name, Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, Rightful Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, The Andals and the First Men

 

She was shocked when she read this... She felt all the blood rush from her face as she handed the scroll to Maester Luwin with a trembling hand. She watched as the older man read the message and she could tell that he was appalled by the correspondence as well. She picked up her wine glass with a shaking hand and took a sip. When the Maester started to speak she stared into her goblet. 

"Aegon Targaryen... Trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen... His Grace said nothing to me about Jon’s older half brother being alive... Did he mention anything to you?” The Maester questioned. When she shook her head no as she continued to stare into her glass of half drank wine. 

He then continued in a firm tone, but she could hear the hint of worry behind his words as he tried to convince her the threat was false. "This message is false... This threat is from no one more that a pretender... Someone claiming to be Aegon Targaryen... Someone who feels that they are able to capitalize on the rebirth of the dragons... It is impossible... The Lannister’s presented the body of the silver haired babe to King Robert in at Capital after the city was sacked at the end of the Rebellion..."  

When she finally looked up from her glass of wine and towards the Maester, she tried to speak but no words came out. The room was spinning and she could not think clearly. She then could tell the Maester had thought of something else, so she nodded her head, silently telling him to continue. 

"Your Grace,” Maester Luwin said before he momentarily hesitated, “If... If we have received this letter, from the pretender... Then... Then it could mean that the other noble houses within Westeros have also received a Raven with a similar threat... This fake Aegon... this mummer dragon... Could change everything by threatening the Noble houses of Westeros... No one would dare follow Jon if we do not act fast... if they believe he was the one who sent this threat."  

She nodded and gasped as she thought of Dorne. "What will the Martell think of this raven?" She breathed out, finally finding her voice. 

She looked at the Maester, who had a look of understanding in his eyes. She watched as he took a deep breath before he calmly stated, “Your Grace, I do not think that you should worry about Dorne... I am almost certain they would also think him as a pretender... I say this because the bodies of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen were sent to Dorne at the insistence of your husband... He believed that having their bodies returned to Dorne after the Rebellion would help to calm the Dornish fires... Therefore, they will know that this Aegon is a mummer... I would guess this would make the Martell’s angry... Someone calming himself to be  Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of his name, Trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen... The Dornish are a very emotional and proud culture of people... They will not take kindly to this false King..." 

She nodded but was also worried about the safety of Robb and Jon in Pentos. ‘How will King Robert and his Hand Tywin Lannister react to this letter? ... They will definitely see it as a threat sent by Jon... And that would make Robert want to call all of his banners and head across the Narrow Sea...’ 

"I... I must send a raven to Castle Black...” she stated in a trembling voice. “I have to let Ned know about this pretender... And we must come up with a way to prove that this message was not sent by Jon."  

She saw the Maester nod. She grabbed the Targaryen raven scroll and was about to get up to toss it into the fire, but Maester Luwin grabbed her hand, causing her eyes to meet the kind older man’s eyes.  

“Your Grace, we should keep that scroll... your husband may wish to see it and read it for himself... also, look at the ink that was used to write this message.”

She was puzzled. She looked down at the scroll in her hands and studied the dark red lettering. She gasped as she dropped the scroll onto the table and gasped, “Is... Is this message written in... in blood?”

“I believe it is your Grace.” He answered solemnly, “This pretender also claims to have a dragon... He may have written in in blood to make others believe that he hatched the dragon... with fire and blood...” 

"Who would do this? Why is someone trying to frame or impersonate Jon? Whoever wrote this message wants all of Westeros to rally together to defeat the Targaryens... not bring the Seven Kingdoms back together! I do not know if this message is truly from some unknown person or if is just one of Petyr or Cersei’s schemes!" She exclaimed with venom in her tone. She looked at the Maester who seems confused. 

"What does this mean your Grace?"  

She then sighed. "It means that... We either have a new player in the Game of Thrones... or Cersei Lannister or Petyr Baelish have stepped up their schemes in the great game."  

She saw the old Maester nod sadly, “You are right, your Grace... There might just be a new player... or the other players are trying new things... There is really no way to know for sure.”

She looked at the last raven scroll and grasped it in her hand. It was sealed with grey wax and had the Direwolf sigil. She put her fingernail under the seal, breaking it open and began to read. 

 

 

 

My Queen,   

Cat the roads have been clear and we have traveled at a quick pace. If we are able to keep this pace up, I believe that we will arrive at Castle Black within the next few days... a week at most.  

I beg you to have a guard around each of our children as well yourself at all times. Lord Tyrion and I believe that his sister, Queen Cersei, will try and seek her revenge on us... mainly on Sansa and Arya... while I am away from Winterfell.  I forgot to let you know, that I have personally asked Theon to protect the children and you at all times. I know what he did to House Stark in Jon's past life... And it was a tragedy... However, I believe if we show Theon the right way... Show him the love he craves and that he belongs... That he is wanted and a valuable part of our pack he will remain loyal to House Stark...   

I will send a raven when we leave Castle Black to go beyond the Wall to see this threat for myself.  Please stay save my love. I already miss you and the children. I will do my best to stay safe as well. 

Your husband, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North

 

She exhaled deeply after she read his warning... ‘If I had only known before you left,’ she mused to herself as she gave the letter to the old Maester so that he could read her husband’s words.  

After the Maester has read it he gave her another long, bewildered look before he finally asked, "Your Grace... What do you think Theon will do? Do you believe he will stay loyal to the Starks? Or do your believe... if the opportunity arises, he will again betray The Starks... The North and follow his sister, Yara and their father? Do you think he would revert back to they ways of the Greyjoys... The Iron Born?"  

She looked the Maester in the eyes, and firmly stated, "I believe in second chances as well... I believe Theon will redeem himself in this life... That my husband is right... If we do show him that he is part of this family... I believe that he will stay loyal... And that is why I untrusted him to ride up the Kingsroad... to find my husband and inform him of the assassin attempt on our daughters.” 

She could tell the look on Maester Luwin’s face, that he was surprised she had sent the Winterfell Ward on such an important task. 

“Your Grace... I am fine with showing Theon that he is wanted and important to the family... However, he is very close with Robb and he will want to go with your husband, all the way to Castle Black and beyond the Wall... He will feel the desire to help find Robb and Jon... That it is his..."  

She shook her head and interrupted, "I already informed Theon that Robb and Jon were not lost beyond the Wall... I told him that they are on a quest." She then heard him gasped. 

"Your Grace... Do you think it was a wise decision to tell Theon... about Jon and Robb?"  

She nodded and replied sternly, "I did not tell him where they were, Maester Luwin... I just told him they were not lost beyond the Wall and that they were on a quest... I think we must do everything in our power to make Theon feel wanted... to prevent him from betraying us." 

The Maester nodded as he stood up from his wooden armchair. He then looked at her with a serious expression and said, "Your Grace... Will you take the opportunity to speak with the hired assassin now that he is in the cells? I know that we have decided it would be best to have the King pass the sentence... However, I believe it would be wise to speak with him before that time... to make sure that his story does not change.” 

She glowered as she stood up and smoothed her skirts, “You are right... The assassin must receive his sentence from my husband... but it would be beneficial if I received his story... I will go and interrogate him... I will ask him who hired him to attack my daughters... We both know its Cersei... However, I would like for him to tell me... to my face, before he states it in front of the Northern Lords that it was in fact Queen Cersei Lannister who hired him to attack my girls..."  

“Then I will leave you to it, your Grace. I will take this opportunity to discuss with Princess Sansa about the day-to-day happenings within Winterfell, to prepare her for your journey to Riverrun… And your Grace, I do believe it would be wise to have Ser Rodrik with you while you interrogate the assassin." She nodded 

“Thank you, Maester Luwin... I would very much like for Sansa to be prepared before I leave… However, before you go to Sansa, I need for you to send a raven to Castle Black… I need to send him a message informing my husband about this pretender who calls himself Aegon Targaryen!” She gritted out the last sentences as she picked up the scroll with the Targaryen sigil, handed it to the Maester, looked him in the eyes and stated, “And I need you to hide this scroll until Ned returns… We cannot allow anyone to see it.” 

Maester Luwin nodded and waited patiently while she went to her large oak desk, grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote a short message to her husband. Once she had completed the message, she rolled the scroll, placed a dollop of melted grey wax, sealed it with the Direwolf of House Stark, and then wordlessly handed it to the Maester. 

As she gave him the raven scroll, the Maester smiled bowed his head, "I will send the raven straight away and I will sent Ser Rodrik to your chambers to escort you to the assassin." Catelyn nodded in response and Maester Luwin then took his leave. 

The Queen in the North finished her glass of wine while she waited for Ser Rodrik, and when she heard the knock on her chambers door, she took a deep breath as she got up from her armchair and made her way to her chamber door. When she pulled the open, she was greeted by the Winterfell Master at Arms, “My Queen,” the white bearded knight stated as he bowed his head, “Maester Luwin asked me to escort you to the cells and assist in the interrogation of the prisoner.”

“Yes. Thank you, Ser Rodrik.” She answered with a sharp nod of her head. She followed him out of her chambers as they made their way down to the prison cells with two other Stark Household Guards in tow. She released a sigh of relief, knowing that she would be protected if any would be assassins tried to strike her down. 

When they finally approached the prison cells, she gave the two guards a nod of her head, silently telling then to stay posted at the entrance of Winterfell’s holding cells. When one of the guards pushed open the door, she felt her anxiety growing, ‘What if he does not talk… What if it was Petyr or the false Aegon who sent the assassins and not Cersei as we believe...’ She was pulled from her musings when Ser Rodrik spoke. 

“Your Grace, you do not have to do this,” The older knight stated softly before his tone turned venom laced as he continued, “I will be happy to interrogate this scum myself… If you wish.” 

“It is quite all right, Ser Rodrik,” The Queen stated as she placed her hand on his wrist, “This is something that I must do… I must know if it was Cersei Lannister whom sent the assassins after my girls… I must hear the truth from his mouth.” 

“As you wish, Your Grace… I am here if you need me.” Ser Rodrik replied as he held open the door, allowing the Queen to enter. He grabbed a torch from the wall and led her towards the assassin’s cell in an uncomfortable silence. 

When they reached his holding cell, the knight shined to torch towards the iron bars and she saw the assassin… One of the men whom tried to murder her daughters… laying on a bed a straw with chains around wrists and his ankles. When she looked into the man’s eyes she saw fear as he shuffled closer to the bars separating them. When she took a step closer to the bars, Ser Rodrik by her side, the man suddenly dropped to his knees. 

"Please… Please Milady… I will tell ya everthin’!” He cried in a begging tone as tears began to fall down his face. “Just… Just… Please don’t kill me… I have a family… I needed the money… I beg you, please!" 

She glared at the shaggy looking man and was about to begin her questioning when Ser Rodrik reached through the bars of the cell, grabbed the man by his dirty tunic, pulled him to his feet, glared at him and seethed, "You will address her properly, you low life peasant! She is not a Lady… She is the Queen in the North! And you will call her your Grace!" 

She saw the terror in the man’s eyes as he stuttered out, "I… I… I am so so… Sorry... your Grace! Please… Don’t kill me… I… I… I will tell ya anything ya want to know… I promise!" 

She shot daggers at the man as she felt rage coursing through her veins as she gritted out, "I need you to tell me, who it was that hired you to kill my daughters!" 

"It was the Queen, your Grace…. The Queen of the Southern Kingdoms... Queen Cersei... Cersei Lannister... Your Grace." 

The Queen of the North felt a sense of relief that they were correct that it was Cersei. She turned her gaze from the assassin to Ser Rodrik and could tell that the older man was shocked and enraged. 

"Cersei Lannister!” He boiled, “How dare she try and harm the Princesses of the North… After what her son tried to do to them! She is lucky that that boy still has a head on his shoulders… I swear the only reason he is alive is because King Eddard showed mercy for his friend’s son… It anyone else tried to rape or murder a child of the North… Princess, Lady or peasant… Their head would have been on a spike immediately!" He then took a deep breath, met the Queen’s eyes and continued, "Your Grace! The Lannisters threatened the Starks! This means War! Call the Banners… All of the banners! I will lead them… If we ride hard, we can meet them along the Kingsroad… We need to let the Southern Queen feel the true wrath of the North!" 

She then smiled sadly, as much as she wanted to take Ser Rodrik’s advice she knew that would have to wait. "War... War will soon come to the Baratheon’s and Lannister’s, Ser Rodrik... However... We must first ask, His Grace, my husband, what he thinks we should do... He will sentence this man... and he will be the one to call the banners when the time is right… We cannot act hastily… We need a proper plan to bring Cersei to her knees." 

She saw Ser Rodrik sigh and nod before he reluctantly said, “Aye, your Grace… We will wait for his Grace to return from his mission.”  

"Thank you, Ser… Please see that no harm comes to the prisoner… I have a feeling that once Cersei knows he is our prisoner, she will send other assassins not only for my family… but for him as well... So that he may not give any information… in hopes to keep him silent... We must protect him until my husband return… His Grace will be the one to decide his fate.” The old knight nodded, and then the Queen continued, “Now, I must go see my daughters.” 

“Of course, your Grace… I will have my most loyal guards protect him at all times,” The loyal Stark Master at Arms vowed. 

Her face remained solemn as she nodded and said, "I thank you, Ser Rodrik." She then left the cells, followed by her two guards as she went to seek out her daughters. 

After finding the training yard empty, they made their way to the Great Hall. When she entered the room. she released a sigh of relief when she saw Sansa, Arya and Rickon sitting on one of the benches eating some of Old Nan’s famous kidney pies. ‘The old woman knows that they are the children’s favorite… I must thank her later for her kindness.’ When the door closed, three heads turn her way with smiles on their faces. She smile back as she walked over to them and sat on the bench next to Rickon.

She hugged her youngest child then looked at her daughters and with concern in her voice aske, “Sansa... Arya... Are you both doing well?" 

She saw them both smiling as Sansa replied, "We are Mother, Thank you for asking.” Her red-haired daughter then paused for a moment before nervously asking, “Mother… Did… Were you able to find out who hired the assassins?" 

“I did,” she answered with a forced smile, “It was Queen Cersei Lannister… She was the one who hired the two men.” She saw both of her daughters exhale and dip their heads, appearing to no longer be interested in their kidney pies. She took Rickon’s hand in hers, then looked at her three children and vowed, "I promise you all… The Lannister’s will pay for their actions against House Stark... The Wolves and The Dragons will one day be on sitting on the Iron Throne smiling down on the Lions as we get ready for Winter!" 

The Queen noticed that her children did not appear pleased with her words. She noticed Arya sigh as she laid her head on her folded arms on top of the table. She knew full and well that Arya missed Jon. She then smiled as she remembered the Raven Scroll for the girls. She took it out from her pocket, smiled at the children as she held the scroll out for the girls and said, "This message is for the two of you." 

Sansa quickly took the scroll and smiled and happily exclaimed, “Who is it from, Mother? Is it from Prince Trystane?” 

She then smiled at the girls as she shook her head, “No Sansa… It is from your brother… It is from Jon…"

Catelyn could tell that her children were surprised when she called Jon their brother, however they were too excited about the letter to comment. Sansa broke the wax seal and unraveled the letter.

She could tell Arya was frustrated that Sansa took the scroll, but instead of fighting she asked in a very excited tone, “Sansa... Read it out loud... I want to know what Jon has to say too!”

Her oldest daughter smiled and nodded her head as she began to read the letter:

 

 

 

Dear Arya and Sansa,

I want to let you both know that I am truly sorry for not telling you the truth myself... about who I truly am... That I am really your cousin and not your bastard half-brother... However, it was just too hard to say out loud... I send you this letter to ask for your forgiveness and to let you know that I truly love you both so much... and that no matter who sired me, I will forever see you both as my little sisters... And I hope you will continue to see me as your older brother.

I assume that Father has told you that I have married my Aunt Daenerys. She is a wonderful, strong and kind woman. Arya, I know you would like her. She is a lot like Visenya Targaryen... a true Dragon Queen. Sansa, I know that you would like her as well because she is also a kind lady with a good heart who wants to make the world better than the one we were born into. She will be your sister in law and is looking forward to meeting you both. Robb is well and has become a brother to Daenerys. 

I am also glad to hear that Nymeria and Lady have not shared the same fate as they did in my previous life. Please be safe while I am in Essos.

Your Brother,

Jon Snow, The Bastard of Winterfell

 

She saw both of her daughters smiling when Sansa was finished reading the raven scroll. She then smiled as well when she saw the joy in both of their faces. She knew that they had been worried about their brothers, and knowing that they were safe would lighten their demeanors. ‘I am so glad that Jon was able to forgive Sansa for the way she treated him... which was my fault... I truly hope that one day he will be able to forgive me as well... I hope that it is not too late for me to become the mother that he always wished he had.. the mother that he deserved to have.’ She was pulled from her thoughts when she heard Sansa sincerely inquire.

"Mother... Have you ever heard anything about Daenerys?" 

She was surprised by the question. She took a deep breath to clear her mind, smile and softly answered, "I have heard that she is the most beautiful women in all of Westeros... as well Essos... but other than that, your father told me in her last live she abolished slavery in Essos... that she saved thousands of people... But I do not know much about who she currently is." 

She saw them both smile at her honest answer.

"Hopefully... We will get to meet our new sister soon... Jon said she is a lady... We can braid each other’s hair and sew new dresses and sing... " Sansa stated wishfully, which made the Queen in the North smile.

"Hopefully we all will..." Catelyn agreed.

They were in a comfortable silence when Arya suddenly blurted out, "I hope she is pregnant ..." 

She gasped as she heard this. "Arya!" 

She saw her daughter smirk as she stated, "What? I would like to see a baby Jon with grey eyes and black hair and is calling me Auntie Arya... I can have Gendry make the baby a little training sword and I can teach him or her the art of the Water Dance!" 

“I can help!” Little Rickon exclaimed happily.

Her youngest daughter and son both earned a round of chuckles from the Queen and Sansa.

"Mother... Didn't Jon already had a son in our past life named? A little boy named Rhaegar? After his father?" Sansa inquired after the laughter died down.

She then smiled and nodded her head, which made all three Stark children excited. She then said, "Your Father told me he did had a son."

"What did he look like?" Sansa pressed as she practically jumped up and down in her seat. 

The Queen smiled as she said, "Although we did not see Jon’s child in our past life... If what Robb told your Father in his raven is true... the babe had ashy silver hair and purple eyes... That he  looked like a true Targaryen... a little prince."  

"Maybe he would have been handsome like his grandfather... I heard that Rhaegar Targaryen... Jon’s sire, was the most handsome man in the entire realm." Sansa said in a dreamlike tone. 

"He could have been yes ..." Catelyn answered with a smile. She then turned her attention to Arya and noticed she was frowning.

“Arya, what is wrong?” She asked with a furrowed brow. 

"Mother... Is it true... that Jon said that the Night King was responsible for the deaths of Daenerys and their son Rhaegar their past life?" Arya asked quietly, draining all the happiness from the room.

She then sighed as she thought, 'I can't let them know that Daenerys turned into the Night Queen.' She steadied her breathing and replied, "You are right, Arya.... Both Daenerys and baby Rhaegar were killed by the Night King." She saw that both Arya and Sansa had a frown on their face and they sadly nodded. In an effort to lift their spirits, she smiled and firmly stated, "However, we have been given a gift from the gods to prevent that from happening again... I am sure that Jon will do everything possible to keep all of his family safe this time!" 

She saw them smile slightly and they fell into a comfortable silence as the summer snows began to fall outside...... 

 


 

Lord Varys

It was nearing the evening hours in Essos as Lord Varys and Magister Illyrio Mopatis exited the city was of Pentos, on their way to the Dothraki Khalasar to meet with the new Khal and Khaleesi… To meet with the couple who claimed to be the rightful Targaryen King and Queen. While the wheelhouse shook along the rocky dirt road, the Master of Whispers and the Pentoshi Cheesemonger discussed with he should expect when he meets the Dragon King. The conversation had not raised any eyebrows until his old friend and former conspirator said something that he had not expected.

"Would you please repeat that, my old friend?" Varys asked with a furrowed brow. He saw his old friend Illyrio sigh and nod. 

His friend exhale and in a calm tone repeated, "As I said, Lord Varys... You must not tell the King that you were the one who sent letters from the Capital… And that in those letter you reported that the people of Westeros were sewing Targaryen banners and drinking secret toasts to his health… And that you were the one who planted the seed in Viserys’ mind to sell his sister for an army… and that when he agreed, that you were the one to arrange the whole marriage between Daenerys and Khal Drogo… If he knew that you were instrumental in the plot to sell his beloved wife, Queen and Khaleesi, to a savage rapist he would become enraged… Even though you were doing it because you believed that it would be best for the Realm… Trust me, my friend… You do not want to anger the King… He wants the same as you… What is best for the Realm..." 

“Are you telling me… That you no longer wish to rid the world of the last Targaryen’s? … To rid the world of the family you felt was responsible for the death of your late wife’s house?” Varys inquired. 

Illyrio then placed a hand on Varys shoulder, looked him in the eyes and firmly stated, “Trust me, my friend… As much as it pains me to say… As much as I wanted to see every last Targaryen die… I believe that this Targaryen King and Queen are the Realm needs at this time…  After speaking with my King, you will understand why I have come to this conclusion.” 

Varys then pressed the Magister for more information, “I must say that this surprises me… That you would support a male Targaryen… Who could further the line… I do admit… I was looking forward to seeing the downfall of Viserys, after you told me he was as mad as his father, The Mad King Aerys, was… However, I am glad that you finally agree with me that Princess Daenerys life can be spared… I had my little birds watching her from afar and all my reports stated that she has always appeared to be a sweet girl… I was hoping that she would be strong enough to endure the Dothraki and preserver… But now it appears that she will thrive with them, and with a Khal who loves her by her side…” 

“Yes… I believe that they will do well with the Dothraki… I will admit, the Dothraki have taken a liking to their new Khal… and they have been camped outside of Pentos from nearly a fortnight and not once have they raped or raided with in the city… He appears to be able to control them… It is quite fascinating.” 

Varys then made a comment on something else that fat magister had said, “Illyrio, you said that the King is very attached to his new wife…  However, earlier you told me that they had not met one another before he showed up at your Manse and declared himself to be Khal Aegon... Aegon of House Targaryen... I can think of no reason other than the fact that she is his Aunt… Do you know why he cares so much for the young Targaryen Princess? And do you even know how he knew of our plans to sell her to the Dothraki? I had not even provided King Robert with the information… And was not planning to until after she had wed Khal Drogo… However, when I learned out plans had foiled, I told him about the New Khal, his dragon and that he was married the Princess..." 

He saw the magister sigh as he took another sip from his wine before he said, "I am not sure why Queen Daenerys is so close to his heart... Our King has not shared everything with me... I hope that more will be revealed to us after today... Also, I wish that you would not have told Robert about them just yet… I hope that they will be able to stop any attack that Robert sends their way because I honestly wish for them to successfully take the Iron Throne… However, they are not yet ready to go to Westeros… I am not sure what the King’s plans are, but I know that he intends to take care of what he called unfinished business in Essos before he heads back to where he was raised." 

“You never have told me where he was raised, my dear friend.” Varys mused. 

“You will soon have that question answered, Lord Varys… As I said, that is not my secret to tell.” 

Varys nodded his head and then sighed as a comfortable silence fell over the two men. He opened the curtain covering the small square window the wheelhouse and admired the sparsely vegetated Essosi desert landscape as he mused to himself, ‘This is very odd… There seems to be much more to this story… Illyrio has fought for nearly 20 years to rid the realm of the Targaryen’s because they forced his Blackfyre wife, my cousin, Serra, into exile as a pillow slave… He made a promise to her on her deathbed that he would see the end of the Targaryen’s… While I agreed that we needed to get rid of the mad Prince Viserys… The Princess was always such a sweet child with a loving heart… So why the sudden change in heart now… When there is another male Targaryen to further the line… And he welcomed him to marry Daenerys… This Aegon must be an amazing man if even Illyrio has decided to forgo his vow to his wife and follow him.’   

He looked back at the Magister and took a deep breath as he prepared to inquire about another thought swirling around in his head. "If I may ask, old friend... We were in agreement that the Dothraki would take care of the Queen’s cruel older brother… Nevertheless, that will not occur now… So, do you happen to know what the King’s intentions are… What he will do with his Uncle Viserys?" 

His friend had a frown on his face as he sighed and stated, "I am not sure what the plan to do with him exactly… I also do not know what has become of him… The last I saw of him, the King had bound him and was holding him as his prisoner… He told me that he would allow his wife to decide her brother’s fate." 

Silence again fell over the two men as the spider thought to himself, ‘Surly if Viserys was dead my little birds would have gotten the information to me at the docks.’ 

Varys was pulled from his thoughts when the wheelhouse jolted and came to a stop and he could head a loud rumbling coming towards them. He looked towards Illyrio and saw a smile on his face as he pointed out the window. He then gazed out the open window and was surprised when he was at least twenty Dothraki screamers mounted on their horses, barreling towards them at a fast pace. 

When they got closer, they quickly halted their horses and Ser Jorah trotted over towards them on his horse. He saw one of the Dothraki riders move forward as he greeted the old Knight with a smile. Varys listened closely as they exchanged words in a foreign language, which he figured was the language of the Dothraki. He then looked at the Magister and quietly asked, "What are they saying?" 

The Magister shook his head and softly stated, "They are too far away… I am afraid that I cannot hear what they are saying." 

The Spider nodded his head in acknowledgment and then directed his gaze back towards Ser Jorah and the Dothraki men. After a few moments, he heard the lough hoots and cheers of the dark skinned men before they all turned around and rode back from the direction in which they came. As the wheelhouse began to move, once again he started to see glimpses of a few tents that appeared to be constructed out of animal hides. 

When Ser Jorah brought his horse alongside of the wheelhouse, Lord Varys caught his gaze through the window and asked, "Ser Jorah what were you and the Dothraki riders just discussing?"

He saw a smile appear on the stoic old knight’s face as he answered, "My Lord, they were inquiring if we were going to giving gifts to their New Khal and Khaleesi... They also wanted to know why we are here..." 

The eunuch then asked in a curious tone, "What did you tell them?" 

He saw a smile appear on the exile old knight’s lips as he answered, "I told them that their Khal has requested your presence and that you are to be treated as honored guests... Unless after meeting you the Khal decides that you are not worthy…" 

Varys nodded in understanding and then closed the curtain coving the window as the wheelhouse continued toward the outskirts of the Dothraki camp. He felt anxiety growing in his gut as be began to fear what this Khal Aegon might do to him… ‘What if he knows that I was the one who suggested to Viserys that Westeros was waiting for a Targaryen restoration… That I was the one who told Viserys that all he needed was an army and the Iron Throne would be his… That I was the one who reached out to the Dothraki and brokered the deal that would sell his aunt to Khal Drogo… And that I knew that the Dothraki would somehow kill Viserys because they do not tolerate weakness… And with Daenerys married to the Dothraki and Viserys dead… The threat of the Targaryen coming back to Westeros would gone… There would be one less player in the Game of Thrones and I could continue my search for the perfect person to lead the Realm.’ 

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of women moaning and screaming. For a moment he thought that he had somehow been transported back to King’s Landing and into one of Petyr Baelish’s brothels. He opened his window and gasped as he saw women out in the open, under the hot Essosi sun, on their hands and knees being fucked from behind by Dothraki men. He was shocked by what he saw to say the least. He knew about the culture of the Dothraki, but hearing about something and seeing it in person was very different. He looked at his friend with wide eyes but no words came out. 

The Magister barked out a laugh and explained with a smile, "They are celebrating my friend..." 

The Spider was confused of what his old friend meant. When he finally breathed out, "Celebrating?" 

His friend still had an amused smile on his face as he clarified, "They are celebrating the return of their Khal and they are excited to meet his wife, their new Khaleesi... Judging of how hard the women are screaming outside... The men of the Khalasar find their new Khaleesi, Queen Daenerys, quite beautiful... I say this because it is known the Dothraki men will fuck their women hard… and imagine that they are in fact fucking their Khaleesi... They are not allowed to fuck her or touch her without their Khal’s permission… So the men of the Dothraki horde fuck their women hard after seeing the Khaleesi, it is actually a great honor to the Khal… It shows that they agree with his choice of wife…"

He then nodded, then quirked is eyebrow and asked, "Is that all why they are celebrating, my old friend?" 

He saw his old friend had a smirk on his face as he shook his head, "My friend, I would also assume that they believe they will soon be leaving the outskirts of Pentos and begin to ride to a new destination."  

He then nodded understanding. ‘I am aware that the Dothraki people hate to stay in one place for long periods of time… But where will they be going? Why would they leave the comfort of Illyrio’s manse? Does Khal Aegon plan to continue with the Dothraki way of enslaving innocents and raping women of the villages they plunder?’ He was pulled from his internal thoughts when the wheelhouse stopped and the door of it was pulled open.

"We have arrived, Lord Varys," the Old Knight stated with a satisfied smirk as he held the door of the wheelhouse open. 

“Thank you, Ser Jorah,” The Master of Whispers replied kindly as he climbed out if the wheelhouse. Magister Illyrio followed closely behind him, clutching the bag with the dragon eggs close to his chest. 

Once they were both standing on the ground, Ser Jorah closed the door of the wheelhouse, looked at them and said, “Please, follow me and I will take you the tent where the King and Queen wish to meet with you.” 

Varys and Illyrio wordlessly nodded and followed to Knight from Bear Island. The eunuch admired the many different huts and tents that made up the camp as they walked. After a few minutes of following the Old Knight, they approached a tent that appeared to me much larger than the other tents that they had passed. 

"The meeting will take place here,” Ser Jorah stated as he lifted the brown leather hide that severed as door to the massive tent and then gestured for them to enter. 

Varys smiled at the Knight as he and the Pentoshi Magister entered the tent. Once inside, he looked around and noticed that four large braziers illuminated the room in a soft orange glow. Once his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the outdoor to the windowless room of the tent, be saw that there were three large Dothraki men, with long braids, sitting on some of the pillows that were placed on the floor around a large rectangular wooden table that was in the center of the tent. He noticed at the head of the table, there were two large, brightly colored pillows, which he figured would belong to the Khal and the Khaleesi; however, they were not yet occupied. He then looked at Ser Jorah for instruction. 

"The King and Queen will be joining us shortly…" The Older Knight began before he was interrupted when the tent flap opened and a young man with Auburn hair and eyes blue as the waters surrounding Tarth entered the room. 

'This man is not Dothraki… He is clearly from Westeros… However, surly this is not Aegon Targaryen.' The Master of Whisper thought to himself as the young man made his where over to where they were standing. As the young man neared, he let out a gasp when his eyes caught sight of the sigil on the breastplate of his leather armor. ‘Dear gods… That is the Direwolf sigil… the sigil of House Stark… Why is someone from House Stark in Essos… in a Dothraki camp… That is under the control of a man claiming to be a Targaryen?’ 

The man smiled at him as he walked over towards him and stated respectfully, "You must be Lord Varys… The Master of Whispers for the usurper King Robert. Thank you from coming all this way, my Lord." 

Varys gasped when he heard the Northern accent of the young man's voice. ‘This truly is a Northerner… And by the way he speaks he is not a lowborn bannerman… He knows his courtesies… Why is this young man so far from home? There must be an explanation…’ He was thinking of a thousand questions in his minds. However, before he could say a greeting or ask a question, the young man shifted his smiling face towards Illyrio. 

"Thank you, Illyrio... For traveling so far, so quickly... The King and Queen thank you for your service to House Targaryen and House Stark." 

‘Why is someone in Stark armor serving House Targaryen? Have the Targaryen’s and Stark’s joined houses? Sansa is too young to marry Viserys… And he sees that Stark’s as the reason House Targaryen was defeated and he has had to live his life in a foreign land… Robb Stark is of age to marry the princess… But he is lost beyond the Wall and my little birds were quite clear that Daenerys has married Aegon Targaryen…’ 

He looked at his old friend who smiled at the man as he bowed his head. "You are too kind my lord... Or I guess that I should now say my Prince..." 

He saw the young man smile as he said, "I am gathering that Lord Varys told you the good news?" 

The Pentoshi Cheesemonger smiled, "He did, my Prince... I am glad to hear that the North has received their independence from the Usurper, King Robert Baratheon…" 

The bald eunuch was confused, 'Why would Illyrio name this man as my Prince? The only Northerners who can be called my Prince are the three sons of King Eddard Stark… Well four if he legitimizes his bastard...’ he gasped as he put his thoughts together. 'It all makes sense! Illyrio calling this young Stark my Prince… Not my King or your Grace… Oh, Ned Stark… you are quite clever! All these years you hid the boy in plain sight! You hid Rhaegar Targaryen’s son as you own bastard!' He could not help it when a chuckle escaped his lips. He then noticed that the young man had an amused smile on his face, most likely guessing the he has finally been able to put all the puzzle pieces together. 

"It is an honor to meet you... Prince Robb of House Stark." The Master of Whispers stated as he dipped his head in a respectful bow. 

The Northern Prince let out a short amused chuckle before he then said, "Aye, it is an honor to meet you as well, Lord Varys... Master of Whispers to the Southern Six Kingdoms of Westeros..." 

The Eunuch smiled as he inquired, "So... Prince Robb... Where is your bastard brother… or should I say… your cousin, Jon Snow... Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen?" 

A smirk appeared across the Prince’s face as he chuckled and said, "I see... that after eighteen years you finally figured out who my father’s bastard really is!" 

"I always had my suspicions... Newly married, Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North... fathering a bastard during the Rebellion... Everyone knew that he was too honorable to lay with someone other than his wife… No one believed that he would ever break his marriage vows… So when he said that was what he did, no one ever thought to second guess it… They all just wished to know who the woman was… Which woman was so beautiful that she was able to take his honor… When in truth we were all right, he never did stray from his marriage bed during the rebellion… For the last eighteen years, he has been protecting Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark’s heir... the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros... Your father announced to everyone... Even King Robert, that your aunt had lost her life due to a horrible fever... However, I now believe, that it was not a fever that claimed her life at the end of the Rebellion… Was it, my prince?"  

He saw the Crown Prince in the North smiled as he shook his head then said, "Fever was the cause of my aunt’s death… However, it was not a fever caused by illness… She died of childbirth fever, caused by loss of blood during the delivery of the last living son of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen… She died because there was no Maester or Midwife to attend to my cousin’s birth… Only her handmaidens and Kingsguard were present... My Father found his sister just before she lost her battle... In her final breaths, she begged my Father to protect him from Robert Baratheon... And just before she died, he promised to protect her son, the rightful King of Westeros..."  

Varys then smiled sadly and admitted, "And he did... He protected that child even though it could have cost him his life... He hid him in plain sight... Provided him with a formal education and showed him a father’s love... Even when that meant dishonoring his wife, you Lady Mother..."  

He saw the prince with a frown on his face, he sighed and looked like he was going to speak further, however their conversation was halted when the tent flap opened once more. He, the Northern Prince, and Magister Illyrio all shifted their gaze towards the opening of the tent, and watched as a dark haired young man and a beautiful young icy blonde haired woman entered the room.  

However, he did not get the opportunity to look at them closely because two large dog-like animals ran into the tent, causing him to advert his attention. They were looked like dogs at first glance, one was shades of grey and the other was white as snow with piercing red eyes. Varys quickly realized these were not ordinary animals. He gasped in shock and breathed out, "What... What type of creatures are those?” 

Prince Robb smiled as he answered, "Those are our Direwolves... Grey Wind is mine,” he said as the Wolf came over and nuzzled his hand, demanding pets, “and Ghost, the albino wolf, belongs to my brother." 

He could not believe what he had just heard. ‘My little birds have told me that the Stark children each have their own Direwolf, but never would have guessed the songs were completely true... I was aware of the two direwolf pups that are companions to the Northern Princesses... However I did not believe that there were in fact six direwolves south of the Wall...’  

The Master of Whispers then turned his attention back to the man and woman who had just entered the meeting tent. The women was undeniably beautiful; she had the typical Targaryen ashy-silver blonde hair and breathtaking violet eyes. He knew that this young woman was Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen… or should he say the Queen or the Khaleesi… and the songs that have been sung to him about her beauty were in fact very accurate… Actually, she was far more breathtaking that what his little birds had sung to him. He then noticed that the young Queen was holding the hand of the young man, and he knew it had to be the Dothraki Khal… King Aegon. 

He then studied the Khal and was surprised by what he saw... The Khal was quite a bit shorter than he had expected. ‘He must get his height from his mother… I do not recall Lyanna being a tall woman. However, he is very handsome. I now understood how Ned Stark was truly able to keep one of the last male Targaryen’s hidden away for all those years… The Khal had the look of a true Stark; the dark hair and grey eyes.’ However, the longer he observed the young man, the more he noticed the slightly softer facial features of the Targaryen’s. ‘My few little birds in the North have always sung to me that the Bastard of Winterfell had a very comely face… That he could even be called pretty and now it was safe to say that I understood why… it is because of his Targaryen blood.’ 

The Spider was drawn from his musings as the Khal and Khaleesi approached them with a smile on both of their faces. They walked up Illyrio and the Bastard of Winterfell shook his friend’s hand, as he spoke in a deep Northern tone, "Illyrio... It is good to see you again... I hope your journey from the Capital to Pentos was kind?"  

He looked at his old friend and saw a smile on his face as he kindly answered, as he bowed his head in respect, "The seas were calm and the winds were kind, your Grace." 

“I see that your quest has been a success, Magister Illyrio,” the young Queen said with a smile on her face. She then glanced at the Master of Whispers before directing her attention back to the Fat Magister and continued, “You brought your friend, Lord Varys... And your message stated that you were successfully able to procure my niece and nephew's dragon eggs as well.” 

He then noticed the way the Khaleesi turned towards her husband and smiled as she quickly squeezed their still clasped hands. 'I have seen many political marriages during my time in King’s Landing... While it is common for newly married, young couples to lust after each other… In the few minutes, I have seen these two interact, I can already see that they appear to have a deeper connection… they appear to actually be in love… This is quite interesting.' 

He smiled as his old friend grinned at the King and Queen as he stated, “Your Graces... May I present to you, Lord Varys, Master of Whispers to King Robert Baratheon.” His friend stated as he gestured toward him. Varys bowed his head slightly but remained quiet. His friend then handed the bag containing the dragon eggs to the Khaleesi, and continued to speak, “And these are the dragon eggs that once belonged to his Grace’s older half-siblings,” he stated proudly as he held the sack containing the two dragon eggs out for the King and Queen to take.  

The Khaleesi smiled as she took the bag from Illyrio. Varys felt the gaze of the Khal on his for a few moments, as if he was judging him. He was thankful when the Khal directed his attention back to his wife as she began to open the sack containing the two dragon eggs. The first egg she removed from the sack was dark blue, with swirls of lighters shades of blue. The smile smiled as she ran her fingers over the rigid exterior of the egg, and it appeared as though she was studying every inch of it before she gently passed it to her husband. The Master of Whispers noticed that the Khal also smiled as he held the egg up to inspect it in the firelight from the brazier. 

As they continued to inspect the blue egg, Varys decided to speak, "The blue dragon egg, your Grace, was the one that once belonged to your half-sister… Princess Rhaenys." 

The Khal looked at him smiled a half smile and nodded in acknowledgement of his words as he clutched the egg to his chest, before directing his attention back to his wife. The Khal and Khalessi smiled at each other, and then she removed the other egg from the burlap sack. 

"And that dragon egg, your Grace... Once belonged to your Nephew, Prince Aegon… the son of Elia Martell and your brother Rhaegar... Your husband’s older half-brother." Varys stated softly. 

He saw the expression on her face shift excitement to slight confusion and awe as she handled the dark red, almost crimson colored egg. She then held the red egg in one hand, while she touched the blue egg that her husband still held in his hands and he noticed her eyes widened as she looked to be comparing the two eggs. 

"Jon… The red dragon egg... It feels different from all of the others... it is much warmer... I believe that it has not yet turned into stone like the others..." She stated, as she looked into the eyes of husband. 

"So... You want my brother, Aegon's, dragon egg, my love?" The Khal asked with a smile on his lips. As he asked this, Varys could see the look of love in her husband’s eyes.

The Khaleesi smiled at him and nodded sharply, “Yes, Jon... I do not know how to describe it... but when I hold this egg... I feel... I feel a pull... like it is calling to me... like something within me is trying to be unlocked...”

Her husband then pressed a tender kiss to her temple and stated, “Then that one shall be yours, Dany.”

She then gently placed both eggs back in the sack and looked over to one of the three large Dothraki men, he assumed to be their blood riders. "Bako, elat these akat zhavvorsa gale.  Put eyak ma eshna kijinosi pyre rek tikh tikh lit she vorsa tat ajjalani ma sacrifice." (Bako, move these two dragon eggs... Put them with the others in the pyre that will be lit on fire tonight with the sacrifice.)   

‘I should have taken the time to at least learn some of the language of the Dothraki.’ He though as one of the Dothraki men got up from his pillow with a smile and said, “Anha tikh tikh chomokh, Khaleesi.” (I will be honored, Khaleesi). The man then took the bag and left the room. 

Varys then looked at Illyrio with he heard a small gasp. He noticed a perplexed look on his face as he gazed at his King and Queen and questioned, "Pyre that will be ignited with the sacrifice, your Grace?" 

The Khal had a smile on his face as he nodded his head and answered the Magister’s question. "Aye, we will use a bonfire to hatch the dragon eggs..." 

The Spider gasped at the words that Khal had just said. He needed clarification… So the breathed out, "I am sorry, your Grace... You said hatch the dragon eggs with a fire?" 

The Khal smiled at him as he and his Khaleesi, walked a few steps closer towards him hand in hand. He then kindly said, "Lord Varys... Master of Whispers for Usurper King Robert Baratheon... It is an honor to make your acquaintance..." 

"It's an honor to meet you as well... Aegon of House Targaryen... Or should I say Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell?" The Spider responded with a slight, respectful bow of his head. 

"I was wondering how long it would take you to put the puzzle together, Lord Varys…” the young King stated as a chuckle escaped his lips. “I know that you are a smart man... You would figure out who I was before we met... I am sure that your network of spies… you little birds in Pentos sang you songs about my arrival in Essos… That I defeated Drogo… Showed up at Illyrio’s manse and married Daenerys... Then, when you saw the Direwolf sigil on my brother’s breastplate... You were finally able to put all of the pieces together..." 

"Your Grace... I am impressed that you have such a vast knowledge of my working and of my network of little birds… However, I am still confused on a few other matters." The Master of Whispers stated before he asked, “I was hoping that you would be able to clarify some things for me before I have to leave to return to King’s Landing.” 

"Please... Lord Varys... Let us sit down... We invited you here to show you why we are the King and Queen that Westeros needs… Why we would be the best rulers for the Realm," The Valyrian Princess stated with a smile as she gestured towards the empty pillows surrounding the table. 

He nodded his head in agreement, as Knight from Bear Island escorted them towards the pillows, showing each of them their seat; The Khal and Khalessi were seated on the large pillows at the head of the table. He and Illyrio were seated across from the two Dothraki men, (with one pillow left open, for who assumed was the man who took the dragon eggs to the pyre), and Prince Robb Stark took his place at the other end of the table, across from his brother and his good sister. Once they were all seated, Ser Jorah stood behind the Khaleesi, making sure that she would be protected. He then smiled 'The Khal truly does not wish anything to happen to his Khaleesi.’ He then saw a women he did not recognize enter the tent. She did not appear to be Dothraki, she had pale skin and her has was a lighter shade of brown, ‘She must have been taken as a slave by the previous Khal,’ he though as she poured them each a cup of wine. 

The Khal who smiled at the young woman as she poured his glass of wine and kindly said in common tongue, “Thank you, Doreah.” He then turn his gaze to him and said, "Lord Varys... I know you are confused... That you have a lot of questions... So I will answer all of you questions the best that I can... Please, ask whatever it is that you wish to know."  

Varys was slightly surprised by the young man’s straightforwardness. It was true, he did many of questions for the Bastard of Winterfell, however, the first thing he would like to know is why the Khal is so deeply in love with his Khaleesi, when they had barely known each other a fortnight. So he took a deep breath then asked, "Your Grace... I have seen a lot of marriages in my life... Political... Love... But I have never heard of or seen a marriage quite like you and your wife, Daenerys, before... From what my dear friend Illyrio has told me... You traveled across from the Narrow Sea to fight against the previously undefeated Dothraki Khal, Khal Drogo... to save her from a harsh marriage that she did not want or desire... And from what my little birds have told me you killed him brutally... that you sliced his arm off prior to separating his head from his body...  Might I ask... Why it is that you fought so brutally... I mean I assume that your uncle... Eddard Stark... would have taught you how to fight honorably and after you have killed Drogo... You married your aunt without even knowing her?" 

He saw that the Khal was momentarily surprised, but after he processed the spoken words, a wicked smile spread across his face. "Lord Varys... If there is one thing that I have learned through this life and in my last life..."  

He was confused, 'Last Life?'  

However, before the Spider could ask, the Khal took a deep breath and continued speaking, "Is that... Everything is about survival... It does not matter if you fight honorably... All that matters is that the death was justified and who survived in the end... And I have come to realize that in a hard way."  

Varys then glanced at the Khaleesi and noticed that she had a frown on her face... he could tell that she did not care for or like her husband's answer. He then looked back at the Khal when he began to speak once again. 

"I brutally killed Drogo... Because I knew of your plans... That you planted the seeds in Viserys head that he could sell my love... My Dragon... My Dany... To the Dothraki for an army... You did this knowing that they would never follow Viserys... That they would get tired of his whining and complaining and eventually kill him... And you knew what Dany would have to endure being married to Khal Drogo... That Drogo would have raped her repeatedly... That he would force himself on her until she was pregnant with his child... You did this knowing that she would either spend the rest of her life in a loveless marriage or that she would make the best of it and try to love the man to stop his nightly torcher..."  

Varys felt his anxiety rising as he thought of what Illyrio had said... that he did not want to make the Khal angry at him... ‘How does he already know everything thing that we had planned? Did Illyrio lie to him and tell him this was all my plan?’ So he took a deep breath and tried to calmly explain his action, "Your Grace ... I did it for..." 

The Khal interrupted his answer as he stood up and shouted, "For the Realm! Lord Varys... I know you only serve the realm! You do not care how my Khaleesi would have been treated!"  

Varys then gasped as the Khal eyes turn from Dark Grey into a shade of dark orange; he could have sworn that there was a fire lit behind the man’s eyes. He then heard a loud screech outside. He then gasped as the tent flap opened and a grey bird like creature flew in, landed on top of the table and screeched at him. 'By gods! It is true! He truly has a dragon!' His anxiety reached a new level when the Dragon screeched at him again and notice an orange glow appear, coming from the back of the dragon's throat. ‘Dear gods... this creature is going to burn me alive!’  

He gasped as the Khaleesi jumped up, put a hand on each side of the Khal’s face and shouted, "Jon! Look at me!" When he looked into her eyes she sighed and in a loving tone stated, "I am fine, Jon... Please, my love calm down... I am safe… you saved me… We did not ask Lord Varys here to burn him..." 

The Khal then placed his hands on hers and Varys saw him take a deep breath. The Bastard of Winterfell then nodded and turned his attention back towards the Master of Whispers and in a calmer tone said, "Please, forgive me Lord Varys... For my anger... I did not wish to harm you..."  

Varys gasped as he watched the Khal’s eyes turn from fiery-orange back to the same shade of dark grey they were before he became enraged. He then nodded as he thought, 'This Khal ... This King is very interesting… I can see what Illyrio means by his dark side and not to anger him about his wife,' before he said in the serenest tone he could muster, "It is fine, your Grace... You are correct... I did not have the authority to conspire to sell your wife to a rapist… In hindsight it was poor judgement." 

He saw the King sigh once more, Varys took the opportunity to look at the Khalessi and Prince Robb, and he noticed that they each had a look of concern on their faces. He gaze was brought back to the King when he started speaking in a soft tone. 

"Lord Vary, you asked me why my wife and I love each other after such a short time… There is an explanation… I am not sure if you will believe me, but it is the truth…” he sighed before he continued in a near whisper, “I knew that Daenerys was the love of my life because I knew her from my past life… And when I arrived she remembered me as well."  

‘That was something that I never expected to hear…,’ he thought as he furrowed his brow and asked, "Past life, your Grace? I am afraid that I do not understand."  

He saw a smirk appear on the Khal’s face as he explained, "Lord Varys, did you ever stop to think, how someone raised in Westeros… the Bastard of Winterfell would know how to hatch a dragon egg? Did you ever stop to think how I have the knowledge that all three of the Usurper King Robert’s children are bastards… Bastards Queen Cersei bore from the relationship she has with her brother Jaime Lannister… And how I intended the North to be granted independence… How I knew that the bastard Joffrey would do something idiotic… something stupid that could be used to peacefully allow the North to break free from Southern rule…"  

The Spider gasped as he heard this confession. "So you are telling me, your Grace... You knew the royal children were nothing but bastards and that Crown Prince Joffrey would do something horrible to your uncle's daughters because of his demeanor in your last life?" 

He saw the Khal smile wickedly and nod, "Aye, I did... And I knew it would be the right time to make the North independent... So I told my father..."  

He raised his eyebrow to the Khal and questioned, "Your Father, your Grace?" 

Both the Khal and Khaleesi smiled as he answered, "Aye, The King in the North... Eddard Stark… He might not be the man who sired me… However, I consider him as my father… He was the one who kept me safe from the Usurper by dishonoring himself and his own wife… He kept me, the rightful King... Protected and hidden from the man he considered to be his best friend… Knowing that Robert Baratheon would have killed me if he knew that I was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna… Even though, in my last life, he allowed me to go to the Wall join the Nights Watch… He did so to keep me safe when he left to go South… Because I joined the Watch, I was able to learn everything that would happen… I could not leave the Wall, so I was forced to sit back and do nothing while my family was killed or used as someone else’s pawn… I was able to discover who all the players are in the Great Game of Thrones… I learned who desires the Iron Thorne… I know which houses are and will remain loyal... Soon all of you would have known the Bastard of Winterfell would be the most important pawn in the Game of Thrones... A bastard what you all thought so little of… That the only thing people wanted to know about me was who my mother was and how she got Ned Stark to dishonor his wife…" 

He then was surprised. 'Joined the Nights Watch? Yes, my little birds have informed me that he wished to join the Nights Watch… Then I learned that he was lost beyond the Wall.' He then thought of two other things. 'Why did he want to make the North Independent as well saying he has watched and come to know everything that was happening to Westeros which made him the most important pawn in the Game of Thrones.' He then quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Your Grace, why did you want the North to be independent? My old friend, Illyrio, has told me that your intentions are to unite the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in order to fight the threat beyond the Wall... The White Walkers… The Army of the Dead… The Night King...” He saw The Khaleesi and Khal both shiver as he said ‘Night King’ but he continued with his speech, “If you already had the Starks and therefore the North as allies... The Tully’s and therefore the Riverlands will follow you as well… That is if Queen Catelyn wishes… Why would you move to make the North independent? I would have advised that you should have stayed loyal to the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s… The North having been granted their Independence has caused many rumors throughout Westeros… There is even talks a Rebellion…." 

He saw the Khal took a deep breath, "Aye, that is true... The North becoming independent did caused rumors about rebellions... However, by doing this... My Father can now have a parley with the Free Folk... That will add an army of a few hundred thousand soldiers… An army that is fierce and has Giants and mammoths… If we add that to the armies of the North and the Riverlands we will have the largest Army in Westeros… Also by the North being independent, it will also cause the other Kingdoms to want to make alliances with the King in the North... As soon as the other Six Kingdoms realizing Prince Joffrey tried to rape one of my sisters and murder the other they will demand justice or Independence from the crown… The Kingdoms of Westeros will never follow a rapist… The Hand of The King, Tywin Lannister, will know this and will be forced to send his own grandson to the Wall."  

'This Jon Snow played all the Kingdoms like pawns... He commands knowing the different house would do... How they would move in the Game of Thrones.' Varys thought as the King paused to take a sip of wine. 

He saw the King smile as he put his wine glass down and continued. "Soon... The Kingdoms will be vulnerable for conquering... I will not stand for unnecessary bloodshed... When our dragons has come to age and we have a large enough army consisting of more than one hundred thousand Dothraki, the unsullied… Along with the full support of the North, the Riverlands, and the Free Folk and with other alliances through marriages... All of Westeros will all surrender to the Wolves and the Dragons and hopefully very little if any blood will be shed..."  

"Aegon Targaryen the second Conqueror and with his Aunt wife, Daenerys will conquer Westeros again just like how Aegon and his sister wives did so many years ago… except without all the bloodshed," The Prince of the North stated with a chuckle. 

"Your Grace, that is quite a plan... I must say... However, I am confused why would you bring an army of Wildlings south of the Wall?" 

The Bastard of Winterfell sighed, "Because Lord Varys... The King Beyond the Wall, Mance Rayder, will listen to a King... A King that is willing to grant his people lands in the North... We are willing to offer them this in exchange for fighting together against our common enemy… I knew full and well the Usurper would never accept my father’s request to grant the Wildlings safe passage..."  

He then took a deep breath. "I understand that, your Grace... However, I still do not understand why you wish to bring them all South of The Wall other to increase your Army’s numbers?" 

He saw the Khaleesi and the Khal each had a serious look and frown on their face. The King then looked him square in the eyes and stated, "Because Lord Varys... It is not their fault that they were born on the wrong side of the wall... It is not their fault that death comes for them and have no way to fight against it..." 

The Master of Whispers nodded as he said, "I understand, your Grace that they are just people... Illyrio has told me you believe there is a threat beyond the Wall... That the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead are real... The Night King... Is real...” he then shifted his gaze to the Old Knight standing guard behind the Khal and Khaleesi as he added, “And your Kingsgaurd, Ser Jorah has told me you have seen them with your own eyes.”  

A chuckle of laughter escaped his lips, because he thought about how crazy an army of dead men sounded and that this young King has claimed to have seen them. When he composed himself he saw that both the King and Queen had scowls on their faces. His amusement quickly sobered when the Targaryen Khaleesi took a deep breath; he mentally braced himself for her wrath. 

“I understand Lord Varys... Truly, I do...” She spat, “You believe that the threat beyond the Wall... The White Walkers... The Army of the Dead... The Night King... are nothing more than a made up story to scare children into behaving... But I can insure you... That the threat beyond the wall is real... An army what can only be killed by the use of fire, Valyrian steel and Dragonglass. A army so strong... That even the dead of years past are not safe... This is because the Night King can simply reanimate    their corpses by raising his hands... Turning them into one of the puppets in his mindless slave army...”  

He was attentively listening the Khaleesi’s speech when suddenly, she clinched her hands into fists and her eyes turned orange, just like the Khal’s had a few minutes before. He let out a small gasp as he looked around; he was surprised that no one else seemed to notice that the color of her eyes was no longer violet... Not even the Khal seemed to notice.  

"Dragons are real,” she stated as she exhaled sharply, and the grey dragon on the let out a loud screech. “As you have seen... A dragon has returned to the world... They had been extinct for over a hundred years until my husband hatched his dragon, Sarogon, from the Bonfire in which he sacrificed Khal Drogo... Since you have seen the return of a dragon... How is it so hard to believe the return of the White Walkers, Wights and the Night King... An army that kills everything in its path... they do not care if you are Highborn, Lowborn, a King or Queen, or even an animal... I do not know the true intentions of the Night King and his army... However, I do know... THEY ARE MONSTERS!”  

Lord Varys was surprised by the anger and hatred in the tone of her voice as her eyes became a darker shade of orange. 

"The Night King turned me into one of his puppets... and force me... a mother... Me... Daenerys Targaryen! To turn my own young son, my sweet babe Rhaegar, into another one of his fucking slaves!" She exclaimed as she slammed her hand down of the wooden table. 

He gasped as her eyes then turned from dark orange to a fiery shade of red. He noticed that her husband sensed her rage and although his gaze was fixed on the Master of Whispers, he placed his hand over hers which seemed to calm her down as her eyes then turned back to violet. He was surprised by what he had seen and what she had said, 'Son... Babe... Rhaegar? And why is it that when either of them get angry their eyes change color?' He then looked at Price Robb and noticed that he also had a perplexed expression on his normally chipper face.  

He took another deep breath as he looked back towards the Khaleesi and said, "Your Grace... I am afraid that I am confused... I am not aware that you have already had a son... a child named Rhaegar... Are you speaking about your older brother... Your husband’s father?"  

The Spider then noticed as a single tear escaped the Khaleesi’s eyes as she said, "Our son, Rhaegar, was from our past life... He was killed... I turned him into one of the Night King puppets when I was also under his control... Jon had to give us both our final rest..."  

He was then even more confused. 'What do they mean... they both keep discussing this past life... the King said he fought the Army of the Dead and that he knew about our plans to sell Daenerys to the Dothraki... that they fell in love in their past life... but what do they mean exactly?' He then took a deep breath and with a furrowed brow asked, "Past life, your Grace? You and your husband keep saying that you know about all these threats from your past life... I am sorry, but I still do not understand exactly... are you trying to tell me that you are living your lives again... like someone or something has sent you both back in time?"  

Varys noticed the Khal exhale deeply as he looked at his Khaleesi. When she nodded at him, he redirected his gaze towards him and stated, "Let me start from the beginning Lord Varys..."  

He nodded, “I would appreciate that, your Grace...” 

The Khal took a long sip of his wine and then told him the long story of his past life... He told him about joining the Nights Watch after his Father because the Hand to King Robert... How Robert had died and Queen Cersei had Ned Stark arrested for threatening to tell the Realm that her children were all bastards... How when King Joffrey beheaded the Hand, Westeros descended into civil war... the deaths of the majority of his family at the hands of the Lannister’s and Bolton’s... How he was released from his Nights Watch vows after he was murdered and resurrected... His defeat of the Bastard Ramsey Bolton and then named King in the North… And how he was summoned to Dragonstone by Queen Daenerys... How he went hoping for a military alliance and dragonglass... Not expecting to fall in love... How his younger brother became The Three-Eyed Raven and told him who he really was... The Khal told him how Westeros was lost to the Army of the Dead... How he was forced to kill his wife, Daenerys and their son, Rhaegar.  

Varys could tell the King was heartbroken, as he had to stop during the story multiple time to wipe his eyes and his wife held his hand the entire time. The Spider was also surprised that he had become the Khaleesi’s Master of Whispers after he had fled King’s Landing with Tyrion Lannister... that Tyrion Lannister became Hand of the Queen… that he had actually because close friends with the Imp… The Bastard of Winterfell even knew what was told to him in the flames as the sorcerer burned his man parts… 

Lord Varys now knew why the King was so overprotective of his Queen... He now knew that anyone whom would bring harm the Queen or threat her in anyway would see the wrath of Aegon Targaryen and his dragon. He was also surprised that The Khal was resurrected by a Red Priestess and that she and his Greenseer brother later were successful at sending him back to the past to save Westeros from the threat beyond the wall.  

The craziest thing was that he believed what he was told... There was no other explanation... What the young King said had to be the truth. ‘The Khal or I should say the true King Jon Snow, knows everything that is to come... There is no other explanation... He knows Cersei and Jaime Lannister are lovers and that she has named her bastards King Robert’s trueborn children... Everything he told me must be true because how else would the Bastard of Winterfell know how to play the Game of Thrones... He knows every player and every move that player would make... This man has been honest with me... He has told me about his dark side... And I understand it is because of all the shit that he has had to endure... This man does have a good heart... He truly does want what is best for the people of Westeros... What is best for his family... He truly wants to serve the Realm... and keep the Realm safe from the threat beyond the Wall... Westeros does not need the Fat Whoring King or a Bastard Prince or Cersei Lannister or the Mad Begger King Viserys Targaryen on the Iron Throne... I believe that this is the right man... Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark... Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell... and his wife, Queen Daenerys Targaryen... they are the rulers that Westeros needs... I believe that with the help of the North they will be able to unite the Seven Kingdoms... They are the Last Hope for Westeros... They will be able to bring the people safely through the longest winter in history… The Long Night… so they can again see spring...’ 

Once the King was done telling him the story of his past life, he continued speaking in a serious tone, “I know, Lord Varys... What I have just told you sounds crazy... However, I promise you... It is all real... The Night King...” he watched as the Khal took a deep breath and squeezed his wife’s hand in his before he continued, “The Night Queen... All of those who died at the hands of the Lannister’s, the Bolton’s, the Frey’s, Petyr Baelish… My Father, King Eddard, Queen Catelyn, and my Brother, Robb... they all believe me, Lord Varys... When I say that Winter is Coming, I am just not telling you the words of House Stark… Winter is Coming and when it does arrive we need a true King and Queen on the Iron Throne... A King and Queen who not only care for the safety of their family, but also about the safety of the people of Westeros and the rest of the world...” The King sighed again he looked him in the eyes and said, “Lord Varys, I would understand if you do not believe me... If I were you I would think I was as mad as my Grandfather, the Mad King... Trust me, if I had not lived through it, even I would even think of myself as a madman... Or lunatic... However, please, know this, Lord Varys... We need you... We need you to be our eyes and ears... We would like for you to serve as our Master of Whispers in King’s Landing... We need for you to tell us what is happening in the Southern Six Kingdoms... and we need for you to tell us what the Usurper, King Robert is planning...”  

The Master of Whispers smiled at the King and Queen because he had already made his choice. He looked the King in the eyes and stated, "I believe you... Your Grace… King Aegon or King Jon, which ever you prefer… I believe that your father, King Eddard Stark, has raised you to be an honorable man… So, yes, I do believe you...  And after speaking with you and your Queen, I believe that you two the King and Queen that Westeros needs to bring us safely through the long night... The Realm is in need a King and Queen who are not afraid to fight alongside of their people... Therefore, I accept your offer… I hereby pledge myself, to you King Aegon and Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen… The rightful rulers of Westeros... I vow that I will serve as your Master of Whispers.” 

The King and Queen looked at each other and smiled, before turning their gaze to him as the King said, “We thank you, Lord Varys. We are glad to know that we have a faithful set of eyes and ears in the Capital.” 

Varys smiled, dipped his head in respect and said, “If I may, your Grace... Leave for King’s Landing in the morning... I fear Lord Baelish will become curious if I stay away from the Capital for too much longer.”  

The King smiled. "Of course, Lord Varys... However, I would like to invite you to stay here just a little while longer so that you can see the rest of our dragons hatch."  

He was confused as he saw his Queen and King smile. "I am sorry, your Grace... You are planning on hatching all of the other dragon eggs tonight… in the bonfire?" 

He saw the king smiled and nodded as he scratched the scales under the chin of the grey dragon. "Aye, my wife Daenerys will hatch the five other Dragons tonight... She will once again be known as the mother of Dragons... I advise you to stay and see the birth of the rest of our winged children..."  

He smiled and looked at his old friend who also smiled. "It shall be an honor to witness their births… the birth of dragons, your Graces..."  

Varys saw the sincere smile on the King’s lips as he took the Queen’s hand in his. He then looked towards the Master of Whispers and that Cheesemonger and stated, “Please follow us, Lord Varys and Illyrio… And I will provide you with an excellent spot to view the birth."  

Varys nodded as he followed the King and Queen, with Illyrio, Prince Robb, Ser Jorah and the two Dothraki men following closely behind. As they walked in silence, Varys realized something… ‘Where is the Queen’s mad brother Viserys? They did not mention what their plans were for him…’ So he turned to the King and asked,

"Your Grace, if I may ask… What are your intentions for your mad Uncle Viserys?"  

The King smiled at him. However, the Queen was the one who answered his inquiry, "In order to hatch the dragons... Fire and Blood are needed... The birth of dragons needs a human sacrifice... So we will sacrifice my horrible brother for the way he treated me and because he did not care about my safety or happiness… He is a selfish power hungry man… He is mad and there is no saving his corrupted mind and if he stays alive the whole world will suffer..."

He then understood and nodded. As they continued to walk, he looked ahead, and noticed the large woodpile. When they approached, the Spider received his first glimpse of the Mad Prince Viserys… He tied up with thick rope to a large post in the center the woodpile; even though he was gagged and blindfolded, he was squealing. He noticed the five dragon eggs placed together at the feet of the sacrifice… and then and saw the King's dragon Sarogon screeching in a welcoming tone as they and the entire Dothraki Khalasar gathered around the wooden pile... In this moment, Lord Varys knew that the Targaryen restoration was beginning and that in the future, they would return to Westeros to save all their people for the fate of the Night King and his Army of the Dead.......

 


 

Eddard Stark

It was late evening in the North and the King in the North and his traveling companions had been riding for the Wall since the break of dawn. The sun had sunk below the tree line of the Wolfswood, alongside the Kingsroad, and the King and his party finally decided to stop and rest for the night. A cool summer breeze caused a shiver to run down King Eddard Stark’s spine as he tacked his horse to a nearby tree. He then took deep breath of the cool, crisp air as he tightened his Wolf pelt lined cloak around his shoulders and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree next to where one of his household guards, Alyn, was building a campfire. He then observed as Harwin and Hallis laughed as they skinned the rabbits that they had shot with bows and arrows earlier in the day. Then when they finished skinning an animal, they would hand it to Jory to be place on sticks for roasting.

Once Alyn had the campfire roaring, the King sighed in relief as he inched closer to the fire, using the heat radiating from the flames to loosen his tightened and aching muscles. When his muscles were finally relaxed, he looked into the dancing flames of the campfire, and began to think about Robb and Jon, and his new good daughter, Daenerys across the Narrow Sea. He sent up a silent prayer to the old gods for their safety and that King Robert had not done started to seek his revenge.

He then thought about the long journey that was waiting for him beyond the Wall. He unsheathed his sword, Frost, from the scabbard around his waist, held it in his hands. As he admired its calming beauty, he truly hoped that what Jon had told him is true; that Valyrian Steel swords would be able to kill the White Walkers, therefore, by having Ice reforged he could save his brother’s fate. He then shivered as he felt rage enter his veins, ‘I will not let them have the same fate as Jon’s last life… I will not let the Night King and his army take my last brother, my daughters, my good daughter and my only Grandchild, Rhaegar… Not this time… We will stop them…’ 

Eddard then thought about Rhaegar, his grandson that he never got to meet because he had been killed long before the child had been born… At first he had been perplexed as to why his son, Jon had decided to give his son that name… However, Jon had explained to him that although his sire, Rhaegar, had been stubborn by not announcing to the Realm that he and his mother, Lyanna had runaway together and married… Jon had said Rhaegar had also saved many of people from the wrath of mad King Aerys, including Lyanna. Jon has also told him that he did not wish to name his child a Northern name because he looked like a Targaryen… That his child was a true Dragon and a Northern name would not have fit him… That his son had been a dragon and not a wolf... He did not wish to dishonor house Stark by naming their son Eddard Targaryen as Daenerys had suggested because Robb had already announced that he was going to name his unborn child Eddard. 

He felt the rage coursing through his veins again as he thought about everything that House Stark and House Tully had lost... He vowed to himself that justice would be served to House Bolton, House Frey, and House Lannister for all the pain and suffering that that caused to his family. He even vowed that House Baratheon, his once friend Robert, would have to be dealt with for trying to murder his good daughter, Daenerys Targaryen. The mother of his grandson and good sister of Jon’s mother, Lyanna. ‘I swear on your grave Lyanna, that I will do everything I can to make sure that nothing will bad will happen to Jon... I failed before... and I am sorry... I hope that you do not come back and try and kill me for my failure in my last life... I am so sorry, Lya... I promised to keep him safe and I failed... I will do everything possible to keep him, his wife and their future children safe from harm... I vow to you, Lya, I will go beyond the Wall myself to fight the Night King before he can cause harm to our family again... I will not allow Jon to suffer as much in this life as in his last...’

He took a deep breath as he watched the flames dancing in front of him, holding his hands out and allowing the heat from the fire to warm his chilled bones, continuing to think about everything he had to accomplish. He was pulled from his internal musings by the sounds of laughter coming his guards as they roasted the rabbits and by the sound of leaves and twigs crunching as someone made their way towards him.

"You Grace… You are brooding awfully hard… What is on your mind?" A kind voice asked in a concerned tone.

He pulled his eyes from the flames, looked towards the voice and saw that it was his Hand, Tyrion, who had walked over to where he was seated, with a book in his hand. He smiled at the man and honestly answered, "I was just thinking… my Lord Hand."

The Dwarf of Casterly Rock returned the smile as he looked at the open space next to him on the log and asked, "Do you mind if I join you... Your Grace?"

"Of course not, Lord Tyrion," He stated as he gestured his hand towards the open space next to him, “Please have a seat.”

The half man smiled as he sat down next to him and began to read the book that he had brought. They fell into a comfortable silence as Tyrion read his book and the King began to watch the flames of the campfire once more. He quickly became lost in lost in his thoughts as he pondered all of the battles that were waiting for him. ‘Just when one war ends, another will begin… There may even be multiple wars at once… Gods Robert, why are you such a stubborn mule… What happened to my friend… You have disgraced yourself at what you have become… A fat whoring man who has left Westeros drowning in debt…’ The King of the North then subconsciously released a sigh.

After this he heard a chuckle from next to him and his hand began to speak in an amused tone, "Your Grace... I have come to realize that you must like to brood... You were brooding earlier today as we made our way down the Kingsroad… You were brooding before I joined you… and now you are brooding once again… Is brooding a common thing for House Stark or Northerners in general?"

He smiled as he thought of Jon, and he was always one who brood in the corner. He then chuckled as he answered, "Aye, I guess it is common in House Stark..."

Lord Tyrion also let out a chuckle as he asked, "So... Great and honorable King in the North, Eddard Stark... What is on your mind?"

The King exhaled deeply and stated, "I was just thinking about my family and about the wars to come, my friend..."

"Wars to come, your Grace… Which wars?" The Dwarf asked with a perplexed look on his face.

"Lord Hand… I have a feeling that your Father, Tywin, Sister, Cersei, and King Robert Baratheon will declare war against the North and House Stark..."

He could tell that the dwarf was surprised by his words, as he lifted an eyebrow and asked, "What do you mean, your Grace?"

The King sighed as he tried to explain, "Tyrion… I do not fear... I know that the Lannister's… Your Father and Sister… Will declare war on the North because they want to bring the North back under their control… They want us to rejoin them as part of the Seven Kingdoms... They will not tolerate the North remaining independent..."

The Imp cut interrupted when he asked, "But, your Grace... There is nothing that my Father or Sister will be able to do about the Northern Independence… King Robert has signed a decree declaring that the North is an independent kingdom… A decree that has already been sent to the Citadel for filing… The other six kingdoms have been informed of the North’s status as Independent of the Crown… No one... Not Robert or my Father or my Sister can dispute that the North is its own independent kingdom... A Kingdom no longer under the control of the Iron Throne.”

He exhaled as looked at the dwarf and continued to explain, "Lord Tyrion... We both know that although Robert Baratheon is King, he has no actual power or control over the kingdoms... or the realm… In reality, your father and sister… The Lannister's, not the Baratheon’s are in control of the Southern Six Kingdoms… and they have been for years… There are other hidden players vying for the Throne as well… I promise you, Lord Tyrion, once your Father or Sister is able to get rid of King Robert, they will bring all of their bannermen to the North, asking us to surrender our Independence and be part of the seven kingdoms once again."

He saw a look of surprise and dread spread across his Hand’s face as he nodded and replied, "My father does love power... to be in absolute control of everything... You are right... My Father will bring his bannermen North...” the half-man paused for a moment before he mused, “However, your Grace... You seem to be forgetting that once the Southern Six Kingdoms learn the truth of what my horrible nephew has done... That he tried to rape and murder your daughters… No one in their right mind would follow that little shit and my Father’s plan to bring the Lannister’s troops North will be for naught..." 

The sighed as he ran a hand down his bearded jaw, then replied, "Aye, I know they will not follow Joffrey... and that is why Tywin Lannister will send his grandson to the Wall...” The King’s tone went from calm to frustrated as he continued, “He will not care which of his Grandsons sits on the Iron Throne... He will send the Little Shit to the Wall in order to create peace with the kingdoms and to prevent a Rebellion against the Crown..." 

He saw the dwarf appeared surprised by the change in his normally calm demeanor as he breathed out, "Your Grace... My sister would never send one of her dear children to the Wall! And if my Father is successful in that endeavor she would never forgive him!" 

The King nodded in agreement before he replied, "Aye, she will not agree to it willingly... However, we both know that your Father will force her... He will not care... You father desires complete power...  and if getting rid of the Bastard Crown Prince Joffrey... it will ensure that maintains that power."

He was surprised as the Dwarf barked out in laughter. A few moments later, with tears of mirth in his eyes he managed to say, "Joffrey... The little shit being sent to the Wall... Oh by the grace of all the gods... the old gods and the new... I hope that it is true... Seeing that coddled and cosseted prince at the Wall... a bastard Lannister... Oh gods I would pay good money to see that day... The day when he had to swear an oath to renounce all the titles and lands and the Crown that he believes are rightful his." 

They both burst out in laughter, earning looks from the guards and his brother as they continued to prepare their evening meal. Before they had left Winterfell, The Dwarf of Casterly Rock had already confirmed to him that Cersei had confessed that what Jon had told him was true... That the Royal children were in fact nothing more than bastards born between the relationship between the Queen and her twin brother, Jaime Lannister. 

As their laughter finally subsided, his Hand of the King smiled at him and asked, "So... Your Grace... If I may ask... When I told you that you were right... That the Royal Children were bastards sired by my older brother... Why did you not inform King Robert of the Queen’s, my sister’s, mummery?" 

The King sighed as he looked ahead into the fire and answered, "Because Lord Tyrion... If I had told Robert the truth... Your sister would have quickly murdered King Robert... He has no allies except for the Stormlands and Dragonstone... All of the men around him are more a Lannister men and not Baratheon bannermen... The King would surely have been killed on sight... in the camp as they rode south... or even before they left Winterfell... If I had given him that information, it would have been a death sentence well for me... Cersei would claim that I made the story up... It would have been seen as treason and they would have had me behead in my own Keep while my family was forced to watch."

He looked away from the flames, directed his gaze towards Lord Tyrion, who was first surprised but finally nodded and somberly stated, "You are quite right, your Grace...  My sister would have had King Robert killed before he could call his bannermen... and Winterfell would be in the hands of the Lannister’s... And your family would be at their mercy..."

He nodded grimly and wordlessly as he watched the fire burn. A few minutes later, Benjen, Jory and his other Household guards finally finished roasting the rabbits, they brought him and Tyrion each one, then joined in on the conversation.

"And what book are you reading tonight, Lord Tyrion?" asked Hallis as he tore off a bite of rabbit meat with his teeth.

"I am currently reading a fascinating book about the prophecies of old Valyria..." the Imp answered as he looked towards the guard who asked the question.

King Ned glanced at the book his Hand had laying on his lap and he noticed it was one of the books he had brought back to Winterfell from the Tower of Joy. ‘I wonder if he has learned any new information that could be helpful?’ He thought as he  chewed a mouthful of tender roasted meat. The stories of old Valyria had come to intrigue him ever since he has learned Jon has hatched a hybrid dragon. Unfortunately, he was unable to read a Valyrian and relied on what Tyrion told him from the books that he had read. He took a deep breath and was about to ask a question, however, Jory spoke first.

"I believe you said that the one of those old Valyrian books was what informed you about the return of the dragons... That the dragon that was hatched can breath both fire and ice." 

He saw the Imp smile as he wiped the grease off his face with the back of his hand before he swallowed and said, "Your quite right, Jory... I was able to find that information in one of the many intriguing books about old Valyria in Winterfell’s library..."

Ned noticed that everyone seemed very interested in what his Hand had to say, so he quickly asked, "Is there any new information that you have learned, my Lord?" 

“Yes there is,” he stated enthusiastically as he picked up the book in one hand while he placed the remaining rabbit meat on his lap. He then began to flip through the pages as he said, “There is a Old Valyrian theory... or a saying... or prophecy... not quite sure of the terminology."

Ned was confused, excited and interested as Tyrion continued to look through the pages of the book. He had never truly believed prophecies but they intrigued him and any information that might be able to help Jon he wanted to know, so he asked kindly, "What... What does this... Prophecy say, Lord Tyrion?" 

He saw a smile stretch across the Dwarf’s face as he seemed to have found the page he was looking for and appeared to quickly reread the page to refresh his memory. A few seconds later, Tyrion looked up at him and stated, "It says, that when two worlds collide after both end in its downfall... a failure... One life will meet the other life in a new world... and something will be reborn... Two saviors will be returned from different lives... They will fall in love... And together to bring forth the Lightbringers..."

He gasped as he heard this, ‘Dear gods... does this mean Jon and Daenerys have failed more than once? ... Is there another world that Jon is not aware of... Robb said that Daenerys’ memory is foggy, but that she remembered Jon was her husband and they had a son... I will need to send a Raven to Illyrio's manse the next chance that I get...’ The King’s thoughts were interrupted when Benjen entered the conversation.

"I am sorry, Lord Tyrion... I am not sure what this... theory... prophecy means... Is there any other information?" His bother asked with a raised eyebrow.

The Imp released a defeated breath as he answered, “I am sorry... I am not sure exactly what the book means by two worlds colliding... My Valyrian is not the greatest... The book is quiet interesting and I was hoping that the old Maester at Castle Black might be able to help me refresh my Valyrian skills..." 

He then heard Jory bark out in belly busting laughter. Ned then looked from Tyrion to his brother, Benjen. He noticed that his brother did not appear to be amused because raised his eyebrow towards him and gestured his head for him to do something about his guard.

The King sighed. Then with a furrowed brow and in a firm tone demanded, "And what is it that you find so funny, Jory?"  His loyal household guard abruptly stopped his laughing, and with a sober expression stated, "Your Grace, It... it is just… It is hard to believe that prophecies are true... What Lord Tyrion just told us sound like... It sounds like complete horseshit to me... We are going beyond the Wall to find Prince Robb and Jon who disappeared because they investigating disturbing reports... and Tyrion is telling us stories about two worlds colliding and a hero from each of those worlds will find the other... become lovers to bring forth Lightbringers... it makes absolutely no sense..."

The King was about to retort, however Benjen spoke quickly and sharply, "I understand Jory... It is hard to believe what I have reported... Everything that I told you sounds like one of Old Nan’s tales... The stories she told us growing up sounded like utter nonsense... The was until I saw them... I promise you... Everything I said is true... The White Walkers and the Army of the Dead have in fact returned... And if we do not stand together when winter arrives... Everything will die when the storms arrive..."

He saw his Household Jory sigh and nod as he sat down on the ground in front of the roaring fire.

The King took a deep breath and defended his little brother. "Please understand, Jory... My brother is a Stark... He is also honorable... He would never lie to us... It is not in the Stark blood... He is telling the truth... Something took my sons beyond the Wall... Something happened to them... I beg you Jory... Listen to my brother he knows more about the true perils beyond the Wall than any one of us..."

Jory released a deep breath as he nodded and sincerely said, "Please forgive me, Lord Benjen... I did not mean to be rude..."

Benjen dipped his head, then slowly nodded as he answered. "It is fine Jory... I know... I know everything that I have told you... Sounds... Sounds crazy... That it makes me sound like a madman.. That there are Giants and Mammoths beyond the Wall... As well an army of reanimated dead people and animals and Icemen... But rest assured, my friend... I am telling you all the truth...” His brother then exhaled and glanced at all the faces around the fire as he continued, “And that is why I told you all what is really beyond the Wall… I need for you all to follow me... To listen to me when we are North of the Wall... If you do not listen to my commands you could become the next soldier in the Night King’s Army of Dead puppets."

The King in the North took the opportunity to observe the faces of his four household guards... He noticed the mood quickly sobered as they all nodded in agreement. He then looked towards Tyrion and saw the half-man trying to mask his chuckles with a cough; he knew full and well that his Hand did not believe the Army of the Dead is real. 

After that Tyrion lightened the mood with a distasteful joke about a honeycomb, a jackass and a brothel. There were other jokes told and other lighthearted conversations as they stayed around the burning flames of the campfire for warmth. Once the conversations died down, Benjen reminded them of what they would face North of the Wall... He told them if the wind and snow and cold nights and the Wildlings... he also informed them that if they continued to ride hard they would reach the Wall in four or five days. 

His men retired for the night a short time later, yet the King continued to sit on his log, alone with his thoughts, sipping ale and watching the flames. He thought about the White Walkers. He thought of all the Wildlings that he prayed would join their army... However, first he had to get them to accept his offer... pardons for their crimes of past raiding and raping and lands south of the Wall... in exchange they would stop raping and raiding and join the Northern Army in the fight against the dead.

He was pulled from his thoughts when his brother walked over to him and sat down next to him on the fallen tree. He looked at his brother, smiled kindly.

The Stark brothers sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Benjen looked at him with concern in his eyes and said, "Ned, I am surprised that you are still awake... I was sure that you would be sleeping soundly by now after our long hard day of riding." 

He sighed as he looked up at the countless stars in the sky and said, "Aye, I can't sleep..." 

His younger brother smiled sadly at him as he placed a hand on his shoulder and empathetic stated, "I understand brother... You are thinking of what lurks beyond the Wall... About the evils that killed Sansa, Arya, Daenerys and your Grandbabe, Rhaegar... Those thought are also preventing sleep from claiming me as well... I also keep thinking what killed them..." 

'Yes... those thought are keeping me up... but so is Lyanna... What would she think?’ The King sighed as he looked at his brother and softly said, "Lyanna... Lya would have been furious with me... Furious that I allowed him to go the Wall... To a hell where his own brothers betrayed him... Jon told me how he gasped for air as he felt the blood leave his veins... How I failed her... Her son and her grandchild and good daughter... good sister... That I was not there to protect them... When he... He saw his beloved wife die in front of him... He watched as the Night King threw an ice spear at her as she fought the war on the back of her Dragon... He watched that spear go through the dragon and strike her in the heart... He watched how the dragon fell from the sky... How he was fighting off wights trying to reach her... only to be too late because the Night King sent wights to steal her body... Jon was not even allowed to give her a proper burial... he was not allowed to burn her body..." Ned involuntarily shivered as he thought everything that Jon went through in his last life... in his war against the dead. He took an deep breath and continued voicing his thoughts to his brother. "Benjen... I keep imagining Jon standing there... hopelessly fighting as he could not get to his wife... that he could not save her because he was surrounded by the dead... Then how he had to watch as his son was stabbed a thousand times by those mindless dead soldiers..." He looked at his brother as he saw the sane fear in his brother eyes. "Lyanna would be furious at me... If she were here, I doubt she would ever forgive me... Everything would have been different if I had never taken Robert’s offer to serve as his Hand... if I hadn’t agreed to Sansa’s betrothal to that Bastard Joffrey... If I had been the one to tell Jon the truth... If I told him, that he was not a bastard, but the heir to the Iron Throne... If I had never forced him into a life at the Wall..." He clinched his fist repeatedly as he imagined Jon gasping for air… In shock as he was stabbed over and over... As he laid on the snow covered ground and bled to death all alone...

"Aye, Ned, I must admit, you did not keep your promise to our sister in Jon’s first life... You may have thought you were keeping your promise, because even if Robert had found out about him... If he was already a sworn brother of the Nights Watch there would have been nothing that he could have done to harm him… However, sending him to the Wall led to his death because those he trusted betrayed him... But, brother... If it was not for him... his experiences and all that he learned... We would not have known who the true enemy really is... That it is not the Lannister’s, Martell’s, Baratheon’s, Targaryen’s, Greyjoy’s, Tyrell’s, Tarly’s or any other player in the Game of Thrones... but that it is the Night King and his army of mindless dead soldiers… Which are currently causing havoc beyond the Wall." 

The King released an exacerbated sigh his brother said this to him. He then looked his brother in the eye and said, “Aye, that is true Benjen... However, it does not help the guilt that I feel… That I failed Jon and Lyanna… It is it fair that Jon had to go through so much pain? That he had go find out about the deaths of so many he loved while he was at the Wall… You being lost beyond the Wall… My death… The death of his brother and best friend, Robb… Rickon dying just feet away from him… That he had to re-kill Sansa and Arya… his sisters after they had been turned into the Night King’s slaves... The death of his wife and their young son... Is it truly worth it for him to go through all of that pain… All of that loss… Just to… magically be sent back to the past... What if we all fail again? … What if I fail him again? What if I am not able to protect him while the King of the Six Southern Kingdoms who has vowed for the last eighteen years to kill every last Targaryen?” The King sighed again as he ran a hand through his hair and added, “Robert is probably sending assassins, sellswords or an army to kill them as we speak… I should be there with him… Protecting him!” 

A small smile appeared on the corner of Benjen’s lips as he looked the King in the eyes and softly stated, "Ned, we both know Jon wished to leave for Essos by himself... He knew the consequences... He knew that King Robert would vow to kill him once he named himself Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the the rightful heir to the throne... Jon went to Essos to protect his family... His pack... He went to gain soldiers for his arm that will be needed to save humanity from the Army of the Dead... We will not fail this time... The Great War will be hard, aye... But, we will survive... We know of the truth... And now we can prepare..."

He took a long sip from his almost forgotten ale as he nodded his head in agreement. He then heard his brother chuckled which confused him. He looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow and asked, "And why are you laughing, brother?"

“I… finally… know where… Jon got his brooding from…” his brother answered between bouts of roaring laughter. The King also chuckle at this brother’s amusement. They were startled momentarily when they heard a familiar voice.

"Did I just hear that Jon Snow likes to brood as well?" Lord Tyrion asked with an amused smile as he walked over towards where he and his brother was sitting.

"Good evening, Lord Tyrion," the King in the North said with smile as he gestured for the Dwarf of Casterly Rock to take a seat on the log next to him.

As the Hand of the King in the North sat down, Benjen stated "I am surprised that you are still awake, Lord Tyrion."

Lord Tyrion smiled as he replied, "I tried to sleep... However, Jory will not stop fucking snoring... Then, I saw the two of you were not on your bedrolls so I came to look for you... you know to make sure that the grumpkins and ice spiders did not get you." 

The King and his brother both nodded and the men fell into silence as they sat around the campfire to ward off the Northern chill. Tyrion began to sip from his wine skin and the King and his brother began to sip on their ale.

After a few minutes of silence, his Hand stated, "Your Grace... I have come to notice that you do not speak much about your bastard, Jon Snow... So why don’t you tell us a story?" 

"A story, Lord Tyrion?" The King asked as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

He saw the Imp of Casterly Rock smiled. "Yes, your Grace… Tell us a story... We are not set to leave for the wall until its first light... So tell us a story to pass the time… Why don’t you tell me about the Bastard of Winterfell… What is he like… does he have a good character… Is he really as good with two swords as Ser Arthur Dayne?" 

He was surprised, ‘Why is Tyrion so curious about Jon… I cannot say nothing…’ Therefore, he took a deep breath and replied, "Jon... Is a... Honorable young man... Sometimes I even think he is more honorable than I could hope to ever be... He is sometime melancholic… and he can often be found brooding in the corner… But most of all, he would do anything in his power to help his family and those that he loves safe from anything that would cause them harm..."

He saw the dwarf nodded. "And what does your son, Jon look like?" 

"Jon is the only one of my son’s that has predominantly Stark features… He has hair as black as a raven feather and has grey eyes... He looks a lot like my daughter, Arya… and my sister, Lyanna." 

He noticed Lord Tyrion, "So, your Grace... You are an honorable man... The most honorable man in the world if I have heard correctly… I would like to ask... Who was Jon Snow’s mother?" 

He was surprised as he looked at his brother who also seemed shocked of the dwarf's question. He then looked at the dwarf as he took a deep breath as he answered, "Why is it that you would like to know that, Lord Tyrion?"

He saw the dwarf of Casterly Rock smiled as he then said, "Because, your Grace ... You are an honorable man... I find it extremely difficult that you would ever have bedded a whore." 

The King then took a deep breath as he answered, "Jon... Jon's mother is not something that I enjoy talking about… It was only recently… Just after Robb and Jon went missing that, I even told my wife who gave birth to Jon… It is very painful for me… And it is not something that I care to discuss with you at this time… However, I will tell you that you assessment is correct… Jon’s mother was not some whore or fisherman’s daughter... She was a highborn lady… She was the greatest young woman that I ever knew..." When he glanced at his brother, after he had said this, he saw a look of shock on his face.

“Who was she, your Grace...” the Dwarf breathed out, “I gather by the term was, that she is no longer with us…” 

He sighed, ‘I have already said enough.’ He then looked at his Hand and firmly stated, "I will not say more about Jon or his mother at this time… It is too painful for me to discuss that this time because I promised to keep the boy safe… and the only reason I told you that she was a true born lady because I trust you…" 

He saw the dwarf nodded. "Thank you for telling me, your Grace."

“You are welcome, my Lord Hand…” The King said with a nod of his head before adding, “Maybe after we find my sons… And if you continue to prove your Loyalty to House Stark... I might one day tell you the rest of the truth about Jon and his lady mother.” 

He could tell that the imp was surprised but also grateful when he replied, “Then I will continue to prove my loyalty to you, House Stark, and the North, your Grace.” The imp then put the cork in his wine skin, stood up from the log and said, "If you will excuse me your Grace... Benjen... I need to go and take a piss and then I will retire for the evening."

“Good Night, Lord Tyrion.” The King stated. His Hand then dipped his head in a respectful bow and disappeared into the woods.

As soon when the dwarf of Casterly Rock was out of sight, he felt Benjen touch his arm, to get this attention. When he met his brother’s eyes, he saw a look of disbelief as he loudly whispered, "Ned… What were you thinking? Why would you tell him that?"

“Benjen,” The King breathed out with a sign, “Jon told me that Tyrion is a good man… He was a loyal Hand… And you were the one who suggested that I make him my Hand… I have to have some faith in him… I need to slowly give him little pieces of the truth at a time to keep his suspensions at bay… If I keep lying to him, he will feel betrayed and could turn on us…”

He then saw his brother shaking his head, "Aye, that is true brother… However, he is not the same Tyrion Lannister from Jon's past life… Tywin and Cersei have not had to blame his for Joffrey’s death… They have not yet tried to kill him, that we are aware of… His Father has not yet threatened to send him to the Wall… This Tyrion did not kill his Father with a crossbow while he was in the privy taking a shit… He could still be loyal to House Lannister… Tyrion is a smart man… What you just told him could lead him to uncovering the truth… And how do we know that he will not share that information with his Father or Sister?"

The King was silent for a few moments as he watched the smoldering flames of the fire. He then looked over at this brother and softly said, “I trust him, Benjen... If it was not for him... The North would never not been granted their independence… The Stags and the Lions would still be ruling the North... I believe... He will be on our side when the War for the Throne arrives… I believe that we need to keep his safe from his sister… Cersei may try to kill him… Especially if Joffrey is sent to the Wall." 

"Aye... Fine... I will not question you again brother... However, rest assured… If Tyrion does find out who Jon truly is… Before he is told the truth… Moreover, if he sends that information sent to his Father or King Robert... I will not hesitate to ride down from Castle Black and kill him myself..." He sighed and was getting ready to retort but his brother continued. "You... Are putting Jon at risk… You are putting his wife, Daenerys and your son Robb at risk... The more people who know the truth... The more threats will arrive for them and for us… Ned we need them and their Dragons… If Robert decides to send an army from the Southern Six Kingdoms to Essos... There is nothing that we will be able to do help them then... They could die… And without them and their full-grown Dragons Westeros does not stand a chance with the long Night arrives... Understand me Ned... I will do anything to make sure nothing happens to Jon and his family… I may not have been the one to promise Lya that I would keep her son safe… But, he is my blood and I would do anything to ensure his safety... Even if that means killing Tyrion Lannister myself" 

He nodded as he looked at his brother, "Aye, I understand, Benjen..."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before both me retired for the night. As the King laid on his bedroll, he prayed to the old gods to keep his boys safe in Essos, that his family remained safe in Winterfell and that he and his traveling companions continued to have safe travels the following day…...

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen II

 

The sun was hanging low in the horizon outside of the town of Pentos, painting the sky in a mixture of orange, red and yellow hues. Jon, Robb, Jorah, Bako, Varys and Illyrio were standing by the jumbled pile of wood, as Daenerys walked towards the center of the wooden structure, edging closer to her pathetic excuse of brother, Viserys. As she neared him, she looked back at her at her husband and noticed he appeared to be deep in conversation with Bako, Illyrio and Varys. She caught her good brother’s eye and smiled as he walked over towards her.

“You need some help Dany?” He asked with a raised brow.

“If you do not mind… Could you just stay close by while I have a chat with my brother?” She asked trying to keep her voice strong.

“Of course… I will be right here if you needed me.” He stated as he stood just outside of the ring of sticks and tree branches.

“Thank you, Robb,” she said sincerely as she nodded her head in thanks before taking a deep calming breath and turning to face Viserys.

When she reached him, she studied what she saw… Viserys was bound with rope to a large post in the center the woodpile. He had a black woolen blindfolded covering his eyes and thick gag in his mouth. He looked ragged. His hair was loose, and greasy. His tunic and trousers were coated in dirt and grime… He looked just like the Beggar King that he that he was known to be. His disheveled appearance caused a smirk to spread across her face as she removed the gag from his mouth and the blindfold from his eyes. ‘I want him to see me as he burns… I want everyone to hear his screams of pain… He is truly getting what he deserves… A painful death… This could have very well been my fate if I was sold to Khal Drogo as he had planned.’

Once the blindfold and gag were removed, her atrocious brother released a gasp and began to blink his eye repeatedly as if her were trying to get use to the light of the setting sun in front of him. She smirked wickedly as his eyes settled on her and she gritted out, "Viserys... How have you been my horrible, shitty, pathetic excuse of a brother?"

She saw him take a deep breath as he glared at her for a few moments. He then began to pull against his bindings as he scanned his surroundings. After a few seconds, she noticed that his eyes landing on the Master of Whispers and Illyrio.

“Varys!” He squealed, “Help me! Untie me! I am your rightful King! And I demand that you removed these bindings!"

She watched as all four men turned around and looked towards her and her brother. She saw Jon searching her face... silently asking if she was in need of any assistance... shook her head and then he and she both switched their gaze to their Master of Whispers. 

The Queen noticed he had an amused look on his face and she smiled when he chuckled and said, "And why would I do that Prince Viserys?" 

She looked at her brother when she heard him gasp then spit out, "Prince? Prince! ... I am your King! You will call me by me proper title... either my King or Your Grace!" 

She looked at their Master of Whispers who laughed as he said, "You are No King... You never have been... You truly are a mad man, Viserys... Just like you Father..." 

The Khaleesi noticed her brother had a bewildered look on his face. Then his eyes narrowed and his face reddened as screeched out, "But... But... You... You swore loyalty to me... You told me I would be the King! That I was your King! That people of Westeros drink secret toasts to my health... That the women were sewing the Three-Headed Targaryen banner in private so that they would be ready to fly the moment I step foot back on Westersoi soil! You told me that my people were praying for my return!" 

Daenerys noted that Varys kept a smile on his face as he walked closer to her brother. He then got in his face, looked him in the eyes and stated sweetly, "My Prince... You truly are delusional... I cannot believe that you honestly thought people were praying for your return... No one has ever toasted to your health... People across the Narrow Sea are well aware of your madness... They would never follow you… You never would have been King... I had hopes that Khal Drogo or one of the other Dothraki screamers would have grown tired of your whining and killed you well before you could plan to sail for Westeros... This would have put an end the Targaryen Madness... No one... No one wants you to be King... No one wants you on the Iron Thorne... And no one even wants you anywhere near Westerosi soil... You have not right to the Throne and it will never be yours... The Throne belongs to King Aegon and his wife... your sister, Daenerys.”

Viserys then blurt out in an ear-piercing laughter. "Please... Lord Varys... You... You cannot... actually believe that… That bastard over there is... is the son... a trueborn son... the heir… of my older brother, Rhaegar?" 

Lord Varys smile grew sinister as he answered, "Oh… but he is, my dear Prince Viserys... He is in fact the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark... His Uncle… Lord Eddard Stark… The King in the North… kept him safe for the last eighteen years... He kept him hidden from the Usurper, King Robert Baratheon... He never muttered a word to anyone… Not even his own wife knew the truth… He did this to ensure that the rightful heir to the Iron Throne was kept safe from any whispers... So that Robert Baratheon would never know… So that he would never send assassins to Winterfell to kill an innocent babe in his crib… Viserys… You have no claim to Westeros or the Iron Throne ..."

"So you follow that… That bastard who has no proof that he is truly a Targaryen and… and my whore of a sister… A whore who loves bastard cocks?" Viserys seethed.

She clinched her fists as she felt all of the blood in her veins start to boil… She was beyond angry… She was enraged. She looked over at her husband in an attempt to calm herself and noticed that he also had both his fists clinched so tightly that he knuckles were white and his eyes were glowing orange. He began to stomp toward them and Daenerys knew that it would not be a pretty sight… Thankfully Robb as able place a calming hand in his brother’s shoulder, and whispered something that caused his eyes to return to his normal smoky grey. She let out a sigh of relief and was about to give her brother an earful for his hostile words, however her good-brother spoke first.

"Watch your tongue madman... Otherwise, I will cut it myself... No one will disrespect to my brother or sister... If the woman that you wronged… Your own sister… Your own blood… was not already executing you… I would gladly take your head myself!"

She then smiled as she heard Robb call her sister, ‘He truly thinks of me as his family… as his sister!’  

Her happiness was short lived as her horrible excuse of a brother laughed in a ominous tone and spat, "Sister? Sister! How dare you call her your sister! She is a Dragon! You are a wolf! Dragons eat wolves because they are weak and easy prey… Nothing can defeat a dragon..."

Her good brother chuckled at Viserys comment. Then with a smirk on his face Robb looked him in the eyes and said, "Aye, it may be true that dragons are more ferocious than wolves... But she is my sister and will be until my last breath… I will show her what it is like to have a brother who loves her and protects her like you should have... In fact she will have two more brothers as well, who will love her just as much as I already do!"

A felling of gratitude washed through her as she looked at her good brother, ‘I am so blessed… After eighteen years I now know what it feels like to have a true family… A family that looks out for each other… I am part of their pack.’

"I feel regret for her that we did not know to come for her sooner… You caused her to suffer beyond comprehension…” She watched as Robb exhaled sharply. She could tell that he was refraining from saying what he really wanted to say. Her good brother then looked Viserys in the eyes and said, “I feel sorry for MY SISTER because she had to grow up with a horrible brother like you!"

Viserys then barked out in laugher once again, "You do not know what you are talking about you worthless dog… I… I am not and never was a horrible brother... I was a good brother to my weak sweet sister... If she had not have had me she would have lived on the streets... She would have been raped repeatedly... On the other hand, maybe would have become a pillow slave… Some lowlife most likely would have impregnated her... I kept her safe her entire life!"

She sighed because she was grateful of for everything that her brother had done for her when they were kids… However that brother… The sweet and kind brother that would take her to the markets in Braavos… That would by her lemon cakes and sausages, was gone… That brother died when he had to sell their mother’s crown for food… The only thing she saw now was what he had become… A madman that would do anything for a crown that was not even his by right.

"Aye, you kept her save from rapist and being sold into slavery when she was a child... But that was probably because she was worth more to you as a maiden… You needed her to be pure so that you could sell her… You WERE GOING TO SELL HER to Khal Drogo… A known rapist... A man that would have RAPED her repeatedly just so you could have an army! If it had not been for my brother..." 

Viserys interrupted her good brother when he gritted out "I do not care if Khal Drogo would have raped her... It would have been his right to put a son in her belly... I am the rightful King...  And that savage rapist was going to give me an army... So that I could take back what was taken from me… So that I could reclaim my rightful position as the King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros!" She watched as Viserys gaze shifted from Robb to her husband and screeched, "MY RIGHTFUL THONE, NOT YOURS! YOU WEAK, PATHETIC BASTARD!"

Daenerys could tell that her husband was furious. She observed as his eyes again transformed to a shade of fiery orange, he placed his hand on the hilt of Winters Wolf and was about to remove it from it’s scabbard. Thankfully, Ser Jorah stopped him.

“Please, your Grace,” The Old Knight stated in a composed tone as he placed his hand on the King’s chest to stop his forward progress, “You need to calm down... Leave him to the Khaleesi... She will ensure that he suffers… You said that she would be the one to sentence her brother… As your Father, King Eddard always says, ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword… Allow her to carry out his sentence… With Fire and Blood.”

She watched as her husband took several slow, deep breaths as he looked at the ground. A few moments later, when he looked back up at Ser Jorah his eyes were again grey and he stated, "Aye.” He then looked at her and said, “If you would excuse me for a few minutes, my love... I need to go and retrieve my cloak from our tent...” he then walked over to her and whispered in her ear, “I plan to cover you up after you walk out of the flames… No one will see your naked body longer than necessary... I will return shortly.” Jon then put his hand under her chin, tilting her face up and placed a kiss on her mouth. This action made Viserys growl and Jon smiled. He then leaned over to her ear once more and whispered, “Please try and keep him alive until I return... I want to see him suffer...”

The Khaleesi smiled at him as she nodded her head in agreement before she placed another kiss on his plump lips. As he walked away, she saw him smiling as he looked at lord Varys and Illyrio, “Please excuse me my Lord, Magister... I will return shortly...” Both men nodded as her husband took his leave with Bako following closely behind.

Her blissful moment ended when she heard her horrible excuse of a brother shout out, "Lord Varys! Why are you here anyway? You should be in King’s Landing, wiping the Usurper’s ass or pouring the fat, whoring man more wine!"

The eunuch answered with a smug smile, “I came here... at the invitation of His Grace and you sister… I needed to see them for myself... I needed to know if he actually is the true heir to the Iron Throne… And I needed to speak with them… Get to know them… I needed to make sure that they did not have the Targaryen Madness that plagues you… I needed to know if they are the King and Queen that Westeros needs...” He paused for a moment to look at her, before he looked back at her brother and stated, “And they have proven to me that they will lead Westeros well... That they will create a better future for all the citizens of Westeros… They have proven to me that they care about the every person in the Seven Kingdom… They have proven to me that they are a True King and Queen… A King and Queen that I am proud to serve...”

She saw her horrible excuse of a brother was surprised. "So you are loyal to them now?" He asked in screeching tone through gritted teeth.

She saw Lord Varys smiled at her before she looked back at Viserys and stated, "Yes, I am... I am their Master of Whispers... I will be their eyes and ears inside the Red Keep… I will inform them of all of King Robert’s plans… I will let them know if, how, where and when he plans to attack..."

She could tell that Viserys was surprised because he furrowed his brow and spat, "So… You have given up on me… Your rightful King and have sworn loyalty to a bastard and a whore! I cannot believe that…"

Daenerys was getting tired of listening to her brother’s ramblings, so she interrupted him with an echoing slap across his arrogant face, leaving a bright red impression of her hand on his cheek. Viserys abruptly stopped talking and stared at her with wide disbelieving eyes for several seconds. Her actions caused l Robb, Varys and Illyrio to chuckle.

As soon as her brother heard the laughter, the rest of his face turned as red and the handprint she had left on his cheek. His breathing became erratic and his nostrils flared as he seethed, “How… Dare… You… You little whore… I am a Dragon… You have woken the Dragon Dany!”

She smiled as she said with a false tone of sweetness, "I dare, my sweet brother… I am no longer afraid of you and you will never again be able to hurt or abuse me…” She then reached up lovingly placed on hand on his cheek as the other push a stay hair behind his ear, as she continued, “I will never again be used as one of your pawns in your false quest for the Iron Throne…"

"Take your damn hands off of me you... bastard fucking whore!" he interjected in a spiteful tone.

She smiled as she continued to lovingly caress the side of his face. Suddenly she thought of something she knew would make his last few minutes of life unbearable… Something that she knew would piss him off even further… Something that would make him disgusted. Therefore, she looked at him in the eyes, put a bright smile on her face and innocently cooed, “Dear brother, I am surprised by your behavior… You calling my husband… The Father of your unborn niece or nephew a bastard… You… are being a horrible uncle… You should show a little love or kindness towards his or her Father..." She placed a chaste kiss on his forehead before she pulled away; she wanted to see the how he was affected by her words

Viserys’ contorted face looked painful as he went red faced and screeched, “You are... You are pregnant!”

She smiled as she saw the shocked expression on the faces of Robb, Illyrio and Varys. "Yes, my dear sweet brother, Viserys… I am with child… However, you will never get a chance to be an Uncle to my child… The child sired by the man you call a bastard… A child that will always carry more of a claim to the Iron Throne than you ever did… After you die today, know this, Viserys… Our child will never have to fear you… A pretender who calls himself king, trying to steal away his or her throne.” She could tell that her words had infuriated him, which caused her smile to widen.

“That child…” he fumed, “Will be born because of that bastard… Therefore, it will be nothing but a bastard of a bastard! You have dishonored House Targaryen, Daenerys… You will not give birth to a true Targaryen… You will give birth to a mutt… Nothing but a Blackfyre… A Blackfyre like your bastard Blackfyre husband!” Viserys then spit on her face.

Daenerys looked away as she wiped her brother’s spit from her face. As she did she noticed that Varys and Robb appeared to be shocked by her brother’s words… While Illyrio was furious for some reason. She then look back toward her brother and clarified, "Our child… Will be true born… The trueborn heir of Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen… My husband, Aegon, is our older brother Rhaegar’s heir… Therefore, he is the heir to the Kingdoms of Westeros… and our child will rule after him… How does it feel Viserys… How does it feel to know that you will never sit on the throne… How does it feel to know that you would be the third in line to the Throne?"

"You are nothing but a whore! A slut who spread her legs for a bastard’s seed… I hope that you and your bastard husband and bastard child will all die before you ever step foot back in Westeros!"

She felt her dragon blood beginning to boil, ‘So this is what it feels like to have the dragon awoke,’ she thought as she looked for something or someone to focus on to help calm her rage. He eyes landed on her good brother and she noticed that he seemed to be shocked. She was confused, ‘I wonder what Robb is concerned about,’ she thought before she began to hear her brother’s shrill laughter coming from behind her. She could no longer calm her anger as turned to face her horrible brother and slapped him, hard across the face. She then replaced his gag in his mouth and covered his eyes with the blindfold; she had heard enough of annoying voice and laughter.

She looked at her good brother who still had a concern on his face but she noticed that it morphed into one of his smirks as he walked over towards her. When he reached her, he placed his hand softly on her shoulders and pulled her in for a quick embrace. When they pulled apart, their gazes met and he happily said, "Dany… Why did you not tell us earlier that you are pregnant!"

She sighed as she shook her head, "Robb I am not… Well I might be… I am not sure just yet," she whispered this to make sure that her brother did not hear this. 

She saw her good brother was confused as he then said softly. "But... You just told your brother…"

“Robb, I only said it... To make him angry... In reality… I am not yet sure if my womb has quickened,” She remarked sadly.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a quirked brow, “I mean you and Jon… Well… You and Jon do seem to spend a lot of time alone… locked in your room…”

She felt a slight blush beginning to spread across her cheeks a shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she mumbled, “I... I am not sure… I mean we have not done anything to prevent a babe… However, my moon blood… It is not due for another few days…"

Her good brother smiled slightly and nodded in understanding before he said, “Then let us hope for the best Dany…”

She smiled as she placed her hand on her stomach. ‘I wonder if there is a little dragon or dragonwolf already growing in my womb?’

"I am a little confused though?" Robb questioned, pulling her away from her internal musings

She raised an eyebrow as she looked him into the eyes and asked, "What it Robb?"

She saw him take a deep breath as he answered. “Jon... Jon told me you are concerned about Robert sending assassins… I am guessing… Well I guess I just thought that you would have been using moon tea… You know… Until you were sure that you all were safe from threats… I guess that I am just concerned for your safety if you are carrying my little niece or nephew in your belly… You need to let Jon know that you might already be with child.”

Daenerys sighed as she looked around and noticed Jon in the distance, returning to the pyre. She then quietly said, “Robb, if I tell him now… What does it matter? It is too soon to know for sure… And What if I am not? What if I tell him that I am, only to have my moon blood come upon me the next day? Or what if I lose the babe?”

"Aye, I understand that… However, I still think that you should tell him that you might be pregnant as we speak…"

She shook her head, "I will not Robb... I will not say anything to him until it has been at least two moon turns… I want to make sure that I am… As I said, I do not want to break his heart if I am not." She saw him raised his eyebrow, which made her sigh as she continued her answer, "Please Robb... Let us keep this between us... I do not want him to be disappointed if I have a miscarriage or if I am not pregnant…" She pleaded, as she looked her good brother in the eyes.

Robb then sighed and relented, "Aye, Dany… We will keep this between us… for now… However, you better let me know… You must tell me if are… If your moon blood does not arrive… If you are truly pregnant, I want to make sure that a healer attends to you… To ensure that the babe is growing well…"

She then smiled as she embraced him. "I promise I will… And if I am Robb… You will be a good uncle…" She heard him chuckled.

"Aye, I will,” He said with a chuckle, “But I will have plenty of competition from the rest of the pack… Gods help your child when they meet Auntie Arya… That babe will be shooting a bow and arrow or practicing water dancing before they can talk…"

They both burst out in laughter as they embraced each other. They were soon disturbed when they heard the sound of Varys coughing, notifying them of Jon’s return.

"And why are the two of you laughing?" Jon asked with an amused smile on his lips.

She pulled away from her good-brother’s embrace and smiled at her husband as she nonchalantly said, "It is nothing my love..." 

The Queen saw him raising a skeptical eyebrow before nodding. He then looked up to the now star lit sky, took a deep breath and smiled as he asked, "Dany... Are you ready? Everything is ready for you in the pyre and I have my cloak to cover you once you emerge from the flames." 

She smiled and nodded, “I am ready, my love... we will soon be the parents of six baby dragons.” 

Jon smiled at her before he looked at the dragon eggs in the middle of the pile of twigs and sticks. He walked over and moved them slightly so that all five were circled around her shitty brother. He then lite the four braziers surrounding the wood pile before he walked back over to her and smiled as he pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Then before leaving to join with Robb, Varys, Illyrio and the rest of the Khalasar, he leaned over, handed her a small dagger and whispered, “I know that you can do this, my love... You will show everyone here that you are a true dragon and that fire cannot harm a dragon.” 

Once her husband had joined the others, she smiled as she walked over to her brother and sliced a deep cut across his cheek. His muffled scream could be heard as she took her hands and coated them in his blood. She then cleaned her hands by wiping them onto the eggs.

She then took a deep breath as she walked over to the closest brazier; she grabbed the top of it with her bare hands, and turned it over onto the woodpile. It quickly ignited the dry kindling. She smile as she walked over to the next brazier and did the same. She repeated this process with the other two causing the pile of wood to turn into a roaring fire. She smiled as she stepped into the flames and bathed in their welcoming warmth. She was pulled from her trance when her brother’s muffled screams pierced the silent night air. 

A smug smirk appeared on her face as we sauntered over to Viserys and removed his gag and blindfold. She looked him in the eyes and stated, "A dragon does not burn! You are no dragon! I am a dragon... my husband and I are the last dragons and we do not burn!" 

She smiled when she heard his shrieks of the pain as the flames licked his skin, causing red whelps to quickly cover his exposed shin. She looked at her husband who smiled at her and nodded as he and the rest of the Khalasar all looked at her with expressions of awe. 

Daenerys felt nothing but the warmth and comfort of a favorite blanket as the flames burned the last remaining shreds of her garments. She felt electric sparks as the fire kiss her skin, however she felt no pain… Her skin was still pale as ivory and soft as silk. As the flames grew bigger and brighter, she was finding the part of her that was lost. The person who she was… The Queen that she was… She was the Mother of Dragons.

Suddenly, the sheiks and squeals of her brother screams faded into nothing. She looked up at his charred body and saw that he was limp and unmoving. ‘Good riddance you worthless piece of shit.’

She then looked down at the five dragon eggs and noticed that they were beginning to wiggle. She got down on her knees to look closer as the eggs began to dance with the flames. She felt strange. She felt as though something buried within her was being unlocked… She also felt a pulling… She look at all of the eggs once more and when her eyes locked on the red dragon egg, she absentmindedly grabbed it and clutched it to her chest. As she did the flames grew higher and brighter and she closed her eyes. Then, out of nowhere, even though her eyes were shut tightly, she saw a bright flash of light. She was pulled into a vivid vision…

She was on an island surrounded by dark water… With many cliff and a jagged, rocky shoreline… There was a large castle and a long stone stair case that led to the beaches below... At first she did not recognized where she was… But as she thought for a moment it soon came more clear… She was at Dragonstone… She was at the place where she was born.

Then in an instant she was no longer standing outside the castle… she was inside… In chambers looking at herself laying in the bed reading a raven scroll. She walked over and looked over her shoulder to read the message…

 

 

 

 

Queen Daenerys Targaryen,

King Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen has accepted your offer of a marriage alliance. Together you will rule Westeros as King and Queen. The terms of this alliance and marriage shall be discussed on Dragonstone. The King in the North is preparing to sail from White Harbor to Dragonstone with myself, and a few members of his Kingsgaurd, to ensure his safety. We should be arriving within a fortnight.

The King has head many good things about your character and looks forward on to meeting you.

Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand of The King in the North

 

She looked in the air as she sat up. She was confused... She has heard of this Ser Davos Seaworth... Jon has told him that Ser Davos was his hand. 

She was also confused onto the marriage betrothed between her and Jon as Jon said that she asked him to come to Dragonstone to bend the knee.

A thousand question went through her mind as she gasped as she heard a knock on the door.

"Your Grace... I need to speak to you... it is urgent!” She heard her Hand call from the other side of the door.

She watched as the other Daenerys arose from the bed, walked to the door and pulled it open. "What is wrong, Lord Tyrion?" 

"Your Grace, there are dragons..."

She was surprised 'Dragons?' Is this a dream of my past life?' She saw that the other Daenerys was confused.

She saw the other her smile and out a laugh as she said, “Yes, Lord Tyrion… I am aware that I have three dragons flying over the…”

She saw the Dwarf who soon became clear to her as more of her memories was unlocked. 'Lord Tyrion!' She gasped as she remember more and more about him, Lord Tyrion was a smart and funny man… He was her Hand of the Queen. She was pulled from her thoughts as Lord Tyrion interrupted the Queen in her vision.

"Not your dragons, your Grace!"

She was confused, 'Not my dragons?' 

She saw the Daenerys sigh as she said, "What do you mean?" 

She then saw Lord Tyrion as he took another deep breath and said in a rushed tone, "Your Grace, let me to show you… Please follow me!"

She saw the Daenerys in front of her was confused but nodded as she donned a black cape and allowed Lord Tyrion to lead her from the room. Daenerys decided to follow the other her and Lord Tyrion.

She followed the pair through the castle, then outside… not stopping until they had reached the cliffs that overlooked the massive stairway leading to the castle. She noticed as they journeyed outside, several soldier in black leather armor as well as some Dothraki guards followed closely. ‘The men in black armor are Unsullied warriors’ she remembered.

As she stood on the cliffs, she listened to the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below, when suddenly as she heard extremely loud roar. She looked at the other Daenerys and Lord Tyrion as the screeching and roaring continued, and noticed that they both appeared to be frightened by the sounds. 

She looked at Lord Tyrion as he remarked, “That did not sound like Drogon! It sounded louder and scarier than Drogon!”  She was confused as she saw some Dothraki shoulders as well Unsullied protect the Daenerys in her vision.

Out of nowhere, a large dark colored dragon, landed right in front of them and screeched at them before it turned to stare into the distance… In the direction of the roaring and screeching had been coming from.

She then heard Daenerys shout in a commanding tone, "Stand back!" She saw as the Unsullied and Dothraki blood riders step back from the Daenerys, Tyrion and the dragon.

She noticed that Tyrion who appeared to be terrified. When he met the gaze of her other self he asked, “Your Grace… what is going on?"  She saw the confusion on her past self… It appeared that her other self was also trying to figure out what was going on. However, before she could think much about it, her eyes were pulled toward the setting sun because of another load roar. When her eyes focused in the distance, she could not believe what she saw. She saw a large grey dragon approaching them… A dragon that she could tell was much larger than the Black Dragon standing next to them. 

As she looked at the grey dragon, it seemed to be very familiar to her. The grey dragon had honey colored eyes as well grey scales. She gasped as she realized that the dragon looked just like Sarogon… Only much, much larger. The Dragon was extremely large... It made the Black and scarlet dragon appear to look like a small child. 

She was shocked when the humungous grey dragon shook the ground as it landed about ten feet in front of them and then released a commanding roar. She also gasped as she heard a strangely familiar voice inside her head. ‘Dear gods… that dragon is much larger than my Drogon! Where did it come from?’ She looked at the other Daenerys and realized that she could hear the thoughts of her other self.

She felt the goosebumps on her flesh as the Grey Dragon and the Black Dragon roared at each other in greeting. Then the her other self slowly approached to Grey Dragon and placed her hand on it’s snout, causing it to purr with delight. She watched as the smaller Black dragon nudged the shoulder of the other Daenerys and demanded attention… The dragon… Drogon was jealous of the Grey Dragon. She could tell that the Daenerys cared for both of them. 

She gasped as she started to remember this. The long journey from Meereen to Drogonstone... How when she arrived she heard of Aegon Targaryen and his three Dragons… That he claimed to be the true heir to the Iron Throne… How she wanted to demand for him to bend the knee… The raven scroll… Being betrothed….

She was pulled again from her thoughts as she saw a dark haired man climb off the back of the large Grey Dragon… He was extremely handsome… It was her Jon. But then she was shocked, ‘Who is that young woman with him? She looks familiar… With dark hair and grey eyes just like Jon’s.’  She was confused as to who the women was… However her attention was diverted when she heard the thoughts of her other self.

‘This cannot be my nephew… he said he was coming by ship… but he is the only other person with dragons that I know of… What if this is another family member that I never knew I had…’ she was surprised as she started walking next to her other self as she saw Jon approached them with a smoky silver armor and a sword and his hip which she could clearly see was Dark Sister. She was surprised that he had Dark Sister. She could clearly remember her husband saying that he had a sword named Long Claw in their past life.

She looked at the Large Grey dragon as he roared. She then looked at her Unsullied and Dothraki warriors raising their weapons to protect their Queen. She gasped as she thought they would fight her love… her Jon… Thankfully, before she was able to get worked up and fear for his safety she heard Lord Tyrion shouting. "Put down your weapons! He is a friend not a foe!"

She saw the confusion on her other self’s face, which made her chuckle as Jon approached them. She saw her soldiers lower their weapons. She then placed her gaze as Jon smiled at them as he finally stopped in front of them.

She saw Lord Tyrion smile at Jon and in a mocking tone said, “The Bastard of Winterfell... I see that you have picked up some scars along the way, but you are still alive.”

“The Dwarf of Casterly Rock, I see you have earned a few scars as well...” Jon retorted with a laugh. She noticed that her other self was confused by the banter between the two men as their conversation continued.

“Ah, yes, but that is a long tale and one for another time… Gods the last time I saw you, you were just a Green boy off to join the ancient order of the Nights Watch.”

“And the last time I saw you, you were pissing off the top of the Wall.” The two men then broke out in laughter before her husband continued, “Lord Tyrion, I would like to thank you for your advice.”

As her husband said this, she was confused and she could tell that her other self was as well… ‘What advise did Lord Tyrion give to my husband,’ she wondered.

She looked at Lord Tyrion and noticed that he had raised an eyebrow and asked, “And what advice would that be?”

She noticed that Jon smirk as he stated, "As I recall, you were drunk, and I was in the training yard practicing, because Lady Catelyn did not want the Bastard at the King’s Feast… You told me ‘Bastard, let me give you some advice. Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.’ I lived by those words for many years.”

She then looked around the cliffs… She was confused as to why she was here. Why she was seeing this and why more of her lost memory started to unravel from her locked mind.

She saw her other self was getting angry and was confused… She took a deep breath as she then asked, “Lord Tyrion, you know this man… Aren’t you going to introduce me?"

She then smiled as she saw Lord Tyrion smile at her and say, "Forgive my manners, your Grace. This man is your betrothed, Jon Snow... ah, pardon me, I believe you go by Aegon Targaryen these days." 

She gasped as she heard this, ‘Jon never liked that name... He always preferred Jon.’ She looked between the Jon and Daenerys in her vision, when she heard the other her’s thoughts once more, 'So this is my nephew! My last relative! My betrothed!'  

She watched her other self took a deep breath and say to the Jon in the vision, "So you are my nephew and my betrothed... It is nice to meet you, Aegon."

She saw a tentative smile on Jon's face as he then said, "Aye, I am... Are you disappointed?" She chuckled as she saw the other her blush like a maid. She then heard her other self’s thoughts, 'Of course, I am not disappointed... Quite the opposite' before she answered his question in a Queenly tone, "No, I am quite impressed actually."  

She looked at Jon and saw the smile she loved what he tried to hide it… the smile where just the corners of his lips turned up. She giggled when the young woman standing next to him subtlety elbowed him in his gut. He looked at the woman and appeared to slightly blush, before he cleared his throat with a cough and spoke, "Pardon my manners, your Grace... This is my little sister Arya Stark." She gasped as she started to remember who Arya was as more memory from her past life was unlocked.

"It is nice to meet you Lady… I mean Princess Arya... I mean soon to be good sister." The other her stuttered as she shook Arya’s hand.

She saw Arya kept her smile as she answered back "It is nice to meet you, your Grace but I am no lady or princess… Arya will do just fine."

She then heard Lord Tyrion gasped as he looked at her good sister. "Arya Stark! You were last seen in King’s Landing... just before..."

"Your sister took my Father prisoner and later you mad nephew Joffrey took his head under a false charge of treason...”  Arya stated finishing his sentence.

"I am sorry, Arya for the crimes of my..." However, before Lord Tyrion could finish his apology, Jon interrupted.

"It is fine Lord Tyrion… It is all in the past. You played no part in our Father’s death." Her eyes widened as Jon looked at her and smiled before he took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and placed a chaste kiss upon it. She remember Jon told her that they both hated each other when they first met... However, this was quite the opposite… They both appeared smitten with each other. She was drawn from her thoughts as she saw the other her half smile when Jon said. “It is an honor to meet you, Aunt Daenerys."

She laughed as Jon said Aunt and when she saw the blush on her other self’s face as she said, "Please Aegon, call me Daenerys."

She saw the smile on Jon's face as he then said, “Daenerys… I am going to be your husband, so please… I prefer that you call me Jon.” She then smiled as she saw the shock on her other self’s face… before Jon smiled explained why he wanted to be called by his bastard name… "My birth name might be Aegon, but I prefer the name Jon. My Father... the man who raised me and kept me safe growing up, gave me that name… Until I learned the truth about who I really am, it was the only name I had ever known.” She could feel the other Daenerys’ emotions… she could tell she felt some disappointment in his decision but that she also understood why he choose to continue to go by the name Jon.

"It is nice to meet you... Jon," The other said with a smile. After the words were spoken, she giggled as she watched to two of them continued to wordlessly and longingly stare into each other’s eyes. She felt lost and warm inside. She was also surprised that they are staring at each other for so long. She already now knew why her other self already had strong feelings for him. She finally understands that Jon was the one who made her feel like she belonged somewhere that she was not alone. 

She felt the spark... The connection between them... That they were drawn toward one another. She then heard her other self-thought as he then thought 'I wonder if he feels it too.’ She smiled because she knew that Jon did feel the connection.

She chuckled, as Lord Tyrion had to cough to break their trance before he said, "So tell me, Jon Snow, why did you arrive here at Dragon back? According to your raven, we were informed you would be sailing here with your Kingsguard and your Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth. And that you all would be arriving in approximately a fortnight to discuss the marriage alliance."

She sighed as she then sat down on the grassy cliff, trying to concentrate on their discussion. She then heard the thoughts of the other Daenerys, ‘That is a good point… Why did he arrive in the middle of the night unannounced?’ 

She listened to the conversation attentively as they brought out the man named Euron Greyjoy… A man that Jon had prevented from destroying her fleet and killing two of her allies. She was surprised that Lord Varys has informed her other self too late about Euron Greyjoy. She was also surprised that Jon also had his own Master of Whispers... Brandon Stark… His brother was his Master of Whispers… He was a greenseer known as the Three-Eyed Raven. She recalled as she continued listening in on their conversation. The longer she watched and listened, she felt more and more memories unlocking and unraveling from the deepest parts of her mind.

After a few minutes she then heard a voice say her name that she recognized, however she could not remember from where... She looked up and saw a tall young man looking at her with a smile… He seemed to be familiar… 

As she stood up and she walked over to him, she asked, "You can see, me can't you?"

She saw the young man smiled as he nodded as they both walked around the Daenerys and Jon as they had their discussion. "Yes, I can see you... Daenerys Targaryen... Or should I say, the Princess who was promised."

Daenerys was confused. She looked at the young man struggling to place him but many of her thoughts were still so foggy. She then stopped walking, took the young man’s hand and said, "I feel like I know you… However, I cannot remember your name… Who are you?"

"I am Brandon Stark... The Three-Eyed Raven..." He stated in an emotionless tone.

She was surprised because she thought that Jon had told her that Bran was not as to walk… But in this vision he was walking along side of her. "You are Brandon Stark? Jon’s younger brother… Cousin?"

“I am.” He stated with a nod of his head as they again began to walk along the cliff where Jon, Daenerys and the others were gathered.

She nodded as she looked at the Jon and the Daenerys and saw that they were smiling at one another. After a she took a deep breath, she looked at Brandon and asked, "Why am I here?"

"This... This is your past life... You are here because your memory has started to be returned to you."

She was confused. "This is my past life?"

“Yes.”

“But... But… This does not make sense… Jon never told me that he had three dragons... That he was already aware that he was Aegon Targaryen… He told me that we did not like each other when we first met… But here they appear to be smitten with one another!”

She saw him took a deep breath as he answered in an even tone, "The Jon in your new life is not the Jon from this life… the Jon from your past life... The Jon with you now is from another life... A life where he did not know that he was a Targaryen until I told him the truth... A life in which he did not have three dragons... A life where your dragon, Viserion, died at the hands of the Night King..."

She gasped… She had heard that story before… When Jon told her that Viserion had died when she went to save him and his companions from their doomed wight hunt mission. She was confused… Nothing seem to make any sense. "I... I don't understand..." she finally choked out.

“When two worlds collide after both end in its downfall... a failure... One life will meet the other life in a new world... and something will be reborn... Two saviors will be returned from different lives... They will fall in love... And together to bring forth the Lightbringers…” He then took a deep breath, “Daenerys, in your past life… You lost to the Night King… In Jon's he lost to the Night King... In his life he was forced to kill you when you became The Night Queen and your son Rhaegar after he was turned into a White Walker... With the help of a Priestess of the Lord of Light… Melisandre… We were able to send him back in time to prepare for the Long Night… It was the same as you…"

Suddenly she gasped and fell to her knees when a sharp pain passed through her skull… More and More memories were being unlocked in her mind… There were not complete memories just flashes. He head continued to have shooting pains, "Why… Why do I have a headache?" She placed her hand on her head as she felt more and more pain.

She then looked up and noticed that Brandon had gotten down on his knees and stated, "Your memories are starting to return to you… Azor Ahai..."

She winced as she felt a pain in her eyes… She closed them to try and dull the pain. When she opened them they were now down on the beach. She looked towards the water and gasped when she saw her reflection… Her eyes were a fiery orange… She felt the rage coursing throughout her entire body… She sensed a feeling of loss... The pain of what happened to her in the past. However, she could not remember what it is that she had lost. She shuddered at the pain pounding in her skull before she snapped her head towards The Three-Eyed Raven as she rubbed her temple and breathed out, "What... What happened to the other Daenerys… The Daenerys from Jon’s past?" She winced at the pain.

"She... She is trapped in his soul... She is bound to his soul until he is truly able to forgive himself for what happened to them... For what happened to you and baby Rhaegar..." he stated with a hint of compassion in his tone

After he said that she fell to the sand, screaming out in pain as more flashes of memories started to unravel in her mind… She saw her and a dark skinned girl in her chambers, ‘Missandei,’ she recalled… There were having a conversation about the King in the North…

She saw her and Jon dining together in a dining hall… Then they were kissing passionately when he suddenly pulled away and said, "I'm sorry Daenerys but I can't do this... I cannot fall in love with you and see the consequences... What will happen to you... I cannot hurt you..."

Daenerys could tell that her other self was confused as she asked, "Consequences? Hurt me? What do you mean Jon?" 

She saw him taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes and opened them. She gasped when she saw his eyes turned from grey to a golden orange. "I am the Prince who was Promised... I am Azor Ahai reborn... I will not make you or anyone else my Nissa Nissa... I will not... Even if that means killing myself."

The next thing she knew she was in a room with a table that was shaped like a map… They were discussing battle plans against Jaime Lannister, who was about to attack Highgarden... Jon told them about how his brother, Bran was a greenseer and served as his Master of Whispers… Then After the council meeting they made love for the first time on top of the Painted Table… She heard herself silently praying that his seed would quicken in what she believed to be her barren womb.

She was still on the sandy beach when she opened her eyes… She placed both hands on the sides of her head as she felt the pain return causing her to screech out into the night air as her whole body quivered in discomfort. Finally she was able to breathe out, "What... What... Happened to Jon... Aegon Targaryen… from my life… The life that I am remembering... He told me he was Azor Ahai… I saw his eyes change from grey to orange… He was Azor Ahai… Not Me… I was his Nissa Nissa!"

"That will soon be revealed to you... You cannot receive all of your memories at once… That would be too painful… Your memories will now slowly be returned... Azor Ahai."

She dug her hands into the sand and screamed out in pain as she then recalled another memory… Jon showing her the paintings of The Night King and the White Walkers on the walls of the dragonglass cave… Then how she pleasured him by taking his member in her mouth… How kissed each other fiercely as she promised him they will find another way… That he would not be destined to kill his Nissa Nissa. Then how they went back to the castle and dined… laughed… and made love again before falling asleep intertwined in each other’s arms for the first time. 

"How... How am I able to start remembering now? It does not make sense… I have been living for the past eighteen years in this new life and all I had before were hazy images of Jon..." She questioned as she breathed hard, trying to catch her breath before the pain again became unbearable.

“Your memories started to become unlocked when you touch your dragon egg… The red dragon egg that was destined to be yours...”

“That does not make sense… My dragon was black and dark reddish purple scales... Drogon… I bonded with Drogon… Not a red dragon!”

“Drogon was never supposed to be your dragon…” He stated evenly. She was getting ready to ask him what he meant, but he continued with his explanation. “You bonded with Drogon in your past life because he was the strongest of the three eggs you were given... Jon’s half-brother, Aegon… His dragon egg was always supposed to belong to you... You felt a connection with that egg… The red dragon egg the second you touched it… You felt as if something began to unlock in your mind… Then, when you entered the fire, the egg again called to you… When you picked it up and clutched it to your breasts, the door to your memories began to open because your true self returned to your body... The same thing happened to Jon... He returned to this life… This world... However he already had all of his memories because in his past life he always saw himself as a bastard... Not like your Jon from your past life who though of himself as a King… The Jon from your life found out about his true heritage when he was still at the Wall... The man he considered to be his Father gave your great uncle, Maester Aemon, a letter. Ned Stark informed him to give the letter to Jon if anything ever happened to him… If he died before he was unable to tell Jon the truth about his mother like he had promised to do the next time that they saw each other."

As she attempted to stand, still grimacing in pain, Bran reached down, took her hand and helped her to her feet. Once she was standing, he looked her in the eyes and stated, "Daenerys... You will feel the pain for the next several moons… Until all of your memories have returned to you... You will eventually come to see how you were the greatest Swordsmen in all of Essos while your husband, Jon was the greatest swordsmen in Westeros..."

The Queen felt her face contort as she felt sharp pain once again… She clutched Bran’s arm as closed her eyes and when she did more memories flashed in her mind. She saw Lord Varys warning her to stay away from her love, to stay away from Jon because he was Azor Ahai and she was his Nissa Nissa. She saw Jon’s smile and his tears of joy when she placed their sliver-haired, purple eyed baby boy into his arms. She then found herself in a room that she did not recognize… Her son was in her arms and she was rocking him to sleep. She then looked up when the door to the room open and saw Jon entering the room… She smiled at her but she then gasped as he fell onto his knees… There was blood coming from his mouth… She heard a large screeching sound and she screamed.

Her eyes snapped open as she noticed that Brandon Stark was beginning to fade away, but not before she heard him say, "In your new life Jon's song is the song of Ice and Fire and your song is the Song of Fire and Blood..."

Those words kept repeating in her mind before they were drowned out by the sounds of loud chirpings and screechings. She opened her eyes once more and she realized she was back in Essos… She was back with the Khalasar. She saw the fire raging around her before she looked down her body and realized that she was completely naked and unburnt and there was a small red dragon on her chest. She then felt sharp claws crawling up the top of her back. She turned her head and her gaze saw a creamy-bronze colored baby dragon screeching at her. She then felt another crawling on her shoulder; it was a blue dragon hatchling. She the felt two more on the tops of her legs; she looked down to see a purplish-black dragon and a green dragon… In this moment she then felt as though she had returned… She was again Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen… The Unburnt… The Mother of Dragons.

She took a deep breath as she stood up in the bonfire… She gathered the five screeching dragon hatchlings, she placed two dragon on each shoulder and held the red dragon in her arms and closed her eyes to regain her composure. ‘I am Daenerys Targaryen… I am the Mother if Dragons,’ she told herself repeatedly. She then opened her eyes and began to walk out of the flames. When she stepped out of the last wall of fire, she saw all the members of their Khalasar, as well Jon, Varys, Illyrio staring at her while Robb looked away. She laughed to herself when she saw that her good brother was not looking at her, ‘He is trying not to dishonor me.’

When she met Jon’s gaze he smiled at her and gave her a nod of encouragement. She knew what she had to do… She stood up straight as looked at the Khalasar and took a deep breath before declaring in a commanding tone, “Anha zin Daenerys Targaryen. Jin vezhven Khaleesi ki Khal Aegon.  Anha zin jin Khaleesi fin mounts jin rhaesheser vi ma the vezhven Khal Aegon.  Anha tikh gives yer jin vezhven vezh fin mounts jin rhaesheser." (I am Daenerys Targaryen. The great Khaleesi of the Khal Aegon. I am the Khaleesi who mounts the world along with the Great Khal Aegon. I will give you the great stallion who mounts the world.) She saw all of the Khalasar, Varys, Illyrio, Jorah, Robb and even Jon all kneel down before her, dipping their heads in respect towards the ground.

She then smiled as she met her husband beaming gaze and placed her hand on her stomach… It was at that moment she knew... She knew that his seed had taken root and their child was growing inside of her womb... She was positive that she would bare them an heir… A son that would be known as the greatest King Westeros had ever known. She was then alerted to five hungry baby dragons as they began screeching and letting their birth be known. Sarogon then flew over, landed in front of them and gave a loud welcoming screech to his siblings. 

She then looked at her husband and smiled because she knew that they were destined to be two Saviors from different worlds who would fall in love to bring forth the dawn… to bring forth the Lightbringers. She closed her eyes finally feeling at peace. When she opened them she caught her reflection in Ser Jorah’s armor she smiled as she realized that her eyes had turned Grey… The same grey as Jon’s eyes.

She smiled at the Red Dragon when she felt it nuzzle against the front of her shoulder. She rubbed the crimson scales under his chin and he let out a shriek before he began to purr in contentment. She then remembered, ‘Balerion… Jon called him Balerion in his past life… I am not sure yet what I will call him… I guess that Jon and I will have to come up with names for these five sweet little dragon babes… All I know is that he was meant to be mine, just as Sarogon was always meant to be Jon’s.’

She took a deep breath she walked over to her husband and pulled him to his feet. He smiled at her and moved the dragons so that he was able to place his cloak around her shoulders. As the members of the Khalasar began to rise to their feet, she, Jon all six dragons and Ghost left to go to their tent... The Tent of the Great Khal and Khaleesi. She smiled as Jon guided her because she now had more memories from her past life.

As they entered their tent, the five dragon hatchlings climbed from her body and jumped on top the table where their big brother, Sarogon, had landed, and started eating the roasted hoarse meet that had been prepared for them. Ghost then plopped down at the entrance of the tent as if he were protecting them from allowing anyone to enter.

The Khaleesi took a deep breath and smiled as she placed her hand on her stomach. She smiled even bigger as Jon came up behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck and removing his cloak. She turned around and stepped back so that her husband could admire her stark naked body. She could tell that he wanted her and she desired him more than she ever had before. She then closed the distance between them and pulled him in for a kiss. She deepened the kiss by granting his tongue entrance into her mouth. After a few minutes she pulled away and whispered into his ear, "The Mother of Dragons has returned, my love..."

She knew that even though this was not the exact same Jon from her last life, she still loved him with all her heart and she knew that he loved her just as much… She knew that even though she was not the Daenerys from his past life but really another Daenerys from another lifetime... They were still meant to be together… Only together they could be the ones to bring the dawn and save the people of Westeros from certain death.

She then snaked her hand down the front of his breeches and he smiled and let out a growl as she began to rub his already hard cock through the front of his breeches. She then remembered how in her past life she sucked his cock for the first time in the dragonglass cave at Dragonstone. She smiled as he removed he shirt as she kept on rubbing his cock. She then as she started to nibble his earlobe before peppering kisses down to his neck… then to his chest… then to his abdomen until she reached the top of his breeches. She then got on her hands and began unlacing his trousers. 

She smiled as she slowly pulled down his pants and started rubbing his already fully erect thick cock. She then looked up at him without saying a word, watching his face as she began to caress he stones before she licked down each side of his member, then placed a kiss to its head. He then released a throaty growl as soon as sheathed his cock into her mouth and slowing started bobbing her head as she sucked.

She felt him shiver before he grabbed the top of her head and laced his fingers in her long lose silver locks and began to thrust his hips into her eager mouth. ‘Gods I love it when he fucks my face… I love it when he takes me like the dragonwolf he is inside,’ she thought as she continued to pleasure his member. She kept on sucking his cock as she caresses his balls with her other hand until she felt his cock twitching inside her mouth. She pulled away with a pop and smiled up at him as she continued to lovingly stroke his length.

He then helped her to her feet and pulled her in for a kiss. They kissed each other slowly at first before she allowed his tongue into her mouth. As the kiss deepened she continued to gently stroking his cock. When their tongues began to battle she felt his hand squeeze her arse which caused her to bit down on his lip, drawing blood. She then licked and kissed the blood from his lip, and when she did the taste of the dragon blood caused her to moan.

Daenerys then pulled away to observe his perfectly toned muscular chest and recalled where scars were when they made love for the first time on top of the Painted Table. She smiled as she placed both hands on his chest and tenderly kissed his each place that used to be littered with a nasty half healed red scar. When she was finally done, he grabbed her arse cheeks firmly and then lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they began kissing again as he carried her over towards the bed. When they reached the bed, he gently placed her in the middle of it, not once breaking the seal of their lips… All that she could hear were the sounds their kissing and the screeching of the Dragons as they happily ate their meal.

They continued to kiss each other slowly; she wanted to show him that there is no one else in the world for her... That no one belonged to her but him… That she was his for eternity. As she kissed him as she placed both arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss as her eyes were shut tightly, concentrating on proving to him that was everything that she could ever want or need. After a few minutes he pulled away, looked into her eye and they both smiled at each other. Then when he placed his hand on her cheek, she remembered something else Doreah had told her in her past life, 'Love comes from the eyes, Khaleesi.' They both looked at each other lovingly as they tried to catch their breath.

Once she had calmed her frantic breathing, she smiled as she placed both hands on his hips as she spun him around so that he was on his back; she could tell by the look on his face that he was surprised by her bold action. She leaned down for another kiss and she felt his arm go around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him as the kiss became more passionate. She then placed her dripping cunt over top of his hardened member and she began to rock her hips, creating glorious friction, however she denied his cock entrance. She could imagine that this sensation was what caused him to growl into her mouth as they kissed.  

When she pulled away to catch her breath she smiled at him as he continued to squeezing her arse cheeks. She then felt as his hands began to travel from her arse, to the sides of her waist, up to her flat stomach until her reached her breast. He then placed once hand on each of her breasts and began to squeeze and caress them. The sensations he was causing as he gave her breasts his undivided attention caused her to moan in pleasure. She then leaded down and pressed open mouthed kisses to his neck and she again began to slide her sopping cunt along his member. 

After a few minutes of pleasuring her breasts he pulled her mouth back to his and he kissed her kissed slowly and passionately. When pulled away as she smiled at him and said, "Ñuha Zaldrīzeszokla... Ñuha soul...  Ñuha jorrāelagon hen ñuha ābrar" (My Dragonwolf... My soul... The love of my life.) 

She saw the confusion on his face... She knew that he did not understand High Valryian which made her realize that the Jon from his past could not speak High Valyrian… She wondered if the Jon from her past could speak Valyrian. She saw his confusion was turned into a smiled as she pulled him in for another kiss. 

They soon both pulled away as she then removed her cunt from his groin which by the look on his face she could tell, surprised him. She then began to shimmy the core of her body up his chest until her cunt was just over his mouth. She looked down at him and smiled as she placed each of her knees on each of his cheeks. 

She could only see his grey eyes as she smiled at him. She then placed her cunt dripping over his mouth and he started sucking on her sensitive bundle of nerves. As he sucked and licked her cunt, she closed her eyes and moaned. She then started to slightly move her hips, fucking his mouth. She smiled as felt his calloused hands ghost along the sides of her hips, to bare stomach and then to her breast. The feeling of him squeezing and caressing them causes her hips to move faster as she rode his face. 

She continued to moan as she removed one of his hands and placed the tips of his fingers on her clit as he kept on thrusting his tongue into her cunt. The sensations quickly overwhelmed her as she reached her orgasm. She let out a shriek of ecstasy as she felt her release and her juices escaped in his eager mouth. She smiled as she moved her legs back down to his hips as she then pulled him in for another kiss.

As they continued to kiss, she took his rock hard member in her hand and placed it into the warm moist heat of her core. She moaned again as his thick length deliciously stretched her walls and kissed her womb. She then started slowly moving her hips not once breaking their passionate kiss.

She soon felt his hands traveling from her face down to her waist with a hand finally settling on her each of arse cheeks. They continued kissing as rode him slowly, enjoying the slow and tender love making. As she rode him he gently squeezed her arse cheeks which caused her to moan into his mouth. There were so many sensations happening all at once… The feel of his plump lips on hers… His hand caressing her asre so tenderly…. The feel of his perfect cock kissing her womb with each slow but powerful rock of her hips.

When she began to feel lightheaded she had to break this kiss for some much needed air, they smiled at each other lovingly as she continued unhurriedly moving her hips. As she panted for air she gasped when he smiled wickedly at her as he moved both hands from her arse to her waist and flipped them so that she was now on her back. 

They both stared at each other lovingly as he then began to thrust hard and slow inside of her core. They soon started kiss once again and she placed both hands again around his shoulders as she closed her eyes to focus on their kiss. She was overwhelmed with emotions as he kept on thrusting hard and unhurried inside of her; each of his deliberate powerful thrusts kissed her womb. Jon soon broke their kiss as lightly nibbled on her ear as she tightened her grip on his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his arse. This slight change in position which caused him to thrust even harder and deeper inside of her, reaching places that had never before been kiss by his cock. She soon felt her inner walls clenching around his member and she moaned loudly as her second orgasm washed through her body.

Even as she came down from her climax, her husband did not stop; he continued to kiss her womb with each powerful thrust. They kept on kissing each other fiercely as he continued to thrust his member impossibly deep into her core. He then placed one of his hands on her breasts and squeezed it causing her to pull away and smile at him. He then looked at her with a wicked smirk as he took both of her legs to loosen her grip on him. Before she knew what had happened, he had spun her around so that she was now on her stomach and felt his cock quickly entered her needy cunt. He started to thrust into her hard and fast from behind causing her to scream out at the pleasure. She then felt as he placed his hand under her stomach, pulling her up to her hands and knees. He then bit into her shoulder as he continued his grueling pace of ramming her cunt from behind.

Her eyes were tightly closed as she heard the sounds of her breast slapped against her flesh as he fucked her hard as he kept on kissing and biting her shoulder. Out of nowhere, she felt herself come undone once again as a third orgasm flooded her body.

She then fell flat on her stomach and panted as he pulled out of her wet cunt. Her husband did not give her anytime to recover as he spun her slowly around to face him. They both smiled at each other as he laid down on top of her and entered her still pulsating cunt once more. She wrapped her legs around his waist again as he leaned down to capture her lips with a kiss. Their tongues battled longingly before he pulled away and grunted as he shot his seed inside of her womb, the feeling causing her to moan as she peaked again. 

He pulled out and they continued kissing. After a few minutes she felt he cock hardening once again… She knew full well her husband could give her his seed more than once and she knew that she reach more orgasms. She then placed both hands around the back his neck as she spun him around so that she was on top of him once more.

They smiled at each other as she inserted his rock hard cock back into her core and started rocking her hips. As she began to move faster she felt his seed from their prior love making session escape from her womb and drip down her thighs onto his legs. She smiled as she leaned down and they kissed again passionately as she continued moving her hips and as he continued to thrust up inside of her. She pulled away when she heard all six of the dragons screeching and Ghost howling. She smiled as she placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and she noticed that his eyes were closed. She then placed her hand on her stomach as she kept on moving her hips quickly, fucking him furiously, knowing that the Targaryen’s have returned from the brink of extinction because a Little Dragon was growing in her womb. She continued to hear the babe dragons making noise and her smile widened as she kept on riding the love of her life knowing the Targaryen Dynasty… The Targaryen restoration has begun… and that this time they would bring forth the Lightbringers to bring the Dawn......

Notes:

If you enjoyed this chapter please let us know - please leave a kudos or comment or bookmark. If you have suggestions please let us know. We read all the comments and love all the feedback and suggestions that you all give to us. Thank you for reading.

 

If some of you are confused onto Daenerys past then please read our other fic 'The Last Targaryens' what is the prequel to this story which will explain everything of Dany's past :)

Chapter 15: Chaos is a Ladder

Summary:

These events happen approximately 2 days after the events of the last chapter
1. Sam arrives at the Citadel in Oldtown
2. Petyr receives news from Pentos and continues to scheme
3. Edmure arrives in Winterfell and spend some time with his nieces and gets more questions than answers
4. Theon speaks with the King in the North and decisions are made

Notes:

Hey, guys mew Chapter finally!! We have some news... We decided to divide this chapter's full length into two chapters... Because it would have caused confusion of all the time skips and days but anyway the next chapter of TLHFW should be done soon :) we are working on it as we speak!! So this chapter will be sadly shorter than the others... As well the next one. Pls, leave your opinions and your ideas in the comments below as well what you think of the chapter. I would just like to say thank you for all of your love as well supporting us you do not realize how much it means to us when you give us your love and support but anyway as I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter!!.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


Samwell Tarly

 

It has been nearly three weeks since Samwell Tarly had set sail from Pentos with his Northern escort when their ship finally arrived at the port in Oldtown. As he waited on the deck to get off the vessel he noticed the bright red comet in the sky was again burning brightly in the early afternoon sky. ‘I believe that Jon’s wife must have hatched her dragon eggs... The comet first appeared after Jon hatched Sarogon… and it had started to fade, but a few days ago it began shining brightly once again... I wonder if I should investigate the comet while I am here... That comet is odd though… After Sarogon hatched, it was red and blue… However, now it is pulsing red five times before it flickers to blue... I wonder what that could possibly mean...’

“Samwell Tarly,” one of the Stark Guards called, pulling Sam’s attention from the bleeding star in the sky. “We have loaded your belongings onto the cart... We will escort you to the Citadel while we wait for our ship to be resupplied for our journey back to White Harbor.”

“Thank you, Shadd,” Sam replied as he scurried to follow him down the plank to the dock below and then to the waiting cart.

It was an uneventful trek from the docks to the Citadel. When they arrived, the two Stark Guards, Shadd and Donnis, who had escorted him, helped him to unload his trunk and other belongings. He then bid them farewell and wished them safe travels as they took their leave back to the North. ‘This is it… I know I always wanted to be a wizard… But being a Maester is a much better option when compared with freezing to death at the Wall… And Jon needs me here… He needs me to find out everything I can about White Walkers and the Long Night... I just need to find a way to get into the restricted area of the library,’ he thought as he took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. 

When he walked through the door, he entered a spacious chamber and saw a slender man with shorter white hair and long white beard seated behind a large wooden desk, fully engrossed with whatever he was writing. Sam walked over towards the Maester, stood in front of the desk and waited for him to look up. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, he finally coughed to get the old man’s attention. 

The older Maester appeared to be perturbed by Sam’s interruption. He looked up at him with raised eyebrows and unkind eyes, before he sighed and asked, “How might I help you?”

Sam offered the man a nervous smile as handed the man the letter from his sweaty hand and said, "Excuse me... I am sorry to disturb your writing… Uh... Hello... I am Samwell Tarly... I have been sent here at the request of the Warden of The North, Lord Eddard of House Stark… He asked for me to train here so I can become his Maester’s apprentice..."

He saw the Maester furrowed his brow as he opened the sealed letter and began to read. He then moved the scrolls and pieces of parchment he had been writing on out of the way, picked up a large brown leather bound book, placed it in front of him, opened it and began to flip through the pages as if he were looking for something. As the Maester looked through the book, Sam took the opportunity to absorb his new surroundings; he looked around the room, admiring all of the intricate objects on the desk and drawings, painting and tapestries lining the stone walls. After a few moments, the man behind the desk cleared his throat, bringing Sam’s attention back to him. He noticed the older man eyed him suspiciously, as he inquired, “You are the young man The King in the North has requested to be trained to become his new Maester… to assist Grand Maester Luwin?" 

Sam was surprised and could not contain the small gasp that he released as his eye went wide and he asked, "I’m sorry... did... you say Eddard Stark... is the King in the North?"

"What... Have you been at sea for the last fortnight?” The Old Maester inquired. However before Sam could answer, the old man continued, “Yes... Eddard Stark has been named the King in the North after the North was granted their Independence...”

“Why... Why was the North granted their Independence?”

“Apparently... The Crown Prince, Joffrey, committed crimes against the daughters of Eddard Stark... and as punishment for those crimes, King Robert Baratheon granted the North Independence.” The Old Maester then rummaged around his desk looking for something. When he found the message he was looking for, he handed the scroll to Sam and stated, “Here is a copy of the correspondence we received... Please, read it for yourself.”

He took the scroll from the Maester’s outstretched hand and quickly read the contents of the message. When he was done, he kept his eyes on the scroll and a smile pulled on the corners of his lips as he thought, 'I see Jon's plan worked after all. He will have the full support of the North when he and his wife return to Westeros... I wonder if any news about Jon and his dragon have made their way to Westeros yet... What else has happened while I have been traveling?' So he took a deep breath as he handed the message back to the Maester and asked, “Maester... have you heard any other reports? Any news from across the Narrow Sea or from the Kingdoms of Westeros?”

"We have received rumors that someone has hatched a dragon in Pentos… But that is nonsense and there is no proof…” the man stated dismissively.

‘I have seen the dragon… It is most certainly real.’ Sam thought before the Maester continued.

“As for news throughout Westeros, Tywin Lannister has been name Hand to King Robert Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister has been named Hand of the King to the King in the North.” He then chuckled as he added, “And there have been odd reports received from the Nights Watch… The Lord Commander and Maester Aemon are asking for assistance finding any information about White Walkers… They state the Rangers have reported seeing strange things beyond the Wall… that the Wildlings are abandoning their villages and banding together… They also state that some have seen White Walkers and walking skeletons! It is all utter non-sense!”

He sighed, 'So what Jon said about the threat is true… Everything is true!'

The old Maester then smiled as he stood up, “Alright, Samwell Tarly… I have logged your arrival into the book… Your belongings will be taken to your assigned room… Please follow me, and I will give you a small tour and then take you to your chamber."

Sam smiled as he walked behind the man. Along the trip he pointed out several places to take note of; the Archmaesters offices, the infirmary, infectious cells, the kitchens, where to empty the bedpan and chamber pots, the rookery… They finally stopped walking when they reached the Library. As the Maester opened the doors, Sam gasped at the sight of hundreds of thousands of books spanning every open space on the walls from the floor to the ceiling, ‘This is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.’

"Since you are studying to become a Maester, you are allowed to read through any of these books, excepted for the books on the bottom level, in the restricted section.” The Maester stated with a slight smile on his face.

Sam then nervously stated, “Maester… The King of the North did request that try to find information about the White Walkers as well… To see if I would find a way to defeat them… or if I can find out how they were defeated before the Wall was built to keep them in the Lands of Always Winter… His Grace is very concerned about the reports he has received from the Wall…. The last I heard, he had sent his two oldest sons to investigate the reports that he had been receiving from the Nights Watch… And… and that they had not been heard from since they left… Which was almost two moon turns ago.”

“As I said, Samwell Tarly… There is no such thing as White Walkers and walking dead men… If we had any books on those subjects they would most likely be in the section of the library, only accessible to Maesters who have forged a chain.” Sam nodded and the old Maester continued, “Come along, I will take you to your chambers now…"

As he followed the older Maester through the halls he thought about everything that he needed to accomplish while at the Citadel, ‘Jon asked me to find anything at all about the last long night… How they were finally pushed back and how the Wall was actually constructed… Jon said that wights could be defeated with fire, Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass… He already knows that there is a Mountain of Dragonglass on Dragonstone… But he would like me to search to see if there are any other deposits in the North, or anywhere else in Westeros… I need to see if I can find the High Septon Maynard’s diary, so that it will be easier when he does arrive to declare who he really is… I need to see if I can find the secret to forging new Valyrian Steel… I need to see if I can find the plans that were used to build Winterfell’s Glass Gardens…’ Sam was pulled from his musings when the Old Maester spoke.

"This will be your chamber, Samwell Tarly… I would suggest you get a good night’s rest… You will report to Archmaester Ebrose’s study to begin your training at first light.”

“Yes Maester… thank you,” Sam replied with a smile. “Would it be okay if I send a Raven to Winterfell? I would like to inform his Grace that I have safely arrived.”

“Of course… You remember where the Rookery is located.” The Maester stated before he turned and took his leave.

Sam entered his new chambers. When he closed the door, he looked around the cozy room. There was a simple feather bed against one wall and a small writing table with a single lit candle against the other. He sat down at the table and quickly penned a letter to his new King, keeping it slightly vague in case it somehow fell into the wrong hands.

 

Your Grace,

After a long journey, I have safely arrived at the Citadel in Oldtown. Robb and Jon were both doing well when I last saw then… and Sarogon is going to be a force when he grows bigger… I will do my best to find out as much information as I can about the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead. Jon provided me with a list of task and I will send reports when I find answers. If you have any tasks for me, please let me know and I will do whatever I can to help.

Samwell Tarly

 

Sam sealed the scroll and rushed to the rookery to send the raven. After the raven flew, he returned to his assigned room and noticed that his belongs had been delivered. He quickly changed into his night closed and got into bed… His last thoughts before sleep took him were that he needed to find a way to be granted access to the restricted area of the library… He know that the answers to all of his tasks could be found in the one part of the library in which he did not have access…...

 


 

Petyr Baelish

It was a late afternoon in Kings Landing. Petyr Baelish was sipping on a glass of Arbor Gold and he was growing increasingly frustrated at the sight in front of him. He put his glass of wine down on the small wooden table next to him, stood up as he shook his head in disbelief before he huffed out a sigh and exclaimed, "No… No… No! You're doing it all wrong!"

The two whores on the purple velvet chaise quickly untangled from their embrace and look at him with surprised expressions. "What is wrong, milord?" The dark skinned whore asked as she panted for air.

He took a few steps towards the whores and slowly explained, "You are going to fast… You need to take your time… Go slower… Feel, the way your warm bodies mix and become one... Let her feel your breasts and nipples against your chest… your stomach...” He exhaled before he continued, “Your job is to make a man want to be here… To give him something he cannot receive anywhere else… If a man just wanted to be fucked, he would stay at home with his wife… You need to give him more… You need to make him feel desired… You need to make him feel as though he is the one bringing the pleasure to you."

The two women nodded in understanding and Petyr grabbed his glass of wine, downing the rest of it contents as sat back down in oversized armchair and called, “Again… But switch places… This time you be the man.” He added with a gesture of his hand.

He let out a sigh as they started over. ‘It looks like they listened to me,’ he thought as the light skinned whore slowly moved her hips as she straddled the dark skinned whore. Then when the whore playing the male released a true moan of pleasure, Littlefinger smiled. "That is it...” He encouraged, “Show him that he means the world to you... That no other that has made you feel like that before…"

As the moaning of his whores continued, he refilled his glass of Arbor Gold, and proceeded to drink down half the glass in one gulp. His mind was spinning, ‘Where the fuck is Lord Varys… No one has seen him in over a week… The Realm is on the brink of Rebellion… But before we can have a war for the Throne, I need to get rid of the damn dragons across the Narrow Sea… Why have my whores in Pentos been silent…’

His thoughts were disturbed when one of the whores called to him, "Lord Baelish... You seemed stressed... Is everything alright?"

Lord Baelish sighed as he took another sip from his half-empty glass of wine and calmly stated, “I am fine... I just have many things on my mind at this time..." He exhaled deeply as he looked at the glass of wine in his hand and thought, 'I am stressed because I have no clue what Varys is up to... What the Targaryens are doing... Where the fat King is... and none my employees can tell me a fucking thing!' He took a deep breath to try and calm his thoughts. 'The new Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister, should arrive any day... I will give him my idea of hiring the Faceless Men to put an end to House Targaryen for good... The Dragonspawns must die… And I need them gone before I can ever sit on the Throne… Then once I sit on the Throne, Catelyn will come back to me… I will find a way to kill that no good husband of hers… Then I will rule the Seven Kingdoms with my Cat as my Queen.'

His musings were interrupted when his loyal servant with blond hair entered the room and softly called, “Milord.”

"Yes, Oliver, what is it?" the Master of Coin asked as he moved his gaze from the two whores on the chaise and to his servant who was standing in the doorway.

"Lord Baelish... This raven scroll arrived from you... It came from one of your brothels in Essos," The young man stated as he him the message.

He gasped as he quickly stood up from his armchair and walked over towards his loyal servant. He took the scroll from the man’s hand and muttered, “Thank you, Oliver… Is there anything else?”

“No milord.”

“Then please return to your other tasks.”

“Yes, milord,” Oliver stated with a dip of his head before taking his leave.

He took a deep breath. As he looked at the two whores. "Ladies… That will be enough… Much better… Go wash up because you will both be working tonight.”

“Thank you, milord.” They both murmured as they stood up and took their leave.

Once he was alone, he sat back down in his velvet lined armchair, and took a deep breath as he broke the seal, opening the raven scroll.

 

Lord Baelish,

I am at your brothel in Pentos as requested and I am gathering any information I can about the Targaryen’s, as you asked. I have begun to hear disturbing reports… There has been rumors that Daenerys Targaryen has married a man with dark hair… but that he is calling himself Aegon Targaryen… It is noted that they have rejoined their Khalasar… And that when they did, she burned her brother, Viserys, alive and hatched five other Dragons… The people of Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons.

I have just received word that the Khalasar of over 100,000 Dothraki left the outskirts of Pentos this morning… However my client did not know where they were heading…  

One final concern… Just as I sat down to pen this letter, someone approached me. He kept his face hidden and spoke to me from the shadows, but his voice was high pitched… He told me if I continue to spy on the Targaryen’s, he will tell King Robert that you were responsible for the death of Jon Arryn… and how you wanted to start the war within Westeros… Between the Starks and the Crown… so you could take the Iron Throne for yourself… Therefore, I will not be joining the Khalasar as planned… This will be my last correspondence as I fear for my safety.

 

He read the message three times before he crumbled the parchment and threw it into the fire. He felt his anger rising and his mind was spinning at what he had just read. ‘Daenerys Targaryen... The Dragon whore and her mummer dragon husband have hatched a total of six dragons… Where the fuck did they even get six dragon eggs? They have six fucking Dragons as well as and army of 100,000 Dothraki screamers... I am going to have to eliminate this threat before I can continue with my plans to have Westeros fall into civil war… But I cannot allow Robert to send his armies to Essos… I need him to listen… We need to hire assassins to taken them out in their sleep… The Whore even killed her own brother for power!’ An involuntary shiver wracked his body as he thought about the Last Targaryen’s over seas. His thoughts continued as he thought about the rest of the correspondence, 'And who the Fuck knows that I was the one responsible for the death of Jon Arryn… That I wanted Westeros to fall into civil war…’ 

He took a deep breath as thousand of questions went through his mind. ‘The Dragon whore has been married for nearly a moon turn now… She must be carrying her husband's fucking dragonspawn by now... I have heard no news that she is pregnant... but I need to consider every possibility… I need to tell the others that I have heard rumors she is with child… Robert will be furious and will do anything to stop them from crossing the Narrow Sea… They must be stopped before those Dragons are large enough to cause damage… Even as hatchlings… If they return to Westeros with six dragons, I will never sit on that fucking throne.’ 

He took another deep breath to try and calm his anxiety and to stop his quivering hands. ‘I need more information... Where in the Seven Hells are you Lord Varys? I need to know what your little birds have heard! Renly… I need to go see Renly… Maybe he has heard other news… Maybe he knows where Varys is hiding.’ 

He quickly donned his black and purple velvet cloak, left his brothel and headed towards Lord Renly’s chambers within the Red Keep. When he arrived outside of the ornate wooden door, he knocked three times. He heard fumbling and whispering. ‘Ah… Renly must be in the company of Ser Loras,’ Petyr mused before Renly opened the door. 

“Lord Renly… I apologize if I am disturbing you… However, this news could not wait.” Petyr said with a knowing smirk as he entered the room without being granted entry. 

The King’s brother smiled at him, “Lord Baelish… I must say that I am surprised to see you at this hour… Considering the Small Counsel meeting adjourned hours ago and you were not present… How is it that I may help you, My Lord?”

"My Lord... I was wondering if you happened to have seen Lord Varys? I have not seen him for over a sennight… I have received some troubling news from one of my whores in Pentos and I was wondering if he has received any similar reports…”

King Robert’s Master of Laws smiled as he stated, "Lord Varys said that he had matters he to attend to and that he will return within a fortnight…” His smile then dropped slightly as he asked, “So… What news have you received?” 

“It is about the Targaryen’s, my Lord.” 

However, before he could continue, Lord Renly sighed and stated, "Lord Baelish, we have been over this... I do not see the Targaryen’s as a threat to us at this time… I cannot do anything about it… We must wait for my brother and his new Hand to arrive in the Capital…” 

He took a deep breath as he then looked deep into the master of Laws eyes as he spoke, “My Lord… You must understand that there is more… When we received the news of the Targaryen’s in Pentos… That they had hatched a dragon… I sent one of my loyal whores to one of my brothel’s in Pentos… She sent me a message today that the rumors of the dragon are true… That the mummer has in fact taken control of a Dothraki Khalasar of 100,000 screamers and has married Daenerys… Also that she had killed her brother and hatched five more dragons…” He paused briefly when Renly let out a gasp, and a smirk spread across his face when he added, “Finally, I have learned that the dragon whore is pregnant with the mummers child.”

"Five Dragons... She hatched five Dragons? You are telling me they have control of six dragons!” Renly whispered in disbelief.

He sighs and nods. "Lord Renly... I am not sure how she hatched them… But I know that her brother is dead… And the Targaryen’s have six dragons… I know that you alone cannot make any decisions… However, I feel it would be in the best interest of the Realm if we informed your brother, the King and his Hand, Lord Tywin… I know they are traveling to King’s Landing… But if we give them this news they will make haste and get here sooner… We need to take care of this threat as soon as possible." 

He could tell Lord Renly was in a state of shock. His face paled as he sat down at his table and poured a glass of wine. He took a long sip and when Petyr met his gaze he muttered, "I will send ravens to the King and Lord Tywin... As well my brother, Stannis… Although, I sure he has set sail for the Capital by now…” He then took another sip of wine before he sighed and added, “I fear you are right, Lord Baelish... The Targaryens are a threat... Six Dragons… Seven Hells... If they actually grew into size. It will be all over for us… We need to stop them before they cross the Narrow Sea.” 

The Master of Coin smiled, "That is true Lord Renly... It is best to let King Robert know... As well the Hand of the King... They do know the best way of how to handle Targaryens… I also believe that you should add that the dragon whore is pregnant…” ‘My plan is working… Robert will do everything possible to dispose of the Dragonspawns… Then I can think of a new way to get the Kingdoms to chaos… And the Throne will be mine…’

"Did your whore spy confirm that she is in fact with child?” Renly asked with a furrowed brow.

He shook his head and sighed, "No, she did not Lord Renly...  However, I feel it is a safe assumption considering they have been married for nearly a full moon turn… They probably consummated the marriage in their wedding night…if not before… She must be growing Aegon Targaryen’s child in her womb...." 

He saw the Master of Laws nod in understanding. "Your right Lord Baelish... There is a good chance she is pregnant… And even if she is not, it is only a matter of time before she is…  And when she does give birth to a babe… It will just be another threat to my brother’s throne… If we do nothing and that child is able to be born… If it’s parents are killed after it’s birth… That child will seek revenge… I will inform my brother that she is also pregnant... As well as Lord Tywin." 

Lord Baelish smirk in satisfaction as he said, “Good... It is time to end House Targaryen… It is time to put their threat to us to rest once and for all." 

A small smile was on The Master of Laws lips as he nodded and stated firmly, "It is… It is time to put an end to the last Targaryen’s… Thank you for notifying me of your findings, Lord Baelish." The Master of Laws then stood up and walked over to his writing desk and began to pen letters.

“If you do not mind, My Lord… I am going to take my leave… I have other matters to attend to at this time.”

“Of course… Again… Thank you, Lord Baelish.” Lord Renly stated as he looked up from his parchment. 

Lord Baelish then took his leave, closing the door behind him. As he walked down the halls of the Red Keep he chuckled as he thought, ‘Soon the Dragons will fall… They will be extinct once more… And I will arise in the Great Game of Thrones… Chaos is a Ladder that I create… And I will end up on top with Catelyn Tully by my side…’

 


 

Edmure Tully

 

It was early evening and the sun was beginning to hanging low in the sky as the grey stone castle of Winterfell came into view for Edmure Tully. He looked up at the star-filled sky and noticed the red comet shining was again shining brightly overhead. 'That comet is so odd... It had begun to fade, but two days ago began to shine even brighter than before... With five bright red pulses before to fades to a pale blue... I wonder what in the seven hells that comet means?,' he thought to himself. He then sighed and turned his head and made sure that his four House Tully Guards, Delp, Elwood, Enger and Poul, had the banner of House Tully, the leaping silver trout on a field of blue and mud red, proudly on display. When he saw that they did, he gave his destrier a swift kick, to hasten his pace as they approached the outer castle walls. 

As they reached the gate, he noticed the wood and steel entry door to the courtyard was closed and there were at least six guards stationed atop the battlements. ‘This is odd... I wonder why the gates are closed when Cat knows that I am coming... maybe she did not receive my raven... There also seems to be an increase in guards... There did not appear to be any evidence of trouble along the road...’ Edmure mused.

The heir to the Riverlands’ thoughts were disturbed when one of the guards atop the battlement looked down at him and called, "Who goes there?"

He smiled as he hollered in a proud formal tone, "I am Edmure of House Tully! Heir to Riverrun and the Riverlands... and brother of Catelyn Tully Stark, The Queen in the North!"

“The Queen told us that she is expecting you,” the same guard called to him before turning his head and yelling, "Tomard… Let the Queen know her brother has arrived… Wayn, Lew, Open the gates!"

A few moments later, Edmure heard the sounds of chains clanking as the gates slowing began to rise. Once the gate had fully opened, the Heir to Riverrun and his guards were ushered into the courtyard and were promptly guided to the stables to hand the reigns of their horses to the stable boys.

‘Gods it feels good to be off that horse,’ Edmure though as he stretched his aching muscles after handing the reigns of his house to the waiting stable boy. Three Stark Household Guards then led them back to the center of Winterfell’s courtyard. As soon as they entered the courtyard, he saw his sister, ‘The Queen of the North,’ quickly making her way down a set of wooden steps. He made his way towards that stairwell to greet her.

"Edmure... Brother!'" She exclaimed happily, as he embraced her in his arms. “It is so nice for you to finally come and visit… I haven’t seen you since I left Riverrun with Robb after the Rebellion.”

“Gods Cat… Pardon me… Your Grace… I have missed you, sister,” He chuckled, before breaking their embrace to look her in the eyes. He then sighed and admitted, “You are right. I should have come to visit sooner. It is truly an honor to see that you safe and healthy..."

"How was your ride from Riverrun to Winterfell?" his sister inquired with a smile.

"We rode with haste… Therefore, I cannot really say that it was enjoyable… But I needed to get here as fast as I could…” Edmure answered with a smile before he lowered his voice so that only his sister could hear his next words, “Father told me ride hard… He wants answers, Cat… and he did not trust a raven, especially with King Robert’s party riding through the Riverlands as they return to King’s Landing.” 

When he looked at his sister’s face he could tell that her smile was forced as she softly and pointedly stated, "We… will discuss everything on the morrow, after you have had a chance to rest… Such matters must be discussed in private… I promise I will tell you everything.” She then looked between him and his guards, and formally announced, “The hospitality of Winterfell is yours during your stay. We have had chambers prepared for you and your guards, and please let us know if you have need of anything… Come let us all head to the Great Hall. You will be offered bread and salt at the door and supper has been prepared.”

He chuckled at his sister’s formality but inside he was thinking, ‘What is so secret that she wants to discuss what has happened in private… And why is she be offering bread and salt of guest rights to me and loyal guards to her own family… Maybe it is a Northern thing... And where are my nieces and nephews… I thought that they would have joined their mother in receiving me,’ He thought as he held out his arm, which she took with a smile as she began to lead him to the Great Hall.

As they walked, he smiled at his oldest sister. "Thank you, Cat... It is very kind of you to invite us all to dine in the Great Hall this evening... Although, I would have loved to meet my nieces and nephews and share my evening meal with the family.”

"Well, Edmure, you will happy to know, that Sansa, Arya, and Rickon are already in the Great Hall, looking forward to dining with the Uncle that they have heard so much about, but never had to opportunity to meet." Catelyn stated with a smile has he felt her tighten her grip on his arm.

"Where is Bran? Is he indisposed this evening?" He inquired with a furrowed brow as they continued their slow pace. 

He watched as her smiled morphed into a frown. She then she sighed and stated, "Bran has been sent to Greywater Watch... Ned has decided it would be safer for him to foster with Howland Reed and his family… and he is getting to know his betrothed, I suppose." 

He gasped. 'Why would Ned send his son to be fostered at Greywater Watch? I was actually going to ask if he wanted to become my squire because I have heard he dreams of becoming a knight or a member of the Kingsguard…Wait, did Cat just say betrothed?' "His betrothed? Is he not a little young to be betrothed?" Edmure finally asked.

He saw his sister sigh and nod as she answered, "I agree he is a bit young… Nevertheless, Ned feels it is a good and proper match for him… Therefore, we have agreed to the betrothal between Bran and Howland Reed’s daughter, Meera… It will still be years before they are wed… considering Bran is only a boy of ten." 

He nodded in understanding, but before he could say anything, his sister continued. "Edmure... Has Father decided on a betrothal for you?" 

He shook his head and chuckled, "No... Not yet... He is still looking for the perfect wife for me… I just pray that he does not finally give into Walder Frey! The old power hungry weasel has been asking Father for years to agree to a betrothal between me and one of his may daughters or granddaughters… He has offered a hefty dowry if I wed one of his horde… He even told Father I could marry one and take others as lovers..."

At the mention of Walder Frey, he saw a scowl on his sister’s face, before she seethed, “I assure you… I will make sure that Father never agrees to any marriage between you and one of those back stabbing Frey’s… If he needs help finding a proper match for you… I am sure that Ned will be happy to help facilitate a beneficial union.” 

“I would love to see if he can to a better job than Father!” He replied with a chuckle, “Maybe we can discuss what he thinks over a horn of ale or glass of wine this evening.”

“I sure that he would love that as well… Unfortunately, my husband is not currently in Winterfell...” She paused when she noticed the perplexed look he had on his face, so she continued, “Ned is currently traveling to Castle Black… And plans to investigate the disturbing reports we have received about things North of the Wall… He is also hoping to find Robb and J... His bastard who have gone missing beyond the Wall." 

He gave her a sad smile as he nodded and said, "That is a shame... I was looking forward to spending time with and getting to know your Lord Husband... You have been married for almost twenty years and I have yet to have an actual conversation with him." 

“I am sure he would love to speak with you as well... However, this mission beyond the Wall is of upmost importance... lives are at stake...” she answered softly as she patted his hand.

‘Dear gods how have I been so insensitive... He child is lost beyond the Wall.’ He gave his sister a sad smile as he took her hand from his arm and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles, looked her in the eyes and said, "Cat... I am sorry... For what has happened to Robb... I cannot imagine what it feels like to have a child missing... I cannot say the same about the bastard though..." He was surprised that she winced slightly when he mention the bastard, ‘Gods Eddard Stark… I know that she loves you… However, I am not sure that I will ever be able to forgive the shame that you brought upon my sister by bringing that bastard into your home and treating him just like one of your trueborn children… Even after more than eighteen years the thought of that boy still brings her pain...’

“It is fine, Edmure... Really... I know in my heart that the boys... Robb and the Bastard… are both safe.”

It was then that he noticed they had reached the Great Hall of Winterfell. As the two guards opened the doors, they bowed their heads in respect of his sister, their Queen. Once they entered, they were all provided with bread and salt as a sign of guest rights. 

His sister then looked at him and whispered, "Edmure... If you do not mind, would it be okay if your guards dine with the Stark guards this tonight? ... I would like for you to dine with me and the children this evening..." 

He nodded at his sister before he turned to his guards and said, "Delp, Elwood, Enger, Poul... Would the four of you mind to dine with the Stark Guards this evening? I have some catching up to do with my sister...”

“Not, at all, My Lord,” Delp answered with a bow of his head before he lead his men to the other side of the Great Hall.

Catelyn then led him towards one of the tables on the far right side of the room, which had a young auburn haired boy, two young women, one with beautiful long red hair and the other with dark brown hair, and a young man with shorter brown hair. All four at the table we smiling and laughing as they ate their dinner. 

When they reached the table, his sister called to the children and young man, “Children!” At once all four sets of eyes were on her she continued, “I would like to introduce you all to my little brother, Edmure.”

All of the children were polite and said, “Hello.” Edmure then sat on the bench between the two girls, while his sister went to sit down next to the young auburn haired boy.

“Let me guess,” Edmure said kindly as he looked at the young girl with red hair, “you must be my niece, Princess Sansa!” 

A light pink blush crept up her neck and she nodded and politely murmured, “Yes... It is a pleasure to meet you Uncle Edmure... Mother has been excited about your visit... and she has told us many lovely stories about growing up with you in Riverrun.”

“I’m Arya... Please... You do not need to call me Princess... Arya alone will do just fine,” the young dark haired girl to his right, stated as she offered her hand.

The heir to The Riverlands shook her hand and smiled as he replied, “It is an honor to meet you, Arya.” He then turned to his other niece and with the smile still spread across his face added, “And I am delighted to meet you as well, Princess Sansa.”

“Edmure,” Catelyn call softly. He turned to look at his sister and saw that she was smoothing the unruly curls of the young boy who was sitting in her lap, “This is my youngest son, Rickon.”

"Rickon... I am happy to meet you my young prince... Look at you... You look strong...” As he said this, he saw a proud smile forming on the young boy’s face, “I bet that you will soon grow up to be a strong warrior!" 

Rickon wordlessly nodded in response before turning his attention back to his plate of food.

He then filled his plate with a serving of kidney pie and potatoes as one of the kitchen maids filled his goblet with red wine. He had just placed a spoonful of the savory pie in in mouth when he caught Sansa’s curious glare.

"Uncle Edmure... I am glad that you had a safe journey... How is Riverrun?" 

He washed down the mouthful of food with a sip of red wine before he smiled and responded, "It is stunning Sansa... The lands surrounding the castle are lush and green... While the castle is not the size of Winterfell, it is beautiful, with sandstone walls that rise straight out of the water... You should come and visit sometime… I know that your grandfather would love to meet all of you."

“I think I would like that Uncle Edmure… I love pretty things,” Sansa stated with a smile. However, her smile dropped slightly as she continued, “If I may ask... Why are you here? I mean... You have never come to visit us before… So why now?” 

He was a bit taken aback by Sansa’s question. He looked over at his sister, who was now holding a sleepy Rickon in her lap, and notice she appeared slightly surprised be her daughter’s question as well, but she gave he a slight incline of her head, so he look at his nieces and answered honestly. "I am here... Because your grandfather sent me... He wants to know that truth about what transpired between the two of you and the Crown Prince... He wants the real answer as to why King Robert granted the North the independence… What crime Prince Joffrey committed... And he wants to know if House Tully should still follow the rule of King Robert Baratheon and Lannister’s or should we show our loyalty to the Starks and declare your father as King of the Riverlands...” He then looked at his sister, who was smoothing Rickon’s unruly auburn locks and said, “I must say Cat... The North being declared independent was a shock to us all..." 

He was surprised with a small smile spread across his sister’s face and she nodded her head and softly said, "Yes, it was... but it was necessary." 

He was confused by what she meant by 'Necessary?' He was about to ask but his sister Cat shot him a glare to stay quiet. He exhaled and nodded, ‘I guess I will have my answers tomorrow,’ he thought before his sister continued.

“Edmure... I apologize, I know that you have just arrived, but I am afraid that I need to take Rickon to bed... I will see you in the morning... I will talk to you, privately, after we have broken our fast.”

“Of course, good night, dear sister.” Edmure then pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead and she took her leave, carrying a near sleeping Rickon in her arms, with two Stark guards trailing her closely from behind.

After his sister, the Queen of the North, took her leave he turned his attention back to his meal and listened to stories his nieces told about mischief they had gotten into over the years. He found it odd that the young man at the end of the table did not share in any of the stories and seemed to be listening intently as if it were the first time he had heard the stories himself. Edmure then shared stories about growing up in Riverrun with their mother, Aunt Lysa and Petyr Baelish. He found it odd when the winced slightly when he brought of Petyr and his other sister.

He soon noticed that the hall was clear of everyone except the four people seated at the table with him and several Stark Guards that he assumed were assigned to protect his nieces. He then noticed a shorter man with a mane of tight wild black curls, observing the table closely. He had noticed the man earlier, when Catelyn was there, but he was feeling a bit unnerved that he still was watching them so closely, ‘Who is this man? He is not in Stark uniform… Actually, he does not have any sigil on his clothes… Has he been watching them all night? He does not appear to be a threat because others have been talking to him… But who is he and why is he here? Maybe the girls will know…’ So he cleared his throat, looked at his eldest niece and asked, "Sansa... Who is that man, with the dark curly hair and dark eyes, standing against the wall? He has been watching us all evening…"

The Princess turned her head and he noticed a smile on her face as she waved at the man, who tipped his head in response. She then looked back towards him and smiled, "Uncle that is Master Syrio Forel… He is teaching us how to Water Dance."

He was shocked and nearly choked on his sip of wine. "I am surprised... That your mother has allowed the two of you... Young ladies… pardon me, Princesses, to learn that art of the Water Dance… That is a type of Braavosi Swordplay."

When he saw the grimace on Sansa face he could not believe how much she looked just like he remember Cat when he was a young boy and Arya’s laughter echoed throughout the room.

“Uncle… Mother and Rickon have even been joining in some of our lessons as well… Mother and Father both believe that it is important that we know how to defend ourselves.” His Tully looking niece replied.

However, before he could respond, his Stark featured niece snorted, "Uncle Edmure... I am not a lady and I will not be a normal princess!"

He chuckled along with her as he asked, "So, then tell me, my dear princess Arya... If you are not a Lady or a normal princess... What are you going to be?"

Her smile was so big that that it caused everyone else to smile as well as she proudly stated, "I am going to be a Warrior princess... I want to be like Visenya Targaryen... And maybe one day I can be a knight or a soldier in Father’s army or serve as part of the Kingsguard."

"Visenya?" He then chuckled as he smiled and took a sip of his wine. "Your mother sent a raven to me once… She said that she had caught you and your bastard brother, hiding in the library, surrounded in books about the Targaryen’s of…”

"Jon is not a bastard!" Arya angrily interjected.

Edmure was surprised, ‘Gods Cat… have you not explained to this girl what a bastard is?’ He sighed and explained, "Your half-brother was born when your father went to war... He was not married to the women who birthed him from her stomach… Therefore, he is not a trueborn son… He is a bastard." He saw his nieces sigh clearly they wanted to say more but something was holding them back, so he inquired, "Is there something you what to say... Something I should know about your bastard brother?" 

Arya looked towards Sansa and she sighed and stated, "There is... and Mother will tell you everything in the morning... Just please… Jon is good and he would never hurt us… He would do anything to keep us safe… Please, do not call him a bastard… His name is Jon." 

He nodded as he then took another sip of his wine. ‘Why in the seven hells would the girls be defending their bastard brother… How can they not see how shameful it is to their Mother that their Father brought him here, and raised him alongside his trueborn children?’ He then met the gaze of the Water Dancer instructor and smiled, "Master Syrio... Please, come have a seat… You have been standing there all evening.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” He responded with a slight bow of his head before taking the seat that his sister had earlier vacated.

Once he was seated, Edmure inquired, “My nieces tell me that you are teaching them, as well as their little brother and the Queen the art of the Water Dance… Is this true?”

“It is my lord." The man replied calmly with a foreign accent.

"I heard the Water Dancing is a form of Swordplay common in Braavos... Is that true?"

The dancing instructor nodded and in his heavily accented voice stated, "It is, My Lord… I actually served at the First Sword of Braavos for nine years before I relocated to King’s Landing."

“So what brought you to Winterfell from King’s Landing? And why are you keeping such a close eye on my nieces?”

However, before the Braavosi man could answer, he heard a loud clap of thunder and the sounds of paws scraping against the stone floor as two large dogs came rushing into the Great Hall and interrupted the conversation. Edmure did not take his eyes off the dogs as made their way towards the table they were sitting at, ‘Seven Hells! Those are some of the largest dogs I have ever seen!’

"It is okay, Nymeria!" Arya exclaimed as she quickly stood up from the bench and made her way over to one of the dogs. He watched has she tenderly stroked the fur and he gasped when he realized it was not a dog.

"What kind of animal is that?" Edmure asked to no one in particular.

He saw the smirk on his niece Arya's face as she looked at him and proudly said, "This is my Direwolf... I named her Nymeria..." 

He gasped as he heard this 'A Direwolf ... There has been no Direwolves south of the Wall for years.’ He looked at his other niece, Sansa, and noticed she was lovingly stroking the fur of the other Direwolf. He then mumbled in shock, "So Sansa... I take it that this is your Direwolf?"

She smiled prettily and nodded, "Yes... I named her Lady… She is a proper wolf, just like I am a proper lady." 

Edmure nodded as he looked at the two Direwolves in awe. ‘I heard rumors on my way North that they girls each had a Direwolf... and that they protected them from Crown Prince Joffrey... I never would have guessed that these rumors were true... I also heard rumors that all the Stark children had Direwolves... Surely that cannot be true... can it?’ So he swallowed hard and asked, "Arya and Sansa ... I am guessing only the two of you have Direwolves?" 

His nieces both chuckled as they both petted their wolves. Finally Sansa spoke, "No… There are six... Robb and Jon found then surrounding their mother in the Wolfswood... Their mother was dead from injuries received by a stag... So they asked Father if each of his children keep one... That there were six pups and he had six children... Jon told Father it was a sign that we were meant to have them... I am so happy that Father agreed...”

“Well… Where are the others? What do they look like?” Edmure pressed for more information still in awe that the rumors were true.

Arya was the one how proudly answered his question, “Rickon has a solid black direwolf with bright green eyes... Named Shaggydog… We call him Shaggy for short... He is probably in bed with Rickon... Bran’s direwolf, Summer, has silvery grey fur and yellow eyes… He went with him to Greywater Watch… Robb’s wolf went with him on his quest... I believe that he is smoky grey with yellow eyes as well..." 

He was surprised by this. "You believe?" 

He saw the two of them the nod before Arya continued, "Aye, we believe so... My father told us our brother Robb has a grey Direwolf named Grey Wind... As for our brother, Jon... He claimed the runt of the Direwolf litter... he named him Ghost because he did not make any noise when they found them... Father told us he was the most beautiful of the pups, even though he was the smallest... Father said the pup’s fur was as white as freshly fallen snow and eyes as red as the leaves on a weir wood tree..." 

“Your Father told you what their wolves looked like... You have not seen them?” Edmure asked with a furrowed brow.

Sansa nodded in confirmation then stated, "That is right... Robb and Jon have not been home since they found the Direwolves... They left straight away to go on their quest...” she paused for a moment before adding, “To go beyond the Wall to investigate for Father." 

He then nodded in understanding. He then looked at the Water Dancer who chuckled at his reaction of the Direwolves. "I am sorry, Master Syrio... The Direwolf pups startled me... I believe I ask you why it is that you relocated to Winterfell from King’s Landing?"

He saw the Water Dancer smiled as he took a deep breath and said, "I relocated to Winterfell at because my presence was requested to teach them to protect themselves… And I am glad that I did… The North smells much better than King’s Landing and the Starks have been very welcoming… The girls and young Rickon are quickly becoming like family to me.”

‘Why would Ned request his presence… Why do they need to learn to protect themselves? From whom do they need to protect themselves? They apparently have several guards… Did something happen?’ Edmure thought before he decided to ask, "So tell me Master Syrio... Why do you keep your eyes on them?" 

Syrio smiled, "I see that you are a man who wants to ensure that his family is safe and protected… As well as I… Have quickly come to care for these children as my own family… I made a vow to their mother to protect them with my life after… after the incident the other day… and I intend to keep my word…" 

The Heir of the Riverlands found himself confused by this, 'Protect them? ... Protect them from what or from whom? They are at home... Incident yesterday… Seven Hells something did happen! That must be why the security seemed to be doubled and the gates locked?' He then took a deep breath as he took another sip from his wine to try to calm his nerves before he asked, "If I may ask... Master Syrio... Protect them from whom?"

The Water Dancing Instructor took a deep breath as he readied himself to answer, however, Edmure’s attention was drawn to his youngest niece as she seethed, “Master Syrio is protecting us from that Southern Bitch... Queen Cersei Lannister and her idiot bastard son, Prince Joffrey!” 

Edmure was flabbergasted… He could not believe that Cersei was threatening his nieces and he could not believe the language of his youngest niece.

“Arya!” Sansa cried. “A lady does not use such language!”

“What did you mean by that?” Edmure demanded, as he looked Arya. When she put her hand over her mouth and shook her head he looked at Sansa and inquired, “Why would Queen Cersei want to harm the two of you?" He saw his two nieces kept their mouths quiet and shook their heads, clearly not wanting to tell him what happened. When he sighed, he heard the quiet voice to the former First Sword of Braavos.

"The Southern Queen... Sent some Assassins here to attack the princesses... The men were nothing but common thieves… However… If it were not for Theon Greyjoy ... Your nieces would have been brutally murdered in their own bedchambers... I also fear the men would have forced themselves on the princesses…"

He chose as he heard this he was also angry of the Queen Cersei. 'Fuck ... Why didn't Catelyn tell me this the moment I walked through the gates of Winterfell? This does not make any sense… How did I not hear gossip of this on the journey North?' He looked at his two nieces as he and with a look of concern asked, "Did… Did the Assassins hurt either you?"

Both girls shook their head and Sansa quietly stated, "No... They did not touch us... But it could have been very different if Theon was not there to save us."

He released a breath he was not aware he was holding. ‘Theon Greyjoy… Ned’s ward that he has had since the Greyjoy Rebellion? This young man at the end of the table must be Theon… I would like to ask him a few questions of the assassination attempt.’ He took a deep breath as he looked at the young dark haired man and stated, “Lord Theon, I will forever be grateful that you were there to protect my nieces from the assassins...”

Edmure noticed the look of shock as the young man’s eyes went wide as he stuttered, “I… I am sorry, milord… I am not Lord Theon… I’m Gendry… one of the blacksmiths…”

‘Why is the blacksmith eating his dinner with his Lord’s family? And why does Ned need a second blacksmith? And from his accent he is not Northern either…’ He took a deep breath and stated, “Forgive me… Gendry… I was not aware that Ned hired a second blacksmith… How is it that you came to be in the service of Winterfell?”

“Jon Snow learned that I knew how to work with Valyrian Steel… And sent word to me that his father would hire me to reforge his Valyrian Steel Great Sword, Ice… Into two Long Swords… He also said that they would give me a place to stay and feed me warm meals… After living my whole life in the shit-filled streets of Flea Bottom, I jumped at the opportunity. And I am so glad that I did… This is much better than King’s Landing… The King and Queen are good peoples and I am happy here.”

Edmure gasped in disbelief, ‘How would the bastard know that this young man could work with Valyrian Steel… Why would Ned hire a boy just because his bastard told him to?’ However, he decided to ask a more important question. “Why would Ned… The King, have you re-forge the ancestral sword of House Stark into two swords?”

“I… I do not know milord… I just know that his Grace wanted one for him and one for his brother… Benjen… Stated that Valyrian Steel would keep him safe from the dangers beyond the Wall…”

He nodded his head at the blacksmith and could tell that the boy was relieved. He then looked back toward the Water Dancing Master and asked, “Master Syrio... Where is Theon now? Is he in his chambers? I would like to know more about the attack and I would like to give him my thanks for protecting my…"

Before he could finish speaking Sansa interjected, "Theon left..."

He gasped and turned his attention back to his niece, "He left? Why would you let him leave when it is clearly unsafe in Winterfell?"

Sansa sighed then stated, "He left at our mother’s orders... She wanted Theon to find Father and him what happened…” She then paused for a moment before gritting out, “To tell Father that Queen Cersei sent the assassins to kill us in our home… That Cersei will seek revenge… She blames us for her horrible bastard son Joffrey losing The North... One of the Kingdoms she believes is rightfully his..."

When he saw the tears beginning to stream down her face, he quickly stood up, embraced her, and whispered, "It is fine Sansa... Please tell me... My dear, why are you crying?"

He pulled away and looked at her and she continued in a steely tone, "I fear that the Lannister’s will soon range war against us... And it will be all my fault because I did not agree to marry the Prince… and because I did not let him rape me… If I would have just been quiet and let him take me, Cersei would not be trying to kill us…"

Edmure wiped her tears away with the tips of his fingers, before hugging her tighter, “Sansa... Dear gods… Are you telling me the Crown Prince tried to rape you?” However, she began to cry harder and that was when Arya answered his question.

“I was there Uncle Edmure… He tried to force himself on Sansa because if she were no longer pure, Father would never find a proper match for her… Then when we were leaving, he tried to strike me with his sword… Luckily, Nymeria bit his arm and caused him to drop his sword… If my direwolf had not have come I would be dead.”

He was in shock for several seconds as he pulled Arya into the embrace as well. He then vowed, “I promise you... If the Crown does declare war on the North, House Tully and the Riverlands will stand behind House Stark and the North… And I am sure that House Arryn and the whole of the Vale will support The North as well."

“House Arryn is not loyal to us... With Aunt Lysa as the protector of the Vale until Robin becomes of age... The Vale will not support us… Lysa is only out for her own benefit." Arya stated flatly.

He gasped as he heard this, "What do you mean Arya? Of course, she will support the North... She knows our House words ... Family, Duty, Honor..."

"Uncle Edmure… We have already said more than we should have… Mother will explain everything to you tomorrow.” Sansa stated as she pulled away from his embrace.

He nodded in understanding. "It is fine girls... Hey, it has been a long night… I think that the two of you should retire for the evening… Master Syrio and I will escort you both to your chambers and then can speak more tomorrow… I would love to see you practicing your Water Dancing…"

The two girls nodded and stood up from the bench. The girls then took his hands as they started to walk through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell with Master Syrio and the two Direwolves following closely behind. 

Once each of his nieces was safely in their bedchambers with their Direwolf and each had guards posted at the door and at the end of the hallway, he thought to himself, 'Gods ... I am going to have to stay here for a while... I need to make sure that my family will be safe.' 

He then realized he did not know where he would be staying. He did not know where is sister’s chambers were either, so smiled at Syrio and asked, "I don't suppose you know where my chambers happen to be... Do you?"

The Water Dancing Master chuckled as he said, "I do actually... Your sister... I mean the Queen, showed me which chambers have been prepared for you... So that I would be able to show you if she happened to retire for the night before you did..."

"Then show the way, Master Syrio," he stated with a smile.

Syrio nodded, “Right this way, My Lord.”

As they walk towards his assigned chambers, he looked at the Dancing Master, took a deep breath and asked a question that had been on his mind, "So Master Syrio. Tell me, how did you come to serve my sister and her husband... The King in the North?" 

A wide smile appeared on the face of the Water Dancer as they continued walking to his chambers. "I came to serve the King and Queen of the North when the King’s son, Jon Snow, sent me a raven... Requesting that I travel to Winterfell, in order to train the Stark children the art of Water Dancing... So that they will be able to defend themselves when the night becomes long and dark." 

"I am surprised Master Syrio... That you... How would I say... You think that the King’s bastard son was the man who sent you that raven." 

"What I have heard, the man who you call bastard... Is a great young man who care deeply for the safety of his family... I have heard that he is the most honorable Stark of the King in the North's children." 

Edmure laughed aloud, "Jon Snow... Is no Stark... He is a bastard whose whole existence does nothing but dishonor my sister and our family! I am surprised that my sister has tolerated his existence in Winterfell long enough... If that boy has any honor at all he will stay at the Wall and take his Nights Watch vows!" 

He then heard the water dancer sigh before he inquired, "My Lord, I do not understand... You Northerners or Southerners when it comes to children born outside of wedlock... I understand you feel that his living is a dishonor to your family... How the Honorable Ned Stark betrayed his wife by bedding another woman... and then brought the son he sired upon her into his home... Yes, he is what you Westerosi call a bastard... However, let me ask you this, My Lord... Did Jon Snow choose to be born? No, he did not... He was born into this world without choosing if he lives or dies.  He did not choose to be born a bastard... He was forced to be one." 

He was quiet as he pondered what the Water Dancer had said. ‘I never thought about it that way... Maybe I am being too harsh on the Bastard without actually meeting him... The children seem to care about him and even refuse to address him as anything besides brother... But the Septa always told us that bastards always scheme to take away what the trueborn children are set to inherit... How can we know that he will not one day turn on his siblings?’

Master Syrio then stopped walking and continued his speech, "The man who you call bastard... Is the one person who is trying to make sure that your family knows how to defend themselves..." 

He was quiet but understood that the Water Dancer did had a point. 

“This is your chambers, My Lord,” Syrio stated as he gestured towards the door they had stopped in front of, “I will bid you a good night.” The Former First Sword of Braavos then bowed and took his leave.

The heir of the Riverlands then pushed open the door and entered his chambers. As he closed the door behind him he sighed as he thought about how he now had more questions than answers to report to his Father. ‘Gods I hope that Catelyn is able to answer some of these questions on the morrow,’ he thought as he stripped off his dirty riding clothes. Then then bathed, before climbing under the furs of his bed and feel into a deep dreamless sleep...... 

 


 

Theon Greyjoy

 

Theon had been riding fast and hard up the King’s Road, through the Wolfswood for the last two days. The late summer sun was setting and the temperature was dropping quickly however, the red comet was still shining brightly overhead, just as it had for the last two days. He prayed he would find the King of the North’s traveling party soon, so he did not have another cold night camping alone in the woods. Then, in the distance, he saw some pale grey smoke rising into the early evening sky. He sighed and mumbled aloud to himself, “Please let this be King Eddard and his traveling party... Please don’t let this be just another group of random hunters like the last three campsites I passed.”

He yanked the reigns and kicked his heels into the side of his steed, willing his tired horse to gallop even harder and faster towards the smoke. His horse complied with his demands and it only took him a few minutes to arrive at his forth campsite in the last two days. When he saw the Stark banners flying he sighed in relief as he climbed from his horse, tacked it to a nearby tree and ran towards the roaring campfire and yelled, "King Eddard! King Eddard!" 

Theon noticed the look of surprise on the faces of the four members of the Stark Household Guard, Lord Tyrion, Benjen Stark, and The King in the North. When he reached the campfire, his adrenaline was pumping through his veins and he called again, “Your Grace!”

The ward from the Iron Islands could tell that The King of the North was confused by his sudden appearance. The King stood up from his long and walked towards him with a tentative smile on his face. as he stood up and walked over towards him. He smiled as the smiled was returned. 

He gave the King in the North an embrace as he quietly exclaimed, “Seven hells, your Grace... I am so glad that I finally found you!”

"Theon... Son... What are you doing here?" The King asked with a furrowed brow as he pulled away from the embrace.

He looked his King in the eyes and replied, "Your Grace... I am sorry to disturb your journey... but you have to know what happened!”

“What happened? Is everything okay at home? Are the girls... Rickon... are they safe?” The King inquired with a slight look of panic in his eyes.

“Your Grace... I have disturbing news!” Theon then noticed the penetrating stares from the King’s traveling companions. So he looked his King in the eyes and quietly stated, “Your Grace, I think would be wise if we speak about what happened in private."

Theon saw the perplexed look on his King’s face, however he nodded in understanding before he turned his head smiled towards his brother and Hand and firmly stated, "If you would excuse me... Benjen... Lord Tyrion... I have something that I need to discuss with Lord Theon in private." 

Both men nodded their heads in understanding and the Imp added, “Of course, your Grace... I believe Jory said it will be just a little while longer until the rabbits are done... I will ensure there is enough saved for both of you if you do not return by the time they are ready.”

“I thank you, my Lord Hand,” The King responded before turning his gaze back towards Theon. Then he put a firm hand on the young man’s shoulder and said, “Come on son... Let’s go and take a walk... okay?” 

Theon wordlessly nodded.

The King then then lit a torch and Theon followed him away from the camp and deeper into the surrounding woods. Both men we quiet for several minutes; neither speaking until they reached the shores of Long Lake. The King then sat down on a tree stump, looked at the Ironborn young man and said, "Tell me, Theon... What has happened? What is this disturbing news?" 

He took a deep breath and looked at the calm water. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to tell the King that his daughters were nearly killed in their own home? That if I had not have been paying attention... That if I did not see them or their behavior suspicious... His daughters could be in the crypts below Winterfell? I guess there is no way to sugar coat what happened... I just have to tell him the truth.’  

Theon took another deep breath to calm his anxiety as he looked at King in the North and stated, "Your Grace... There... There was an assassination attempt... An attempted attack on your princesses... your daughters, two days ago... I saw two men in the courtyard who looked out of place... so I followed them... They broke into the girls’ rooms and thankfully, they were not there... I was able to keep them from getting to your daughters when they came down the hallway... I know that if I had not been there to intervene... they would have been murdered and possibly raped as well..."

He watched as the King’s face went pale in the torch light, he ran his other hand down his face, sighed and quietly mumbled to himself. Theon could not quite understand what the King said, however he was fairly certain it was something about Jon being right in his warning and Queen Cersei being a bitch. So he took a deep breath and asked, "I'm sorry, your Grace... I did not hear what you said... Is there any way you can repeat that?" 

The ward then heard the King mumble something else as he shook his head. He then looked him in the eyes and with a raised eyebrow inquired in a firm tone, "Theon? I will forever be grateful that you were able to prevent this attack, but I would like to know why are you here? I asked you to watch over my daughters... I asked you to keep them safe!" 

He was taken aback by the anger in the King’s tone. When he found his voice, he honestly answered King Eddard’s inquiry, "Your Grace ... Please understand… Your wife... Queen Catelyn... Sent me here... She asked me to find you and inform you about what transpired within the walls of Winterfell... Even after I told her you had instructed me to protect your daughters and keep them safe..." 

The King exhaled sharply and Theon noticed a hit of anxiety in the King’s tone when he asked, "What exactly did my wife tell you... After you told her I had given you an order to protect our daughters?" 

Theon looked into the King in the North’s steely grey eyes as he stated, "She told me... Your Grace... That she would only trust me to bring you this information..." 

"Was Arya or Sansa injured? Are they safe?” The King interrupted, clearly concerned about the welfare of his daughters. He then added in a sharp tone, “If you are here, who is ensuring that they remain protected?" 

He took a deep breath as he then answered. "Your Grace, both of the princesses were unharmed in the attack… They were a little shaken, but uninjured… Master Syrio… The Water Dancing instructor... Your wife asked him to protect them while I am away… And she has also ordered that they are surrounded by Household guards at all times… Even while they are sleeping." 

King Eddard sighed, clearly relieved that his daughters were unharmed. Then the panic in his voice returned when he asked, "Were the would-be-assassins caught? Are they dead or alive?"

Theon could not help the smile that appeared on his face as he said, "I was able to kill one of the assassins and the other... We captured the other... He is currently being held in the prison cells… I believe that the Queen would like for you to be the one to the sentence." 

The King in the North grimaced as he took a deep breath and muttered softly, "The Southern Queen... Cersei Lannister... Will want the assassin dead before he gives out too much information... If she finds out he is a prisoner in Winterfell, she will send people to kill him..." 

"Aye, your Grace...” Theon interjected, “That is why I am glad to inform you... That your wife ordered that the prisoner be protected with guards at all time... When I left, she had already increased the guards and lowered all the gates..." 

"Thank you, Theon,” His King replied as he stood up from the tree stump and then continued, “When I return to Winterfell... after my quest beyond the Wall... I will question the would be assassin and pass an appropriate sentence."  

Theon was glad the King was not truly mad at him; however, he still wanted answers, ‘Why were Robb and the Bastard sent to Pentos without me... Why was I not trusted with this information? What is going on that the Honorable Eddard Stark is lying to his people... to me?’ So he took a deep breath, "Your Grace... I am glad... truly I am that I was there to protect Sansa and Arya... But I need to ask you something..." 

The King in the North raised his eyebrows as he inquired, "Aye, want is it that you would like to ask me, son?"

The young man from the Iron Islands took a few deep breaths to calm the swirling pit of anxiety in his gut and took a few steps towards the calm waters of Long Lake. After a few moments he finally asked in a trembling voice, "Your Grace... I want to know the truth... Something is going on... I know it... I know that you are lying to me about something... But why? Why are your lying to me and to everyone else... Even the Lords of The North... " 

When he turned around, he could see the look of shock on the King in the North's face as he gulped and asked, "What did you mean, Theon?" 

He took a deep breath as he gritted out, "I want to know why you have lied about Robb and Jon? I know that they are not lost... That they are not even beyond the Wall." 

He saw what little color that had returned to the King's face drain once more, as he whispered, "Theon... Please... I need you to understand...." 

"Understand, what, Your Grace!" Theon said with an exacerbated sigh, trying hard to keep his voice low. "That you don't trust me for some reason... I know that Robb and Jon are Pentos."  

"How... How did you know they are in Pentos? Did Queen Catelyn tell you?" The King whispered. 

He sighed as he shook his head and explained, "Lady Stark... I mean the Queen told me... That they are not lost beyond the Wall... And they are both safe...  She told me not to share that information with anyone... When I asked her why I was not told sooner... She told me that you did not know if I could be trusted." Theon exhaled before he continued, "I knew how worried Sansa and Arya had been about their brothers... So I told them that I heard that they were safe... However, to my surprise, your Grace ... They already knew that they were safe... Arya, then accidentally let it slip out... that Robb and Jon are together in Pentos... I wanted to know why... Why you didn't let me go with them on their quest?" 

He saw the King in the North sigh as he shook his head before he walked over towards him and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Please understand Theon ... I didn't tell you ... Because I did not wish for rumors to spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms if you all three of you were gone when King Robert and his party arrived in Winterfell... If the both of you joined Jon on his quest..." 

Theon was getting frustrated and interrupted, "Jon's quest? Your Grace, I am confused... Why would the Bastard need to across the Narrow Sea... and you still have not given me the reason why you do not trust me ... I thought you saw me as a son... As part of your pack." 

“Come son... let’s make a campfire, then sit down and I will explain everything.” 

Theon nodded, then helped the King in the North gather some dried tree branches to build a small campfire. The King then lit the wood with his torch and sat back down on the tree stump before motioning him to sit down. Theon sat down on the ground next to the King and noticed that he looked incredibly nervous as he began to speak. 

"Theon... I see you as one of my own children... As my own blood... I have raised you alongside of my own children since you were nine years old... I have watched you grow from a scared young boy into a strong, confident young man...” The King exhaled then looked him in the eyes. Theon could tell that what the King was about to say would be painful. “The reason why I did not trust you with the truth earlier... Is because of what you did in our past life..."

He raised his eyebrow as he looked into the grey eyes of his King and inquired, "Past life, your Grace?"

He saw the King in the North take a slow deep breath in and out before he started speaking. Theon listened closely as the King in the North told him everything Jon had told him had happened in his past life... How the Bastard of Winterfell joined the Nights Watch when his Father went south to become Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon... How the King in the North had been charged with treason and then beheaded by King Joffrey when he had been promised mercy... And that all three of the Royal Children were actually Bastards, sired by Queen Cersei’s twin brother, Ser Jaime... How Daenerys Targaryen, across the Narrow Sea, had been sold to the Dothraki by her brother and later hatched three dragons... How the death of Eddard Stark was the catalyst for the War of the Five Kings.

Theon was speechless and actually vomited when he learned why the Starks had been apprehensive to trust him with the truth... How he had betrayed Robb to try and prove to his father, who did not give two shits about him, that he was a worthy son... That he had sacked Winterfell and killed two innocent orphan boys and declared them to be Bran and Rickon... How he had been responsible for the deaths of Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrick and so many others who trusted him... How Roose Bolton’s Bastard son, Ramsey, had later captured and tortured him; how the bastard cut off parts of his fingers and toes... How he cut off his cock and sent it to his Father on Pyke... How he became a shell of the man he had once been... That he no longer even saw himself as Theon Greyjoy or even as a man; he had become Ramsey’s pet to control... he went by the name Reek and slept in the dog kennels... 

He felt remorse that he had not been there when Robb had needed him most... That Robb, his wife, unborn child, Lady Mother and many of his bannermen had all been murdered at a wedding... The Red Wedding... Where the Frey’s and Bolton’s had betrayed Robb at the direction of Tywin Lannister.  

The King of the North also told him how Jon had become Lord Commander of The Nights Watch... How he had fought against an army of dead men... The same dead men in the stories that Old Nan would tell them... Then how he had been brutally murdered by his own men after he had let the Wildlings south of the Wall... Theon was in utter disbelief when the King told him that a few days after Jon’s death, he had been resurrected by a Red Priestess.  

Theon was heartbroken for Sansa... How she had been a prisoner to the Lannister’s and was forced to marry Tyrion... but was thankful that Lord Tyrion had been kind... That she had Tyrion had been accused of King Joffrey’s murder... but that Sansa had been smuggled out of the Capital by Petyr Baelish... To only later be sold to Roose Bolton and married to his Bastard son... the same son, Ramsey, that had been abusing him... And that he did nothing to stop the Bastard from raping and abusing Sansa... He could not believe that Ramsey had killed his own Father, Step-mother and newborn brother, just so that he could have control of the North.... He was thankful that he had helped Sansa to escape Ramsey... That he had been able to get her to a Lady Knight, Brienne of Tarth, and her squire, who were able to get her safely to Jon at the Wall.  

He was also surprised that after he escaped Winterfell with Sansa, he returned back to the Iron Islands and helped his sister, Yara... How he was going to help her become Queen of the Ironborn, only to have their exiled Uncle Euron return to Pyke to steal the Salt Throne from her... Then how they left the Iron Islands with the men whom were loyal to Yara, traveled across the Narrow Sea, to Meereen, meet with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen, and made an alliance... So that they could dispose of their vile, heinous, power hungry Uncle Euron. 

Theon was surprised to learn that Jon left the Nights Watch, after his death and resurrection with Sansa by his side... To retake control of Winterfell and save the North from Ramsey Bolton... That he was able to unite a few houses still loyal to House Stark, the Wildlings and with Sansa’s help, the Knights of the Vale... That they were able to defeat Ramsey in a fight that became known as the Battle of Bastards... however, what really surprised him was that the Lords and Ladies of the North had declared Jon as The King in The North after the battle.

King Eddard went on to him that the newly crowned Bastard King of the North, left Winterfell to meet the Dragon Queen... To request an alliance... For help to fight the war against the army of the dead... He could not believe that Jon had granted him mercy, allowing him to live when they met again on Dragonstone... Even thought he had betrayed the family that loved him as one of their own, he allowed him to live because he had help Sansa escape Ramsey... Theon could not believe it when he was told the brooding boy, who always stayed away from girls, fell in love. Not only did he fall in love... He bedded her, got her with child and they married... Not because he did not want the child to be born a Bastard... Or to solidify their military alliance... but because they loved each other deeply.

He also told him that Arya had gone to Braavos and became an assassin, a faceless man… And the she single handedly avenged the Red Wedding by killing Walder Frey and every other male Frey with poisoned wine. How Bran had spent years beyond the Wall and became a power warg and greenseer. Then, when the King in the North spoke about the battle for the dawn and the deaths of his daughters, grandson, Rhaegar Targaryen, and Jon’s wife, all at the hands of the army of the dead, his voice turned remorseful and Theon could tell he was willing the tears in his eyes not to fall...

Theon could hold his tongue no longer when he looked at his King and asked, “Your Grace... I do not understand... Why did they give the babe his wife’s name... Jon was King... Married to a Queen... Why did Jon or his wife not legitimize him as a Stark... Jon has always wanted to be a Stark?”

“Because Jon is not a Bastard... He has had a true name since the day he was born... His mother told me his name when she pleaded with me to take him... To keep him safe from Robert Baratheon as she died in front of me...” The King whispered as his tears were now freely falling down his face.

“I... I do not understand, your Grace... You had two wives?”

“No, Theon... Jon... Jon has my blood, and he will always be my son... however, I could never give him my name because I did not sire him... He was born my nephew... King Aegon of House Targaryen... Son of my sister, Lyanna and her husband, the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.” While the King’s voice was barely audible over the crackling of the fire, it was clear and there was no mistaking what he had just confessed to his ward.

“But, your Grace, Prince Rhaegar was married to Elia Martell...”

“The Prince and Elia agreed to annul their marriage... They liked each other, but they did not love one another... Elia was actually the one to request the annulment because she feared King Aerys... She did not feel safe in King’s Landing and she knew that she could never bear him another child... She apparently loved Lyanna as well... It was her idea to have Rhaegar Crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty at the tourney of Harrenhal... And she was present when they said their wedding vows in Dorne... She was the one who helped Rhaegar keep Lyanna hidden at the Tower of Joy in Dorne...” 

Theon was speechless as this truth swirled around in his mind. ‘The Bastard of Winterfell is not a Bastard... That Jon Snow is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms... Rheager and Lyanna were in loved and married... The entire Rebellion was built on a lie... Oh my gods... I treated the rightful King of Westeros like an unwanted, worthless piece of shit... He lost Robb... Was murdered by the men under his command... He saved the North from Ramsey Bolton... He fell in love with his Aunt, married her, had a child... Lost both of his sisters... Rode a dragon in battle... Saw his beloved wife and son murdered in front of him... but what happened to Jon... How did he know what the future held... Did he have dragon dreams of what the future could hold?’

“Your Grace,” Theon then took a deep breath and asked, “How... How does Jon know? How does he know what the future would hold if he did not make changes? Does he have dragon dreams?”

The King pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed before looking him in the eyes as he explained to him how Jon was sent back in time... That he was tasked with preventing the War of the Five Kings and unite all of Westeros before the coming threat from beyond the Wall... That Jon and Daenerys are the last hope to save Westeros... to save them all of them from the Night King and the army of the dead. 

It was then that Theon realized that the King had not yet told him why Jon and Robb had gone to Pentos in the first place. So he took a deep breath and asked, “Your Grace… You still have not told me why Jon and Robb have gone to Pentos? Should he not be here, uniting the seven kingdoms and claiming his rightful throne?”

King Eddard went on to tell him that Jon and Robb had gone to Essos to save Daenerys from her cruel older brother, Viserys, who was going to sell her to the Dothraki for an army. That Jon had already defeated Khal Drogo, taken control of the Khalasar and married Daenerys and named her his Khaleesi. The King also told him that Jon has successfully hatched a hybrid dragon… A dragon that can breathe both fire and ice.

After all he had heard in was in a state of shock. He could not believe that Jon had been sent back in time to save them all from the wrath of the Night King. He could not believe everything Jon had had to endure in his last life. ‘No wonder he is so good with a sword… With two swords… He spent eight years of his life fighting constantly, only to fail… And now he has been given the opportunity to save us all… And he had a dragon of his own this time!’ 

He took a deep breath as he then looked at the King in the North deep in his eyes and in a sincere tone stated, "Your Grace... I am sorry… I am truly sorry for betraying House Stark… You have been a father to me for over the last ten years and I am ashamed of what I did in our past life… If I would have stayed with Robb, maybe he would have survived the Red Wedding… I know that I do not deserve it, but I do hope that you will be able to forgive me for everything that I did in our past life..." 

He saw the King in the North smile slightly as he placed a strong hand on his shoulder and replied, "Theon ... I know. That you are a Greyjoy... However, you are also a Stark… You may not have my name or my blood, but I have brought you into my home and loved you just as much as I love my own children…. I know you will not betray us in this life… We all made mistakes in our past life… This time we will learn from those mistakes and we will make things right...” 

He then sighs as he took a deep breath, "It is still no excuse, your Grace... You are the only family I ever truly had... You, Queen Catelyn, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon…” The ward from the Iron Islands then stood up and unsheathed his sword before he dropped to one knee and vowed at the King’s feet, “I, Theon of House Greyjoy, vow from this day until the end of my days that I will remain loyal to House Stark and the King in the North. I offer to shield you back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be… I swear this by the old gods and the new and the drowned god.”

“And I vow, that you will always have a place by my hearth, meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new and drowned god. Please arise, Theon of House Greyjoy…" The King spoke softly. Once Theon was on his feet, the King pulled him into a tight embrace. 

Theon left out a breath of air he was not aware he had been holding when he broke away from the King’s firm embrace. The two men stood in a comfortable silence for several moments. He took the chance to think about all the information he had just learned as he looked at the lake in front of him, watching the reflection of the red comet as it danced across the ripples of the water. He finally broke the silence when he mused aloud, “So... Jon is actually not from this life... He isn't even a bastard but the true heir to the Iron Throne..." 

“Aye…” The King in the North responded softly. “Jon suffered so much loss and pain in his last life… He lost his entire family, except for Bran… But Bran was not the same boy… He lost his wife… His young son… He was betrayed… and he kept fighting.” 

He nodded in agreement then quietly seethed, “It is all because of that fucking Night King... He is the most cause for all of his pain…" 

"Aye, he is…” The King in the North easily agreed. Theon looked at the King when he loudly exhaled before he added, “And that is why I am going beyond the Wall... I want to face him... And kill him myself so that Jon will never have to face him again." 

“Your Grace... You cannot do that… It is too dangerous!” Theon gasped and exclaimed in a panic. “Jon is the greatest swordsmen within all of Westeros... If he could not defeat the Night King... What chance do you have? Jon had an army full of Northmen, Dothraki and Unsullied and two dragons… You do not have an army... Aye, you and your brother have Valyrian Steel blades, Frost and Winter Storm… But you need a lot more than a sword to defeat that undead fucker… You are gonna need the biggest army every amassed!” 

King in the North released a loud sigh, "Aye, you are right... And that is the other reason why I am going beyond the Wall...  and why Jon wanted me to become King in the North…" 

He gasped as he heard this, “Jon wanted you to become King in the North?” 

"Aye, he did…” The King admitted as Theon stared into his stormy grey eyes. “He knew Joffrey’s character and warned us that he would do something terrible… and that when he did I needed to use that fuel to get the Northern Lords to declare me the King in the North… Jon knew that Robert would never believe the threat to the North… And only a King can grant safe passage to the people… The Free Folk… who were born on the wrong side of the Wall… I intend to bring them south and let them settle on the lands of the gift… And man the unoccupied castles along the Wall… This will give us an army of more than 100,000 Wildlings… Free Folk…  filled with mammoths and Giants... I know that the Free Folk will join our cause… They have been the hardest hit by the Night King… They have as much desire, if not more, to see him and his army of the dead defeated…” 

He then nodded and mused, "Jon surely has changed... He is planning... The Bastard of Winterfell, who always appeared to know nothing, now knows how to play the Game of Thrones..." 

"Aye, he does.” The King agreed, “He knows who is loyal to the throne… Who desires the power for their own… And what they are willing to sacrifice to take control… And he knows who will be allied with who unless we will be able to prevent it…” 

He could not help as a chuckle escaped him. “It is ironic to me... That he went to the Wall so he would not bright dishonor to House Stark… because he thought as himself as a bastard and did not want to bring any more children named Snow into the world… but he is actually the true heir to the throne... He left the Nights Watch without breaking his vows and became King in The North... As he met his Daenerys Targaryen, and hoped for a successful military alliance… But that he soon fell in love... got married and had a child… All things he vowed that he would never do.” 

The King in the North also chuckled, "Aye, Jon Snow...  My solemn son… The man who stated he had no desire to take a wife or father children… Married the most powerful woman within all of Westeros and Essos… Who, unknown to either of them at the time, was his aunt..." 

“You Grace… I am sorry that you never got a chance to meet either your good daughter or grandson in your last life… All because that bastard, Joffrey, took your head.” 

“Thank you, Theon,” The King said softly. “In this life I hope I will get that opportunity… I would love to travel to Essos and meet his wife... my good daughter.” The King then smiled and chucked before he added, “I know if Lyanna were here she would be doting over the two of them and when they have children... They would probably have to lock her in her chambers just to spend time with those babes.”

He smiled as he looked at the King in the eyes and suggested, "Perhaps you should go to Essos and visit?" 

The King of the North’s smile dropped slightly as he exhaled and stated, "As much as I would love to ride my horse straight to White Harbor and get on the first ship sailing across the Narrow Sea, I cannot… It would also cause rumors in the South... That the North was seeking an alliance with the last Targaryen’s... Robert and Tywin would declare war and march all their armies here... and War with the South is not something we could take on at the moment... There is still much that needs to be done in Westeros to prepare for when Jon arrives with his army… I must convince the Free Folk to come south and to fight alongside of us… Then, as soon as I return from this quest, I need to commission the construction of more glass gardens throughout the North, so we can ensure there will be plenty of food to feed everyone who come to fight in the Great War… And I need to meet with Tyrell’s and Martell’s to discuss the marriage alliances for Robb and Sansa…” 

Theon then raised his eyebrows and inquired, “Does Robb know... That he will be married for an alliance… That he will not be allowed to marry for love?”  

King Eddard sighed, “Aye, he does... He was actually the one who told me this was his wish… Robb stated that he would only marry for an alliance to help Jon claim the throne and defeat the army of the dead… He told me he does not want to make the same mistake he made in his last life… He feels guilt that he married for love, which led to his death, his wife and unborn child’s deaths, as well as the deaths of his mother and many who were loyal to House Stark.” 

He then nodded as he looked to the ground and softly stated, "I have heard Margaery Tyrell is quite beautiful... People even call her the Golden Rose of High Garden... They also say that she is smart and cares about all the little people in the villages around her home... I think Robb would be happy if she did become his wife..." 

"Aye, he should be...” the King replied with a smile. However, his smile faded as he added, “But I am unsure what I should tell the Martell’s and Tyrell’s when they arrive at Winterfell... I do not think it would be wise to tell them my true intentions... That I plan to hand the North to Jon when he arrives... Also, what do I tell them about the Night King and the army of dead men North of the Wall That want to kill us all..."  He then sighed loudly, "I guess I will figure that out when the time comes..." 

Theon wordlessly nodded as thought about what his King had just said. After a few moments of silence he asked, "Do you think the Martell’s will join our fight... Do you think they will ally with Jon in his war for the Iron Throne?" 

"Aye, I would like to believe they will,” the King stated as he looked out over the water. “The Martell’s might be angry that Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen... That Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia... However, Rhaegar planned to keep his first-born son, Aegon, as his heir... I hope that they will see Jon as a family since he is the younger, half-brother of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon... I just wish Lyanna was able to tell me everything before she died... I do not know if they knew Elia wanted her marriage annulled... I know they knew she planned to return to Sunspear for the duration of the War... for her safety and the safety of the children... but I do not know if they knew she was going to stay in Dorne..."  

Theon nodded in agreement. He then thought back to Robb’s betrayal at the hands of Roose Bolton’s and he felt shivers run down his spine at the thought of having his dick cut off by his Bastard Ramsey. He then looked at King Eddard and firmly stated, "We need do something about the Bolton’s... They are not loyal to your House... Roose Bolton betrayed Robb... his bastard... His Bastard is pure evil..." 

The King in the North had a brooding look on his face as he nodded and confirmed, "I know that the Bolton's are not to be trusted... I already have a plan to deal with them... I will not let them bring harm to you or my family in this life..." 

He was surprised. He furrowed his brow as he inquired, "You have a plan?"

The King smiled as he nodded and confirmed, "Aye, I do... It is actually Jon's plan... And I hope that it will soon be uncovered if everything continues to go as smoothly as it is."

He was curious, 'What is the plan?' He took a deep breath, “Your Grace. If I may ask... What is the plan?"

The King in the North had a smirk on his face as he stated, "You will have to wait and see..."

Theon nodded in understanding, and went back to watching the wind cause ripples along the lake. He then thought about Robb, Jon and his wife who were all currently in Essos. The then took a deep breath and asked, “Your Grace… What do you think King Robert’s plans are? Do you think he will send an army across the Narrow Sea or hire assassins to kill Robb, Jon and Daenerys?”

"I am not sure…” The King stated as he exhaled, “And that is what worries me... He is not the man I once considered to be my brother… He is trying to kill my son and my good daughter… and Robb is at risk as well because he is with Jon… If I had to guess… He would probably send assassins… But the worst-case scenario… He will send his entire army… All soldiers from his Six Kingdoms to kill them..." He saw the King of the North shiver as he thought of those things.

“That is the scenario I fear the most... If Robert does send his army across the Narrow Sea... I will send an army to Essos as well… I promised his mother I would protect him from Robert, and I will keep that promise until the day I die.” He vowed as he sighed and sat back down on the tree stump by the fire.

Theon followed the King back towards the fire, and held his hands over the flames to warm his chilled bones as he asked, “Do you think the Northern Lords will follow Jon once they know the truth? Once they know that he is the trueborn son of your sister and Prince Rhaegar… That he is not really your bastard son, but he heir to the Iron Throne?”  

King Eddard nodded and quietly stated, "Aye, I believe the will... They will never again follow the rule of the Lannister’s or the Baratheon’s after what Prince Joffrey did to my daughters... As long as the Lannister’s are in control in King’s Landing... The North will never be safe... I believe the Lord of the North will follow Jon... He is a Targaryen but he is also a Stark… and I raised him as my own… The blood of the first men flows through his veins, just as much as the blood of Old Valyria.” 

Theon nodded as he looked again at the flames of the dying campfire. He then mused, “So much has changed so quickly… Jon is no longer just the Bastard of Winterfell… He is the Father of a Dragon... The Unburnt... A Dothraki Khal... The Heir to the Throne... The rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men... The protector of the Realm... As well the Greatest Swordsmen who ever lived... His titles are growing fast." 

He looked at the King in the North who smiled as he chuckled, "Aye, they are."  

He then heard laughter coming from the King’s traveling companions and the loud voice of Lord Tyrion. Hearing the voice of his Hand reminded him of something, so he softly asked, “Your Grace… Does he know?”

He saw a look of confusion on the King in the North’s face as he knitted his brow and asked, “Who?”

"Lord Tyrion? Your Hand? Does he know the truth about Jon?” 

“No, he doesn’t…" The King answered with a sigh as he shook his head. He then added, “He has been asking a lot of questions about Jon lately… He is smart… I have a feeling that he knows that I am keeping important information from him…”

He then took a deep breath as he then looked back into the flames and inquired, “Why, your Grace… He is your Hand… Why haven't you told him the truth yet?" 

He then turned his gaze back at the King in the North who sighed. "Because of Theon... I do not trust him... Well I trust him… But remember he still has a family who will press him for information… His Sister, Father I am not concerned about… He has no love for them… But his brother, Jaime… Jaime has always loved his little brother… If I tell him the truth about what the Stark’s true intentions are... I am afraid that he might tell his brother… If this secret gets out before the time is right, I will have no choice… I would have to kill him… and I rather like the little man… I do not want to be forced to make that decision.” 

Theon nodded in understanding. He then looked his King in the eyes, “Your Grace. May ask you something?"

"Aye, what is it Theon?" 

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart as he asked, “May... May I join you and your companions on your quest beyond the Wall, your Grace?” 

He could tell King in The North's was shocked by his request. The King’s gaze searched his face before he asked, "Why do you want to go with me? Jon and Robb are in at Essos? I would have thought you would have requested to join them…” 

Theon took a deep breath, "Your Grace... Please understand... I need to see the threat the threat beyond the Wall with my own eyes… I need to see what is coming for us… Please, your Grace... Let me help you get your revenge for what the Night King has done to Jon."

“Aye, you may come along with us Theon…” The King stated with a stiff nod. He then added, “But unfortunately I do not have a Valyrian Steel weapon for you." 

"Aye, that is true, your Grace… However, neither does Jory or your other Household guards... I can keep a torch with me at all times to protect myself from those undead monsters." He then smiled as he thought about the current Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, Jeor Mormont. "Your Grace… Maybe ask Lord Commander Mormont if I can borrow his Valyrian Steel sword, Long Claw… while we travel beyond the Wall... You said that he gave Jon the sword in his past life.”

"No, Theon,” The King stated as he shook his head. “I cannot allow you to make such a request… Jon never asked for Long Claw in the past… He earned it… However, if the Lord Commander offers to let you use his sword… I see no reason as to why you should not be able to borrow the sword… Nevertheless, Theon… I cannot allow you to keep the sword. The Nights Watch is our first line of defense against the Others and they will need all the weapons they can get for this battle."

Theon nodded in agreement, however before he could speak, his attention was pulled toward the rushing of leaves and a cracking of twigs. When his eyes focused, he realized the man walking to them, with a torch in hand was the King’s brother, Benjen.

“Ned… Theon…” He stated as he looked between him and the King… as if he knew what they two of them had discussed.

"Benjen... It is good to see you again." Theon stated as he made his way over to the King’s brother and shook his hand.

“It is nice to see you as well Theon… I must say that I was surprised when you rode into camp… Will you be heading back to Winterfell in the morning?" Benjen inquired with a furrowed brow.

However, before he could answer, he felt the strong hand of his King on his shoulder and the calm tone in his voice has he stated, “Theon will be joining us on our mission beyond the Wall... He would like to see the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead with his own eyes… And he would like help bring the Free Fold south of the Wall." 

"Then welcome to our quest... Lord Theon…" Benjen said with a smile. He then looked at his brother and asked, “Ned... Are you not coming to eat? If you do not come back soon, you will not be able to chew your rabbit.”

“Aye… I will head up there now… Theon, would you mind to put this fire out?”

“Of course, your Grace.”

Theon then walked over to the Lake about to fill his water skin when he felt a tugging on his arm, forcing him to turn around.

"Listen to me very carefully Greyjoy!" Benjen seethed quietly as he stared him straight in the eyes, just inches away from his face. “I know my brother just told you everything... About what happened in the past… You know what you did to my family… You know the truth about Jon… So let me make this clear to you... If you betray us… any of us… I will not hesitate to kill you myself! I do not care if I dishonor my vows... Jon is all I have left of Lyanna and he is part of our pack… And if you betray him... I will not hesitate… I will kill you myself… Do you understand?”

Theon stood there speechless. In disbelief. He gulped and slowly nodded his head in understanding. As soon as he did, the smile returned to Benjen’s face, “Good… Now let’s hurry and put out that fire so you can come eat.”

The two men quickly douched the fire and made their way back up to the main camp. When they arrived, Jory handed him a stick with a roasted rabbit and he sat down on a log next to The Hand of the King.

He had just taken a bit of his food when Lord Tyrion asked, "So, Theon Greyjoy… What did you and the King in the North discuss?"

Theon felt his anxiety rising as he looked over at Benjen, who was glaring at him intently. He then swallowed and stated, “Well I… We discussed…”

Thankfully, before he could continue his stuttering, the King of the North stood up and stated in a commanding tone, “Everyone… You all know how close Theon is with Robb and Jon… Therefore, I have decided to allow Theon to join us on our quest!”

The Ward from the Iron Islands sigh in relief and a smile spread across his face as the guards cheered, genuinely happy that he would be accompanying them on this mission. After he finished his dinner, he got his bedroll from his horse and unrolled it by the fire. As he laid on his bedroll, he looked up at the flaming comet in the sky, and thought about all the dangers that were waiting for him and all of Westeros if they did not find a way to stop the threat from beyond the Wall…...

 


 

 

Notes:

Please let us know what you think in the comments! As always, thank you so much for reading!

Until next time!!

Chapter 16: Trouble Arises

Summary:

Section 1 - (Takes place about 3 days after the hatching of the dragons): Catelyn receives good news, speaks with Edmure and makes a decision regarding future plans.
(The rest of the events of this chapter occur 5 days after the dragons have hatched)
Section 2 - Robb speaks with Dany and she makes a confession
Section 3 - Lord Varys returns to King's Landing and shares the information from his fact finding mission in Pentos
Section 4 - Daenerys and Jon name their 5 youngest children and she accepts a challenge
Section 5 - Tywin receives news from King's Landing
Section 6 - King Robert receives Renly's raven

Notes:

Hey guys new Chapter!! :) We hope that you enjoy it. Next weekend should hopefully be another Last Targaryen chapter. As always ideas and opinions are always appreciated in the comments below. Let us know what you think!! As I always say sit back and enjoy the chapter!! Your love is always appreciated so please leave comments because it keeps us going!! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

 Catelyn Tully Stark

 

It was mid-morning in Winterfell and Queen Catelyn was in her chambers, breaking her fast with her daughters and Rickon. She had sent one of the servants to invite Edmure to join them, but was informed he was still sleeping after his long journey. The Queen in the North was enjoying the company of her children; they were joking, smiling, and laughing, which was a welcome change after the tense few days they shared earlier in the week. A gentle knocking on her chamber door caused the children to quiet and she bid whomever was at the door to enter. When the door opened, she saw the smiling face of Grand Maester Luwin as entered her room. 

“Good Morning, Your Grace,” he greeted with a respectful dip of his head and she also noticed a smile on his face. “I have received three ravens this morning, which require your attention.”

She smiled at the Maester as he walked over towards her and handed her the raven scrolls. "Thank you, Maester Luwin. Please have a seat,” she stated as she gestured towards the empty seat across from her at the table.

“Thank you, your Grace,” The Maester responded with a kind smile as he sat down in the chair.

Once he was seated, she looked at the three scrolls and noticed that only two sigils imprinted in the wax seal. One scroll was sealed with orange wax and the speared sun sigil of House Martell. Another was sealed with gold wax and the rose sigil of House Tyrell. The third and final scroll was sealed with a simple dollop of black wax. 

She was slightly anxious about the unidentifiable raven scroll, and with trembling fingers, decided to open it first.

 

 

 

Your Graces,

I just wanted to inform you the Heir and Bastard are well. I have just met with them and swore my allegiance to the Rightful King and his wife. I also thought you would like to know they are now the parents of six gorgeous beasts. I will keep an eye on the stag and the mockingbird in King’s Landing and inform you of anything worrisome.

A friend in the Capital

 

A smile spread across her face as she looked up at the Maester and saw his worried face. “It is from Lord Varys, he has agreed to be Jon’s eyes and ears in King’s Landing.”

“That is wonderful news, indeed,” the Maester said, returning her smile.

“Mother, who are the other ravens from?" Sansa asked softly.

The Queen smiled at her oldest daughter and stated, “These are replies to the ravens your Father sent to the Martell’s and Tyrell’s.” 

She could see the excitement and nervousness in her daughter’s vibrant blue eyes as nodded, and asked, “Mother, please open the correspondence from House Martell first... I hope it brings good news.” She then blushed slightly as she added, “I am eager to know if they have agreed to let me meet Prince Trystane.” 

“Of course, Sansa,” The Queen replied with a smile as she picked up the scroll from House Martell and slide a finger under the orange wax, breaking the seal. "I am eager to see their reply as well.” She then unrolled the scroll and began to read.

  

 

 

Dear Eddard Stark

We are glad that you have accepted to allow Trystane to meet you, your wife and Princess Sansa and will entertain the prospect of a betrothal. My son is a fine young man and I hope this meeting will lead to an alliance through marriage. Even if the children decide they are not compatible, I hope that after what the Crown Prince Joffrey did to your family, if you ever decide to take up arms in the Southern Six Kingdoms, we might be able to come up with another alliance agreement.

I hope your quest beyond the Wall will be a success and look forward onto the meeting between Princess Sansa and Prince Trystane. I have decided to send my brother as well his paramour, Ellaria Sand, to escort my son to Winterfell and discuss terms of the betrothal on my behalf. They will be preparing for the journey to Winterfell and will leave once we have received word of your return.

Hopefully, House Stark and House Martell will join Houses and fight in the wars to come. I hope this marriage alliance will allow us to resolve the past tensions caused by Robert’s Rebellion.

Respectfully, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell, Head of House Martell, the Prince of Dorne, and the Lord of Sunspear

 

Catelyn smiled as she read the scroll. When she looked up from the scroll she met her daughter’s gaze as she nervously inquired, “Mother, is it good news? Are the Martell’s agreeable to entertaining a betrothal between me and Prince Trystane?”

She continued to smile as she answered, "Yes Sansa. They are hopeful of a marriage alliance and Prince Trystane, his Uncle Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria will travel to Winterfell once your Father has returned from his quest."

Sansa smiled. "Oh Mother! I am so excited! I have heard he is very comely and is a good and kind prince, unlike Joffrey. I hope what I have heard about him is true, because a marriage alliance with Dorne would be very helpful to Jon in the wars to come." 

“Sansa, I do not want you to feel pressured to marry him,” Catelyn remarked, “If you do not like him, we will not force you to marry him.”

“I understand Mother,” Sansa murmured, “However, as long as you and Father feel he is a good match I will do my duty... I feel I owe it to Jon. He is willing to risk his life to save us all, and if I can help I will.”

The Queen in the North stood up and embraced her daughter, “Sansa, you Father and I would never, ever, make you do anything that would make you unhappy. If you feel Trystane is not a good match, no matter what your Father and I think, we will not force you to marry him.”

“Mother,” Arya called, breaking her away from her embrace with Sansa, “Why are marriage alliances so important? Why will they not just help us when we tell them about the Night King?” 

"Because, Arya, when two houses join in marriage they become family. And as Starks we protect our pack at all costs. By joining houses with the Martell’s they will become part of our pack... And they will also feel the need to protect us in our time of need, just as we will be willing to protect them. So if Sansa were to marry Trystane, we will have the full support of Dorne when it come time for the War for the Throne and the Long Night.”  

"Mother, if I do choose to marry him, when will we marry?" Sansa queried.

The Queen then smiled as she took a deep breath. "We still need to discuss the terms with Doran Martell. Sansa but usually a moon turn or so after a young high born women flowers, she is considered of age to marry a high born man and bear him heirs." 

She saw the smile on her eldest daughters face and she looked like she was getting ready to say something when her younger daughter interjected, “What do you mean by flowers, Mother? Are you saying that if a high born man gives a girl flowers she has to marry him a moon turn later?”

Catelyn felt warmth rising up her neck to her cheeks as she tried to find the words to explain to her eleven year old daughter a woman’s moon blood cycle, “Well when a woman…”

“Arya, if you had not have snuck off from all of Septa Mordane’s lessons,” Sansa chided, “you would now that when a woman flowers, it means that she has had her first moon blood!”

“I knew what it meant, stupid,” Arya snapped before she added, “I was just making sure that you did!”

“Girls! That is enough” Queen Catelyn warned, “If the two of you continue like this there will be no dessert for a week!”

“Yes, Mother,” her daughter’s said in unison as the lowered their heads.

“Mother, what is a woman’s moon blood?” Rickon asked innocently.

Thankfully, before she tried to muddle through had to explain a woman’s moon cycle with her six year old son, Maester Luwin spoke, “My Prince, I will explain that to you when you are a little bit older. Okay?” Rickon nodded his head, and the Old Maester continued, “Your Grace, perhaps you best read the raven scroll from the Tyrell’s?" 

She then smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Maester Luwin before picking up the final correspondence from the table. She then broke the seal, unraveled the scroll and began to silently read the message.

  

 

 

King Eddard Stark

We are happy to hear that you have accepted the betrothal request between your son, Robb, and my beautiful, duteous daughter, Margaery. I know that my Golden Rose will make you heir a very happy man, will bear him as many beautiful heirs has he desires. 

My daughter has requested to be taught the ways of the old gods and is looking forward to a traditional Northern wedding if that would please your son. My mother, Olenna, will join me and my daughter when we travel to Winterfell and we all look forward to meeting you, your lovely wife, Queen Catelyn, and son, Robb, the Crown Prince of the North.

We hope that your quest beyond the Wall will be successful and we are preparing for our journey North and will leave once we have receive word that you are prepared to entertain guests.

Respectfully, Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South

 

After she read the message, she smiled as she handed the scroll to Maester Luwin and thought, 'Soon the all powers of the North, the Reach, Dorne and hopefully the Riverland will combine with the power of Targaryen’s and their dragons to win the great Game of Thrones… Together we will defeat all the Houses who harmed my family in the past and that want to harm us now… My insane sister Lysa from House Arryn, the traitorous House Bolton, the power hungry House Lannister, the greedy House Frey and whoring King, Robert Baratheon... The Dragons and the Wolves will unite the Seven Kingdoms because Winter is Coming, and we will rain Fire and Blood on the Night King and his army!’ 

“Mother, what did the Tyrell’s say in their message?" Arya inquired, pulling her from her thoughts

She then smiled as she looked at her daughters, “The Tyrell’s have informed us that they are happy we have accepted a marriage alliance between House Stark and House Tyrell." 

The Queen in the North noticed fear in her daughter’s eyes as questioned in a trembling voice, “Does… Does this marriage alliance involve me? Am I to be betrothed to one of the Tyrell sons?” 

She smiled and reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand. ”No Arya, you are not promised to anyone so far…” 

“What about me?” Rickon interjected.

“No, my sweetling, you are not betrothed either, you are far too young… Of your siblings, Jon has married Daenerys, as you all know… And your Father and I have agreed to the betrothal of Robb to Margaery Tyrell and Bran has been promised to Meera Reed. Then, if we find Prince Trystane Martell to be a kind young man, and if Sansa agrees, they will soon be betrothed as well." 

When she finish she heard Sansa squeak in excitement, "Robb is going to marry Margaery Tyrell! I have heard that she is very lovely and kind and works with the small people in the Reach!” 

Arya then added, ”So we will soon have two good sisters? Daenerys and Margaery?" 

"It would seem so.” She responded with a smile. “These marriage alliances will allow the North to peacefully secure the loyalty of the Reach and Dorne, and Bran’s betrothal will satisfy the Lords of the North. They will also give the North a larger army and food to feed those soldiers and the North during the Long Night." 

Both of her daughters were smiling when Sansa murmured, “I heard that Margaery Tyrell is one of the most beautiful maidens within all of Westeros.” 

She smiled and confirmed, “I have heard that as well. I believe that Robb will be very happy with this match.” 

Arya then jested, "Who would have thought that the Bastard of Winterfell would marry the beautiful Dragon Queen and Robb the Golden Rose of Highgarden!” 

Queen Catelyn continued to smile and had just taken a sip from her wine glass when Sansa asked, "Mother, does Robb know he is betrothed to Margaery?" 

She sighed as she shook her head, "No, he does not yet know. However, before he left with Jon to go to Pentos, he spoke with your Father, and informed him that he would only marry for an alliance that would benefit Jon and his mission to unite the seven kingdoms. Robb said he does not care about love, that he will not make the same mistake twice… He wants to do his part so that Westeros stands together when the Night King and his army make their way south of the Wall." 

She saw the confusion on both of her daughters’ faces as she then Arya furrowed her brow in confusion and asked, “Mother, I thought Robb already had a wife… That he married a healer named Talisa Maegyr?" 

Catelyn then sighed, "That is true he did have a wife and they did love each other… However, he does not remember her and does not wish to meet her in this life. He feels he was responsible for her death and because he did not marry the Frey girl he was promised to, it led to the deaths of many of his loyal bannermen.” She took a deep breath and added, “I believe Margaery will make him very happy and it will increase our chances when we have to go to War against the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s... I believe the marriage alliance will be our safest way to ensure of success in the wars to come." 

Before either of her daughters could speak, she heard a familiar call from behind her. "What is this I hear about a marriage alliance?" 

She turned around and smiled as her brother Edmure walked into the room, wearing a smile of his own. She stood up, walked toward him and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Brother, I take it you slept well,” she observed as she broke the embrace and looked into his eyes. 

“That was the best I have slept since I left Riverrun. It was surprisingly warm within my chambers… Much warmer than the drafty inns I stay in during my travels,” he replied with a smile. He then looked over at the children and inquired, “Sansa, Arya, Rickon, it is wonderful to see you all this morning. How did you all sleep last night?”

She looked at her children and noticed her daughters were smiling and Rickon was barreling towards them, jumping into his Uncle’s arms. “I slept great!” He exclaimed and Edmure returned his embrace.

Once he put Rickon down on the floor Sansa spoke sweetly, “I slept well as well. Thank you for asking, Uncle Edmure.” 

“I slept so hard I do not even remember my dreams!” Arya declared as Edmure walked over to the table and sat down in one of the unoccupied seats.

“Well, I am glad that you all slept well.” Her brother replied as he look at his nieces. Once she and Rickon had returned to their seats, he look at her and stated, “I would love to hear more about these marriage alliances you discussing when I disturbed you. I mean, after all, Father did send me to Winterfell to find out the truth of what happened between the Starks and the Crown.” 

Catelyn smiled at her brother and was getting ready to tell him about the betrothal between Robb and Margaery Tyrell when one of the servants walked into the room and began to serve her brother his breakfast. So she resorted to simple small talk about the weather he encountered during his travels until the servant left the room. Thankfully her brother could tell by her expression that she did not want to discuss the alliances in front of the servant and played along.

Once the door closed, Edmure quirked his eyebrow and stated “I feel that we have much to discuss, Cat… Why don’t you tell me about this marriage alliance while I break my fast.” 

Catelyn swallowed hard, and looked back at the door, making sure it was securely shut before she softly stated, “I was just informing the Children that Ned and I have agreed to a betrothal between Margaery Tyrell and Robb and that Bran has been promised to Meera Reed. I also informed Sansa that we are going to invite Prince Trystane Martell to Winterfell, to see if he will make a proper match for Sansa.”

Edmure nearly choked on his rasher of bacon and had to drink down the rest of his glass of water before he queried, “Marriage alliances with The Martell’s and The Tyrell’s? 

When she nodded be inquired, “Why are you proposing alliances with the Reach and Dorne?" 

"Edmure, please, break your fast and I will tell you everything. I promise these marriage alliances will make more sense once we are able to speak in private." 

She saw the puzzled look on her brother's face as he nodded and relented, "Of course sister... I am looking forward to having answers to my question and as to why you are being so secretive." 

The conversations then resorted to the telling of more stories about growing up in Riverrun and Arya told a very interesting story about Robb and Jon tricking their younger siblings that there were ghosts in the Crypts of Winterfell. As soon as Edmure was finished breaking his fast, she dismissed Maester Luwin to attend to other matters throughout the castle while she and her brother escorted the children to their Water Dancing lesson, before she lead him to the crypts.

She took a torch from the entrance and led him as they defended the stairs of the crypts. Once they had reached the level that housed Ned’s Father, brother Brandon and sister, she heard her brother cough before he stated, ”Cat I'm surprised that you wish to discuss these matters in the Crypts of Winterfell. Do not get me wrong, it is truly amazing to walk past the Wardens of the North and the Kings of Winter, but I feel as though I do not belong here”

“I agree brother, however that is why I chose the crypts… No one but the Starks venture into the crypts, so I know that our conversation will not be heard by prying ears and I also feel that our conversation will make the most sense here.” 

He wordlessly nodded and they continued to walk further into the crypts until they stopped in front of Lyanna Starks statue. She then lit another torch on the stone wall and placed the torch she was holding in the holder next to her Lord Husband sister’s final resting place. 

After the torches were lit she took a deep breath and turned to face her brother. She notice the perplexed look on his face as he inquired, “Cat are you going to tell me why are we here? Why, besides secrecy, did you decided to have this conversation in the crypts?” 

The Queen of the North broke his gaze and looked at Lyanna's statue as she silently begged, ‘Please, Lyanna forgive me for how I treated your son. I know he was not mine, but I should have loved him. He deserved to know a mother’s love.’ She then looked back towards her brother and took a deep calming breath as she gestured towards the wild she-wolf’s statue and stated, "We are here because of her." 

Edmure’s eyes shifted towards the statue and he asked, “Her… Who was she?” 

She then smiled as she answered, “This is Ned’s sister Queen Lyanna Stark… The mother of the true King of Westeros.” 

Edmure furrowed brow in confusion. “What are you talking about, Cat? Why are you calling her Queen? Who is her son and why are you calling her son the true King of Westeros? Robert Baratheon is the King of the Southern Six Kingdoms and your husband is the King in the North.”

“Jon Snow,” she whispered.  

"Jon Snow? Your husband’s bastard? What do you mean Cat? Quit talking in riddles.” 

“Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna… They loved each other and they were married… Jon Snow is not a bastard. Ned will always be his Father, however he did not sire him. Jon Snow’s real name is Aegon Targaryen, and he is the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Jon Snow is my nephew and is the rightful King of Westeros.” She smiled and proceeded to tell her brother everything her husband had shared with her about Rhaegar and Lyanna and how Jon had lived this life before. She also told him about all the failures in their last life. And she told him how they planned to stabilize and unite Westeros before the Night King made his move to destroy them all.

"Jon Snow… He... He is not a bastard?" Edmure stuttered with a perplexed expression after she finished telling him the whole truth.

She then smiled as she looked at Lyanna Stark statute and confirmed, ”He is not and has never been a bastard. My husband, The King in the North never dishonored house, Tully. He was keeping his promise to his sister to protect her son, the last living son of Rhaegar Targaryen." 

“And… and he is a man from the future? From another life that was sent back in time to save us all from the tales the nursemaids told us as children to keep us from misbehaving?” He then sighed as he ran his hand through his hair and mused, “I would never have thought… Cat this story is so insane that none of it could be made up.” All of the sudden her brother’s face shifted from shock to panic as he grabbed her hands and exclaimed, “My gods, the rightful King and your son are lost beyond the Wall! What the fuck was Ned thinking! Why in the seven hells did he allow those boys to travel beyond the Wall, especially if he knew the dangers that are lurking in the shadows of the Lands of Always Winter!” 

She sighed as she confessed, “Edmure, I lied to you.” 

“What?” Edmure breathed out with a knitted brow, “You mean everything you just told me about the Rebellion and Jon and the Night King is not true?”

Catelyn exhaled, “No, all of that is true. I lied to you about Jon and Robb… They are not lost beyond the wall." 

Her brother raised an eyebrow as he inquired, “If they are not lost beyond the Wall, then where are they?”

She released a shaky breath before she continued her confession, “They are in Pentos. Jon went to go and save his wife Daenerys from being sold by her brother, Viserys, to the Dothraki Khal Drogo. Jon told Ned that she suffered in her past life, that she was raped repeated by her Dothraki husband.” She then let out a half chuckle as she added, ”Of course Robb had to follow him on his quest to save his wife. They are and have always been best friends.” She signed as she continued, “Edmure, Robb felt so much guilt for his mistakes in his last life. He feels responsible for my death and the death of his wife and unborn child as well as his bannermen and allies and that you were held captive by the Lannister’s and Frey’s."

”Cat, we cannot make the same mistakes. Robb is wise to follow a different path,” he comforted her by putting her into a warm embrace. When he broke the embrace, he looked her in the eyes and asked, “Sister, what are the intentions of the Stark’s and Targaryen’s? What is our plan against the Night King, the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead” 

The Queen in the North smiled as she answered, “The Starks intend to stay loyal to the rightful King of Westeros. Jon is the King that Westeros needs to be successful in fight against the Army of the Dead. The true King and Queen, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, together are the only hope to save Westeros from certain doom. Therefore we are going to help Jon to take back Iron Throne that was stolen from the Targaryen’s by Robert Baratheon. We will defeat the Lannister’s and Baratheon's and unite the Seven Kingdoms. Only if Westeros is untied will we stand a chance against the Night King and live through the next winter." 

“Cat, I hope that you have a better plan. Right now you have the North. I am sure that once I inform Father of what Joffrey did to his granddaughters he will swear fealty to Ned. That is two Kingdoms… Then if Robb marries Margaery Tyrell and Sansa marries Prince Trystane Martell, that gives you four kingdoms. But that is not enough… The Vale, Stormlands, Westerlands and Crownlands are very powerful… And only the gods know what the fuck the Iron Islands will do. The battles will be bloody, too many good fighting men will die for nothing!” 

She then smiled as she shook her head, "No brother. We will have more than the North, Riverlands, Dorne and the Reach… The real reason my husband is going beyond the Wall is to save the Free Folk, the Wildlings. He plans to bring them south of the Wall and settle them in the gift and Queenscrown. If they accept Ned’s proposal, it will add an army of over 100,000 skilled fighters, including Giants and Mammoths… Add that to Jon’s 100,000 Dothraki Screamers…” 

Her brother smiled as he affirmed, "I am surprised Cat. I cannot believe how well you and your husband have planned all of this. This plan could work.” 

“It wasn't our plan.” The Queen in the North confessed with a smile, “It was Jon. Jon knows how to play the Game of Thrones. Only he, with his wife Daenerys Targaryen and their six dragons will be able to save us all. I believe that they are the last hope for Westeros." 

Edmure let out a loud sigh before he looked at her, "Gods Cat, I cannot even imagine how painful it had t been for him, how much he suffered in his last life… Being betrayed and murdered by his own men… Having to kill his sisters after they had been turned into slaves in the Night Kings army… Loosing his wife and infant son.” 

She nodded in agreement, ”Yes, Jon has been through horrible things and hopefully he will not have to suffer through them again.”

”The only good thing I can make of all this is that we have been given another opportunity and with Jon’s knowledge of what is to come, we actually stand a fighting chance to defeat the Night King and survive the Long Night... Also, you can rest assured that the North and the Targaryen’s will have full support of House Tully. However, before I can tell father, there is something I need to take care..." 

She raised her eyebrow and inquired, "What is it that you must do before speaking with Father?" 

He brother exhaled sharply before he spoke. "As much I want to kill the brother fucking cunt Queen Cersei and her Bastard son for what they have done in the life and our last,” he spit out through gritted teeth, “I feel that I must stay in Winterfell.”

“Edmure, I do not understand...”

“Cat, I need to make sure that nothing happens to you,” He vowed as he took her hand. “I need to make sure you and my nieces and nephew are truly safe from any other attacks Queen Cersei. Then, I will travel to the Eyrie..." 

She then gasped and then quickly cut him off, "The Eyrie? Edmure, why would you want to see our sister after everything she has done?" 

"Catelyn, I need to go speak to Lysa... I will have her thrown in the Sky Cells for her crimes against our family and for the death of her husband. She is dangerous! And she is poisoning the mind of her bastard son! We cannot allow her or her Bastard to remain in control of the Vale... We need to put someone we can trust as Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East." 

She was genuinely curious to see if her brother had any ideas as to whom would be a proper leader, so she raised an eyebrow and asked, "Who did you had in mind?" 

"I was thinking maybe Sansa and Trystane. That is, if they decide to marry,” he stated proudly with a smile. “In her last life, she proved to be a good ruler in Jon’s stead... Why not put her the Lady of the Eyrie? And I am sure that Prince Trystane will be a competent Warden of the East." 

The Queen in the North exhaled, "Edmure, I am not sure if Jon has any plans for the Vale or who should be its leader... Ned has not yet fully shared Jon’s plan. I like the idea, but his is one that will need Ned and possibly Jon’s approval before moving forward." 

Edmure nodded in understanding, "That is fair. However, Lysa still needs to face justice her crimes against our family. I know we cannot charge her with all the crimes of her past life, but we can still charge her with the death of her Lord husband." 

"You are right, she does need to pay for her crimes,” Catelyn agreed. She then sighed as stared at Lyanna’s stature and sadly continued, “Lysa is not the same... She is no longer the girl I used to make mud pies with as a child. Her mind has been poisoned by Petyr Baelish... I still cannot believe how much he has changed. I wish I would have let Brandon kill him all those years ago. If I would not have had Brandon show him mercy when Petyr challenged him to a duel for..." 

“Cat, this is not your fault!” Her brother stated firmly, “Petyr was like a member of our family. Neither of us ever could have suspected the boy we knew could ever become the vile, cunning, scheming piece of shit that he did.” He then signed, “And I never thought that Lysa would be the one to fall into her trap. I know there is no way to save her... I guess we can agree, I will leave for the Eyrie once Lord Tyrion has the Wall to confront Lysa with her crimes and pass the sentence." 

"I do agree.” She stated with a firm nod. “However, I will not allow you to do this alone. I will go with you to the Eyrie. We should probably invite some of the Lords from the Eyrie to be in attendance when we charge her with her crimes, so that we do not start a war with the Vale. Then after our trip to the Vale, I will go with you to Riverrun..." 

Edmure gasped, "Cat why do you want to come along with me? Right now, your family needs you to be with them!" 

She sighed, then answered, "I want to join you Edmure. I need to look at Lysa in the eyes and ask her why she betrayed us. Then I want to be the one to inform Father of what happened and why he needs to join with the North when the time comes to fight for the Throne... I owe it to Jon. I was so horrible to him when I should have been a mother to him... I took out my pain of thinking Ned dishonored me on him, when I should have been cross with my husband. I need to do this to prove to him how sorry I am, and I pray that one day he will be able to forgive me." 

The Queen’s anxiety rose a little more every second she waited for her brother’s response. After what felt like an eternity, he sighed and relented, “Fine, Cat. We will travel together to the Eyrie and then to Riverrun." 

She smiled as she released a breath she was not aware she was holding. She then looked her brother in the eyes and stated, "I believe you understand how important it is that we keep this conversation to ourselves. If this information falls into the hands of anyone loyal to The Lannister’s or Baratheon’s, Robert would call his banners and march all of his troops North. If that happens all of our heads will be on spikes and Jon’s return will be for naught." 

“You are very right. I will not speak of word of this to anyone.” Edmure agreed.

Catelyn then grabbed the torch from the holder on the wall and took one last look at Lyanna’s stature before leading her brother out of the crypts......

 

 


 

Robb Stark 

 

It was early morning and Robb left his personal tent to meet with Jon and Dany in the large gathering tent to break their fast. As he walked, he recounted the last five days… It had been five days since they left the comforts of Illyrio’s manse. Five days since Daenerys had become the mother of dragons. Five days since they had said goodbye to Magister Illyrio and Lord Varys, whom left immediately after the dragons were hatched. Each of the men had left making promises; Illyrio promised they were always welcome to seek shelter in his home, while the eunuch promised to keep them informed of the happenings within the Southern Six Kingdoms. The Master of Whispers vowed he would send word of any plans the Usurper King plotted against them, and that he would keep eyes on the scheming Lord Petyr Baelish. The morning after the Dragons were hatched, the Khalasar effortlessly packed up the tent village and they began riding away from the outskirts of Pentos, east towards The Dothraki Sea and after four hard, long days of riding, the Dothraki Khalasar were camped somewhere in the Flatlands outside of Pentos. 

Every day of their travels, Robb had found time to ask his good sister, in private, if her moon blood has arrived. Each time she shook her head and then yesterday she had confirmed she was beginning to feel off; that she was having some breast tenderness and certain foods were beginning to smell funny to her. Dany also informed him that she had experienced similar symptoms when she with child in her past life; therefore, there was little doubt in his mind that he would be an uncle in just over eight moon turns. Robb had been over the moon that she was carrying his nephew or niece, the heir to the Iron Throne, in her womb and wanted to tell Jon, but his good sister firmly stated she wanted to wait. Even though he did not agree, he promised not to tell his brother and that he would made sure she was well protected at all time. 

Robb took a deep breath as he walked inside the large meeting tent, the same tent they used to meet with Lord Varys and Illyrio, to break his fast with Jon and Daenerys. “Good Morning, brother, Dany,” He greeted them with a smile, “How are you both this morning?” He added with his eyes flickering towards his good sister, silently asking for information as he took his seat at the table.

“Good morning, Stark,” his brother replied returning the smile. “I slept well.”

“I slept well, as well. Thank you for asking, Robb,” Dany responded as she took a small sip of water and did not meet his eyes.

They continued with pleasantries and small talk until they were served their breakfast of horse meat and some sort of flat bread. When Doreah came to fill their glasses with wine, he noticed how Dany respectfully declined, stating that she preferred water after four long days of riding. He breathed a sigh of relief when his brother stated she was right, and that he would have water as well. 

While they were eating, he noticed his good sister had had not touched her horse meat and was only picking at her bread. He then glanced at his brother and noted that he had a bewildered look on his face as he looked down at his wife’s plate of barely touched food. Before he could say something to divert his Jon’s attention away from his wife’s plate, he spoke, “Dany... are you all right? Why aren't you eating anything?”

Daenerys sighed before she muttered, "The horse meat just tastes funny to me. I think that I am just tired of it. After all, all we have eaten since we left Illyrio’s manse has been horse meat.” She continued to pick at her bread as she absentminded mused, “Perhaps if I had something different I could eat… I guess I could go hunting. I saw some rabbits yesterday during our ride and I am sure I could hit a few. I will just have to make a few arrows and ask one of the Dothraki if I could borrow their bow.”

Robb was surprised by his good sister’s comment and by the perplexed look on her husband’s face, he was confused as well. “Dany,” Jon questioned, “I haven't taught you how to use a bow and arrow.”

To his surprise, his good sister chuckled as if his brother had just made a joke. She then calmed herself and Robb swore he saw a panicked expression briefly flash across her face before she answered, "I'm sorry my love, you are right. I do not know how to hunt.” She then smiled as she put her hand on top of her husband’s on the table, looked into his eyes and asked, “Love, do you mind to go with some of the Kos and hunt for me? I am not picky, just anything besides eggs or horse meat will be just fine."

Jon returned her smile as he picked up her hand and placed a chaste kiss upon it before he answered, “Dany, I would like nothing more than to go and hunt for something different because I am also tired of this horse meat. However, unfortunately, I must address our Khalasar and inform them of our plans. Bako told me earlier, he has been asked many times over the last few days where it is we are traveling. Also, we are going to be coming upon villages soon and I need to remind them, that we will not allow tolerate the raping, enslaving or pillaging of the settlements we come across. They must be informed that breaking these rules is punishable by death.”

Robb took a sip of his water and asked, “And what are our plans, Snow. Where is it that we are going? Are we still heading to Astapor to free the Unsullied soldiers? Our plans have not changed, have they?”

“Aye, we will still be going to Astapor, however now is not the right time... It is still too early.” Jon answered with a sigh.

"Too early?” Robb inquired with a quirked eyebrow. 

His brother nodded in confirmation. “Aye, it is because the Unsullied Soldier I want as my commander goes by the name Grey Worm and he is not, at this moment at Astapor. Which means that I cannot free the Unsullied until he is there… It is very important that I have him as the commander of the Unsullied in the wars to come.” Jon sighed, “So we will first travel to the House of the Undying, in Qarth.”

Robb’s attention was pulled to his good sister when he heard her gasp. She grabbed her goblet of water, drinking down the contents before she asked in a shaky tone, "My love, why… Why would you want to go there?"

Jon sighed as he looked at his wife and took her hand as he smoothly spoke, “Dany, I have started having dreams and something about those dreams is pulling me there, to The House of the Undying. Dany, I believe that I have been having Dragons Dreams.”

“Dragon dreams,” his wife gasped, “Are you sure my love?”

“Aye, ever since you hatched the other five dragons, I have been having these strange dreams. I think that their hatching has caused to awaken within me and I am not sure what to make of them. I know that they are not memories of our past life, but the dreams are so vivid and feel so real… Like something that has been locked in my mind is trying to break free.” Jon sighed, “I cannot explain it. I just know that that is where we must go. I need answers, Dany.” 

Robb was confused, "Dragon Dreams… What are Dragon Dreams?” 

"Dragon Dreams,” Daenerys stated softly, “Dragon Dreams are premonition-like dreams that often involve dragons. The dreams often visions of the future or prophecies and it is common knowledge that Targaryen’s of the past have had these dreams.” She took a sip of water before she continued, “Many believe that Daenys Targaryen, also known as Daenys the Dreamer, had a dream about the destruction of Valyria. She informed her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, a nobleman from the Valyrian Freehold, of this dream and believed so much in her prophetic abilities that he moved his family, along with all of their belongs and their five dragons to Dragonstone… The Doom of Valyria happened twelve years later.” 

Robb nodded in understanding.

"Something is calling me to that House, Robb” Jon continued as he looked his brother in the eyes, “I do not know why, but I feel that it is something very important. I need to find out what these dreams mean... And besides, House of The Undying is in a city named Qarth and Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a merchant prince there.” Jon then took his wife’s hand, looked her in the eyes and stated, “Dany, I want to pay my respects to him for what he tried to do to you in your past life. We need to, somehow, take all of his gold so we can buy ships. If we have ships, we will be able to travel to Astapor much faster than going by land. Dany, I plan to bring fire and blood to all the men who harmed you or wronged you in your past life." 

He was confused ‘Who is this Xaro Xhoan Daxos?’ However, before he could ask, his attention diverted when he heard the sound of a dropping glass. When his eyes landed on his good sister, her eyes were tightly shut and hands were shaking as she massaged her temples. Then, when she screamed out in pain, Robb got out of his chair so quickly that it crashed to the floor and Jon’s arms were wrapped tightly around her, clutching her to his chest, preventing her from falling to the ground. Robb quickly made his way to the other side of the table, standing behind his brother and looking at his good sister.

"Dany what's wrong?” Jon asked a few moments later with a tremor in his tone he pulled away from the embrace, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at her to see if she was injured.

"Jon, my head… It hurts," she cried as she placed her head on her husband’s shoulder and tightly embraced him.

“Robb,” Jon called in a panic, “Please… Go find a healer!”

“No, Robb, I do not need a healer,” Dany stated firmly as she glared into his eyes before turning her attention towards her husband and put her hand on his cheeks as she reasoned. “Jon, I promise you I will be fine, my love. I just have a headache… I am sure that I have not drank enough water over the last few days and I am in need of rest. We have travel a great distance over the last four days and I am not used to being in the sun all day.” 

His brother shook his head as he took his wife’s head in his hands and softly but firmly stated, “Dany, you are not all right! You are hurting! There is something wrong with you! I am taking you to our tent so that you can rest and Robb will find a healer to check you over.” Jon then whispered, “Dany, I cannot let anything happen to you… I cannot live if you are not by my side.” 

Robb then placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, successfully getting his attention before he sympathetically stated, “Brother, please let me take her to your tent. I promise I will take care of her and make sure that she is all right. You just told us you needed to inform the Khalasar of our travel plans and you needed to inform them that they are no longer allowed to rape, enslave or pillage the villages we encounter on our journey. Jon, I would hate if one of them raped a woman, thinking it was still allowed as it was under the rule of Khal Drogo. If they do not know of the rules then you cannot enforce them.” 

Jon exhaled sharply and nodded reluctantly. "Aye, you are right, Robb. But please make sure that the healers examine her after you get her comfortable in our tent." 

He nodded in understanding and made his way around his brother. He then took his good sister in his arms and began to walk out of the tent as she mumbled about the pain in her head. ‘Dear gods! I need to get her to her tent and get a healer… This is not a sign of pregnancy… I need to make sure that my niece or nephew is all right!’

It took only a few moments for Robb to reach the tent of the Khal and Khaleesi. He pushed the tent flap out of the way, entered the tent, gently laid her on the soft bed and put a pillow under her head. He then quickly ran over to the wash basins, took a clean cloth from the table, dipped it in the clean water, made his way back over to Dany and placed it on her forehead.

“Dany, are you all right?" He asked as he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. He then observed her face and head, looking for and unable to find any sign of injury. “Please open your eyes and talk to me. Let me know what I can do to help.”

His good sister slowly sat up in the bed, removed the cloth from her forehead and stated, "Robb, I promise you, I am fine."

He shook his head as he took her hand in his and whispered, “You are not fine, Dany. You are pregnant and you are ill.” He sighed, “I am worried about you. You keep having these headaches, which are not normal to pregnancy. You need to see a healer. If not for your stake, or mine or even Jon’s. Dany, you need to make sure that everything is all right with the babe… I am already not being truthful with my brother. You know if he knew you were pregnant and having these headaches he would freak out until he was assured that you were both okay.” 

"No Robb, you cannot get a healer,” Dany pleaded he was about to protest, but she continued, “If you ask for a healer, it will be announced to the entire Khalasar that the Khaleesi is pregnant with their Khal’s child… The Khalakka. I do not want the Khalasar to celebrate and then something happen. If I lose this babe after my pregnancy has been announced to and celebrated by the Khalasar, they will see me as weak and the Dothraki only follow strength. We have been over this; I do not want to get his hopes up. He would be devastated if I lost the babe. I promise, as soon as it has been two moons, I will tell him about the babe and allow for the pregnancy to be celebrated.” 

He sighed and begged, “Dany, at least let me get a healer to assess your headaches. We do not have to tell them about the babe.”

“I promise you, Robb. These headaches are nothing to be worried about. The Three-Eyed Raven told me the headaches would happen.” 

He was confused. “The Three-Eyed Raven. Bran was The Three-Eyed Raven in Jon’s past life… How have you talked to Bran? And what do you mean by he told you the headaches happen?" 

His good sister sighed as she closed her eyes and confessed, “Because he came to me in a vision... He showed me things about my past life when I hatched the dragons.” She then slowly opened her eyes and Robb gasped when he saw her eyes where no longer her normal bright vibrant violet, but a shade of golden orange.

‘Dear gods, why have her eyes changed. But she is not angry. We were just talking. What the actual fuck is going on?’ "Dany?" he gasped. “Why are your eyes orange?" 

"Because, Robb,” she then sighed as she placed her hand on her forehead and whispered, “I'm... I am Azor Ahai." 

He was confused. "Azor Ahai? I have heard of Azor Ahai before but I cannot remember where... Dany who is Azor Ahai?"

Dany smiles as she shook her head, "It is not important, Robb. Not important for this life anyway."

"What do you mean? It must be important if you are having these headaches and your eyes are changing colors!"

A single tear fell down her face as she muttered in a barley audible voice, "When two worlds collide after both end in its downfall... a failure. One life will meet the other life in a new world and something will be reborn... Two saviors will be returned from different lives. They will fall in love and together to bring forth the Lightbringers." 

He furrowed his eyebrow in confusion. "Dany none of that makes sense? Are you sure that you have not hit your head? Are you sure that you are all right?" 

His good sister sighed as she nodded her head and promised, "I am fine, Robb. It is nothing to worry ab..." 

“When two worlds collide? When one life meets another? What does any of that mean?" He interrupted. 

She took deep breath as a small smile spread on her face as she placed one hand on her lower stomach. When he looked her eyes, he could see they were glassy, as if she was willing her tears not to fall. She then took his hand, look him in the eyes as a few tears escaped her eyes and whispered, "Robb, I am not the Daenerys from Jon’s life. I am from a different life... I am from a life where Jon knew who he was before we met. He knew he was my oldest brother’s son... he already knew he Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Throne and he was King in the North. When I arrived in Westeros, we agreed to marry for a political alliance... We each had an army of over 100,000 soldiers… Jon even had giants and mammoths in his Wildling army... and he knew that the best way to unite the Seven Kingdoms was through marriage.” Her smile grew as she continued, “However, it was not like in Jon's past life where we hated each other first... In my past life the moment we met, we both felt a strong connection, like we had met, the other half of our soul." 

He listened closely her eyes closed, as if she was reminiscing and she widened smiled as he watched her lovingly caress her lower stomach. "I clearly remember Jon arriving unannounced on Dragonstone with his three dragons.”

“Jon had three dragons!”

His good sister nodded and chuckled, “Yes, and they were so big! They scared Lord Tyrion half to death when he heard their screeching. I am positive they are the dragons that hatched from his siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys, eggs... the ones that were given to them by my brother. In my past life Jon had named them Ragnar, Balerion and the largest of them was Sarogon.”

“How did Jon get three dragon eggs?”

"I am not sure exactly... I remember he told me that his the grey egg, Sarogon, arrived at the Wall, along with his swords, Dark Sister and Winters Wolf, and a letter from your Father, giving him the truth. He told me that Uncle Aemon, the Maester at the Wall, gave him the eggs... I do not know how he came to possess the eggs belonging to Jon’s half sister and brother.” 

Robb had a thousand thoughts running through his mind, as he tried to make since of what Daenerys was telling him. ‘What in the seven hells is going on! How can Daenerys’ past be so different from the one Jon told us about? How did Jon hatch the dragons? How did his Uncle get the eggs? What happened that brought her to this life? Did everyone die in her past as well?’ However before he could ask he heard his good sister speaking sweetly to her still flat belly.

"I am sorry my little dragon... I am so sorry that you will never have the opportunity to meet your older brother... Your brother from my past life or your brother from your Papa’s past life.” She sighed as she wiped as tear from her cheek, “In both our past lives, his name was Rhaegar Targaryen... I would have loved to watch the two of you playing together in the gardens of the Red Keep or in the Godswood of Winterfell or in Aegon’s Garden at Dragonstone. I know that the two of you would have been best friends, just like your Papa and your Uncle Robb.”

He took a deep breath as he gripped her hand. "Dany... I need to make sure that I understand you clearly.” When her gaze met, his he continued. “You are telling me that you are not the Daenerys from Jon's past life, but you are from another past life? A past life where Jon already knew the truth about his parentage and he had three dragons? Are you sure... Are you sure this is not one of those Dragon Dreams you all were discussing earlier?" 

She smiled weakly as she nodded and used her free hand to wipe the tears from her face. "I am.” Then, when she met his gaze she added, “And this is also the reason I have been having the headaches.”

He quirked his eyebrow in confusion and she continued. “I have been having the headaches because the memories from my past life are being unlocked and returned to my conscious mind.” She sighed before she resumed, “I am not sure as to what happened exactly in my last life. However, I am sure that something horrible must have happened and I, like Jon, was sent back in time in order to save our people… So that we could fulfill the prophecy.” She then spoke softly as she gripped his hand tighter, “We are the saviors. Both of our past lives ended in failure and now we have both returned so that together we can bring forth the Lightbringers.”

All Robb could do was nod as she confessed that she was a different Daenerys. ‘How in the seven hells has this happened? Was I around in her past life? Maybe I was and I gave Jon the crown because it was rightfully his… The Northern lords would have kneeled if I kneeled. I need to know if I was there to support my brother. Dear gods, I pray I did not make the same mistakes in both lives.’ For a few moments, he was speechless as he pondered what he should ask next. However, he had to know his fate, no matter how painful the truth might be, he needed to know if he was there to help his brother. He swallowed hard as he found his voice, and in a shaky tone asked, "Dany, you say that you are from a different life… I know I was betrayed and murdered in Jon’s life because of idiotic choices I had made. Can you tell me… Do you know if I survived in your life? Was I there to fight alongside of you and my brother during the long night?” 

Daenerys sighed and shook her head. “I am sorry Robb, but you were not there,” she said sympathetically as she gave his hand a tight squeeze. “The Jon from my past told me that you died in the same fashion as his life… That you fell in love and married after you had already been promised to another… That you were betrayed a wedding and you, your wife, unborn child and mother were all murdered.”

Robb exhaled as he internally chastised himself, 'Gods I am such an idiot! I made foolish, reckless decisions in two worlds... I will not make the same mistake in this life.' He looked at his good sister as he held her hand. “Dany, I would like to know, what happened to you and Jon in your past life?" 

She shook her head, "I am not sure what happened to either of us; those memories have not yet been returned to me. However, according to the prophecy, it must not have ended in failure or else I would not have been sent back to do it over again. My memories have just begun to return; this morning I saw how Jon or should I say Azor Ahai, broke the curse on my womb… I will leave out the details as to how… But because he broke the seal, it lead to me becoming fertile and allowed be to be able to bear him, and only him children.”

“Does it feel strange that you are not married to the same Jon Snow you fell in love with?” 

"Not at all,” she stated with a chuckle. “I mean, the Jon I married is very similar to the Jon I fell in love with. I know he is a little different, but deep down his is the same man. The Jon from my last life saw himself as a King. He still had some insecurities deep down because he was raised as a bastard, but he saw himself as a good and honorable man. In this life he is much the same. He may have not known he was a King when we first met in his last life, but he did when he returned. He must have learned to be a King, in his last life, because he certainly acts like the King that the people need. He is not a shy boy hiding in the shadows; he is a King that would do whatever it takes to keep his family and his people safe from harm.” He saw her smiled widened, "Robb, it does not matter what life I am from or he is from, we are fated souls... Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen were always destined to be together, to fight together and to save our people together." 

He smiled as he gave her hand another gentle squeeze, took a deep breath and asked, "Does Jon know that you are not the same Daenerys that he knew in his past life?" 

"He does not… and I want to keep it that way," his good sister stated firmly.

Robb was perplexed, "Why Dany? Why are you not telling him? This is something that he needs to know! He needs to know about the babe growing inside of your womb and that you are from another past life! You should really be telling him about everything! I mean, maybe if the two of you combine your past lives it will help find a way to defeat the Night King in this life." 

"Robb,” she said with a sigh as she looked into his eyes, “I promise that I will tell Jon everything when the time is right. Right now, he just has so much to think about, that I do not want him to worry about be as well. Gods, he is thinking about the war for the Iron Throne, the Great War against the White Walkers. The assassins King Robert is surely to send after us. The traitorous Bolton’s. The power seeking Lannister’s… I will tell him everything when I am two moon turns into my pregnancy." 

He sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Dany, I only want to protect your babe, my little niece or nephew. I think Jon will be hurt or angry if we keep him in the dark about you pregnancy. Dany he loves you. I have never seen him so happy… I am scared that he will feel betrayed that you did not trust him enough to share that you are carrying his child.” 

"Robb, I know you mean well, I just do not want Jon to have to worry about something else. It is still so early in my pregnancy… My moon blood is just a few days late so it is very common that a woman would not know that she is even with child this early into her pregnancy. So he will not be upset if I wait just a few more weeks to tell him… I can tell him that with the traveling I lost track of when I should have had my moon blood.” She then squeezed his hand and commented, “You are going to be a great uncle. You are already so protective over your future Nephew or Niece, and it will still be eight moon turns until he or she arrives." 

"Aye, I will.” He then chuckled as he added, “And I know his or her Auntie Arya will be extremely protective… I mean, Jon has always been her favorite sibling. You know Jon asked her Water Dancing master to go to Winterfell. I am sure by the time we arrive home she will be determined to teach her niece or nephew how to wield a sword." 

They both chuckled as she nodded. "She will. I remember her from my past life. She was a fierce and scary young woman. However she was extremely loyal to Jon and she had a good heart.” She chuckled once more as she added, “She actually threatened to murder me if I was only using your brother to take the throne for myself." 

Robb gasped as he heard this, "She did?" However, he smiled when he saw she was laughing at his reaction.

"She did, but when she realized I was loyal to and loved your brother she welcomed me to the pack. You know, she could have easily killed me if she wanted to.” Robb gasped again, but before he could speak, his good sister continued, “She was an assassin, a Faceless man, in my last life... Just as she was in Jon's past life. Did you know, she took revenge on the Frey’s for your murder… She killed every last male of House Frey!" 

He smiled as he stood up from his chair and walked over to the small table a few feet from the bed. He took one of the cups and filled it with some water from the pitcher for his good sister. He made his way back over to the bed, placed the cup in her hands. She sat up from the pillows and eagerly drank as he asked, "Dany, can you tell me more about what you remember from your past life?”

She smiled at him and inquired, "What is it that you would like to know?"

He sat back down in the chair he had just vacated and asked, "Firstly, do you remember Daario or Drogo... I mean I just thought since you remember Arya maybe you would remember them as well.”

He saw a smile of relief came on her face as she shook her head. "Thank the Gods, I do not. I do remember telling Jon that I thought I loved Drogo, but I later realized I was only in love with the power that he gave me. I also remember telling him that I only took Daario to warm my bed because I was lonely. I am glad truly glad that I have not remembered my interactions with them and I hope that I never do. If I had to guess, I would say the reason I cannot remember them is because I was Jon’s Nissa Nissa. So far, I have only remembered my some of my first interactions with Jon, like making love for the first time on Dragonstone and showing me the Dragonglass caves. I also remember a few events from my time in Essos, like hatching my dragons, freeing the Unsullied, and leaving for Westeros." 

He smiled as she took another sip from her glass of water. He then placed his hand back on hers. "Dany, I admit that I am still somewhat confused… I remember you whispered to Jon, when he told us the story of how you two met, that you remembered you made love on the boat as you sailed from Dragonstone towards White Harbor… And you believed this was when you became pregnant with Rhaegar." 

“That is true,” She replied with a smile. “I do remember a journey with Jon to White Harbor and making love on a boat. I might have been on a journey we took together in my past life. That memory is still very hazy to me, I think because all the events surrounding that journey have yet to be unlocked in my mind." 

He nodded in understanding and took a deep breath before he asked his next question. "Dany this might be painful to ask… In Jon’s past, he said that you were turned into the Night Queen... and my nephew, your son, Rhaegar, was turned into a White Walker... Have any of those memories returned? Do you know if something similar happened in your past life?" 

He saw her sigh as she shook her head. "I am not sure what happened to Rhaegar, myself or Jon. I do not know if they were both wounded or dead. I have had a few flashes, but nothing made sense. I guess that I will have to wait for those memories to be returned. However, I can say that whenever I try and remember I feel loss, sadness, grief and pain; I feel no happy emotions." She then took a deep breath, her eyes began to water, and her voice quivered as she asked, "Robb, what will happen to my babe, this babe that Jon and I created, if we lose the battle in this life as well. I will not allow him to become another slave to the Night King like his older brother from Jon's past life… I will kill myself before that happens again." 

Robb force a smile to calm his good sister as he placed his hand on her cheek and vowed, "It will not happen again, Dany. I promise you, we will defeat the Night King! We have six dragons! We will have armies from all Seven Kingdoms and the Free Folk… And if what you said is true, the Wildling army will be full of giants and mammoths! We will defeat the Night King and his army. Westeros will stand united and we will defeat the threat together!" 

“How can you be sure Robb?” She asked as he saw the tears beginning to spill from her eyes. “We know that the Night King won in Jon's past life and I fear that he won in mine as well. How can I ensure that the babe growing inside my womb will have children of his or her own? I do not want this child to die like Rhaegar did in Jon’s past." 

He tried to calm her fears by pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. He then looked he in the eyes and firmly stated, "Because Dany I believe that we have all been given a second chance. Maybe in your past life, you found out a way to defeat the Night King and that is why you were sent back to the past, to help us defeat the threat." 

Her tears were now cascading down her face. “Robb, you do not understand how I feel. We lost Rhaegar in Jon’s life and I do not know what happened to him in mine, but I fear that he did not survive.” She then placed her hand over her lower stomach, “How can I ensure this child, does not share the same fate as the sons from the past?” 

"Because Dany, we are a pack. We stand together and look out for one another. And together we will defeat the Night King. I am not sure how we will do it just yet, but we will! The great war for Westeros will be hard but if we unite the Seven Kingdoms as well the wildling army and with the help if six Dragons we will win! As you said, ‘Two saviors will be returned from different lives. They will fall in love and together to bring forth the Lightbringers.’ I know that the saviors are you and Jon and together your love will bring forth the Lightbringers." 

He saw her sigh and nod as she wiped her tears with the back of her hands. He wanted to lighten the mood so he smirked and asked, "You told me and Jon earlier, when we were breaking our fast, you wanted to hunt for some rabbits... Do you know truly how to hunt?" 

Robb chuckled when he saw a slight pink blush spread across her face as she teasingly inquired, "And why would you like to know that my Good Brother?" 

“Hmm... I am just curious,” he said nonchalantly. “You know, since in Jon's past life your only weapons were your dragons. Jon told us nothing about you knowing how to fight or hunt. I would only presume you were different in some ways from the Daenerys from Jon's past life." 

Daenerys chuckled and smiled as she nodded. "Yes, Robb I know how to hunt with a bow and arrow, that is one of the things I have remembered from my past life with the Dothraki. I remember some of my Kos taught me to use a bow and arrow to hunt and I also remember that I was an excellent swordsman.”

He chuckled. "You were swordsmen..." 

She smirked as she asked in a sarcastically hurt tone. "And why are you laughing Robb Stark? Do you not think I was a good swordsman in my last life?" 

He even laughed harder when she said this. "Dany, Jon and I are the ones teaching you how to wield a sword because he said that you were not able to in the past. I admit, you are learning fast, but by no means are you an excellent swordsmen just yet. But in time, I have no doubt you..." 

"You did teach me to wield a sword in this life,” she interrupted, “When you and Jon first arrived, I did not remember I was known as the Greatest Swordsmen within all of Essos. Now, my memories of how to properly wield a sword have returned to me... I even remember that I was able to defeat your brother, albeit I cheated, but I still defeated him in our first spar. And let me tell you this Robb Stark, there is not a doubt in my mind, I could defeat you... easily." 

He then chuckled as he raised his eyebrow, "Oh really sister? I do not believe you! There is no way that you defeated Jon! He defeated me, my father, Theon, the head of the Stark Household Guard and the Winterfell Master at Arms! Also, you have seen him train! Jon has never lost!” 

A true smile spread across her face as she confirmed, "Really brother." 

“How? You said that you cheated… My father tried to cheat, but Jon saw it coming. How did you outsmart him? This is something that I will have to try!”

His good sister burst out laughing and between her bouts of laughter she blurted out, “I don’t think you touching his cock when he has a sword at your throat will have the same effect on him as when I did it!”

Robb felt himself blushing before he chortled out, “What? You defeated him… I cannot… Holy fuck Dany he would kill me if I did that! Gods, I wish I would have seen that!” After their laughter died down, he smiled as he placed his hand on hers, "After you have rested and gotten your strength back, I will challenge you to a real spar… That is as long as you do not touch my cock.” 

“I accept… And do not worry, I will not have to resort to cheating to defeat you my dear good brother." 

They sat and talked for a few more minutes before she started to yawn; he could tell that she was tired because she was struggling to keep her eyes open. He then stood up from his chair, covered her with a light cotton blanket, pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, "Rest Dany... For your sake and for your babe..." 

She muttered thanks before she turned on her side as she closed her eyes. He smiled when he saw her hand on her stomach, ‘She is protecting her and Jon’s little dragon… My future niece or nephew will have the greatest Father and Mother what Westeros have ever seen and a plethora of aunts and uncles and a grandfather who will love him or her with all of their heart as well show you how to become a good king or queen… I bet even my mother will be the best grandmother… I know that she must feel guilty for the way she treated Jon and she will want to do anything possible to make amends.’  When he saw her take a deep breath he knew she was sleeping. He poured another glass of water for her and placed it on the small table by the side of the bed for when she woke and quietly left the tent, securing the flap behind him.

As he exited the tent he nearly walked into the old knight from Bear Island. He smiled and greeted him, ”Ser Jorah." 

"My prince,” The knight replied with a smile, “Is everything all right? I heard the Khaleesi was ill.”

He then smiled at him, “The Khaleesi is fine. She is just tired from four days of hard riding. She is sleeping as we speak… I need for you to stand guard over her tent.”

He saw the old knight smiled and dipped his head, "Of course, my prince." 

“Thank you, Ser Jorah,” Robb stated as he placed a hand on his shoulder before he took his leave to find his brother.

He walked through the tents in search of his brother, and soon he found him, talking to his blood riders. He smiled as he walked over towards him and called, “Brother… Pardon me, Khal Aegon”

Jon said something to Bako who nodded, before he walked over to meet Robb with a worried expression on his face. Once they met each other, he looked around to make sure they were alone and quietly asked, "Robb... How is she?" 

"She is well Jon. I believe that she just tired. She is asleep, trying to regain her strength." Robb smiled as the half truth came from his lips.

His brother tried to smile as "That is good to hear.” His brooding expression returned when he placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Robb, I need to ask you something.” 

Robb felt his anxiety rise as he raised his eyebrow as he looked into his brother's eyes, ‘He knows that I am lying to him. Fuck. Dany if he asks I will not be able to lie. Jon knows when I am lying,’ he thought as he asked in a calm voice, “What is it that you would like to know, brother?" 

He saw his brother smiled at him. “Robb, I need you to go and hunt something for Dany.” His brother then lowered his voice so only he could hear, “Brother, I think that she is with child and I need her at her full strength.”

“What would make you think that?”

He brother chuckled, “There have been a few things. I have noticed that she has not been eating well… She has not gotten sick, but I can tell that food is not tasting the same to her and she refused wine this morning... Dany loves wine. Then,” He blush slightly as he whispered, “Her breast seem to be extra sensitive. And then we have been married for nearly a full moon turn and she has yet to have her moon blood… Robb, these are all the symptoms that she had early in her pregnancy with Rhaegar. I do not know if she is aware yet and I am not ready to say anything to her just yet… It is still so early and if she knows and looses the babe she will be devastated. I do not want to see her in any pain. Also, if the Khalasar finds out they will want to celebrate her pregnancy. I do not want them to find out for at least another moon turn.”

Robb sighed knowing that he could not keep the truth from his brother. He then sighed before he confessed, “Jon, Dany told me earlier that her moon blood is a few days late and she is positive she is with child. She did not want me to tell you because she did not want to add anymore stress on top of everything you are already worried about… and she did not want the Khalasar to find her weak if she lost the babe, which is the reason she did not allow me to get a healer… She wanted to wait until she was two moon turns into the pregnancy before telling you so seeking a healer.”

His brother then pulled him into a chest crushing embrace. When they broke apart Robb noticed the biggest smile he had ever seen on his brother’s normally brooding face. “I take it you are happy?”

“Aye, I am. This is the best news!” His brother then pulled him close and said, “Robb, please. Do not say anything. We cannot let the Khalasar know because it is too soon.”

“Of course, brother,” Robb vowed.

“Robb, I need you to do something for me.”  When Robb quirked an eyebrow his brother continued, “This ride will be hard and I need Dany to remain healthy. She will full in the stomach to ensure both her and the babe are strong. Do you mind to go and hunt for her and the babe? She said something about rabbit when we broke our fast… Take Bako with you, he knows the land and he is an excellent hunter. Doreah has told me you have been attending Daenerys’ Dothraki language lessons and you can speak a little of the language." 

He smiled as he nodded at his brother. "Of course Jon. It shall be an honor to hunt for my sister... the Khaleesi,” He then whispered, “and my little niece or nephew,” before he raised his voice and continued, “I have not hunted since we left Winterfell... It has been too long and I have been dying to hunt again." 

The smile did not leave his brother’s face as he said, ”That is good to hear. I wish I could join you but..." 

Robb smiled at his brother as he cut him off. "Don't worry Jon. I fully understand that you need to keep Daenerys safe and make sure the Dothraki fully understand the new rules of the Khalasar." 

"Thank you, Robb. I will see you when you return.” Jon stated as he pulled him in for another brotherly embrace.

When the embrace broke, Robb noticed his brother appeared exhausted so he jested, “You look like shit, Snow… When you are finished speaking with the Khalasar, you should go rest with Dany.” 

He smiled and nodded, “Aye, I believe that I will.”

Jon then walked over towards his blood riders, and a few moments later, Bako walked over towards him. Robb looked at Bako and smiled as he walked over to meet him. He took a deep breath as he tried to remember the right words. "Bako, tikh yer join anna she jin hunt rabbits ha jin khaleesi?" (Bako, will you join me on a hunt rabbits for the Khaleesi?)

“Sek, me tikh tikh anna chomokh, brother ki khal aegon,” (Yes, it would be my honor, brother of the Khal Aegon), The large Dothraki man stated with a nod.

He and Bako retrieved their bows and arrows before making their way to their horses so they could hunt some rabbit for his good sister and the little dragon in her womb……

 


 

Lord Varys

 

It was a late afternoon and the sky was cloudless except for the comet in the sky when Illyrio’s merchant ship approached the docks in King’s Landing. Varys stood on the deck, allowing the fresh salty sea air to fill his lungs before he would have to disembark the vessel and smell nothing but the shit-filled air of the Capital. He sighed when the vessel docked and he was informed that it was time for him to leave the vessel.

As he made his way off the ship, onto the docks, he saw the familiar face of Lord Baelish waiting for him. 'It would appear my King was correct... He took the bait of my threat. It may be easier to dispose of him than we thought,’ he thought as he smiled at the Master of Coin and walked over to meet him.

"Lord Varys,” the Mockingbird smoothly said as he returned the smile.

"Lord Baelish, I must say, I am surprised to see you here,” The Master of Whispers replied, with the best look of shock he could muster.

The Master of Coin smirked slightly as he replied, “You have been a hard man to track. You informed us you were going to check on your little birds… Needless to say I was surprised when I received word that you were in Pentos, and that you threatened my spy.”

“My Lord, I do not know what you are talking about. Yes, I was in Pentos, working on my network of little birds and gathering information,” he responded dismissively. He then absentmindedly added, “As you know, I have no need of the services a brothel has to offer.”

“Well, Master of Whispers. I find that hard to believe when I received a threat via raven scroll.” He paused for a moment before stating, “My whore informed me that a man, matching your description, is spreading lies that I was responsible for the death of Jon Arryn… That I believed his death would lead to a war between The Lions and the Wolves." 

He then chuckled, “Lord Baelish, those are some pretty audacious claims, especially without proof. You know me better, my friend. I only make threats when I have proof,” Varys exaggerated a sigh, “and sadly, my little birds have sung me no songs that you played any part in the previous Lord Hand’s death. As Maester Pycell informed us, Jon Arryn’s death was due to a bowl illness. There was no evidence of poison in his system.”

The Master of Coin raised an eyebrow, as though he was trying to decide if the Master of Whispers was being honest of deceitful. He then released a sigh, and with a friendly smirk on his face suggested, “Please, Lord Varys, let us walk to the small council meeting together and you can tell me all about your time in Pentos.”

He smiled and bowed his head and responded, "It shall be an honor, Lord Baelish." 

The two men then began walking past the common folk and the dockworkers crowding the streets of the Fishmarket as they made their way through the Mud Gate, towards the Red Keep. They walked in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes until they began walking up River Row, when the Mockingbird cleared his throat and stated, "My spies took quite a while to respond to my questions, Lord Varys." 

Varys embellished a frown as he responded, “Oh, I am so sorry to hear that, my Lord... However it appears that you were finally able to gather some useful information.”  

"They did,” the Master of Coin confessed. “And, you have already told me you were in Pentos... I was surprised when they told me that information. I wonder, why you felt the need to be so close to this pretender, who claims to be Aegon Targaryen." 

He then smiled and began to answer, "I was... " 

However, the Mockingbird continued his speech. "I have yet to figure out why you decided to go yourself... Why you just did not send one of your little birds.” Baelish then stopped walking, looked him in the eyes and inquired, "Why were you there, Lord Varys? As much as I have pondered this, I have yet to come to a logical conclusion."

The Spider sighed, “I went to Pentos to receive information my little birds received from my informant, Ser Jorah Mormont.”

"Jorah Mormont, the knight that Lord… Pardon me, King Eddard Stark sentenced to death for selling poachers into slavery?” Lord Baelish probed for more information with a furrowed brow. 

“That would be correct, my friend,” Varys nodded and confirmed. “Ser Jorah Mormont, is my spy whom is in the company of Aegon Targaryen. Originally, King Robert promised him a pardon to return the North if he gives us information on Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. He was to inform us of their plans, their movements and intentions. I needed to go an offer him a different agreement… You know, because King Robert can no longer uphold his end of the arrangement.” 

Lord Baelish nodded in understanding, before he pressed, “And were you able to come to a new arrangement?”

Varys nodded but before he could speak, the Mockingbird started walking again and continued his inquiry. “And now what information has Ser Jorah been able to find out about this man, who calls himself the true King of the Seven Kingdoms?" 

He smiled as he looked at the Master of Coins and nonchalantly stated, “Oh, I have learned quite a lot. However, I fear River Row is not the place to be discussing such matters, my Lord. I will be happy to inform you and the rest of the Small Council at our meeting.”

The Master of Coin then smiled and replied, "I look forward to hearing all the information your little birds have shared, Lord Varys." 

He nodded in response as they entered the Red Keep. They continued to walk in silence for several minutes as they made their way towards the Small Council chambers. Suddenly, Lord Baelish grabbed the sleeve of his silk tunic, and he whispered, “May I ask if it is true, Lord Varys?”

The question caused the eunuch to stop and he furrowed his brow in confusion as he asked, “Is what true, my friend?”

“Is it true that they have six Dragons?" he inquired with wide eyes.

He then smiled at the Master of Coin, and let out a slight sigh, but remained silent as he began to walk once more towards the Small Council Chambers, leaving the Mockingbird standing alone in the hall of the Red Keep.

As he entered the Throne Room, he heard a chirping sound. He looked over towards the noise and saw one of his little birds, so he walked over to the child. The child wordlessly handed him a piece of folded parchment before scurrying off and exiting through the servant door. Varys quickly read the message.

 

 

 

I have received murmurs that the oldest Stark wolf is betrothed to the Golden Rose of High Garden, the eldest daughter of the King of the North is to marry the second son of Prince Doran, and the spare heir to is to wed the daughter of Lord Reed.

 

‘These are wonderful developments indeed. My King will be happy to hear this news,’ the Spider mused as he folded the letter and placed it in the pocket of his sleeve before he entered the Small Council meeting room. As he entered the chamber, he saw the Master of Laws, Lord Renly Baratheon, sitting at the table sipping a glass of wine. He smiled at the man, and dipped his head in respect before he took his seat at the table.

”Lord Varys!" The Master of Laws greeted him with a smile, "I am surprised that you have already returned from your quest." 

"I just returned. I came straight from the docks to the Small Council Meeting," he responded with a smile.

The Master of Laws was about to speak, when he attention was diverted to the door as it swung open. The Master of Whispers also turned to look and he could not help but sigh as Lord Baelish entered the room. 

"Ah, Lord Baelish. I am so glad that you are able to join us this afternoon," Lord Renly welcomed with a sincere smile.

The Master of Coin smirked as he walked towards his seat and replied, “There is no place I would rather be and it is a pleasure to see you again as well, my Lord.” 

A few moments after Lord Baelish sat, the Master of Whispers heard the familiar cough of the Grand Maester, even before the door opened. When the door opened, Grand Maester Pycell coughed again as he greeted them with a simple, dip of his head and a muttered, “My Lords,” before taking his seat at the table.

As the old Maester sat, Varys mused to himself, ‘Oh, you will not be so successful in spying for Queen Cersei this time. You are nothing but a disgrace to the Maesters.’ 

"Lord Varys,” the Old Maester rasped out, “Ah, I see you have returned to the Capital. I hope the sea was kind and that you will share with us exactly what you have learned… You have been gone for nearly the last fortnight."

Varys smiled at the crooked Old man as he began to answer, "I had a very successful fact finding quest, Grand Maester..."

The Mockingbird then interrupted, “Yes, Lord Varys… Where were you exactly, for the last fortnight? What information do you have to share with the trusted members of the King’s small council?”

When he looked at the Master of Coin, he noticed the smug smile from his face; he returned the smile as he thought, ‘Oh I bet you wish you knew what I was really doing in Pentos.’ He then looked toward the other members of the Small Council and reported, “As you all know, I received word that the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen is in Pentos, which is only a four or five day trip across the Narrow Sea. I decided it was best to go to the source to gather information on this man and expand my network of little birds in Essos.”

The Master of Laws sat up straight in his chair, clearly excited to hear this information. He then asked, "And Lord Varys, what did you find out about this so-called Dragon King? Do you feel he is a threat to my family’s throne?"

‘I will have to share what my King told me to say. He is very lucky that I am a smooth liar,’ He thought as he took a sip of water. He then smiled, and replied, "When I was in Pentos, I was able to see the Khalasar, camped close to the outer gates of Pentos, Lord Renly."

When he looked at the faces of the Master of Laws and Grand Maester Pycell, he wanted to smirk at the fearful, stunned looks on their faces. Lord Renly finally was able to muttered, “Lord Baelish informed me that the Khalasar is larger than we thought… That there is closer to 100,000 when we thought there were 40,000… is this true? Are there really 100,000 savages in the Khalasar?”

The Spider took a deep breath as he answered the question honestly, "From what I saw, I would say that number is correct, my Lord,”

The Grand Master began to have a coughing fit and the Master of Laws face began to pale at this revelation, while the Master of Coin frowned. ‘He was looking to catch me in a lie. He wanted something he could hold over my head and use against me. I am smarter than you my old friend. Your scheming days are numbered,’

Finally after drinking half a glass of water, the Grand Maester was able to silence his cough long enough to breathe out, "And the Dragons... Lord Varys, are the dragons real?"

He took a deep breath, and then answered the Grand Maester question, "All of my little birds sang me the same song, and that song says that the Targaryens do in fact have newly hatched dragons.” He paused for a moment to let the three small council members absorb this information before he continued. “My little birds told me that Aegon Targaryen has hatched a grey dragon and his wife, Daenerys has hatched five others. The people of Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons." He heard Pycell gasp and mutter something under his breath while Renly looked quite green, as though he was going to vomit. He them looked at the Master of Coin, who actually looked fearful. ‘I guess your planned scheme is not going to work this time dear mockingbird.’

Lord Baelish, then found his voice and inquired, "My Lord, we you or your little birds able to see the dragons? Do you know how big they are? How fast they are growing"

Varys sighed and forced a frown on his face as he answered. “I myself did not see them,” he lied, “However, my little birds stated that about a moon turn ago, the grey dragon was small enough to sit on the shoulder of the Dragon King and none of my little birds have seen the new dragon hatchlings. And sadly, I have no reports on the current size of the grey dragon, apparently they keep the dragons hidden, in an effort to prevent them from being stolen. I would assume that the dragons are still quite small if they are able to hide them so easily.”

He saw Lord Renly and the Grand Maester sign in relief and he gave them a slight reassuring smile as he thought, ‘If they only knew that Sarogon was already nearly four times the size of the hatchlings they would not be breathing so easily. That grey dragon is going to be massive!’

“Lord Varys,” the Master of Laws spoke, breaking the silence, "Is what Lord Baelish’s informant told us true; did Daenerys killed her brother, Viserys? Is the Aegon Targaryen really Viserys? We your little birds able to give you a description of the man?"

Varys hid a smile and opened his mouth to answer, but Petyr again interrupted, “My spies told me that Aegon Targaryen had dark hair. Did you little birds share the same information?"

He then looked around the table as all of the Small Council members looked at him waiting for his answer. He took a sip of water and as he put the glass down on the table, he sat back in his chair and began to answer, "My little birds have informed me that Daenerys did kill Viserys… That after he was forced to sell his Mother’s crown for food he slowly went mad. Their nephew, Aegon, heard rumors that his uncle was planning to sell his aunt to the Dothraki for an army. It was then Jaehaerys decided to make his presence known; he could not sit back and watch his aunt be sold like a broodmare. He challenged and killed the Dothraki Khal Drogo, he was then named the new Khal and presented himself to Viserys and Daenerys. Ser Jorah told me the two had an instant connection and decided to marry. He has told me he has never seen two people so in love before… Viserys did not take kindly to the threat that someone else had a better claim to the throne and that someone has foiled his plans to return to Westeros… Then when Jaehaerys told Daenerys that her brother was planning to sell her to the Dothraki, she was not happy. They took her brother as prisoner and she burned him alive for his crimes… When she did, she used this fire and his blood to hatch her dragons.” Varys then took a deep breath and thought, ‘Now is the moment of truth. Let us see if your plan works my King.’ He then began the story his King told him to tell, “As for the looks of the young man, he does in fact have dark hair, and that he looks very much like his mother and older sister, Rhaenys. From what my informant, Ser Jorah Mormont told me, this man is in fact the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell."

Everyone in the room gasped.

“But… But that is impossible,” The Grand Maester wheezed, “The son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen killed during the Sack of King’s Landing at the end of the Rebellion. I examined the body myself and confirmed that the body presented to King Robert was in fact Aegon…”

The Spider then interrupted the Grand Maester smoothly, "That is true Grand Maester, there is no denying that the body of young Aegon Targaryen was presented to King Robert… However, let me ask you a quested, Maester.”

“Me… What do you want to know?” the old man asked with a furrowed brow.

“Did you provide care to the Princess during her pregnancy or were you present when she gave birth?”

The Grand Maester paled, “No, Lord Varys. The Princess insisted in receiving her care from her personal Maester. It is well known that the Princess was in fragile health…”

“Then that is the reason none of us were aware of the truth that Princess Elia gave birth to twin sons and this is why she nearly died after their birth. The first-born twin Aegon, was announce to the Realm… However, his younger brother, Jaehaerys was hidden away by the Crown Prince, Princess Elia and Queen Rhaella; they were aware that the Realm was on the brink of Rebellion and Rhaegar wanted to keep his heir and his spare separated.” Varys then chuckled, “What better way to hide him than to not even announce his birth.” 

“You said the man across the Narrow Sea is Jaehaerys Targaryen? I am not sure I understand. Why is he calling himself Aegon?” The Master of Laws inquired.

“From what Ser Jorah has told me, this young man calls himself Aegon to honor the memory of his older brother,” the Spider lied easily as he soaked in the shocked expressions on the faces of the other three small council members in the room.

Lord Baelish then gained his attention, when he took a deep breath and inquired, “So you are telling us that the tire Aegon Targaryen did in fact perish in the Sack of King’s Landing and this man calling himself Aegon is really his younger twin brother, Jaehaerys, who was hidden by his parents at his birth?”

"That is what I was told.”

“This is preposterous!” The Grand Maester exclaimed. “Where in the seven hells has he been hiding for the last nineteen years?”

“It is my understanding that Jaehaerys was shipped to Dragonstone shortly after his birth to keep him hidden him from King Aerys,” the Master of Whispers mused. “Prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell were already planning to overthrow his Father. They knew they were not safe, so they sent their other heir to Dragonstone for safe keeping... Did you all not ever wonder why Queen Rhaella wanted to go to Dragonstone during the Rebellion? It was because she knew she had to protect her other grandson. It is my understanding that he was smuggled out of Dragonstone by Targaryen Loyalists shortly before Rhaella sent Viserys and Daenerys across the Narrow Sea.... She knew the importance of keeping them separated." 

"So he is no pretender?" The Master of Laws finally breathed out. He then took a long sip of wine before saying, “My brother is not going to like this news at all.”

"No he is not. He is the trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen.” Lord Varys confirmed. “Ser Jorah informed me that he has dark hair and eyes, like his mother and sister Rhaenys.”

"How was he able to find his Aunt and Uncle if they had been separated?” Lord Baelish pressed for more information.

He then took a sip from his glass of water and continued the story his King had devised. “I am not sure where he got the information or where he has been hiding for all these years. However, it was much easier to hide a child without the typical Targaryen features. There are rumors that he was a sellsword with the Golden Company, kept safe by the exiled Targaryen Loyalist, Jon Connington.”

The Master of Laws and Grand Maester nodded and remained silent, however, Lord Baelish continued his questions, "You say that this, Jaehaerys Targaryen, got the Khalasar follow him. But how? Why did they not just name one of their own the new Khal? And why have named him the Khal who will mount the world?"

Varys tried hard to keep a straight face as he answered, "My Little Birds told me the Dothraki follow only strength… And that he proved his strength with he killed their Khal. Then when he lit the Khal on fire to send him to the Night Lands, he kept himself inside the bonfire with his dragon egg. He walked out of the fire, unburnt with a newborn dragon on his shoulder. This is when the entire Khalasar bowed down to him, and named him their Khal… They believe that he has been sent to them by the Great Stallion and is the rider who will mount the world."

“My gods it all makes sense,” Renly quietly stated. “He was easily hidden by his Dornish features. And we did not know of him because he was kept separated from his aunt and uncle.”

He then looked over at Lord Baelish and could tell by the look of concentration on his face, that he was devising a scheme to rid the world of his King and Queen. The Mockingbird then took a deep breath and rubbed his bearded chin as he pondered, “So if Daenerys and Jaehaerys Targaryen are as deeply in love you say... Love is a powerful thing. My spy has informed me that the Dragonwhore is already with child. The love he carries for his wife and unborn child can be used as a weakness. This is how we should rid ourselves of the last Targaryens."

"What do you mean Lord Baelish?” The Grand Maester asked with a furrowed brow.

The Master of Coin stood up from the table, made his way over to the serving cart and poured himself a glass of red wine. He took a sip, then smirked as he said, “We need to kidnap his beloved wife. We will set a trap, and when he comes after her, he will fall into that trap and we will kill them all.”

"I doubt we will ever kidnap her,” Varys interjected. “My little bird have sung that he always keeps his eyes on her or if he is not with her, she has guards at all times… He has even been teaching her to wield a sword."

“Fuck,” The Master of Laws exclaimed with a sigh. "We need to continue to come up with solutions to the Targaryen and then present them once my brother returns and Lord Tywin arrive, which should be any day… However, thanks to Varys, we now know we have a dependable spy in the Targaryen camp and that his wife is his weakness. We also know how he was so easily hidden for all of these years.”

Lord Renly then looked at the Grand Maester and asked, “Have you heard anything from my brother Stannis?”

The Old Maester coughed and then answered, "I received a raven from him this morning, My Lord. He stated he was leaving today. If the winds are kind, he should be here tomorrow night or the morning after."

"That is good news,” the Master of Laws replied with a smile. He then sighed and stated, “However, we do need to discuss the other matters about the Kingdoms."

Lord Varys then furrowed his brow. “I am sorry my Lord, I have yet to have time to receive messages from all of my little birds. What other matter are there that need to be discussed?”

"We have reports, or should I say we have heard rumors that some kingdoms are planning to name Eddard Stark as their King or request their own Independence unless Prince Joffrey has been properly punished for this crimes… Apparently they have all heard the truth as to what happened between my nephew and the Stark girls.”

“That is unacceptable. Joffrey is the Crown Prince!” The Maester wheezed.

For the first time in his life Varys was happy when Lord Baelish interrupted, “We are not yet sure which Kingdoms are planning to denounce the Baratheon/Lannister Rule… but I believe we can secure the most powerful Kingdoms with marriage alliances. None of the King’s three children are yet betrothed, we can get them to remain loyal through marriage.”

“That is an excellent idea, my Lord,” the Maester stated, “We should all think of the best possible matches and bring those to the next small council meeting as well.”

Varys nodded, he had a frown on his face, but was smiling to himself as he touched the note in his sleeve pocket, ‘Oh little do they know the Starks and Targaryens have already secured the Reach and Dorne. I am sure the Riverlands will follow. I bet that Petyr will propose a match between his bastard and Myrcella…’

His thoughts were disturbed with Lord Renly began to speak once more, "We have a lot of problems on our hands. The Crowns dept. The talk of Rebellion against the Crown. Other Kingdoms who may request independence. The traitors and the Targaryens. As we have decided, we all need to come up with plans to solve these issues and bring them to the next small council meeting. I believe it is pointless to meet again until the new Hand of the King arrives; therefore, we will reconvene as soon as Lord Tywin arrives, which should be in no more than two days.”

They all nodded in agreement. Lord Renly and the Grand Maester were quick to take their leave, leaving the Spider alone in the small council chambers with the Mockingbird

When he stood from the table, he noticed the other man was staring at him, so he inquired, "May I help you Lord Baelish?"

"Yes, you can, Lord Varys. I would like to know how this young Jaehaerys Targaryen was able to defeat a previously undefeated, Dothraki Khal?"

He then smiled as he looked at Lord Baelish, “My Lord, Ser Jorah believes that the young man has trained with the Golden Company since he was old enough to grasp a sword. He also said that they young man has always desired to return home and unite the Seven Kingdoms from whoever or whatever may try and cause his people harm… Therefore, he considered his Aunt Daenerys one of those people, and he could not allow anyone to harm her.”

The Master of Coin smirked at him, then dipped his head and said, “Thank you for your time, Lord Varys.”

The Master of Whispers then left the Small Counsel Chambers. When he exited the door he breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Everything is going according to my King’s Plans,’ he mused to himself as he went to receive reports from his other little birds……


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

When Daenerys’ eyes fluttered open she realized she was in her and Jon’s tent, in their bed, under a soft sheet. She sighed as remembered that Robb had had to carry her to her bed to rest after she had been plagued with another terrible, memory awakening, headache. ‘At least I now remember how to properly wield a sword,’ she thought with a chuckle as she rolled over, sat-up and took a sip of water from the cup that had been left for her on her bedside table. After she set the cup down, she smiled and placed her hand on her still thin stomach and thought, ‘I already love you so much my Little Dragon. I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and allow you to grow-up, marry and have babes of your own.’ Her personal musings were interrupted when she heard the rustlings of the tent flap. She quickly turned her turned her head as the tent flap opened and smiled as Jon walked into their private space. 

He returned her smile as he walked towards her. When he neared the bed, she pulled the sheet back and gestured for him to join her.

“How are you feeling, my love?” Her husband asked as he sat down on the side of the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Hmm, much better now that you are here,” she purred as she turned to lay or her side so she could face him completely.

Jon chucked as he began to remove his boots and said, “I glad to hear that, I was worried about you, Dany. You need to make sure you are taking proper care of yourself.” 

“I promise, I will drink more water and eat properly,” She replied with a smile.

“Thank you.” Jon said before he sighed and carefully added, “I know that you are not yet used to riding on horseback all day and it will take us several moon turns to reach Qarth. I need you show the Dothraki that you are strong, not just unburnt.” 

“Jon, I swear to you, I will be a leader the Dothraki will be proud to call their Khaleesi,” Daenerys vowed as she looked into his eyes so deep that he would know the truth behind her words.

“Good,” he responded with a smile. “You are already beginning to sound more and more like the proud, stubborn woman I fell in love with on Dragonstone,” Her husband then yawned and she watched as he fluffed his pillow before he laid down on his side next to her. 

Daenerys kept the smile on her face as she pulled the sheet over them and placed her hand back on her thin stomach. She watched as her husband’s eyelids fell closed and he began to take slow, calm, deep breathes. She noticed that he looked so at peace as he began to fall asleep that she could not resist her desire for him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to press tender kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. As she continued to kiss up his neck and jaw, he released a small growl, which caused her to feel the familiar tingling between her thighs.

When her kisses became open-mouthed and sloppy, he pulled away and chucked. He then opened his eyes and met hers and whispered, "Not now, my love.” 

She smiled and took one of his hands as she placed it over her breeches-covered, tender mound. She then began to grind her hips, creating the friction her cunt craved. She pulled his face to her and pressed her lips to his with passion, hoping to convey to him how much she desired him in this moment.

Suddenly his lips were off hers as he pulled away and he removed his hand from between her thighs. He was shaking his head and panting for air, but she saw lust in his eyes.

Before he could respond, she began to suck the tender pulse point on his neck, causing a moan to escape his lips. She then released the tender flesh, looked up into his stormy grey eyes and hummed, "What do you want my love? What do you want to do with my body? I will allow you to do anything at all..." 

He pressed a loving kiss to her forehead before he placed a hand under her jaw, met her gaze and whispered, “Dany, normally I would want nothing more than to make love you… to worship your body... However, you have been sick and I am exhausted. The only thing I want to do in this moment is hold my wife in my arms and drift off into a dreamless slumber." 

She smiled and then turned over in the bed, so that her back was against his chest and her arse was against his breeches and seductively inquired, "Like this, Jon Snow? So you can hold onto what is yours?"

Daenerys heard Jon chuckle as he placed his around her shoulders, so that his hands were across his chest, and pulled her even closer to his body. She then felt his soft lips press a chaste kiss to her cheek before he softly replied, "Gods yes." 

She then felt his hands travel from her chest, down her sides until he wrapped them possessively around her stomach. She placed her hands over top of his as he began to gently rub small, gentle circles over her lower abdomen. A smile spread across her face as she thought, ‘He used to rub my stomach like this when I was pregnant with Rhaegar. He is now doing it again, unaware that that our babe is growing in my womb… My little dragon, I cannot wait until you are big enough to announce your pending arrival with your father. He is going to love you so much.’ 

"Gods I missed this, Dany,” Jon whispered into her hair pulling her from her reminiscing thoughts.

She smiled as she took one of her hands from her belly and twisted her body just slightly so that she could place it on his cheek and lovingly placed it on his neck and yawned as she inquired, ”Missed what, my love?” 

She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he sighed in contentment and murmured, “You, in my arms, pressed against me as I fall asleep… The only thing missing is Rhaegar sleeping peacefully in his crib right next to your side of the bed. You always liked him to be close, so you would be right there to feed him if he woke up hungry in the middle of the night. Gods, if it had not been for the Night King and his army life would have been perfect. You pressed against me was the only thing that brought me peace back then... But now I can hardly sleep." 

“Jon, you should be at peace,” she stated as she turned enough to be able to gaze into his grey eyes. “We will not allow the Night King to destroy our family in this life. We will live to see our future children grow. You will teach our sons to wield swords and our daughters will probably skip out of their lessons with the Septa to join you and the boys in the training yard.” 

He bent down, pressed another kiss to the side of her brow and murmured, “Go to sleep my love. You need your rest. When Robb and Bako return we will eat. Hopefully you are feeling better in the morning and we can continue our travels.” 

She nodded and sighed as she thought about the Daenerys Jon had fallen in love with and their son, Rhaegar. ‘I am sorry Daenerys from Jon’s past life... For stealing him... I do not wish to dishonor you or your memory. Please do not be angry with me. I love him. He is the other half of my soul. I do not know what to do? When is the right time to tell him that I am his wife from a different, parallel world? A world that I cannot tell him what happened…’ She then looked over her shoulder and noticed that his eyes where closed and he was talking slow deep breathes. She then placed her head back on the pillow and allowed her eyelids to drift shut. 

She was nearly startled when she felt him pull her closer to him once again; as if she would disappear if he loosened his grasp on her waist. She could not help but to smile as his hands once more settled on her lower belly with loving caresses. 

When she turned to press a kiss to the side of his neck, she heard him mumble, "I remember… I remember the day you died.” His grip around her waist as he sighed and continued, “I held your cold, lifeless body in my arms and your eyes were closed. I did not have time to burn your body before the wights defended upon me. It was my fault that they got to you… It was my fault you were turned into the Night Queen. After your death, I could not sleep... I could not sleep without your warm body pressed against mine. I failed you in life and in death. After I returned to Winterfell without you, the only comfort I had, was when I had the chance to hold Rhaegar in my arms… I do not know how long I held him, I just remember telling our son over and over how much you loved him. How much you would have loved to see him with his own children…” She felt a tear fall from his face onto her cheek as voice cracked when he added almost inaudibly, “And that it was my fault you would not be there to see any of it.” 

She felt her own eyes flooding with tears as picked-up one of his hand and pressed chaste kisses upon it. She turned to face him as her own tears began to fall and was about to speak but she noticed his deep, even breaths, ‘He is asleep,’ she thought with a sigh. She kissed his cheek before returning his hand to her still flat belly, keeping her hands over his, as if they were together holding and protecting their unborn child. Unknowing to her, Jon smiled as he was holding his now growing child in his mother’s womb as they both drifted off to sleep.

“Khal Aegon,” she heard Rakharo call, waking her from her. As her eyes opened, she realized she was still entangled, protected, in her husband’s strong, secure arms. 

“Khal Aegon,” their Blood Rider called a little louder, causing her husband to release his embrace as he awoke and sat up in the bed. 

"Sek Rakharo fin ajjin me?" (Yes Rakharo, what is it?), her husband responded as he rubbed his eyes. Daenerys then sat up next to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek and Jon wrapped his arm around her, so she could rest her head on his shoulder.

"Khal aegon yeri brother et returned arrekoon mae hunt ma bako.  Mori zhorre caught rabbits akka lit jin vorsa tat prepare eyak ha jin khaleesi " (Khal Aegon your brother has returned from his hunt with Bako. They have caught rabbits and lit a fire to prepare them for the Khaleesi.) 

"San athchomari yeraan, rakharo.  Tat yer tiholat fin me ajjin ready tat tikh eaten?" (Thank you, Rakharo. Do you know if it is ready to be eaten?) Jon inquired before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, causing her to release a sigh of contentment.

"Me tikh tikh ready very ahhaz," (It will be ready very soon, Khal Aegon) their Blood Rider replied.

"San athchomari yeraan rakharo, ha letting us tiholat.  Kisha tikh tikh mra ahhaz." (Thank you Rakharo, for letting us know. We will be out shortly). Jon then pressed another tender kiss to her forehead as he whispered, “Come on, Love. Let us get you something to eat. You need your strength. Okay?”

She nodded her head and took Jon’s offered hand to help out of the soft bed. He quickly handed her, her boots before he donned his own and secured Winters Wolf to his waist. ‘That Sword is really Dawn... it was given to Eddard Stark, by House Dayne, for Jon, after Ser Arthur was defeated,’ she recalled from the memories that had returned to her that morning.

After pulling her boots on, she walked over towards her trunk and removed Dark Sister from where it was stored. ‘Jon gave me this sword in my last life as well,’ she thought with a smile as admired the blade before strapping it to her back. Once she was ready, she turned to see her husband’s smiling face, and offered arm. She took his arm, and allowed him to escort her from the tent.

As soon as they exited the tent, they were greeted with the screeches of their six winged children. She looked towards the ruckus and laughed at the sight of four small dragon hatchings riding on the back of the large dog-sized white wolf. Sarogon and the Red Dragon then landed in front of them, demanding attention from their parents. Daenerys could not believe how fast the Sarogon was growing, ‘It will not be long before our first winged son is the same size as his four-legged brother. It also appears that my red dragon is growing at a similar rate as Sarogon… He is already larger than the brother he hatched with and he can fly while the others have not yet been able to stay in the air,’ she thought as she knelt down to scratch her dragon under its scaled chin.

Jon knelt down next to her and also began to caress their sons. All six of their winged sons began to purr and chirp in excitement. When the blue dragon began to nip at Jon’s fingers she snickered and stated, “It appears they are hungry my love. Perhaps we should feed them their supper while are rabbits are cooking." 

Her husband smiled as he picked the blue dragon up from Ghost back and he let out of chuckle of his own as he answer, "Aye, it appears they are ready for their supper. Luckily, Doreah brought their supper to our tent while we were asleep." 

The Khaleesi smiled and nodded at her husband and he guided her backed into their tent.

When they entered the tent, Jon held the flap open for Sarogon, the Red Dragon, and Ghost, who still had the green, black and silver dragons on his back. She walked in the room and made her way the table, and noticed a covered platter. When she removed the lid, she saw that there were seven small plates, stacked high with the roasted horse meat. She looked at Sargon as he let out a roar of approval as he landed on the table and started eating from one of the plates with the red dragon close behind. Jon then placed the small blue dragon in front of another of the plates before helped her with the three remaining dragons, who were still perched on Ghost’s back.

Jon then picked up the seventh plate and placed on the ground in front of the drooling direwolf and rubbed the white fur behind his ears as he muttered, “Good boy, Ghost. Thank you for taking care of your brothers.”

She smiled as their children greedily ate their dinner and her hand absentmindedly settled on her lower abdomen. She then felt two strong arms covering hers around her waist as her husband pressed a soft kiss her cheek before rested his head on her shoulder and murmured into her ear, “It has been five days since you gave birth to them and we have yet to give them proper names. What do you think we should name them?”

She smiled as she looked at the Red Dragon, who was trying to steal a piece of meat from the blue dragon’s plate. She untangled herself from her husband’s loving embrace and scratched the Red Dragon under his chin, to allow the other dragon to eat. The Red Dragon chirped in approval and jumped onto her shoulder. As she continued to caress his rough scales, she thought, ‘I already have the perfect name for you my son.’ She then looked at her husband and said, “Jon, if I am not mistaken, in our past lives, I named the dragon I rode into battle Drogon?”

"Aye, you did,” her husband confirmed with a sigh. “You named your dragon, Drogon in memory of your dead husband, Khal Drogo."

She smiled as she took his hand in hers and smiled, “Drogon does not seem like a fitting name for one of our children. I do not want to be reminded of a man I did not know in this life… I do not want to name any of them after a man who would have raped me.” She then looked deep into his eyes and inquired, "Why would I have named my dragon after the person who raped me?"

Her husband chuckled as he removed the dragon from her should and place him back on the table with his brothers. He then took her back in his arms and whispered, "My dear wife, only you can answer that question."

"I do not want to name any of our children after that man," she repeated as she turned in his arms so that she was again facing their winged children, watching them finish their meal.

"Then don't use that name,” he murmured into her ear. “Choose other names that will not bring painful memories."

She then smiled as he wrapped his arms securely around her waist. She leaded back into his chest, and announced, "I will name my red dragon, Arogon."

"Arogon? Why that name?" he questioned.

She smiled as she turned to look at him. ‘Gods he looks so comely with his furrowed brow,’ she mused as she pressed a kiss to his soft lips. When she broke the kiss, she answered his question. "I am naming him after the love of my life, my true love… My true husband." She then took his hand in hers as she continued, "After the man who broke the witches curse in our last life, and allowed me to be the mother of his son, Rhaegar.”

Then next thing she knew, one of Jon’s hands was under her chin, the other was on the small of her back and lips were crushed against hers. When he pulled away, he had a smile on his face and he softly stated, “Arogon… I like it.”

She felt herself blush as she pressed another quick kiss to his lips. Her attention was diverted with she heard the chirping of another one of their children. She smiled down at the small blue dragon who was looking up at her with his big inquisitive pale yellow eyes. She then heard Jon’s loving voice from beside her, “Have your chosen as name for our blue dragon?”

She met his gaze, then smiled as she nodded her head in confirmation, “His name will be Ragnar.”

"Ragnar. Why Ragnar?" he inquired with a knitted brow.

"I would like to name him Ragnar in honor of our son Rhaegar. By naming this dragon after him, it allows me never to forget our first son.”

She would see the tears forming in his eyes before he pressed a kiss to her hand and replied, "That is a perfect name, Dany.” He then took a deep breath and asked, “And what would you like to name our other winged children?"

She smiled as she looked at the small green dragon with bronze scales and cream colored dragon hatchling with golden horns and spine. ‘Rhaegal and Viserion’  She then took a deep breath as she stated, "Jon, I would like to keep Rhaegal and Viserions names the same… in memory of my older brothers and for who they were in the past… I cannot see them with any other names.” She could tell that Jon was about to say something, but she pressed a finger to his lips and continue, “I thought hard about changing Viserion’s name, but nothing else seemed to fit. There was also a time, when I was a young girl, when Viserys was kind and loving. It was not until he had to sell our mother’s crown that madness consumed him. I know there was not hope in saving him…”

Jon cut off her rambling with a kiss. He then looked into her eyes and smiled, “Aye, I believe they will always be Rhaegal and Viserion to me as well.” He pressed one more quick kiss to her lips before the stated, “There is one more dragon that is needing a name… you already said none of the dragons would be named Drogon. Have you decided on a new name for your black dragon?”

She smiled. "I have,” she confirmed with a nod. “The black dragon will be named Jogon... After your northern name Jon.” 

He chuckled. "Jogon... You really want to name two of the dragons after me?"

She smiled and nodded, "However, it is also a memory of my grandfather, Jaehaerys."

“I guess it is settled then,” he said with a smile. “Jogon, Arogon, Ragnar, Viserion and Rhaegal. I like them... I just hope deciding on names for our children will be this easy."

She blushed as he kissed bent down to capture her lips once more. When he pulled away he looked at her with such tenderness and love that her heart never felt so full. He then whispered, “Dany, we had best go eat the rabbits Bako and Robb went hunting for. You need to eat... You haven't eaten anything all day." 

She wordlessly nodded. After making sure all six dragons were asleep in their makeshift bed, with Ghost standing guard, she took her husband’s arm and they left the comforts of their tent.

As they approached the campfire where the rabbits were being cooked, she saw Rakharo laughing, she looked at her husband and asked, “Why is Rakharo laughing?”

“I am not sure,” he replied with a bewildered look on his face. 

Daenerys then turned her gaze back towards their Blood Rider and inquired, "Fin ajjin ma funny Rakharo?" (What is so funny Rakharo?) 

Rakharo pointed to the sword on her back, still laughing as he asked, ”Yer tiholat hash tat lajat ma rek sword khaleesi? Che hash yer disse carrying me ha yeri khal?" (You know how to fight with that sword Khaleesi? Or are you only carrying it for your Khal?)

"Sek Rakharo anha tiholat hash tat use anna sword.  Anha zin vo jin sword holder ha anna khal" (Yes Rakharo I know how to use my sword. I am not a sword holder for my Khal.) 

"Hash yer davra ma jin sword Khaleesi?" (Are you good with a sword Khaleesi?), he asked clearly stunned that she was not carrying the sword for her husband.

She smiled at the large Dothraki man and was about to answer when Jon spoke first. “Mae ajjin zin she training Rakharo." (She is still in training Rakharo)

"Yer protecting mae khal? anha tikh allayafi tat hatif mae kijinosi dual.” (You protecting her Khal? I would like to face her in a dual.)

She looked at Jon as he was about to protest but she raised her hand to stop him. She looked at Rakharo and stated, "Anha tat vo zigereo protection arrekoon anyone Rakharo.  Akka arrekoon anna khal.  Anha tikh hatif yer kijinosi dual. Jin voj fin iffi tikh get tat cut jin noreth ki assilat.” (I do not need protection from anyone Rakharo. Even from my Khal. I will face you in a dual. The person who wins will get to cut the hair of the loser.) 

A smile on the face of their Blood Rider and when she turned to look at her husband, she noticed his face was etched with fear and disappointment. Jon then took her by the arm, pulled her a few feet away from Rakharo and then turned to face her. “Daenerys… Just, what do you think you are doing? This morning you were sick and had such a severe headache that could barely move!” Jon exclaimed quietly. “And now you are challenging one of our Dothraki Blood Riders to a dual? Dany, even if you were at full strength, you can still barely wield a sword. How can you defeat him? You are going to lose your braid and even though you have already proved you are unburnt, they will think less of you… The Dothraki only follow strength!” 

Dany smiled as she kissed his cheek. "Do not worry my love. I will not lose to him. I have watched you spar with Rakharo many times. I know his weaknesses.” She sighed as she continued, “Jon, I need to show the Khalasar that I am a warrior they can follow… A Warrior Dragon Warrior. I need to show then that I am not just someone you choose to warm your bed or whose sole purpose is bear your children. I need to show them that I am worthy to be their Khaleesi." 

She could tell he understood why she had accepted the dual, but he was still not happy with her choice. He ran his hand through is loose raven curls as he sighed. "This is a rash decision Daenerys... A selfish one. I swear to the old gods and the new, if his blade so much as scratches you, I will not hesitate to kill him..." 

“I will be fine my love. I promise, please trust me.” She then sighed and pressed a kiss to his lips and added, “I promise you, you will not be killing anyone today.” 

Her husband sighed and nodded. She then walked back toward the Blood Rider with a smile on her face and stated, "Anha tikh dual vi yer after anha zhorre eaten jin hadaen anna khal's brother et hunted.” (I will dual against you after I have eaten the food my Khal's brother has hunted.) 

“Sek Khaleesi,” he responded with a smile before he took his leave. (Yes, Khaleesi)

When she looked at her husband he sighed and shook his head. She gave him a peck on the cheek before they continued their walk in a tense silence.

A few minutes later, they approached the campfire where Robb was roasting the rabbits he had killed during his hunt with Bako. When he noticed them, he smirked and called, “Targaryen’s! It is nice that you have decided to finally get up!”

“Stark!” Jon replied with a chuckle. “I heard that you were successful in catching some rabbits.”

“Aye,” Robb replied with a growing smile, “Bako is an excellent tracker! We were able to kill eight rabbits!” Robb then took the rabbits off the campfire and led them into his tent. 

Once they were all seated around the small wooden table in Robb’s tent, she looked at her good brother and asked, “Robb, did you have a good time on your hunt with Bako?” 

“I had an excellent time.” Robb responded with a chuckle, “As I said, Bako is an excellent tracker and we were easily able to find a group of rabbits. I was also given the chance to get to know Bako a little better and I feel that I can now call him a friend. He was even impressed with my riding and bow skills!” Robb then playfully added, “I appears that the two of you actually slept… You both appear quite refreshed.” 

"Aye, we both had a deep sleep this afternoon,” Jon replied with a smile. “I would say it is probably the best I have slept since I returned.” She smiled and gave him a comforting squeeze on his thigh as they both looked back towards Robb.

"That is good to hear. You both were looking pretty haggard!” Robb replied with a smile. 

After they filled their plates with some of the rabbit meat and began to eat Jon announced, “We have named our dragons." 

She saw a look of shock on her good brother’s face as he looked up from cutting his meat and inquired, "What did you name them?”

"My dragon... The red dragon... I named him Arogon,” She responded with a smile as she took a bite of rabbit.

"Arogon?"

Daenerys took a sip of water to wash down the heavenly tasting food before she smiled and answer, "Yes, Arogon. I named him after Jon’s Targaryen name, Aegon. I have also named my black dragon after my husband’s northern name… I have named Jogon."

"I like the names,” he replied with a smile before he asked, “And what you named the other three?"

"We named the other the green dragon and cream dragon in the memories of themselves from our past life, and Dany’s brothers. Rhaegal after my sire, Rhaegar and Viserion, in memory of Viserys.” Jon quickly explained, “My Uncle Viserys was not always cruel… before he went mad, he was the only family Dany had left and he kept her safe from Robert’s assassins."

Her good brother appeared to surprised they named one of the dragons after Viserys, but nodded, "I like them Jogon, Viserion, Arogon, Rhaegal, and Sarogon... and the last one... the blue one?"

"Ragnar,” her husband stated. He then quietly added, “We named him in honor of our son, Rhaegar, from our past life."

Robb appeared a bit taken aback by the name before he smiled and replied, "Ragnar... Out of all six dragons, I think I like that name the most." 

“Thank you, Robb,” she murmured with a slight smile.

"Dany,” Jon called as he placed a hand on her thigh. “You really should eat more. You have only eaten a few bites of your rabbit and before that you only had a few bites of bread.” He then sighed and continued, “You will need your strength if you really think you will be able to defeat Rakharo in the duel you accepted.."

Robb gasped as he eyes flickered back and forth between her and her husband. When he finally found his voice her stuttered, “Jon... Dany? Dany, are you going to dual against one of your blood riders?"

“Yes, I am. And I will defeat him. The two of you have taught me well and I am ready,” she answered with a smile as she looked into her good brother’s eyes. 

Her husband sighed as he squeezed her knee and confirmed, "Aye. When Rakharo saw her with her sword, he asked her if she was holding it for me... So she thought it would be best to challenge him to a duel... She her to a duel. She wants to show the Khalasar that she is A Warrior Dragon Queen and not just my bed warmer. I have told her she is not ready but she keeps on insisting that she will face him and defeat him."

Daenerys smiled as she washed down another bite of rabbit with a sip of water. She then look at her good brother as his mother was opening and closing but no words came out. Finally he was able to force out his question, "Dany are you really going to face Rakharo?"

"I am Robb,” she confirmed with a firm nod of her head. “I need to show them who I truly am. That I am a Khaleesi they will he proud to follow, not just someone to bear your brother, the Khal, heirs."

"Dany, what about the... I mean what about your condition? Your sickness... the headaches? You were in so much pain this morning." 

‘He is worried about the babe. He is only trying to be a protective uncle.’ She then took a deep breath and promised, “I will be fine, Robb. Nothing will happen to be because of my headache from earlier... My condition,” she pause momentarily, “will not affect my ability to defeat Rakharo in a duel.”

Robb nodded as he exhaled and began to eat his dinner once more. She then looked at her husband who also sighed and started eating rabbit. She sighed as well, ‘I must show the Khalasar that I am worthy. I need to prove to them that I am not a weak little girl and that I am worthy to stand beside Jon,’ she thought as she ate another bite of her meal.  

As they ate, she was grateful that Robb changed the subject; he told them all about his hunt with Bako and how they would have brought back a few more rabbits it Grey Wind had not decided he wanted to eat them for himself. 

After they were finished with their meal, she and Jon gave Robb their thanks, before heading back to their tent. As they walked, she had one arm linked with Jon’s and her other hand rested on her lower abdomen. ‘You like rabbit meat, don’t you my little dragon. I am full, so I know that you are as well. Grow strong my child.’ 

When they approached their tent, she saw Ser Jorah standing in front of the tent, preventing anyone from entering; the sight of her 'Old Bear' made her smile. ‘Ser Jorah was always so loyal to me in my past life. I remember telling Jon that even though he was in love with me, I saw him only as a Father. He was the one who taught me how to wield a sword. I hate knowing the last memory that I currently have of him, is one in which I was angry at him for disapproving of my relationship with Jon.’

"Khal, Khaleesi." He greeted with a smile and respectful dip of his head when they reach the entrance of their tent. “I was just standing guard over the dragons while you were away from your tent.”

“Thank you, Ser Jorah,” Jon replied. “I appreciate everything you have done for us. Please, take your leave and get some rest. We will be leaving at first light to continue our journey.”

However, before Jorah could respond, Daenerys spoke first. "Jon, do you mind to give me a moment to speak with Ser Jorah?"

“Of course not,” he replied before he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I will go inside and check on the children. They are probably ready to eat again,” he added with a chuckle before he opened the flap to their tent and disappeared inside.

She then looked at her old friend and stated, “Ser Jorah.”

She could tell her Old Knight and the man she considered a father figure in her last life was confused that she wanted to speak with him when he asked, "What is it, my Queen?."

Daenerys smiled sadly as she answered, "I just wanted to tell you how deeply sorry I am that you had to flee your home in the North."

Ser Jorah shook his head. He then looked at her with grief in his light blue eyes as he replied, "Eddard Stark did what was right, your Grace. I sold poachers into slavery. By doing this I dishonored my family.” He sighed before he continued, “As Lord of Bear Island, I should have given them a proper sentence. They did not deserve to be sold like cattle. I was craven. I ran to escape proper justice."

She sighed, "I am glad that you did and I hope you will one day return to the North as you have dreamed of so long," she responded honestly.

"I also hope so your Grace,” he agreed with a forced smile.

"Thank you Ser Jorah for speaking with me. That is all that I needed to say. You may take your leave."

"Of course your Grace," He answered with a slight bow before walking away.

After he took his leave, she sighed as entered her tent, ‘It is apparent that we do not have the same connection as we did in our last life. He knows already that I will never love him, so he will never fall in love with me. I still hope that he will grow to love me like a daughter and that I can value his counsel.’

She then made her way over to her trunk and pulled out her sparring clothes. Just as she removed her shirt, she felt two strong arms wrap around her, pulling her towards a warm, bare, muscular chest. When she felt hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck she purred, “Jon.”

Between kisses he muttered, "I want... my cock… inside of you..."

When she turned around, she smiled, seeing that her husband was already completely naked and his member standing at attention. He growled as lifted her up by her hips. She quickly wrapped her legs around his waist for support and she already feeling the beginnings of her own arousal between her thighs. She then crushed her lips against his as he carried her to the bed. He broke their kiss when he gently laid her down. He smiled at her as his eyes took him her half-naked form before he laid down next to her and began to pepper her neck with kisses while his hands softly caressed her waist. When his hands reach her breasts, his feather light touches caused her to wince slightly, which caused him to pull away.

“Dany, are you alright?”

“I am fine, my love. I just was not expecting that,” she replied with a smile. ‘Gods I forgot how tender my breast were when I was pregnant with Rhaegar.’

Jon nodded as he smiled back at her and his fingers moved to untie the laces of her long Dothraki skirt. She noticed him lick his lips as pulled her skirt down, discarding it onto the floor down to the floor as he eyed her wet cunt. He leaned down to kiss her as she felt him slide one finger into her warm, moist core, causing her to moan into his mouth.

He husband then broke the kiss and slide a second finger into her cunt, causing her to release and echoing moan. As Jon continued to pump his fingers as he rested his five-day-old bearded jaw on her cheek and murmured, "I don't want you to fight against Rakharo."

Between moans of pleasure she choked out, "I know… you don't Jon... But I have tooooo... I need tooooo… prove to the Dothraki… that I am not weak… That I can fight...."

"I do not agree with this Dany," Jon sighed as he removed his fingers from her cunt, sat up in the bed and looked down into her eye. “I do not want anything to happen to you or… I just want to be safe.”

Daenerys smiled as she sat up and put a hand on his muscular shoulder. "I know and I understand... Truly I do but this is my decision Jon. And as I said before, I will be just fine. Rakharo will not harm me, I promise."

Jon exhaled and she could tell he was trying to find the right words to protest. After a few moments of a brooding expression on his face, he ran his hand down his face in defeat as he sighed again and relented. "Fine," he muttered as he got out of the bed and walked over to his trunk and began to dress.

She also climbed out of the bed, walked over to where she had left her sparring clothes and donned them. When she was dressed, she walked over to her husband, who was waiting her by the tent flap, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and murmured, “I love you Jon. Please, trust me.”

Her husband pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then offered her a half smile as he nodded his head. He then took her hand and escorted her to the area that had been set up for training.

When they reached the training area, she was surprised that so many people had come to watch the sparring match. Jon then pressed a kiss to her temple before going to stand by Robb. As she walked to the fighting area to meet Rakharo, she heard murmurs from those she passed that they could not believe a woman, let alone the Khaleesi was going to fight against one of the strongest warriors in the Khalasar.

When she stood in front of the Dothraki Blood Rider, he smiled at her as he grabbed his arakh. She smiled as she closed her eyes and remembered how to wield a sword. She opened her eyes, grabbed Dark Sister from its scabbard on her back and spin her sword waiting for his attack. She glanced over at Jon who still appeared to be upset, and smiled at him, silently telling him not to worry. She took a deep breath as she looked back at Rakharo and nodded, informing him she was ready.

Rakharo wasted no time starting the match, and she smiled when she easily parried his strike. He attacked her again and she effortlessly blocked his swing. She then swung an attack of her own towards his left side and he was able to deflect her blow at the last second. 

As they sparred she could hear the gasps and rumbles from the crowd. ‘They are all amazed how well I can swing a sword. Let me show them how quickly I can defeat an opponent.’ She then parried Rakharo’s attack, and swept his leg, causing him to drop his arakh as he fell to the ground. 

When she stood overtop of the Blood Rider and placed the tip of Dark Sister against his throat, she could see his eyes open wide in disbelief. Suddenly she was surrounded by a stunned silence. She quickly glanced over at her husband, noticing the dumbfounded expression on his face and winked. She then smiled and looked back down at Rakharo and shouted, "Hash yeri accept yeri athohharar?" (Do you accept your defeat?)

The Dothraki Blood Rider nodded as he proclaimed, “Yer zhorre assilat anna Khalessi. Yer hash haj allayafi khal aegon.” (You have defeated me Khalessi. You are strong like Khal Aegon.)

His words brought a smirk to her face as she bent down, grabbed his braid and used Dark Sister to separate it from his head. She held up the braid and proclaimed, “Anha zin yeri khaleesi! anha zin jin haj allayafi anna mahrazh, khal aegon! kisha tikh avvos tat vo efichisalat assilat! kisha hash zhavvorsa akka kisha hash haj!” (I am your Khaleesi! I am a strong like my husband, Khal Aegon! We will never allow defeat! We are dragons and we are strong!) 

The Khalasar cheered for her victory as threw Rakharo’s braid to the ground with a smile and walked towards her stunned husband.

"Dany how did you?” he husband breathed out as he embraced her.

She smiled and pressed her lips to his, not answering his question. ‘I cannot tell him the truth just yet… I need to know the whole truth before I tell him.’ 

When their mouths parted, she raised her eyebrow and stated, "I remember, just before we came to meet with Rakharo, you telling me you wanted to put your cock inside of me... I believe that it is time I give your cock a proper greeting... In private." 

Jon smiled at her, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I believe my cock would love that proper greeting… Lead the way my Queen.”…….

 


  

Tywin Lannister

 

Dusk was breaking, painting the sky in the Crownlands in hues of red and orange when Tywin Lannister decided to let his traveling party stop for the evening to camp alongside of the Gold Road. His tent had already been pitched and he was sitting in his chair, drinking a glass of fine red wine as he thought, ‘Just two more days of hard riding and I will be in King’s Landing. Then I will be able to put a stop to the murmurs of rebellion and I will find a way to bring the North back under my control. I doubt there will be any hope to save Joffrey; the only way to prevent a rebellion will be to publicly execute him or grant him mercy to take the black. My daughter and her fat, whoring husband should have realized that to begin with and sent him directly to the Wall from Winterfell… Instead, the fucking idiots gave the North their independence and I have one less Kingdom under my control. Tommen is soft, I will have to toughen him up, make him know that he needs to earn power, that he cannot just demand it. That is where Cersei went wrong with Joffrey. Then, my pathetic excuse of an heir, Tyrion, has decided to betray his family and has become Hand to the King in the North. He knows that I hold no love for him, so I know he will never spill the Starks secrets to me. Jaime… Jaime always had a soft spot for the Imp, maybe somehow I could use him to get his brother to spill the secrets of the North...’ His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the rustlings of the dry grass outside of his tent as someone approached.

"My Lord, you have received a correspondence from the Capital," the guard announced from the other side of the tent flap.

“Enter and bring me the scroll,” the new Hand of the King responded.

The Lannister Household guard entered his tent, giving his liege lord a respectful bow before he approached. He then held out the scroll and said, “I believe it is from the King’s youngest brother, Lord Renly Baratheon, my Lord.”

“Thank you, Dake,” the cold Lord of Casterly Rock stated with a grimace as he took the scroll from the loyal member of his household guard. “Please take your leave, and get a good night of rest.”

“Yes my Lord,” Dake replied as he dipped his head and then turned to leave the tent.

Tywin refilled his wine glass as he mused, 'Why in the seven hells would the Master of Laws send me a raven if they already know I am on my way to the Capital. Dead gods, this had better not be any more fucking bad news. Eddard Stark is King in the North. My Grandson is a coddled dimwit. There are rumors across the Narrow Sea that someone calling himself Aegon Targaryen has hatched a dragon. What the fuck is so important that I could not wait?’

He then drank half the glass of wine he had just poured. He then sent the glass down on the small wooden table, and took a deep breath as he broke that wax sigil with the mark of House Baratheon and began to read Renly’s message.

 

 

 

My Lord Hand,

I have disturbing news to report. I am not sure if you have been informed, but there is a man across the Narrow Sea, in Pentos, who claims to be Aegon Targaryen and has proclaimed him the true heir to the Iron Throne. When we learned of this, approximately one moon turn ago, Lord Baelish sent one of his whores to his brothel in Pentos to gather information. Earlier this evening, he received a message from his spy, and it did not bring good news.

The whore reported the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen has in fact hatched a dragon and been named Khal of a Dothraki Horde of over 100,000 screamers. It is believed that he gained power over the Khalasar by brutally killing the previous Khal. The informant also reported, he married Daenerys Targaryen about one moon turn ago and she is pregnant with his child. I wish that was all, but there is more… Apparently, Daenerys killed her brother and hatched five more dragons; the people of Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons.

If what Lord Baelish’s whore said is true, they have six dragons and an army of 100,000 savage warriors. We need to take care of this threat as soon as possible! We need to stop them before the dragons grow large enough to cause damage and before they add more soldiers to their army! We must stop them before they return to Westeros! If they cross the Narrow Sea, it will be the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror! They will want vengeance on both our families and the Starks for our roles in the Rebellion that destroyed their family. We are unsure where this mummer came from, but if Dorne finds out about him, they might help him retake his throne.

You need to get to the Capital as soon as possible so we can devise a plan to stop this threat before it is too late.

Renly Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm's End, Master of Laws

 

When Tywin placed the letter on the table, he grabbed his goblet of wine and noticed that his hands were shaking. He quickly drank down the rest of his glass in an attempt to calm the raging thought in his mind, 'How it the seven fucking hells did they hatch six dragons? Can we trust Lord Baelish’s whore? How have I never heard of this Aegon Targaryen? The only known Targaryens were Viserys and Daenerys… Where the fuck has this Aegon Targaryen been hiding for the last eighteen years?  Surly this mummer cannot be a Targaryen. I personally verified the babe I presented to King Robert was in fact the young son of Rhaegar and Elia… The child I presented had the red birthmark on his left wrist. My men killed the right babe.'

With a shaky hand, he refilled his goblet and took a long slow sip but the wine did not help to calm his anxiety. He ran his hands down his face as he thought about the terror the Mad King inflected on Westeros. 'I cannot let the Mad kings Daughter and whoever this Aegon Targaryen is, to return to Westerosi soil… especially if they have an heir, the bitch must be dealt with before that babe can take a breath of air! I will have to make sure they are taken care of while they are in Essos. I will not let this Dragon whore and false pretender be the downfall of my power. I will destroy them the same way I destroyed House Reyne after they rebelled against their liege lord, my father Tytos. I am Hand of the King. I hold the second most powerful position in all of Westeros, and they will Hear me Roar!'

He took a deep breath and then took another sip of wine as his thoughts of the wars to come went through his head, '100,000 Dothraki savages. If they cross the Narrow Sea, they will be worse than the ironborn, pillaging and raping their way across Westeros. I will have to discuss this with the Fat King. I will have to discuss with him that we will have to go at war against them but the fucking problem is the Six Kingdoms are in a brink of rebellion, divided all because of my shit of a grandson Joffrey Baratheon thinks he can have whatever he wants.’

He then sigh in frustration as he thought about his son, Tyrion and the North. ‘Tyrion you fucking Dwarf, you are no son of mine. You betrayed your family for another. Because you told the truth, you took away the largest Kingdom in Westeros! Now I will have to find a way to bring the Starks back under my control. They have already rejected a betrothal between Joffrey but they might agree to a marriage proposal to Myrcella. She might have to marry the heir Robb Stark or even the spare, Brandon Stark… If they do agree to a marriage between Myrcella and one of his sons, maybe they will accept a betrothal between Tommen and one of his daughters… I will send a raven to the Starks when I reach King’s Landing. A marriage is the only way to bring the North back into the fold, and I must do it quickly before the Kingdoms find out what Joffrey did… There are already rumors that he tried to rape one of King Eddard Stark’s daughter and tried to murder the other. If these rumors are in fact the truth, the only way to secure the North is to denounce Joff and name Tommen as Roberts heir. If they do not accept there will be no option but to go to war if not the other Kingdoms will denounce the crown and pledge loyalty to the Honorable Eddard Stark! And why would the not prefer an honorable man over a Fat King who had fucked and drank the Realm into a Six Million Dragon Debt!’ 

He then finished his glass of wine and exited his tent. He walked over to the campfire where his men were eating jerky and drinking ale. He took a deep breath and announced, “We will ride at first light and not stop until we reach the Capital!”

The Hand of the King heard their grumblings he continued with venom in his tone, “This is not a suggestion, but an order. If you do not like it, I will have you heads on spikes outside of the Red Keep!”

“Yes, my Lord Hand,” they all replied.

“Good, be ready at first light,” he repeated as he went back to his tent.

When the flap closed he mused to himself, ‘I will make sure the Targaryens see their end and I will get this Realm back in order, even if I have to kill my grandson and that fucking imp I call my son!’ 

He then poured himself another glass of wine and downed the contents before he got into his sleep sack and had a fitful sleep……

 


 

Robert Baratheon

 

The King and his party had been riding down the King’s Road for nearly a month and would be arriving in King’s Landing in the few days. It was late at night and they had finally stopped at one of the inns along the road. After having his fill of wine and chicken, King Robert found himself in the biggest room the inn had to offer, with the company of the inn’s busty chested serving girl, who was currently servicing his cock.

“Faster ya little whore,” he laughed as drank down an entire glass of vintage Dornish red. 

He then dropped the empty glass in the bed and bit down on one wench’s pink pert nipples, causing them both to laugh. 

“I need more wine! Bring your King another glass of wine, woman!” He roared to the serving girl, hiding in the corner of the room. 

When the young woman handed him the glass of wine, he slapped her on the ass and declared, “Drinking and fucking are the two things I do best.” Which caused the woman riding his member to laugh again. 

The King took another sip of his wine and began to feel his balls tighten when the sweet thing on top of him walls began to clinch around his cock. “Come on you slut! Harder... Faster... Make your King come... That’s a command!” The King exclaimed as he slapped the girls ass with his free hand.

A few moments later, the serving girl wailed, and the King groaned as he shot his seed into her tight cunt and laughed, “That is King’s seed you just received. You’d better pray that takes root and you’ll have something to remember me by!”

“I will pray to the Old gods and the new, your Grace.” She purred as she laid her head down on the King’s chest.

“Now get off the King’s cock, you little winch and suck it back to life, so I can fuck that sweet pussy of yours again.”

The girl did as she was told, however as soon as she took his member in her mouth, a knock on the door disrupted his pleasure. "Whoever the fuck is at the door had better have a good fucking reason for disturbing your King!" Robert yelled as the serving girl continued to smile as she licked up and down the sides of his growing member.

He heard a loud sigh from the door, "It is Ser Jaime Lannister, your Grace..."

"What in the seven fucking hells is so damned important that you are knocking on my door instead of guarding it you little shit! Whatever it is can wait until morning!" The King roared as he thought, ‘Gods I love fucking other women in his presence. His cold fish of a sister hasn’t come to my bed since Myrcella was conceived!’

"It cannot, your Grace.” He heard his good brother exhale loudly before he continued, "It is a raven from your brother Lord Renly. I believe it carries news from Pentos.”

The King gasped as he pushed the kitchen winch off of his member. When she looked at him with a look of confusion her roared, “Leave now, ya little whore!” as he threw the bed sheet at her. He then looked toward the serving girl in the corner, and told her to take her leave as well.

The girl quickly wrapped herself in the sheet and exited the room with the serving girl in tow, as the King rolled out of the bed and donned his thick red velvet robe. Once he was covered, he walked over to the table, poured himself another glass of wine and yelled for the Kingslayer to enter.

‘Gods I hate this smug, arrogant, prick. The only reason I keep his around is because I need the Lannister gold to pay for my wine and whores and all the fancy shit Cersei demands to have… Fucking Myrish rugs and because fucking Cersei demands that her family remains close. Damn power hungry cunts,’ The King thought as his good brother entered the room with a smirk on his face.

As the Kingslayer neared, the King barked, "When was the raven sent?" 

"Two days ago, I would reckon your Grace," his good brother replied as he held out the scroll for him to take.

The King snatched the correspondence, broke the wax seal, and started reading.

 

 

 

Brother,

I have disturbing news. Lord Baelish’s whore in Pentos has reported that the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen has in fact hatched a dragon and taken control of a Dothraki Khalasar of 100,000 screamers. However, there is more. The whore also reported that he married Daenerys Targaryen about a moon turn ago and she is already pregnant with the mummer dragon’s child. I wish that was all, but there is more… Apparently, Daenerys killed her brother and hatched five more dragons; the people of Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons.

Gods brother, if the rumors Lord Baelish’s whore said are true, they have six dragons and have an Army of over 100,000 Dothraki savages. We need to take care of this threat as soon as possible! We need to stop them before the dragons grow large enough to cause damage and before they add more soldiers to their army! We must stop them before they return to Westeros! If they cross the Narrow Sea, it will be the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror!

I have already sent a raven to Stannis, who said he would be leaving for King’s Landing, and would about the same time that you return. So I am expecting him to be her any day.

Please make your way back to the Capital with haste, the Realm needs your guidance and leadership.

Renly Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm's End, Master of Laws

 

King Robert tightened his hand around his wine glass and downed the contents before refilling the glass and downing the wine in one gulp. When he went to pour a third glass, he found the pitcher of empty; in his frustration and rage, he threw the glass chalice against the wall, sending thousands of tiny crystal shards across the room. He could feel his face flushing with anger, as he seethed, “Gods damn it! Fucking seven hells!”

"Your Grace, what's wrong?" The Kingslayer inquired with arrogance in his tone.

"The fucking Targaryen whore has hatched five dragons and is carrying the pretender's child as we speak! The only good thing in this letter is that she killed her cunt brother!" The King bellowed as he looked into Ser Jaime’s eyes and gripped the side of the table to keep himself from falling.

His good brother raised an eyebrow and stated, “This cannot be true, your Grace. Everyone knows, Dragons have been extinct over a century. And there is no way a little girl could kill her brother… Where did Lord Renly get this information How to we know this to be true? It could just be some made up rumor…”

“You truly are the stupidest Lannister!” The King hollered as he interrupted his good brother. “Lord Baelish sent a whore to his brothel in Pentos. She sent the information… The fucking whore has no reason to lie!”

He then took a deep breath as he flipped the table he was gripping over, causing the empty glass pitcher to shatter and gritted out, "Damn it Ned! I warned you, I fucking warned you that the Last Targaryens are a threat to my throne and yours!"

Robert then meet the Kingslayer’s dumbfounded gaze and continued his rant, "If that child is born, it would just be another threat to my throne! Even with the Beggar King Viserys eliminated, the Dragons are not going extinct! They are fucking and producing more godsdamn Dragonspawns! Fucking disgusting, incestuous pieces of shit… How came someone fuck someone who share the same blood?”

He saw his good brother gulp, but he did not allow him to answer before he started speaking once more, “I am going to write a letter… I need to warn Ned. We will need to unite to fight this war!”

The Kingslayer nodded in response before the King walked over to the desk in the back of the room and penned a quick message. He blew the ink dry and sealed it with a dollop of golden wax his personal crowned stag sigil.

When he was done with the correspondence, he handed the message to Ser Jaime and demanded, "Go to the Maester, and watch him put this message on a raven to Winterfell! I will rally all Six of Kingdoms and Ned will rally the North! He will see that there is truth to this threat and that these are no rumors! If I have to I will travel across the Narrow Sea myself to kill the fucking dragon whore, her mummer husband and their dragonspawn!”

"At once, your Grace," the Kingslayer stated with a dip of his head before turning to take his leave.

However, before Ser Jaime reached the door the King hollered at him, "Tell everyone, including your sister, that we are leaving for the Capital at first light. If your cunt of a sister is not ready she will have to find her own way back to King’s Landing!” He then took a deep breath before he continued, “We will ride hard from first light until it is dark! If there is no Inns, we will make camp on the side of the King’s Road! I will not stand by and allow the Targaryen’s to make a fool of me!"

“Yes, your Grace,” his good brother responded before he took his leave.

Once the door was secured, the King removed his robe, and got into bed as he thought, 'I fucking told you Ned. You should have trusted me from the beginning that the Targaryen’s are dangerous. They are going to bring fire and blood to all seven kingdoms! Fucking stubborn Northerner! I swear to all the seven new gods and your tree gods that I will kill the Mummer Dragon, the little Dragon whore, and the Dragonspawn she is growing in her womb by myself if I have to! The Dragons will soon see their end!' He pulled up the furs and had a fitful night sleep as he dreamed not only about killing Rhaegar, who stole his Lady Lyanna, but he dreamed about killing the Dragonspawn across the Narrow Sea……

 


  

 

 

Notes:

Let us know in the comments below!!. Kudos, Love and ideas are always appreciated.

Chapter 17: A New Threat

Summary:

Section One: Catelyn receives Robert's Raven to Ned.
Section Two: Doran and Oberyn receive a disturbing raven and make plans for the future.
Section Three: Daenerys receives a visit from someone very unexpected
Section Four: Tywin holds his first small council meeting.
Section Five: Jojen and Bran receive visions.

Notes:

Hey guys! New chapter as you all have been asking for :) sorry for the long month wait but we have been busy lol. We will have chapter 18 up and running hopefully about 2 weeks. So the Christmas chapter can come in! Hopefully, you all enjoy the chapter! As for any errors please excuse us. When we release a chapter it is usually between 30 k or more so if we accidentally forget a few errors pls forgive us ;) but anyway like I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter! And please let us know of what you thought about the chapter in the comments below ;) because it keeps us going!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Catelyn Stark

The glow of the early morning sun against the clouds was painting the sky in shades of pale iliac and orange as it rose higher in the sky. Catelyn found herself standing on the scaffolding overlooking Winterfell’s training yard, with her brother Edmure, observing as Sansa, Arya and Rickon practiced their Water Dancing with the new training swords Gendry had given them a few days ago. She was amazed at how wonderful Master Syrio was with her children and how much they had improved in such a short amount of time. Sansa was graceful with her movements, Arya was swift and crisp and Rickon was clumsy but much improved.

As she watched them she thought, ‘This is yet another thing I need to be grateful to Jon for, even though I treated him so terribly in his last life, he still loves my children enough to want them to survive the wars to come. Why was I so blinded by hate for him that I could not see how much he loved my children, his brothers and sisters… I knew that he was always close with Robb and Arya, but I would have never imagined that he and Sansa would become close, that she would rule the North in his stead when he went to Dragonstone. Gods I hope that Robb and Jon are safe in Essos and that Ned is safe when he goes beyond the Wall… Ned should be arriving at the Wall at any time.’

“What are you thinking about so hard this morning?” Edmure asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I just have a lot on my mind,” she replied as she turned to face her brother’s worried face. “I promise you, I am fine,” she added as she forced a smile. Her brother nodded and she returned to watching the children spar. 

After a few minutes, he asked, “Cat, Arya told me earlier that you have also participated in these water dance sessions when you are not busy. You are not busy with any issues this morning, why don’t you join them? You want your children to be able to protect themselves when the Long Night arrives... Shouldn’t you also continue to learn to defend yourself?" 

The Queen in the North sighed and leaned against the railing before looking at her little brother’s inquiring face and answering, “Edmure, we still have over seven years before the Night King breeches the Wall. I will have plenty of time to study Water Dancing. Besides, Jon will not make the mistake of allowing the Night King to claim any of his and Daenerys’ dragons, so hopefully the Night King will not breach the Wall in this life. Thanks to Jon, we know what to expect.” Her ramblings trailed off as Arya and Sansa began to spar. She was amazed how precise Arya’s movements were, but she lacked the patience Sansa possessed.

"Yes, that's true,” Edmure agreed, pulling her attention away from her daughters sparring match. “If things go according to how they did in Jon’s last life, it will be years before the Night King is able to breach the wall... But what if that isn't true?" 

She gasped as shivers ran down her spine. "What do you mean? It has to be true... Jon would have never known the truth behind his birth if it were not true." 

Her brother looked away from her, and down to the training yard, where Syrio was bent down, softly explaining something to her daughters. She then heard Edmure take a deep breath, "When you told me the truth, about Jon and about his past life, you told me that just before he was sent back, Bran told him that The Night King was aware of his plans?" 

She was confused; she did not comprehend where Edmure was taking this conversation. She looked at him as she furrowed her brow and replied, "That is what Ned told me… That Jon was told the ritual or spell needed to be completed quickly because the Night King knew of their plans… That the Army of the Dead had breached the walls of Pentos and were trying to prevent Jon from traveling back to the past." 

Edmure took a long slow sip from his wineskin before he muttered, "That is not good news at all… I did not even think about the ramifications of the Night King having that knowledge until I was trying to sleep last night." 

"Why would it matter? Melisandre and Bran’s plan worked. Jon was safely sent back.” When she saw her brother shaking his head she knitted her eyebrows and asked, “What is wrong?" 

The heir to Riverrun looked her in the eyes and quietly stated, "The thing what bothers me, is what if the spell did not get done quickly enough? What if Jon really did not make it in time? What if the Night King got to Jon before he was sent back, and the Night King from Jon’s past was sent back as well?” 

"How would that be possible?" The Queen in the North softly exclaimed, in disbelief.

Edmure sighed before he quietly explained, "You said, Jon told Ned, the last thing he remembered, before waking up in Winterfell, was the roar of a dragon… According to what you told me, at the time Jon was sent back, the only remaining dragon, Drogon, was a slave to the Night King… What if, as soon when Jon close his eyes, the Night King breached the complex and entered the green water… Or even, what if he was close enough to the magic that even if he entered after Jon, he was sent back as well?" 

"So you are suggesting The Night King from Jon’s past was also sent into this life through the same magic portal?"

"Aye,” He confirmed with a nod. “And you know, if that is true... He knows that we know about his threat, his plans. That we are aware of his weaknesses. We are aware how to defeat his foot soldiers... and if that if true, he will know our weakness as well. He will change is tactics... He will try and strike sooner, before we are prepared." 

She felt her heart beating in her ears as her anxiety rose. She then slowly breathed out, "What... what do you mean?" 

Her brother sighed, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before he finally spoke. "Benjen... Benjen was raiding beyond the Wall... He was captured or killed or something, and in order to safe him, the Children of the Forest turned him into who Jon called Cold Hands. Benjen was able to foil many of the Night King’s Plans by saving Jon and Bran. He knows when Benjen will go beyond the Wall. What if he does not attack or attacks with more force?"

Catelyn felt as if she had been punched in the stomach and she could no longer catch her breath. After a few moments she finally whispered, "If you are saying is true… Then that means, Ned and Benjen could be in even more danger when they go beyond the Wall!”

"Yes and if my theory or assumption is correct... The Night King already knows were The Free Folk are hiding and he could be turning them right now. He will also know that Jon and Daenerys will not be taking their dragons beyond the Wall, therefore, he will be looking for another way to breakdown the Wall."

"And if this is true,” the Queen in the North softly responded as her body shivered, “And the Night King discovers a way to breach the Wall before Jon has won the war for the Throne… It will be over for all of us all.” She then quickly picked up her skirts and began to walk away as she said, “I need to warn Ned. I have to find Maester Luwin and send a raven now.”

"Cat stop!" Edmure stated as he grabbed her arm.

She stopped, turned around, looked at him with a furrowed brown and inquired, "What’s wrong?"

Edmure then smiled and began to laugh. ‘How in the seven hells can he be laughing at a time like this!’ she thought before her brother stated, "I am only joking.” He the sighed and with a more composed disposition continued, “Cat, I only said that so that you would take your water dancing lessons more seriously! You might be my big sister, but I still want you to be safe if Ned or I are not with you to protect you.The more comfortably you are with a sword the better I will feel."

Although her brother was joking, it did not help to ease her anxiety. “Edmure, what happens if what you said is true? If it is, we will all be dead before winter even comes!” She spat through her teeth.

"Cat, calm down.” Edmure replied as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You told me that the Night King had not been seen in Pentos when the ritual to send him back was performed. You said that it was just the wights and White Walkers."

She shook her head as she broke away from her brother’s grasp. “I am still going to find Maester Luwin. I need to send Ned a raven. He must be prepared for anything that the Night King could have planned.” She then turned and almost walked straight into the older man she was going to find. “Maester Luwin,” she said with a gasp.

"Your Grace, my Lord,” he replied with a respectful dip of his head. “My Queen, I have just received a correspondence that requires your attention," The loyal Maester stated with an impassive look on his face as he removed the raven scroll from his pocket. "This raven scroll has arrived. It is sealed with the Crowned Stag of Robert Baratheon, your Grace."

‘Dear gods, please let this be good news,’ she thought as she reached out and took the scroll from his hand. She then forced a smile, "Thank you, Maester Luwin.”

She then broke the seal, unwrapped the scroll and began to read the messaged to herself:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ned,

The Dragonwhore and Pretender are plotting to take both of our thrones! Lord Baelish sent some of his whores to Pentos in order to spy on and gather information about the Targaryens. I just received a message that the Dragonwhore has hatched five dragons, to go along with the one her fucking husband already hatched. The common folk of Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons.

Baelish’s whore said they do in fact have an army of over 100,000 Dothraki barbarians!

And that is not all… apparently the Dragonwhore is fucking pregnant with the pretender’s child! She is fucking carrying his heir Ned! They are not fucking going extinct; they are fucking procreating! We should have taken care of this before I left Winterfell!

The only good news I have received is that fact that the Dragonwhore killed her brother, Viserys. She must be as mad as her Father was before the Kingslayer put his sword this his back! I do not know who this Aegon Targaryen pretender is but he is a bastard… a Blackfyre… a pretender!

Tywin should already be there running my Kingdoms. However, Ned, I need you to come to Kings Landing as soon as possible. I need your help to get rid the realm of the last of the Dragonspawn! They were responsible for the loss of Lyanna, this is our chance to get revenge for her death! Our chance to finish what we started almost 19 years ago.

Write to me and let me know when to expect you in the King’s Landing.

Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Southern Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

 

As she read the scroll, her hands visibly began to shake. When she was done, she looked at her brother with wide eyes and she could tell he was confused as to why she had such a weary expression on her face. She took a few calming breaths, but still she could not voice any audible words. Her mouth was parched.

"What's wrong Cat?" Edmure inquired.

She sighed as she rerolled the scroll with shaking hands. She then looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and noticed the training yard was full of people watching her daughters spar against each other. “We need to go to my chambers and speak in private,” she whispered.

The Maester and her brother both nodded in acknowledgment and the three made the journey to her chambers in a heavy silence.

Once the door to her room was securely closed, she immediately walked over to the table, set down the scroll, poured herself a glass of wine and began to drink. She could feel both her brother and the Maester’s eyes on her, but she did not care. She needed wine and she prayed to any gods that were listening that her son, Jon, Daenerys and their unborn babe remained safe. When her glass was empty, she went to refill it, only to have her brother put his hand over hers.

“Cat, stop” He spoke softly but firmly. When she met his gaze, she noticed his perplexed look and he continued, “Please, tell me what is wrong.”

With still shaking fingers, she picked up the scroll from the table and held it up. "King Robert,” she breathed out. “He... He knows that Daenerys and Jon have hatched six Dragons. I need to tell Ned. We need to make sure that Robb, Jon and Daenerys remain safe in Pentos... They need to know that Robert is going to try and rally the North as well as the Southern Six Kingdoms against them."

"Your Grace how did they found out?” Maester Luwin inquired. “I thought Lord Varys agreed to be Jon's master of Whispers? Why would he share the truth with King Robert’s small council?" 

"It was not Varys, it was Lord Baelish,” she seethed through gritted teeth. “He sent one or more of his whores to Pentos to investigate the news of the Dragon and the Last Targaryens. His whore confirmed that Jon has married Daenerys, that they have six dragons, a horded of 100,000 Dothraki warriors… and that Daenerys is with child," she added as she handed the scroll to the Maester.

“She is with child?” Edmure gasped. “That cannot be… They have only been married a little over a moon turn.”

However, before she could answer, there was a gentle knocking on her chamber door. “Come in,” she called. As the door opened, she saw Sansa and Arya walking into the room, looking at her intently. “Girls, what are you doing here? Where is Rickon?”

"Rickon is with Master Syrio, looking for cats so they can catch them. Apparently he needs to work on his speed and being quiet” Arya said with a chuckle.

“I am glad he is well. However, you did not tell me what brought the two of you here.”

“Mother, we thought you were going to join our Water Dancing lesson this morning?” Sansa questioned with worry in her tone. “you were watching us spar one minute, then the next you rushed off to your chambers.”

“Mother, is something wrong? Are Father, Jon and Robb okay?” Arya asked when she did not immediately answer her sister’s question.

The Northern Queen looked at the worry on her daughter’s faces. ‘I cannot let the girls know that King Robert is planning war against their brothers. If Arya knows she would probably get on a boat and head to Pentos to find them and warn them herself.’ So she forced a smile on her face and replied, “I wanted to wait a little longer to tell you this, because it is still very early and anything could happen…”

“What is it, Mother? Is it good news?” Arya pressed excitedly.

"I do have so good news," she confirmed. When she did, she noticed the look of confusion on her brother and the Maester’s faces. “Come girls, let us sit on the couch and I will tell you.”

Once they were seated on the sofa by the fire, Sansa smiled at her and pleaded, "Mother, please, tell us what the good news is."

Catelyn smiled as put one arm around each of her girls’ shoulders and said, “I have just received word that Daenerys is with child. I left the training yard because I wanted to come write a letter to send to your Father. I am sure that he would like to know to the good news as well.”

"Mother is she really pregnant? You are not lying, are you?" Sansa asked with a hesitant smile.

"Daenerys is really carrying Jon’s child? Jon is going to be father?" Arya asked at the same time as her sister, with a face of disbelief.

She smiled and nodded her head at her youngest daughter, and when she did, she saw a smile stretch across her face. A small unqueenly-like chuckle escaped from her lips as she said, "Arya if you remembered correctly, Jon was already a Father in his last life. He and Daenerys had a little boy named Rhaegar." 

Her youngest daughter chuckled, "I know that mother, but that doesn't count. Jon and Dany have not yet had a baby in this life! I am so excited! Jon going to be a father!" 

Her smile reached her eyes when she noticed that Edmure had walked over to join them. He then knelt down, smiled and said, “You know that this means that you both will be aunts. And when they return to Westeros, it will be your job to help look after and protect their child if they are busy.”

The look of joy on her daughters’ faces temporarily helped to reduce her anxiety.

"I hope it's a boy,” Arya exclaimed.

“Why is that?” the Queen questioned with a smile.

“Because, I want to teach him how to Water Dance before he starts to train with a long sword. He can start out with one of the little Braavosi style swords Gendry made for us… They are not heavy. I mean Rickon is only six and he can use it without any trouble."

"Seeing that Jon is a protective man, he would probably will not let you start his training with a sword until he is six years old," Catelyn replied.

"No, Mother,” Arya stated as she shook her head. “I need to make sure the future King can defend himself. Therefore, I will begin to train him the minute he steps on Westerosi soil… I will train him in secret if I must."

"I am not sure if his mother, Daenerys, will approve of her toddler wielding a sword.” The Queen said with a chuckle as she embraced her youngest daught "she is a dragon after all. And if anything happens to hurt her child I doubt she would be very happy.”

“I guess we will just have to see,” Arya mumbled quietly as she returned her mother’s embrace.

“Well, I hope they have a baby girl,” Sansa stated wistfully. “I hope that she looks just like her mother.... I would love to braid the little Princess’s hair and make her pretty dresses.” Sansa then gasped, “Mother how long has she been pregnant?"

“I am not really sure how far along she is in her pregnancy,” Catelyn stuttered, surprised by her eldest daughter’s question.

"Your brother, Robb, sent a raven announcing that Jon and Daenerys were getting married just over a moon turn ago,” Maester Luwin interrupted, saving her from her rambling. “If my assumption is correct, it is most likely child was conceived on their wedding night or within a few days of their wedding. Therefore, she is about six or seven weeks into her pregnancy."

“How long is a woman pregnant?” Arya inquired.

“Women are usually pregnant for about forty weeks,” the older man replied kindly.

Catelyn was beginning to get uncomfortable speaking about childbirth with her daughters so she quickly interrupted before the next question could be asked, "Arya, Sansa. Why don’t the two of you go and wash up, then head down to the kitchens to break your fast?” then before the girls could complain she added, “I need to discuss matters with your Uncle Edmure and Maester Luwin in private… I am sure that Septa Mordane would be more than willing to answer your questions about pregnancy."

Her daughters nodded, and embraced her and her brother before they took their leave. As the door was shut, Edmure sat down next to her and asked, "How does Petyr’s whore know Daenerys is pregnant?"

“It was probably his assumption,” she replied. “It is probably a safe assumption as well because in their last life, she quickly became with child and they have already been married for nearly two moon turns.”

“Catelyn, I know that you said you wanted to write to Ned, and let him know that Robert wants him to come to King’s Landing to plan war against the Targaryens, but don’t you think we need to warn Jon? I think we should let him know that King Robert knows that Daenerys is pregnant. I know that you said Jon is a great warrior, but I think Robert will send assassins after them… and Jon cannot be with her at all times. He is going to have to assign some guards to protect her when he is not available to do so because in the  past, when she was pregnant with Khal Drogo’s child, he sent a wine merchant with poisoned wine…"

‘Dear gods, if something happens to Daenerys or his child Jon might become enraged! If what they say is true, about his connection with his dragon, they will both become uncontrollable,’ She thought as her brother spoke. When he was done, she took a deep breath and answered, "You are right, Edmure. We need to find a way to warn them about Robert’s plans. And Daenerys must be protected. Her safety must be our first priority."

"Why Daenerys? Why would Jon not be our first priority? He is the one with the most knowledge about the Army of the Dead,” Edmure questioned with a furrowed brow.

"Ed, I do not know if Jon could go through the pain of losing her or his child a second time.” She then sighed and added, “I have already told you that the followers of R’hllor believed that Jon and Daenerys are the Prince and Princess who were promised. Jon was even told his son, Rhaegar, had a role to play. I do not know if any of that is true, but even if it is not true, that child is the future of Westeros and that child has a destiny that needs to be unfolded.” She looked from Edmure to Maester Luwin, who nodded in understanding. 

"Cat, are you not telling me something?” Edmure asked with a perplexed look on his face. “If we lose Daenerys, what will happen to Jon? I know that he would be devastated at the loss of his wife and child but he is a strong young man, he knows how much we need him in this battle." 

She stood up and walked towards the fire, “As you know, Jon was traumatized after the deaths of Daenerys and Rhaegar in his past life. Because of that we fear he might lose control... be filled with rage if anyone trues to harm his wife or child.”

"Rage?” Edmure questioned. “Cat, I believe that any man would be angry if someone tried to harm their family." 

"It is more than that,” she stated as she turned to face her brother. “If what Lord Tyrion found in the book is true, Jon and his dragon share a special connection. If he looses control of his emotions, his dragon, Sarogon, will loose control as well. If that were to happen, the consequences could be catastrophic... Nothing would be able to stop them... They would kill anything in sight, even their loved ones." 

"Fuck,” Edmure whispered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We best do something to make sure that nothing happens to our Queen. We need them together if we have any hope at surviving the wrath of the Night King.”

"I need to send word to Ned," Catelyn replied as she walked towards her desk.

Her brother raised her eyebrow and inquired, "How will we do that? He is somewhere on the Kingsroad between Winterfell and Castle Black..." 

"He should arrive at Castle Black shortly my Lord,” Maester Luwin interrupted. “As long as he and his party have not had any issues on their journey, they should be arriving at Castle Black within the next day or so." 

She sat down at her desk and smiled at her brother and said, "I guess I best send the raven as quickly as possible, so that it will be there with the other when he arrives." She then grabbed a piece of parchment, dipped her quill in the ink and began to write.

"The other?" Edmure asked. 

"Yes, the same day as the assassination attempt, we received a raven from a pretender, who named himself Aegon Targaryen." 

"A pretender Aegon?" Edmure inquired with a look of confusion on his face.

Maester Aemon nodded, "He sent a raven, claiming that he was the son of Princess Elia and the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. In the message, he demanded that House Stark bends the knee to him upon his arrival in Westeros. If the North does not kneel, he would rain fire and blood upon us with his dragon." 

"That... That is impossible!" Her brother said as he gasped. "It was announced to all of Westeros that Aegon Targaryen was killed by the Mountain. The Mountain smashed his head against the wall. Eddard even saw the silver hair of the boy as Tywin Lannister presented his body to King Robert." 

"That is all true, my Lord," Maester Luwin agreed. "My first thought was that this person claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, is a Blackfyre... However, after I did some research, it would be impossible because every known Blackfyre and their descendents are gone. My next thought was that it could be Lord Baelish... He would like nothing more to see the end of the Targaryens, because so far, Jon has stayed two steps ahead of him, foiling all of his plans in the Game of Thrones. He knows that he is being outplayed, and I believe that he would do anything to win." 

"I am not sure that the raven from the Pretender was from Lord Baelish," the Queen in the North stated as she looked up from writing her letter to her husband, to see two surprised faces

"Why not Cat?" Edmure asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Lord Baelish is a smart man," she replied as she rolled the message to her husband. "He has already tried to start a war between House Stark and House Lannister. He knows that if it was discovered he was the one who sent the scroll, or even ordered it to be sent, he would be executed for treason. Peter is sneaky, he would be careful. This move was not smart; it was done in haste." 

"That is true... But if Lord Baelish did not send the scroll who did?" Maester Luwin asked.

"I wish that I knew," Catelyn said as she sighed. She then sealed the scroll to her husband with a dollop if grey wax and the Direwolf sigil of House Stark.

"Cat, how are we going to warn Robb and Jon?"

"Edmure, how could I have forgotten. Lord Varys has agreed to be Jon and Daenerys' Master of Whispers," she replied with a sigh of relief, "Therefore, I am confidant that as soon as he has any news, he will use his network of Little Birds to warn them of whatever threat Robert is sending after them." 

She saw Edmure exhale in relief as she stood up from her desk. She then walked over to Maester Luwin, smiled and requested, "Please send this message to Castle Black."

"Of course, your Grace," The Maester said with a dip of his head. He then took the scroll and left the Queen's chambers.

After the Maester left the room, Catelyn looked towards her brother and asked, "Edmure, I am going to join the girls in the kitchen to break my fast. Would you care to join me?"

"I would be honored, my Queen," he replied as he held his arm out for her to take.

Catelyn took his arm, and together they made their way to the kitchen......


 Doran Martell 

Doran was sitting at one of the tables in his solar, reading the raven scroll for the third time, willing his mind to make sense on the words on the piece of parchment. He mind was in a jumble and thought were swirling around in his mind, ‘Something is not right. This cannot be true. There is no way the child could have been hidden for the last eighteen years. Gods Elia, I wish that you would have brought the children with you when you came to Dorne. If you had, you all would have been safe from Aerys’ madness. The Mountain would have never killed you or your children. We could have had a Maester for her and you all would have happy.’ He was pulled from his personal thoughts as he heard the door to his chambers open and he looked up to see one of his personal guards, Aero, entering the room.

“Prince Doran,” Aero said with a dip of his head. “Your brother has arrived, as requested.”

“Please let him in,” Doran replied as placed the raven scroll on the table in front of him, settled back into his wooden chair and began to massage his temples, willing the forming headache to pass as he waited for Oberyn to join him.

“Doran, is this your new way? Do you find joy in interrupting me while I am making love to my beautiful Ellaria?” his brother complained, trying to conceal the smirk that was pulling up on the corners of his lips.

He rolled his eyes at his brother and chuckled as he said, “You know that I would never disturb you from your escapades unless it was of importance.”

“I know this, brother,” Oberyn replied with the mirth gone from his tone as he sat down in the chair across from him. “So tell me what is so important that you has summonsed me so urgently?”

Doran picked up his glass of wine and took a sip. He then looked his little brother in the eyes, “You may want to get yourself a glass of wine,” he stated as he gestured to the pitcher of Dornish red in front of them. “I feel that you might need it sooner rather than later.”

Oberyn eyed him suspiciously, before nodding his head and filling one of the glass goblets. After he took a sip, he asked, “Doran, please, tell me what is so horrible that I need wine, before whatever the news is that you must tell me?”

 “This,” The Lord of Sunspear stated as picked up the correspondence from the table. “I need you to read this message I received… And read it out loud.

“Really brother? Can’t one of your servants read the message for you?”

“Oberyn, now is not the time for your jokes!” Doran exclaimed, surprising his brother, “This… This is an issue.”

His little brother nodded as he took the scroll from his hand and began to read:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uncle Doran,

The news I send to you will be surprising. I am the son of your sister, Elia and her husband, the Crown Prince Rheager Targaryen; I am your nephew Aegon Targaryen. I know that this sounds unbelievable, that I am a pretender or that this is a trap, but I swear to all the gods I speak the truth. I have been told that I am a mirror image of my father when he was my age; that my eyes are the same shade of indigo and my hair the same shade of silver.

My mother, your sister, knew that I would not be safe in the Capital, so she switched me with the son of a King’s Landing whore shortly before the Lannister’s sacked the city. She entrusted my care to some Targaryen loyalist, who took me to Essos for my safety. Because of this, the Mountain never crushed my skull.

For the last eighteen years, I have been in hiding with Golden Company, under the care of my Father’s friend and Targaryen Loyalist, Jon Connigton. He is one of the leaders of the Golden Company and they have agreed to pledge their forces to me. Therefore, I have to support of 100,000 sellswords and elephants as well as my Dragon, Rhaelyx, to help me reclaim my rightful throne. In exchange for their service, I will grant then lands in Westeros.

I have recently learned of a pretender, in Pentos, who is claiming to be me and claiming to have a dragon! I have heard he is really a Dothraki Khal who has somehow convinced my Aunt Daenerys to marry him. Daenerys is rightfully my bride; we need to keep the bloodline pure to control my dragon! This pretender and his horde of barbarians will be dealt with! I will rain fire and blood upon him as soon as my dragon can breathe fire.

Uncle, I plan to return to Westeros as soon as I have dealt with the pretender and take my bride. I would like for you and the power of Dorne to help me get justice for the destruction of House Targaryen. I need you to stand with me when I sentence Houses Baratheon and Lannister for their crimes against House Targaryen and House Martell. I will use my dragon burn Casterly Rock and Storms End to the foundation stones for causing the deaths of my mother and sister. I will send my sword through the heart of the Usurper King Robert for murdering my Father on the Trident!

After speaking with Jon Connington, I have decided to give House Stark the chance to peacefully surrender in exchange for a pardon for their actions during the Rebellion. I believe the Starks only joined Robert’s Rebellion because they believed the lies that Lady Lyanna Stark was kidnapped by Father and because my Grandfather burned the Warden of the North and strangled his heir.

I will show no mercy for anyone who dares to stand in my way! That includes you, Uncle. If Dorne does not help me reclaim my rightful throne, I will not hesitate to use Rhaelyx against you!

At this time, for my safety and the safety of my dragon hatching, I feel it is best to keep my location secret. I will send notice to you before I set sail for Dorne. 

Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of my Name, Rightful King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

Doran watched Oberyn’s hands shake as he placed the letter back onto the wooden table in front of him. His brother then looked at him, and he could see the mixture of emotions painted across his normally cheerful facade. He could see shock, anger, and confusion. He refilled his brother’s almost empty glass of wine; his brother nodded his head in thanks and drank down the entire contents of the cup. After Oberyn placed the glass back on the table, Doran saw that the Dornish red did nothing to soothe his brother’s emotions.

"Who does this cunt of a pretended think he is!” Oberyn seethed through gritted teeth. “Our nephew is dead! Elia and Rhaenys are dead! And this cunt is dishonoring their memory!” His brother then refilled his wine glass and again drank down the entire contents in just a few gulps. After Oberyn took his last sip from his wine he them smashed the wine cup on the table as he then demanded. "Doran, give me an army and I will find this pretender! I will cross the Narrow Sea if I have to! I want to kill him myself! How dare he dishonor this memory of our sister and her children?"

The Lord of Sunspear raised his hand in order to stop his brother ramblings. "Calm down, Oberyn. We are both aware that this man claiming to be our nephew is a mummer dragon. He is not a Targaryen or Martell. If he does have silver hair and purple eyes he could be believed to be a Blackfyre, but they are all dead as well. He is probably just the son of some Lysene pillow slave." He took a deep breath as he remembered when the bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys were delivered to Sunspear. "We both have seen Aegon's body. We saw what the Mountain did to his tiny body… And even though we could not tell it was him because of the damage to his skull, we know it was him because of the birthmark on his thigh."

"Your right Doran," Oberyn said with a sigh. “But the people did not know about the birthmark! What if the people truly believe this imposter is the son of Elia and Rhaegar? This is why I must stop him!”

“Not yet brother… There are other things that we need answers to before we try and find this mummer dragon.”

Oberyn was staring at him with a perplexed look, “What? What could be more important than stopping someone who claims to be our nephew? Stopping this man who has threatened our house? Our People?”

Doran rubbed his bearded chin as he searched for the right words. After a moment, he took a deep breath and stated, "As the mummer said in his letter, there is another across the Narrow Sea claiming to have a dragon and who is going by the name, Aegon Targaryen. That this man has taken control of a Dothraki Khalasar and has married Rhaegar’s sister, Daenerys… I have also received reports of this man... But I have also head that Daenerys has also hatched five dragons of her own. The common folk in Pentos are calling them the Father and Mother of Dragons. The Dothraki believe that they were sent from the Horse God to lead them to greatness. And I believe that these tails might actually be true."

Oberyn gasped. “Doran, how can that be true? Our Aegon is dead! He is buried here in Sunspear with is sister and his mother! This other man is another pretender! How in the seven hells can you think this might actually be true?”

The Prince of Dorne observed a confused look on his brother’s face. He smiled as he thought, 'He must be still alive... I am so happy that Aegon and Rhaenys younger sibling must have survived!' He then looked his brother in the eyes and stated, "Oberyn, I do not believe this young man to be a pretender... In fact, I am surprised he has not asked Dorne to support his claim to the throne. Elia, would be so happy to hear the child survived. That Rhaenys and Aegon’s sibling survived. I feared that the child died along with his mother and the Kingsguard...”

"Brother, What are you talking about?" Oberyn interrupted with an exacerbated sigh. “Rhaenys and Aegon did not have a younger sibling! Elia was told that if she were to bear anymore children she would die! Rhaegar was aware of this and promised her she would not have to do so, even though Aerys demanded they had more children!”

"That is true, Elia only bore Rhaegar two heirs,” Doran stated. “However, I do believe that this Aegon Targaryen is Rhaegar’s last living heir."

“What the fuck are you rambling about! We both agreed that Aegon was dead! That his skull was crushed by the Mountain.” Oberyn then slammed his hand down on the table in frustration and demanded, “Make me understand what you are talking about!”

"I believe the Aegon Targaryen in Pentos, the man who married Daenerys, is our niece and nephew’s younger brother... Jaehaerys." He saw the disbelief on Oberyn's face after he confessed this truth, a truth that he had hidden away for almost eighteen years.

"What are you saying Doran?” His brother whispered. “Are you saying that Elia twins? Surly our sister would have told us if she bore her husband twins."

"We would have never known, Oberyn,” Doran disagreed. “Elia was a very smart woman. However, I do not believe that this Aegon is her true son, but that he is in fact Rhaegar's last living breathing heir"

“Are you telling me that Rhaegar had a bastard!” Oberyn said with an expression of shock on his face and in the tone of his voice. “I do not believe it! I know Rhaegar did not care that Elia had taken a lover, and I know that she would not have cared if he took a lover… However, I never thought he was the type of man to dishonor his wife. Why would you keep this from me? Why are you telling me this now? Why did you think the child was dead?”

Doran took a deep breath as he prepared to share the secret he thought he would take to his grave. “Oberyn, there is something that you must know…”

“And what would that be?” Oberyn interrupted with a raised voice.  

“Shortly after Lyanna went missing, I received a raven from Elia. Stating that she would be coming to Sunspear with some guests… and that her visit must remain a secret.”

“What? Why?” Oberyn interjected with a furrowed brow. “I mean why did she not even want me to know she was coming? I would have loved to visit with my niece and nephew.” 

‘I am sorry Elia. I knew I swore to keep this secret until you made the announcement. And then, after all of you died, I did not see the point… Telling the truth at that point would not change what happened,’ Doran thought to himself as he sighed. He then looked his brother in the eye and replied, “As you know, Elia and Rhaegar cared for each other deeply, as friends but they were not in love. That they only bedded each other because of duty. That they would do anything so that the other was happy… Therefore, Rhaegar allowed Elia to take a lover.” 

“Of course, I know this brother. That was a secret that I was aware of. What I do not understand is what this has to do with Elia coming to Sunspear in secret.”

“Please, Oberyn, let me finish.” Doran stated before he took sip of his wine and continued, “As the entire realm knows, Rhaegar met Lyanna Stark at the Tourney of Harrenhal and many assumed that he became obsessed with the young Stark girl. However, the truth is, they shared an instant connection and Elia was very happy that Rhaegar had finally found love. She told me the only time she had seen him happier was when his children were born. Elia was even fond of the young Stark She-Wolf. They soon learned that her father was forcing her into a marriage, with Robert Baratheon and Lyanna stated that she would rather runaway than marry that whoring man. So they helped Lyanna to escape… A couple moon turns after it was announced that Lyanna had been kidnapped, I received a raven from Elia, stating that she needed to meet with me in private and she was bringing two guests who needed a safe place to stay until the war was over. I figured she was bringing the children because she made it very clear that I was not allowed to let anyone know she was coming. When she arrived, it was with Rhaegar and a pregnant Lyanna… and three members of the Kingsguard, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, and Ser Gerold.”

“What about the children? Where were Aegon and Rhaenys?” Oberyn inquired.

“She left them at Dragonstone with Queen Rhaella. She knew that they were safe there, away from Aerys… She loved Lyanna like a sister and wanted to make sure she and her unborn child were safe. So I agreed to house them in an abandoned tower, which they called the Tower of Joy, because they were all so happy... Then once they were settled, Elia planned to return to Dragonstone, get her children and then take them to Starfall, to be under the care of her dear friend Ashara, who was about to give birth to whom was pregnant with Eddard Stark’s Bastard. She then wanted to return to the tower, so she could stay with Lyanna and help her once the child was born.” 

Doran had to pause to take a sip of wine. When he did Oberyn breathed out, “So you knew that Rhaegar did not kidnap Lyanna… and you never told anyone? Why? You could have stopped the war! Elia and her children might be with us today!”

“It was not that simple,” Doran responded icily. “When they arrived, we had just received word that Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon, had been killed by the Mad King. It was not safe… There was no way to stop the war, Aerys had gone too far by killing the Warden of the North… Elia also had plans… She asked me if I could find a Septon…”

“A Septon?” Oberyn interrupted. “Did Rhaegar make Lyanna his a second wife? Is that why the child is a Targaryen and not a Blackfyre?”

Doran sighed, “That is what Rhaegar wished to do. He stated that he made a vow to Elia and would not discard her or their children… But Elia did not wish to be Queen. She wanted to live a simple life… She wanted to marry her lover and live the rest of her life in the Water Gardens here at Sunspear with her children… Elia wanted a Septon to annul her marriage to Rhaegar so he would not feel guilty about taking a second wife.”

“Rhaegar loved his children! He would never cast them aside!” Oberyn exclaimed.

“No, he would not.” The Lord of Sunspear agreed. “That is why Rhaegar demanded to keep Aegon as his heir. So Elia agreed to a compromise. She would allow Aegon to remain heir, as long as he was not forced to become King… That their son would be given the choice to advocate the throne when the time came if he did not wish to become King. If Aegon wanted to be King, he would, if not, he would be allowed to live in Dorne and free to choose his own path in life.”

Doran took a moment to take a sip of wine before he continued. “As soon as I agreed with her plan, we were able to persuade Septon Maynard to perform the marriage and annulment. Rhaegar and Lyanna were married in a secret ceremony in the gardens… and then they all left. Elia soon returned to Dragonstone to get Rhaenys and Aegon after she, Rhaegar and the three Kingsguard had Lyanna settled in the Tower of Joy. Then, as you know, Elia never made it home... Aerys somehow heard that Elia planned to bring the children to Dorne, and demanded she return to the Capital and the Rhaegar return to the war.” 

Doran then took the opportunity to open the wooden box in front of him, and took out a scroll and handed it to a speechless Oberyn, who unravel the scroll and began to read. As he brother read the scroll, he took a deep breath and continued, “Elia sent me this message, stating not to worry because Rhaegar had asked Ser Jaime to keep her and the children safe and that she would return to Dorne as soon as she could. She also stated that once Aerys had been defeated, they would announce their annulment and Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage... We both know how that turned out... However, I did get a message sent to Eddard Stark, informing him of his sister’s location hoping that he would be able to protect his sister and her son… Maybe hid them somewhere in the North, where they would be safe from Robert… When I heard that his sister was dead, I believed that the child died with her... You know, I always believed his Bastard was Ashara’s child... that she could not live with the thought that the man she loved, the father of her child, had killed her brother... My gods it makes perfect sense.”

"What make sense?" 

“Think about it Oberyn,” Doran replied with a chuckle. "Eddard Stark, the most honorable man in all of Westeros went to war, and when he returned he took with him the corpse of his little sister and a Bastard. As I said, I always believed the child was his because Ashara was pregnant with his Bastard… He was honorable and had never been known to lie… and if Ashara no longer wanted to keep the child, he would have taken the child and loved it… I just though he never mentioned the child’s mother, so that he would not bring shame upon Ashara’s memory because the two of them did love each other deeply, and they had actually planned to marry before he was forced to marry the Tully girl... But now I see he named the child as his bastard in order to protect him from Robert..." 

His brother’s eyes were wide open as he put all the pieces together. “My gods,” he softly exclaimed, “Jon Snow is really Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son.”

"It would seem so..." 

Oberyn then stood from the table and gripped the edges as he exclaimed, “Doran, I cannot believe that you never told me this! I have been thinking of ways to get revenge agains the Starks and Rhaegar for over eighteen years! We should have reached out to Eddard and told him the truth! What is Lyanna was dead by the time he arrived at the Tower of Joy and he still believes that Rhaegar kidnapped and dishonored his sister! We have to fix this! Elia would kill us if we did not keep Rhaegar’s child safe!”

"What good would it have done if I had told you Oberyn?” Doran exclaimed as he sat back in his chair. “I thought that the child was dead! If I had told you this information it would not have changed anything! It would not bring back Elia or Rhaegar or Lyanna or any of the children!".

“Then why do you think the man in Pentos, who married Daenerys, is Aegon and Rhaenys little brother? You told me recently that the King in the North went beyond the Wall to find his heir and his Bastard.” 

“Well, the Good King Eddard did lie once before… I guess I would not put it past him to lie again.” Doran mused.

“And why would be calling himself Aegon?” Oberyn exclaimed as he threw his hand up in frustration. “In the letter I just read, Elia stated Lyanna and Rhaegar planned to name their child Visenya if it was a girl or Jaehaerys if it was a boy."

Doran looked at his brother in the eyes and said, “Elia and Lyanna we close and Lyanna was looking forward to the children spending time together… Therefore, I believe his mother might have named him Aegon, to honor the memory of his fallen brother.” 

Oberyn continued his questioning, “How can we be so sure that this Aegon Targaryen isn’t really Viserys? Everyone knows he is also mad like his father and wants his throne back he believes  is rightfully his. Perhaps he is just calling himself Aegon to make people think that he is someone else.” 

The Prince of Dorne then smiled as he took another raven scroll out of his pocket and handed it to his little brother. Oberyn quirked his brow as he took the scroll and Doran explained, “I received this just before I asked Aeor to bring you to me. Why don't you read it out loud?” 

Oberyn then unrolled the scroll, took a deep breath and paced as he began to read

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prince Doran,

I am a friend. My manse is in Pentos and this is where I had been sheltering Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen for the last year. I had hoped that the rumors of his madness were not true, and I planned to help him reclaim the Iron Throne.

Viserys then decided to sell his young sister, Daenerys, to a Dothraki Khal named Drogo in exchange for an army. However, when the presentation day arrived, were the Khal would have decided if Daenerys would become his Khaleesi, instead of Drogo arriving, it was a dark haired man, who called himself Aegon Targaryen. Apparently this man killed Khal Drogo… He stated that he knew the Khal would have raped and abused her. He then burned Khal Drogo’s body as a sacrifice to hatch his dragon. The Dothraki that came with him stated they named him their Khal because he walked out of the flames, unburnt with a baby dragon on his shoulder.

After the presentation, he decided to take Daenerys as his Khaleesi and took his Uncle Viserys as prisoner for his crimes… Because he was abusive towards Daenerys and told her that for an army he would have allowed the Khal to rape her every night, as well as every man in the Khalasar and their horses if it got him an army. 

The pull between Aegon and Daenerys was undeniable and after just couple of days they married based on love, not duty. 

A few weeks after they married, they joined with their Khalasar outside of Pentos. The night they joined the Dothraki horde, Viserys’ fate for his crimes against their family was decided. Daenerys burned her brother, alive, with herself inside in bonfire… She, like her husband, walked away from the flames, unburnt. However, instead of one dragon, she hatched five. Three of the eggs were given to them as a wedding present from myself, while the other two once belonged to your niece, Rhaenys and nephew, Aegon, which had been hidden by a friend of mine, at the request of your sister, just before the Lannister’s sacked King’s Landing.

My King has asked me to send you this raven because he is traveling with his Khalasar and has no ravens at his disposal at this time. He wanted me to inform you that he has no intentions of dishonoring your family. And that if you hear any rumors or information from the Capital, that he is really your nephew, Aegon, these are false. However, Lord Varys little birds are spreading songs that he is the twin brother of Aegon in order to hide his true identity from Robert Baratheon. He fears that the Baratheon’s and Lannister’s would kill his family in Westeros if he were to find out who had kept him hidden for the last eighteen years. 

When he returns to Westeros, he would love to meet with you and visit the graves of his siblings he was robbed of knowing. He would like to be your ally in avenging the deaths of Elia and his half-siblings. He also will not pressure you to join his war if you would like to stay in Dorne when he returns to take back his Throne, although he does request that you stand with him when the time comes that Westeros needs to stand together, side by side, to fight in the Great War.  

A Friend in Pentos.

When Oberyn finished reading the scroll he gently placed on the table in front of his brother and plopped down in the same chair he had vacated a few moments before. He then sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and softly said, “Brother… This cannot be true… And we still have no way of knowing that he is truly Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son.”

“You are wrong,” Doran stated with a clipped tone. “I know this man is a true Targaryen because he honors our family the family of his older brother and sister. Because the letter states that he was raised in Westeros with family. Although the letter did not confirm the whom his family was, it leaves me no doubt that he raised by Eddard Stark. The other man is pretender! If we were truly his family, he would not threaten us if we did not stand by his side! And besides… I have a plan.” 

"You have a plan?" Oberyn inquired as he took a sip of his wine.

Doran nodded, “Yes brother, I plan to make an alliance through marriage with the Aegon who claims to be our niece and nephew’s half-brother. I will ask him to wed my daughter, Princess Arianne.” 

His brother choked on his wine. “A marriage alliance? Brother, he is already married and apparently in love, with his Aunt, Daenerys Targaryen.” 

He smiled as he took another sip from his wine. “Yes, that is true, however he is a Targaryen. And Targaryen’s are known to take multiple wives… Even his father was going to take a second wife. If he agrees to this marriage, House Martell and House Targaryen can be joined by blood once again." 

Oberyn shook his head, “Brother, this is very different. Rhaegar and Elia married for duty; they liked one another, but they were never in love and in the end, they both chose love over duty… I doubt he will accept your proposal. Especially, if he was raised by Ned Stark. I mean, Lord Stark was already married when he learned that Ashara was carrying his child, he told her he had already made a vow to Catelyn Tully and as much as he wanted to, he could not break that vow. The Stark’s are too honorable. He will never dishonor his wife to take a second wife for duty...” 

“Oberyn,” He stated with a smile, pulling his brother from his rambling. ”You know that the two of them alone will not be able to bring back the Targaryen family… The Targaryen Dynasty. You are aware of how many miscarriages Queen Rhaella had, and how difficult Elia’s pregnancies were. And do not forget, both his mother, Lyanna, and her mother died in childbirth. Therefore, he will need more than one wife to bring as many new legitimate Targaryens into the world." 

“And what will you do if he does not agree? And what if his character is more like Viserys and the Mad King, and not the kind demeanor of his sire?”

"If he does not, agree, we will find another way to make an alliance.” Doran replied simply. “Also, I am not worried about his demeanor. I mean we have never heard anything negative about Ned Stark’s bastard.”

“How else will you make an alliance, when he declines you offer?” Oberyn questioned as he took a sip of wine.

“The second way will depend on if Sansa Stark chooses to marry Trystane. If she does, an alliance will be simple because House Martell will already be tied to House Stark, so we could easily request that one of their children marry one of the Targaryen heirs, which would only strengthen the ties between the Martell’s, the Targaryen’s and the Stark’s. We need to secure an alliance,” Doran relented with a sigh.

“And what if the Stark Princess does not agree to marry your son?”

“That is why it is of the up most importance that to help Trystane secure a marriage with Sansa Stark. Moreover, you must find out what the Stark’s true intentions are. If Sansa weds Trystane, we will at least have some link to the Targaryens. We need to make sure we have the Targaryen’s and Stark’s on our side. And that If Robert Baratheon were to find out that I knew the whereabouts of Lyanna and Rhaegar, he would come to Dorne and slaughter us all.”

“I see… And how and when will these offers be presented to the Targaryen’s?”

“You, brother, will be the one to make these offers to the Dragon King and Queen.” Doran responded, “After you have secured the alliance with the Starks, I will need for you will travel to Essos to meet with the Targaryens… I would still like for you to offer my daughter as a second wife or the betrothal between one his is heir and one of the heir of Sansa and Trystane. If he refuses, I still believe an alliance with the Targaryen’s will be beneficial to Dorne… As long as his intentions for Westeros are good and he does seek revenge against the fat king and the lions for the deaths of Elia and her children. He will have our support in the wars to come.”

His brother nod as he soon stood up and smiled at him. Which confused Doran. “Brother, why are you smiling?”

“Because, Doran. You are finally allowing me to seek the revenge I have been seeking from the last eighteen years.” He smile faded slightly when he added, “Although, I am not exactly sure how long I will be in the North… Perhaps, you should send some spies into his Dothraki camp. Ones that can keep an eye on him and let us know about his character. As you are aware of, sometimes people can put on a façade for people they are trying to impress.”

“And who would you suggest we send?” Doran asked.

His brother then smiled widely, “I feel that a few of my daughter’s would do a fine job of infiltrating a Dothraki camp.”

The Prince of Dorne nodded his head, “That is a fine idea… However, you are aware of the Dothraki way of life. Are you sure they will be safe?”

Oberyn laughed, “My girls are not meek! And if I did not think they would be able to handle the life in Dothraki Khalasar, I never would have suggested it! Nymeria, Obara and Tyene know how to fight and how to please a man. They should be perfect for the job.”

“Alright, when you got to check on Trystane and his studies, please send your girls to me. I would like to prepare them for their journey.”

His brother dipped his head and said, “I will go now. My daughters should be here shortly.”

As he waited for his nieces to arrive, he refilled his glass of wine and thought, 'We cannot allow anything to happen to him. Elia, I feel it in my bones that he is Rhaegar’s son. I promise you I will do whatever I can to make sure that he is safe… I know you wanted Lyanna’s pregnancy to remain secret, but I should have sent a Maester to the Tower of Joy. I will not fail him, as I failed you, your children and Lyanna. I know that you would have loved him as if he were your own child.’

A gentle knocking on his door pulled him from his musings. “Prince Doran,” Areo called from the other side of the door. “Your nieces are here as requested.”

“Please send them in,” The Lord of Sunspear replied.

"You called for us Uncle Doran," Obara greeted him with a small smile and a hint of confusion on her youthful face as she and two of her sisters entered the room.

“Yes, please have a seat, my dear nieces.”

“Of course, Uncle,” Nymeria responded as she and her sisters made their way over to the table.

Once they were seated and offered wine, Tyene furrowed her brow as she inquired, “Uncle, as much as we enjoy seeing you, we would like to know why it is you have sent for us? Father would not tell us anything, just that you needed to see us immediately.”

Doran cleared his throat, and looked his nieces in the eyes as he stated, “Your father and I have decided the three of you would be perfect for a very important quest.”

He watched as the cautious demeanor of his nieces began to fade and made way to smirks.

"What will our quest be, Uncle?" Obara asked with a smirk.

He returned the smile and stated, “I have good news. It seems that your cousins, Aegon and Rhaenys, have a living half-brother... One for the the last eighteen years I believed to be dead; another casualty to Robert’s Rebellion. I have just received reports that make me believe him to be alive, well and in Essos. I would like for you, my dear nieces, to be my eyes and ears on him across the Narrow Sea.” 

His three nieces looked from him to one another with perplexed looks on their faces. When they met his gaze once again, Tyene looked at him, quirked her brow and inquired, “Who is it? You called him our cousins’ half brother... Is he a bastard? Has be been in hiding in Essos this whole time?”

He smiled as he leaned back in his chair as he said, "He is trueborn, and his name is Aegon Targaryen." 

His three nieces gasped as they heard this. After a moment Obara started, "But uncle..." He raised his hand and she promptly stopped talking.

"Your Aunt Elia was good friends with Prince Rhaegar, but they were not in love with each other... She was in love with another man, here in Dorne. Therefore, when he found love, she requested to annul their union so that the child his lover was growing in her womb would be trueborn. The annulment was granted with the caveat that your cousin, Aegon, remain Rhaegar’s heir. Elia then witnessed the union of Rhaegar and Lyanna, here, at Sunspear, in the gardens. I then hid Lyanna in an old abandoned tower and Elia returned to Dragonstone to get your cousins and bring them back to Dorne. She did not want to announce the annulment until she had her children away from Aerys. However, the Mad King found out she was planning to take the children away, so he demanded she and your cousins return to King’s Landing. You are aware what happened when she returned to the Capital.” His nieces were silent so he continued. “Shortly after the sacking of King’s Landing, I was able to have a message delivered to Eddard Stark, informing him of the location of his sister. When it was announced that Lyanna had died, I figured the child had died with her.” He then sighed and asked, “Do you girls know what Lord Stark returned to Winterfell with after the Rebellion?”

“The body of his dead sister and his bastard,” Tyene answered as she seemed to put the pieces together in her mind. She then knitted her brow and asked, “Uncle, are you saying you believe that Eddard Stark’s bastard is really is sister’s child? Why did you not think this before now?”

“Because child, Ned Stark was in love with and intended to marry Ashara Dayne. Then after his brother and father were killed at the hands of the Mad King, he did his duty and married his brother’s intended, Catelyn Tully. What he did not know, at the time, was that Ashara was carrying his child… Therefore, I believed that she gave him their child, whom he named Jon Snow, to raise because she was grieving the loss of Elia and her brother. However, I do now believe that he arrived in time to save his nephew. He is an honorable man, who would do anything for his family, which is why I believe he raised his sister’s child as his own.”

"Jon Snow? I have heard he is quite pretty and that he good with a sword,” Tyene replied with a smirk as her sisters began to whisper to one another.

‘They think that I am sending them over to seduce him,’ Doran thought as he ran his hand down his bearded jaw. “If you think I am sending you all to Essos to bed him you are wrong. In fact, I do not want you to fuck him. He already has a wife, his Aunt Daenerys.”

After he said this, he saw the disappointed looks on his nieces’ faces. After a few moments, Nymeria asked, “If you do not want us to seduce him, what exactly would you like for us to do?”

"I need for the three of you to be my eyes and ears; I need for you three to observe his character. I need to know if he is someone that Dorne could be proud to call their King.”

“Do you know where he is exactly?” Obara asked.

“My report stated that he left Pentos, heading southeast with his Khalasar a few weeks ago.”

“His Khalasar?”

“Yes, Tyene… Apparently, he defeated a Dothraki Khal and taken control of a horde of more than 100,000 warriors. The message I received also states that he and his wife have six dragon hatchlings. Therefore, I need for you, my dears, to enter the Khalasar, observe his character and let me know if the message I received is true. I must know if he is trustworthy. I need to know if he is someone who would care about Dorne. I need to know if he is someone that Dorne should follow. They are family, so I also need you to protect him and his wife from whatever or whoever Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister send to try to kill them. You must be careful and you cannot let him know who you are. If he knows who you are, he might not show his true character.”

His nieces nodded in understanding and Obara inquired, “Uncle, do you have a plan for how we can infiltrate the Dothraki camp?”

"From what I have heard, Dothraki men like two things, two things that the three of you enjoy as well… Fucking and fighting. Since the three of you are able to speak Dothraki, I think it would be best that you enter the camp disguised as Dothraki women. You will be able to please the men of the Khalasar and protect the Targaryens. I understand what I am asking you is a high favor... Because I have heard that the Dothraki are not kind to their lovers." He then looked at his three nieces in the eyes as he answered. "It is your decision to go. I will never force you to go on this quest."

The three Sandsnakes looked at each other and were silent for a few moments; he could tell they were silently deliberating. He breathed a sigh of relieve when they looked at him and smiled. "We will go, Uncle... We will protect Jon Snow and Daenerys, we will be your eyes and ears within the Dothraki Khalasar," Nymeria answered.

"Good,” he replied with a smile. “I will prepare a ship. I would like for you to leave at first light." His three nieces nodded. "And if the rumors about him having six dragons are true, please send word to me as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Uncle Doran,” Tyene replied.

“Thank you, and if you ever need anything please send word or if you do not feel safe, please return home. No go. Prepare for your quest.”

The three girls nodded once more, and left Doran’s solar……


Daenerys Targaryen

It had been nearly three weeks since they have left the comforts of Illyrio’s manse in Pentos. Nearly three weeks of riding east across The Flatlands and the Golden Fields and the Forest of Qohor and in now they were nearing the Dothraki Sea, as they rode on toward Qarth. Although Daenerys could not remember her time living amongst the Dothraki in her past life, over the last few weeks, she quickly felt herself adjusting to life on horseback and camping. The sun was shining brightly overhead in a cloudless blue sky. She wiped the sweat from her brow before pulling her water skin from the belt on her waist and took a long sip. She sighed in relief as to the liquid moistened her dry throat. As she put the water skin back, she felt what was becoming an all too familiar, burst of pain in her temple. 'Another memory?' She gasped and willed herself not to cry out in agony as one of her hands left the reins of her horse and began to massage her temple.

“Dany, are you all right?” Jon questioned as he pulled his black stallion up alongside of her.

She sighed as she looked over to meet his worried gaze trying to hide he pain from him. “I am fine, my love,” she lied in the calmest voice she could muster. “I am going to take a walk. I just need to rest for a few minutes and stretch my legs. I think the heat is getting to me,” She added as she motioned towards a grove of trees.

Her husband nodded in acknowledgement and asked, “Would you like for me to join you?”

“I will be fine my love,” she promised. “You should check with Bako and see how much further we need to ride tonight.”

“Jon, Dany,” Robb called as he rode over to them. “Is everything all right?”

Daenerys met his gaze, silently telling him that she needed some time to herself before the memories began to flood her mind. She then inhaled sharply and stated, “I am fine, Robb. I just need to stretch my legs.”

“Dany, are you sure you are all right?”

“Jon, Dany is fine,” Robb said, drawing her husband’s gaze. “I think we could all use a break. We have been riding nonstop for hours and I am not sure about you, but it would be nice to get my ass out of the saddle for a bit.” He added with a smirk.

“Aye,” Jon agreed with a chuckle. “Stretching my legs would feel nice and Dany is right, I need to check with Bako to see how much longer we should ride today.” Jon then turned towards her, “Dany, will you at least let Rakharo come with you?”

“I will wait for him over by those trees,” She stated as she continued to massage her temples. As soon as Jon nodded, the Khaleesi stirred her horse in the direction of the trees.

She was barely able to climb from her horse as the memories started to flash in her mind. She leaded back against a tree and slide down to the ground as sucked in a deep breath of air. The pressure behind her eyes became worse and she then heard voice that sounded familiar say, 'Azor Ahai... Come to me... I have waited for you since you have returned from your past life.' She closed her eyes in an attempt to dull the pain and drowned out the voice, however, when she did, she saw blue eyes, felt a sharp pain in her chest. The pain was an overwhelming feeling of sadness and loss. The pain so deep that it felt as if her heart was being shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

She opened her eyes and gasped as she felt the rage inside of her soul arise. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as she thought, 'What is happening to me?' Suddenly, the pain in her chest became so tight that she felt as if she could not breathe. She instinctively placed her hand on her at stomach as she gasped for air and closed her eyes, allowing a plethora of new memories to flood her mind. She saw her, Jon, and Tyrion trying to talk sense into Jaime Lannister. She recalled the meeting went south quickly when Kevan Lannister spoke about planning the Red Wedding. How his eyes began to glow red as he lost control of his emotions and blindly attacked the Lannister troops. She saw him behead a man named Randyll Tarly because he refused to surrender and because of how he treated his son, Sam.

She remembered leaving that battle to meet another group of Lannister troops along the Ocean Road and when did, Jon used Sarogon to create a wall of fire before speaking with the soldiers. After Jon told him Jaime Lannister had been defeated, they all surrendered peacefully. She then remembered that Sarogon blew ice onto the fire, putting out the flames.

Finally, she saw that after the second group of Lannister soldiers surrendered, they flew to High Garden for the night. She recalled meeting with Olenna Tyrell; how she told them she was the one who killed Joffrey and how she wished she had arranged a marriage between Jon’s brother, Robb and her granddaughter, Margaery. She then remembered that making love to Jon; that she allowed him to fuck her arse, which was both painful and pleasurable at the same time.

She gasped as she was then pulled back to the present when she heard Jon’s panicked voice, “Dany… Dany… Dany are you okay?” She opened her eyes to see Jon kneeling down beside her, eyes full of concern as he held her head in one of his hands and Rakharo standing behind him.

Daenerys looked at him and smiled as placed her hand over his as she leaned into his hand. She was about to tell him she was just fine, when she felt another headache forming behind her eyes. She quickly took a deep breath and slammed her eyes shut as she the familiar voice calling to her once again, ‘Azor Ahai! I need to speak with you! You must come to me without your husband. Leave your husband behind. He cannot know of this visit… We do not have long to speak!’ She exhaled sharply as she turned to kiss Jon’s palm and softly answered, "I am fine my love. I just have a headache."

Jon quirked his eyebrow and she could tell he was worried as he held out his hand. She gladly took his hand and he helped her to her feet, pulling her into a loving embrace. He pressed his lips to her forehead and murmured, “Are you sure you are alright, Dany?”

She smiled as she placed her hand on Jon's chest and replied, “I promise. I just need to drink more water and stretch my legs.” She then grabbed the water skin from her waist and took the last sip. “I am going to walk through the brush down to the river to fill my water skin.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Jon, I will be fine,” she stated. “Besides, Rakharo will be with me and you need to check with Bako about where we will camp tonight.”

“Aye, I do,” Her husband replied with a sigh.

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping to convince him that she was fine before her and Rakharo began their walk through the grove of trees and tall grass as they made their way towards the small river in a comfortable silence. After a few moments she head the voice again, ‘Keep moving forward… I will meet just after you have refilled your water skin. You need to make sure that you are drinking plenty of water in your condition.’

She tried her best to keep the expression on her face calm even though her heart was racing, ‘Who is calling to me? Why are they calling to me? How do they know that I have been returned from another life?’

Once they reached the river, Daenerys quickly filled her water skin and she and Rakharo began their trip back towards the Khalasar. As they walked, she searched for a sign of whomever it was that was calling to her, only to find everything calm. ‘If someone was truly looking for me I would hear the grass rustling or twigs breaking. Nothing out of place… Maybe the heat is getting to me… Maybe I really do need to drink more water,’ she thought as she wiped a few beads of sweat from her brow.

Then, just before they returned to the shade of the grove of trees, she saw a familiar woman emerging from the thick brush. She tried hard to remember who this woman was and why she would be seeking her out. Suddenly she received a flash of a memory… a funeral pyre with a chanting woman tied to a stake. She stopped walking and gasped as she recalled how she knew this woman, ‘Mirri Maz Duur, the witch who took my son Rhaego from me!’

The witch sauntered towards her and smiled. Out of instinct, her hand went to Dark Sister. This action also cause Rakharo to place a hand on his arakh. She then glanced at Rakharo, silently letting him know to be prepared to kill if needed.

"It has been a long time Daenerys Targaryen,” the Lhazareen godswife stated as she continued to walk closer.

Daenerys wanted to yell at the woman to stay away from her and her unborn child, 'I will not let anything happen to you, my child. I will not allow this woman to take you away from me.’  However, she found that she was unable to voice any words.

When she did not reply, she watched the smile widen on the witch’s face as she stopped in front of her and quietly stated, “Or should I call you by your proper title, Azor Ahai? And do not worry child, I am not here to harm you… or your babe.”

She felt as if all the air had been knocked out of her lungs and anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach, 'How does she remember me? How does she know I am Azor Ahai? How does she know that I am with child?’ She quickly turned her gaze at Rakharo and she could tell he felt her anxiety as he tightened his grip on his arakh. 

The Mother of Dragons took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly in an attempt to calm her anxiety. “What do you want?” She inquired through gritted teeth. “Explain to me now why I should not call my dragons and have them burn you alive for what you did to me in my last life?”

The witch laughed. Between chuckles she said, “As I said, I am not here to hurt you dear child. And besides, your dragons cannot yet breathe fire.”

The laughter from Mirri Maz Duur confused her. 'Why is she laughing? How can she not take my threat seriously?’ 

Then as if the witch could read her mind she answered her silent inquiry, “Azor Ahai, I am laughing because I know you would never harm or kill me. You know that I am your faithful servant… I saved you in your last life. Oh sweet child, you would have died if you birthed what was growing in your womb. Then I sacrificed myself so you could give birth to your three dragons.” 

Daenerys was dumbfounded at the witch’s words. “What?” When Mirri Maz Duur continued to smile, the Khaleesi felt her anger rising and seethed, “No! You are lying! Rhaego was an innocent babe growing in my womb! You took him from me!” 

"That thing was no ordinary child... It was half human half dragon and if you had carried it to term it would have killed you,” The Witch said nonchalantly. “However, you should already know this Azor Ahai. The memories of the curse on your womb being broken have already been returned to you. Therefore, you are aware that you can only bare children for the other half of Azor Ahai, you husband and you know about the bones that were removed from your womb at that time. Yes, I did put that curse on your womb, but it was to keep you alive. I had to make sure that no other man's seed would take root in your womb. Any child you birthed besides Azor Ahai’s would have either ended in a miscarriage or kill you. So, as I see it, I saved you… I prevented from you from the pain of the loss of a child or your own death." 

She took a deep breath as she clinched her fists and thought, ‘Was she really trying to help me? Would Rhaego really have killed me if I had not birthed him early? Was he really deformed? This woman caused me so much pain… She made me think that my dragons were the only children I would ever have.’ After a few moments of silent pondering, her gaze met the other woman’s as she questioned, “And why should I believe you? I remember telling Jon that I would never be able to bear him children… It was because of you, I thought that I was unworthy of his love… I thought I would not give him the child he deserved to hold in his arms. If he had not broken the curse I never would have had Rhaegar. Therefore, explain to me why I should not kill you where you stand for causing me so much pain and grief." 

The witch chuckled once more as she answered, “Dear child, I knew from the moment the Dothraki raided my village you were the Nissa Nissa of Azor Ahai… I allowed myself to be captured and enslaved. I needed to get close to you to place the curse on your womb to keep you alive for your fated husband, the true heir to the Iron Throne, Jon Snow, Azor Ahai. I had to get rid of the savage Khal Drogo who would have killed you when you birthed him a half-dragon half-human child. Therefore, I sacrificed myself so I could help you to fulfill that destiny. It was because of me, hatched your dragons and became a powerful, confident Queen. It was because of me that you learned to have faith in yourself. It was because of me that you were able to bear the Prince who was Promised”

Daenerys placed her hand her chest as she felt her heart began to beat hard in her chest. Her hand then traveled down to her stomach as she felt her anxiety grow. ‘I wish I could remember more… What if she is here to harm my child… What if she feel that now is not the right time for me to give Jon an heir. I will not let her take this child from me. I wish I could remember more of what happened in Essos in my last life. Was she really trying to help me then or is she here to harm me and my child?’ 

“Do not worry child,” Mirri Maz Duur stated as she placed a hand on the Khaleesi’s shoulder. “I will not harm you or the prince currently growing in your womb. I am loyal to you, your husband and to your future heirs. Only you and your husband can bring forth the Lightbringers.” 

Daenerys gasped as she heard this. ‘She is loyal to me and Jon and our future children?’

“Don’t touch Khaleesi!” Rakharo stated in broken common tongue, causing Daenerys’ thoughts to be interrupted and the witch to remove her hand. The godswife then held both hand up in the air, showing the Dothraki Blood Rider that she was not a threat.

“Rakharo, I think I can handle her if she becomes a threat. Can you please wait over by that tree?” She asked her loyal Blood Rider as she pointed towards the tree line about fifteen feet away.

“Yes, Khaleesi,” He said with a nod. “I be watching.” When he reached the tree line, she noticed that his gaze was still fixed upon her and his hand was still resting on his Arakh.

She then turned her gaze back towards godswife. “You are loyal to me? To us?” Daenerys softly asked.

The Witch nodded and answered, “I am loyal to you and your husband because you are Azor Ahai. Don’t you see, I have always been loyal to you, Daenerys Targaryen. I only did what I had to do in order to put you on the right path in you last life… You are Azor Ahai. You are the one chosen warrior from one life as your husband is also Azor Ahai, the chosen warrior from another life.” 

Daenerys tried to keep her tone calm as she inquired in a voice just above a whisper, "How… How did you know Jon and I are from different past lives? The only person who knows of my true origins in my good brother… Even my husband believes we are from the same past life…"

The Khaleesi abruptly stopped talking and gasped when the witch suddenly placed her hand on her still flat stomach and began to softly caress the soft flesh below her leather shirt. "What… What are you doing?" she inquired, pushing the woman’s hand away.

The witch smiled. "I only checked to make sure your child is growing properly, Azor Ahai. Your son is healthy."

"He?” She inquired with a quirked eyebrow. “Our child will be a boy?"

The witch smiled as she nodded. "The child is a boy and he is very strong. He will be a good king in the future. You and your husband will raise him well, surrounded by those whom love you both dearly. He will be a king all will respect. He will be a king that is not afraid to pass judgement when it is deserved. The people will fear him only when they have wronged him. You son will be a great warrior, just like his father and grandfather before him."

Daenerys could not prevent the smile that spread across her face as she placed her hand back on her stomach. 'I am going to have a boy. Jon and I will have another son. How do I know that the woman is not lying to me? She must be telling the truth… How else would she have known that Jon and I are from two different lives.' She was pulled from her thoughts when Miiri Maz Duur placed her hand on her forehead what confused her. "What are you doing?"

 The witch only smiled as she said in a quiet tone. "I have come to you for two reasons. The first was to check on your child. And the second is to help restore your forgotten memories.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and she breathed out, "Can you... Can you bring back all the memories from my past life? Can you show me when I gave birth to Rhaegar? Or when I met Sansa and Arya for the first time? Can you show me what went wrong? How we failed to defeat the White Walkers?"

The witch sighed and shook her head, "I am afraid I cannot dear child. I only have the power to restore the memories from your past life Esso… The ones of your life before you met Azor Ahai, Aegon Targaryen. The memories of your life after returning to Westeros are coming from the Three-Eyed Raven and they must be returned slowly. If he were to return them to you all at once, you mind and body would not be able to handle the emotions, the stress, all at once. It could cause you to have a miscarriage or even worse cost you your life."

The Khaleesi nodded understanding.

“Now just relax dear child,” The witch stated softly. “I will return all of your memories from the time of you learned you were pregnant with Rhaego, until the time you sailed from Meereen to Westeros. These are the memories that are important. These are the memories that made you into the Queen the people choose to follow."

She nodded and softly stated, “Thank you… Wait, I do not wish to remember how Khal Drogo would rape me or bedding a man other than Jon.”

“Of course dear child,” Mirri Maz Duur replied with a smile. She then closed her eyes and began to recite some words in a foreign tongue.

Daenerys felt heat on her forehead, where the witch had her hand placed. Then, after a few moments, she then gasped as memories flooded her mind. She remembered crying herself to sleep after her brother sold her to Khal Drogo; that she feared her husband but then how things began to change when she carried his child. She recalled Ser Jorah teaching her how to wield a sword. She remembered how she was able to kill an assassin that King Robert had sent after with the castle steel sword, Dragon’s Den, she had been gifted by Ser Jorah when he learned of her pregnancy. She recalled eating a raw horse heart in the holy city of Vaes Dothrak. Viserys threatening to cut Rhaego from her womb if Drogo did not give him the Army he was promised. How she felt nothing when Drogo gave Viserys a golden crown. She remembered burning Drogo and Mirri Maz Duur and walking into the flames to give birth of her three dragons. Wondering the Red Waste. Her visions at the House of the Undying. She recalled freeing the Unsullied and her dear friends Grey Worm and Missandei. She recalled Ser Jorah’s betrayal. Then how he had brought her Lord Tyrion and Blackfyre as a way to regain her trust. How she was able to liberate and free all the slaves in Slavers Bay. She remembered naming Lord Tyrion Hand of the Queen. How she felt nothing when she told Daario she was leaving him in Meereen. Finally, she recalled boarding a war galley, and sailing out of the Bay of Dragons with her three sons flying overhead.

After the stream of memories ceased, Daenerys smiled as she opened her eyes. ‘I now know how I became the Queen I once was. I now know how to be that queen once again. I never thought I would ever be thankful to the witch I believed murdered my son and Drogo. But looking back at these memories of my past life, I know she speaks the truth.’

"Thank you... For giving me my memories back, Mirri Maz Duur," The Khaleesi murmured sincerely.

“You are welcome, Azor Ahai,” she whispered without meeting her gaze.

However, Daenerys could tell that the witch appeared to be withholding information. "What is it? Is there another reason you have visited me today?"

The Witch sighed, still not meeting her gaze.

“What is it? Tell me!” Daenerys hissed. “You said you were loyal to me and my family. So tell me what it is you have to say!” 

Mirri Maz Duur took another deep breath and finally looked up, meeting her gaze. Daenerys could the concern in the brown eyes looking into her violet one. 

"I also came here to warn you," she answered softly.

The Khaleesi furrowed her brow in confusion. "To warn me about what?" 

“A threat,” she replied. “A threat that you have never seen or faced before." 

Daenerys scanned her surroundings. She saw Rakharo standing next to a tree, carefully observing the witch’s every move. Other than that, she saw nothing to warrant alarm. She turned her gaze back towards the other woman and questioned, "A Threat? What is the threat? The Dothraki are loyal to us. You claim to be loyal to us. The only threat I am aware of is across the Narrow Sea." 

The Witch grabbed her shoulder as she then answered in a scared voice.

"This threat is something you had face in your past life... It is something you hid and ran from,” she stated, as she stared into the mother of dragons eyes. “And, unfortunately my dear child, it has followed you into this life. This is why I have come to you. I had to warn you that the threat has followed you." 

Daenerys shivered as if the temperature had just dropped; she felt a chill running down her spine as she thought, ‘I need to know more of this threat.’ So she took a deep breath and inquired, "What or is the threat? What has followed me?" 

However, before Mirri Maz Duur could answer, her attention was pulled towards the tree line when she heard the snapping of twigs and her husband calling her name. She sighed and turned her gazed back towards the witch, only to discover she was gone. ‘Where did she go? I need to know what the threat is? I need to know what followed me from my past life… Was this all a dream? No it could not have been a dream because Rakharo saw her as well.’

"Dany!" her husband called again.

She sighed and replied, “I am on my way back, my love.” Daenerys then started making her way towards Rakharo. “Rakharo, yer vos astat jin khal about anna nevak” (Rakharo, you cannot tell the Khal about my visitor).

When the bloodrider nodded in understanding, they made their way towards the sound of her husband’s worried voice. As they walked in silence, she breathed a sigh of relief as her and placed her hand on her stomach as she mused, 'A boy… Jon and I are going to have another little boy. Another Prince. I promise you, my little one, Mama will not let anything happen to you. I love you so much my little prince. I suppose that I will have to start and think of a name for a crown prince, for the future King of the Targaryen Dynasty.' 

When she and her husband reached each other, she smiled. He quickly wrapped his strong arms around her and she felt the stubble from his beard against her cheek. She the felt his warm breath on her ear as he murmured, "Dany, you were gone for quite a while. I was worried about you. Are you all right?"

She smiled as she pulled back from her husband’s embrace, looked him in the eyes and whispered, “I am very well, my love. It was just so beautiful down by the river that I decided to take a few minutes to just enjoy the peace and tranquility of my surroundings.”

Her husband smiled at her and kissed her on the cheek. "I am glad you are well, Dany. However, we need to get going Dany, the Khalasar is waiting for us and Bako states that we still have a few more hours of riding until we should stop to make camp."

The Khaleesi nodded and followed her husband back to the Khalasar. As they walked should could not stop thinking about her visit from Mirri Maz Duur. Regaining many of her lost memories of her time in Essos. But most of all, she pondered what threat could have followed her back. There was so much about her past life that she could not yet recall. She still did not know how her past life ended. Or how she was returned to the past.

When they reached their horses, her husband picked her up and put her on her horse, Silver before climbing in the saddle of his own stallion. Her husband then continued to lead the Khalasar as they rode towards where they would make camp that evening as they continued their journey to Qarth and the House of the Undying…...


Tywin Lannister

 

Tywin walked through the great oak and bronze doors leading to the Great Hall of Red Keep as he made his way to the Small Council Meeting. When he walked past the Iron Throne, he closed his eyes as he imagined the Mad King, whom he once considered to be one of his closest friends, sitting on the throne. He clenched his fists because of the anger he felt inside of him, ‘You were such an idiot, Aerys. You were my friend. I was your Hand. You should have listened to me… You should have let Rhaegar marry Cersei and none this would have every happened. However, the madness overcame you and I had to do what was right to regain control over the realm. Gods if Cersei would have married Rhaegar the rebellion never would have happened. Cersei was strong and you chose a weak Dornish whore to marry the Crown Prince. Cersei would have given him as many children as he wanted. Instead, to regain power over the realm I had to marry my daughter to a fat whoring man who proclaimed himself to be King after my son killed you.’ He was pulled from his musings when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He sighed as he looked down at, and straightened the golden Hand of the King Pendent on his red velvet tunic, to make sure he was presentable for whomever was seeking his audience.

“My Lord Hand,” The Master of Whispers stated softly drawing Tywin’s attention away from his tunic. Once Lord Varys had his attention, the bald man dipped his head and continued in the same soft tone, “I am happy to see you have arrived in the Capital safely." 

He sighed. ‘Gods I have always hated this man. However, if I stand a chance in restoring the peace, I am going to need him and his network of Little Birds,’ he thought as he looked Lord Varys in the eyes and forced a smile. “I wish I could say that I was glad to be back,” He replied dryly. “However, it would appear that I have a lot of work ahead of me. The scandal with my grandson must be rectified so we can keep King Robert on his rightful throne.”

"It is unbelievable that so many have fought because they believed it was their right to sit on this chair.” Lord Varys stated as he stared at the Throne made of Swords. “It does not look comfortable at all."

The Lord of Casterly Rock turned his gaze from the Master of Whispers back towards the Iron Throne and coldly stated, “They have all fought because they wanted power that chair represents. When Aerys Targaryen sat on the throne the only thing that held the realm together for so long was fear. Then, after my son stabbed him in the back with his sword, Robert became King. The people of Westeros were excited to be rid of the Mad King because they were no longer living in fear of being burned alive.” Tywin sighed, “I myself thought we would be in a better place. Yes, Robert is better than the Mad King, but he does not care for the people. He has asked me to come and rule the kingdoms for him so he doesn’t have to. I accepted, because I will no longer stand aside while the Six remaining Kingdoms are on the brink of Rebellion. We must work together to make Westeros united when the Targaryen’s return.” He then turned his gaze back towards the Master of Whispers and continued, “We need to stand together and help Robert appear to be the King the Realm needs. We need him in control while we figure out what needs to be done with Joffrey. After his little stunt in the North, the Kingdoms will never follow him if her were to become King."

"It was a pity Aerys was overtaken by madness,” Varys said sadly. “He showed such promise during the early years of his rein. The realm was peaceful, prosperous, and did not debt of seven million gold dragons. He was able to hold order and discipline within the Seven Kingdoms. However, after Rhaella suffered so many miscarriages and stillbirths and his imprisonment during the Defiance of Duskendale… As you know, after Ser Barristan rescued him, there was no returning him to the King he once was...” the fat eunuch trailed off.

“Now is not the time to discuss the past, Lord Varys.”

"My Lord Hand, if I might ask… why is it that you have summonsed me prior to the Small Council meeting?"

"As you know I have been traveling for nearly the last month. The only information I have might not be from the most reliable sources of information.” Tywin sighed, ‘Gods I really hate that I have to trust this man.’ “Therefore, I need to know everything that you know.”

The Master of Whispers left his gaze of the Iron Throne and Tywin cringed internally when he saw the smirk on the other man’s face. "What exactly would you like to know, my Lord Hand?” The eunuch practically purred. “I take it you would like the full truth about what occurred in Winterfell, which lead to King Robert granting the North their independence. Or perhaps you are more interested in the mysterious man across the Narrow Sea who claims to be, Aegon Targaryen, the last son of Rhaegar and the rightful heir to the throne? Or perhaps the reports from the Nights Watch…"

Tywin exhaled, "Tell me everything you know. I need to know what happened when King Robert traveled North. I need to know why and how the Warden of The North became the King in the North... I need to know if the rumors I heard about my grandson’s actions are true.” He sighed again. “I guess start by telling me why Ned Stark did not accept Robert’s offer to become the Hand of the King."  

The Hand of the King noticed a hint of a smirk on the corners of the Master of Whispers lips as he wistfully said, "My little birds informed me Eddard Stark denied King Robert’s offer to become Hand because he felt his duty required him to stay the North. He was concerned about the disturbing reports that he was receiving from the Nights Watch and from the extreme northern houses. Reports about the Wildlings traveling south of the Wall and requesting asylum because of what they have seen... Men from the Night’s Watch deserting, stating that they have seen White Walker's and the Army of the Dead. Shortly before King Robert arrived in the North, Eddard Stark sent his heir, Robb, and his Bastard, Jon Snow, to investigate all of those disturbing reports, only for them to vanish beyond the Wall. The reports he has received are so concerning that he himself is now traveling to Castle Black for the truth… To see if the Wall was really constructed just to keep the Wildlings from invading the lands of the Northern Kingdom. Therefore, he did not accept King Robert’s offer because he wants to make sure the North is secure from any threats from the Lands of Always Winter and to find his two eldest sons.”

He nodded as he rubbed his beard, ‘That makes some sense… but something is stiff off. Why did he not send his bannermen to look for his sons? But why did he not accept the offer to join houses with the King?’ He sighed and looked at the bald man and continued his inquiry. "When Robert made Eddard Stark to the offer to become his hand, he also proposed a marriage betrothal between Prince Joffrey and Sansa. The Starks also declined this offer… Have your little birds happened to tell you why this is? I have a daughter, every young girl dreams of being Queen, it does not make sense that he would refuse."

"Apparently Eddard and Catelyn Stark promised their children they would have a say in their betrothal, and the Lady Sansa did not wish to become Queen. Therefore, he would not force is daughter into a marriage she did not desire.”

“Why would he allow his children to have a say in their betrothal?” Tywin asked with a quirked brow, “Even a Northern fool would know a marriage to the crown would forever tie his family to the Iron Throne!”

“I believe the reason The King in the North will never force his children to marry is because of his sister,” The Master of Whispers responded quietly.

“What do you mean?” Tywin barked, as he looked the bald man in the eyes.

“I have heard many songs over the years… Songs that the Lady Lyanna never desired to marry Robert Baratheon. It has been sung she was running away to start a new life in Essos when Prince Rhaegar abducted her. I believe Eddard Stark feels guilty because he knew his sister did not wish to marry Robert. Therefore, he does not wish to lose any more of his family to unwanted marriages.”

‘I do not trust this man, but everything he says does make sense.’ He then began to lead them towards the small council chambers. After a few moments of silence he asked, “Can you tell me if it is true that my grandson attempted to rape one of the Stark girls and murder the other?”

“I was told, when your daughter, Queen Cersei informed Crown Prince Joffrey the Lady Sansa did not wish to be his Queen he became angry. He made his way to the training yard where little Arya Stark was practicing her swordplay while her sister Sansa watched. It was at this time your grandson touched the Lady Sansa inappropriately and he attempted to force himself on her. Lady Arya saw the encounter and pushed him away, warning him if he touched her sister again she would strike him with her sword."

He was surprised, “The youngest Stark daughter threatened my grandson?”

"From what I head, she was trying to prevent the Prince from dishonoring her sister. And it is safe to say, Prince Joffrey did not take kindly to or believe her threat. It was at this time, he ripped the front of Lady Sansa's dress, exposing her breast… and grabbed her inappropriately."

He raised his eyebrow at Lord Varys as they continued walking and seethed, "How inappropriately, Lord Varys?"

"It was reported that he groped her breasts, bit her nipples, forcibly kissed her lips and attempted to pull up her skirts.”

He felt his anger rising and it took all of his will power not to raise his voice or grab the bald man walking next to him as he seethed, “What. Happened. Next. My Lord?”

"In order to prevent your grandson from taking her sister’s virtue, young Arya made good on her threat and cut his face with her thin little sword. When the Prince backed off, she took her sister’s hand and the pair began to make their way out of the training yard. Prince Joffrey then drew his sword and chased after the girls. Then, when he swung his sword at the younger Stark girl, one of their direwolves came to protect the girls and bit the prince on the arm. This action caused him to drop his sword. The Prince then ran to his mother, crying, stating the direwolf attacked him for no reason.”

His eyes shot wide open when he heard this, 'My pathetic grandson tried to rape the daughter of a High Lord and then tried to murder the other!' However, before he could speak his mind the Master of Whispers continued.

“Your daughter then told King Robert that his son was attacked unjustly, so he asked demanded that all the visiting Lords and Ladies of the North as well as the Starks meet urgently in Winterfell’s Great Hall in order to hold court. The King wished to hear the truth, you daughter on the other hand wanted justice for her son’s injuries. Which I might add were nothing more than scratches." Lord Varys took a deep breath and then continued, "Once everyone was gathered, the Queen proclaimed that the Direwolf attacked the Crown Prince without provocation and that the girls should be punished and the Direwolves killed. The Stark girls denied the claim, stating that the Direwolf had saved their lives and that Prince Joffrey was not being truthful about the events.”

Tywin pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the forming headache to dissipate, ‘Seven hells Cersei! How could you be so stupid! Your coddled him! He will never be King!’

“Of course, Prince Joffrey stated the girls were lying. It was then that your son, Lord Tyrion, stood up and spoke the truth of what happened; he stated that the Stark girls were truthful in their account of the events… My Lord Hand, I believe if it was not for him, things for your daughter and grandson would have been far worse. The Northern Lords were demanding your grandson be punished for his crimes, either by death or by being sent to the Wall… However a compromise was made.”

“The compromise was the North receiving their independence,” Tywin gritted out. ‘Cersei, how stupid could you be! I thought I raise you better, to be smarter than our enemies! If you would have sent your coddled, entitled son to the Wall we wouldn't be in this mess… We would still control all seven kingdoms!’ He took a deep breath to calm himself as the Master of whisperers nodded his head continued.

"That is correct. The Northern Lords stated they would never follow Prince Joffrey, or any other Baratheon or Lannister King; they will only have a Stark as their king... King Robert really had no choice but to accept the offer, especially after Joffrey decided to command the Hound to take the heads of the Starks and all of the other Northern Lords.”

Tywin stopped walking and stared at the floor in an attempt to compose himself. His mind was racing, 'How stupid can the boy be! Trying to rape one of the daughters of a Great Lord and to murder the other! Then threaten the other Northern Lords. No one will ever follow him. Godsdamnit Cersei, you should have sent him to the Wall!'  He started to walk again as he cleared his throat. "After King Robert gave one of his kingdoms away, is it true that Eddard Stark first action as King in the North was to banish my daughter and grandson from the North?"

The Master of Whispers sighed, "That is in fact what my little birds have sung. They have also sung that they may never return to the North. If they do return to the North, they will be executed."

“Fuck,” he breathed out in a barely audible tone as they reached the closed door of the small council chambers. “This is worse than I thought.”

Lord Varys nodded with an unreadable expression on his face. Tywin sighed once more before placing his hand in the doorknob, turning it and pushing the heavy wooden door open, to reveal the other members of the small council were already gathered. The conversations ceased as he and Lord Varys entered the room and took their seats at the rectangular Ironwood table. Once he was seated, he looked at Lord Baelish, who had a smug smile on his weaseling face. He then glanced at the King’s younger brother, Renly, who forced an uncomfortable smile. The Hand of the King then poured himself a goblet of wine and took a sip to calm his anger before addressing the small council.

Grand Maester Pycell then coughed, breaking the thick tension and uncomfortable silence. Once all eyes were on him he wheezed out, "Lord Tywin, I hope that your journey back to the Capital was uneventful and I am glad that you have arrived safely." 

“You think my journey was uneventful!” He snapped as he glared at the Grand Maester. “The journey was miserable since the lot of you clearly have not done your duties! While the country has been falling apart you all have done nothing! The Seven Kingdoms are about to breakout in Rebellion and you are asking me how my travels were! You should be telling me how you plan to stop the civil war!” 

"My Lord Hand, don’t you mean the Southern Six Kingdoms?" Lord Varys murmured. 

Tywin glared at the Master of Whispers, and took a long sip from his glass of wine in an attempt to prevent himself from snapping once more.

"Lord Tywin,we cannot allow the North follow to the wrong King of Westeros,” the Grand Maester stated. “What do you suggest we should do about the North being declared independent? Surely you have a solution to this madness.” 

However, before he could retort, Lord Renly snapped, "What would you want us to do Grand Maester Pycell? Do you think we should go to war with the North? That is not a solution! If we go to war with the North what is to say the other kingdoms will not side with the North! After what my nephew, Prince Joffrey, did to the Stark girls, we do not stand a chance at brining the North back under control of the Iron Throne!"

"Perhaps if we somehow made a deal with King in the North,” Lord Baelish interjected calmly. “We need to make an alliance with him he cannot refuse. Once that will make the North return to the control of the Iron Throne.” 

The small council then broke into loud mumblings of ways to bring the North back into the fold. Everyone was talking over one another and the room was becoming so loud that Tywin could not hear himself thinking over the chaos in the room. He heard ramblings of war and swaying the Northern Lords and paying them with gold and food and supplies for the winter. After a few moments he could no longer take the noise. He slammed his hand down on the table and roared, “Silence!” The room was suddenly quiet and once all eyes were on him he continued. “I plan on bringing the North back into the fold without war or bribes.”

“What is your plan?” the Master of Laws inquired with a furrowed brow.

"I will make a marriage alliance with King Eddard Stark,” the Hand of the King replied.

“That is a good idea, my Lord Hand,” the Master of Whispers stated. “However, the King in the North has already rejected the betrothal between Sansa and Joffrey. I doubt that he will ever accept to allow his other daughter to marry your grandson. And the North also vowed they would never acknowledge Joffrey as their King.”

"I am well aware of that Lord Varys,” Tywin replied coldly. “But a marriage alliance is the only way to peacefully bring the North back under control of the crown and to stop the talks of Rebellion because of Joffrey and Cersei’s actions. Therefore, I will arrange a marriage alliance with House Stark by offering a betrothal between Princess Myrcella and King Eddard Stark's heir Robb.”

All of the members of the council seemed to agree with his plan until his eyes fell on the Master of Whispers. “Lord Varys, do you have fault with this plan?” Tywin inquired with a furrowed brow.

"That is a good idea, my Lord. However, it would never work,” he responded with a sigh.

“And why is that?” the Grand Maester wheezed.

“It would never work because Robb Stark is nine and ten years old while Princess Myrcella is only two and ten years...  They are seven years apart in age difference my Lord, and…”

"I will allow Myrcella to foster in Winterfell and make her his wife when she is upon age,” Tywin interrupted.

"And where will their marriage be if King Eddard Stark does accept your proposal my Lord? The Queen and Prince are banished from the North." Lord Baelish inquired.

The Lord of Casterly Rock smiled as he grabbed his glass of wine and took a sip. When he placed the goblet back on the table he simply stated, “We will hold the wedding in King’s Landing. If the Starks do not wish for Cersei to be present, she will be confined to her rooms. A marriage is the only way to heal the wounds caused by my Grandson.” 

“Lord Hand…” The Master of Whispers tried to interrupt. Tywin held his hand up and stopped the eunuch. When silence was achieved he continued.

“I will also propose a betrothal with the Tyrell’s. We will need strong allies if a rebellion does break out in the Six Kingdoms.” He then added, “I believe Mace Tyrell would love to see his daughter become Queen of Westeros." 

"Lord Tywin I do not believe that the Tyrell’s will accept a marriage proposal with Joffrey Baratheon,” Lord Renly interrupted quietly with a frown on his face. “Rumors have already spread throughout all of the Six Kingdoms. Everyone is aware of my nephew's actions. Everyone knows he tried to rape and murder Eddard Stark’s daughters.” 

He nodded. “I am aware that no one in Westeros will wish their daughter to marry Joffrey… Therefore, I will propose a marriage alliance between Margaery and Tommen." 

“That is not possible, My Lord Hand,” The Master of Whispers softly stated.

“And why is that?” Tywin growled, upset that he had been interrupted.

“I am sorry to inform you of this, Lord Tywin, but my Little Birds have informed me that Lady Margaery has already been promised to someone." 

He gasped and looked around the small council chambers and noticed that everyone else appeared to be surprised as well.

"Who has she been promised to?” Tywin bit out through his teeth. He then looked over at Renly and stated, “The last I heard she was in negotiations of marrying you, Lord Renly?" 

King Robert’s youngest brother shook his head, and appeared to have relief in his tone as he answered, “Lady Olenna broke off the marriage negotiations after the incident with Prince Joffrey occurred.” 

Tywin was taken aback by Renly’s answer. He then switched his gaze to the Master of Whispers and demanded, “Lord Varys, to whom is Lady Margaery promised?" 

“I have received multiple songs confirming she has been promised to Prince Robb Stark,” the bald man responded softly. “I have been told she has already begun to learn the ways of the old gods to please her betrothed and to prove to the people of the North she will be a Queen they will love.”

He glanced around the table at the other members of the small council; it appeared Lord Renly and Lord Baelish were surprised by this news as well, however the Grand Maester appeared uneasy. “Maester Pycell, do you have something you wish to add?”

The old man cleared his throat and in a croaky voice replied, “I believe that… that Lord Varys in correct. I received a raven from the Tyrell’s this morning. It confirmed they do not wish to marry any of their children to the Royal Children because they cannot attest to the safety of their children after the actions of the Crown Prince. They stated Joffrey should have been stripped of his title and punished for his crimes.” The Maester then took a deep breath and became quiet.

“What else did the raven say?” Tywin seethed.

"Lady Olenna also started that if Joffrey is not stripped of his title, the Reach will declare Eddard Stark as their King. She stated they will never follow a King without honor or respect for his people,” the old Maester wheezed out.

He couldn't believe what he just heard. ‘Dear gods! The Tyrell’s are already allying themselves with House Stark and the marriage has yet to even happen.’ He took a deep breath and tried to keep his demeanor calm by taking another sip of wine.

“My Lord Hand,” The Master of Coin stated, pulling him from his silent musings. “This development is not good for the Crown. The Tyrell’s supply the majority of the food for the Kingdoms of Westeros and they have one of the largest armies. I can see how this would benefit the North…  An alliance with the Reach would ensure they have food to survive the Winter and if a rebellion does arise, the combined armies of the North and the Reach would be tough to beat. You can also not forget, the Queen of the North is from the Riverlands. The Tully’s are Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands, so the North would likely have their support as well. And Lysa Arryn, Lady of the Eyre, is the sister of the Northern Queen.” 

“So the North likely has the support of four out the seven kingdoms!” Tywin exclaimed as he slammed his hand down on the ironwood table. He then glared at the Master of Whispers and hastily inquired, “Are any of the other Stark children promised to anyone? Are the Starks seeking alliances with any of the other Kingdoms?” 

Lord Varys nodded. “It appears that young Brandon Stark has been promised to a Northern girl named Meera, the daughter of Lord Howland Reed. This marriage was made to appease the Northern Lords.” The plump man then exhaled and continued, “It would also appear King Eddard is in negations for a betrothal with his eldest daughter, Princess Sansa.” 

“With whom?” Tywin asked gruffly.

Lord Varys sat up straight in his chair, looked him square in the eyes and stated, “It would appear that Prince Trystane will travel to Winterfell with his Uncle, Prince Oberyn, in an attempt to win the young Princess’ heart. If Princess Sansa agrees, the two will wed a few months after  she has flowered.”

Tywin heard several of the members of the small council gasp after the Master of Whispers made this announcement. He felt his heart racing and pounding in his chest. He placed both of over his temples and began to massage, willing the forming headache to go away. ‘FUCK! The Martell’s hate the Crown after I ordered the deaths of Elia and her children. This is not good!’

"They are trying to make a marriage alliance with Dorne. They must be planning for something,” Lord Baelish mumbled pulling him from his thoughts.

The Master of Whispers nodded, “It appears that are, my Lord…”

"And why is King Eddard Stark making marriage alliances with Dorne and the Reach? Why is his trying to make allies with all of Westeros? Are they planning on over throwing King Robert?” Tywin interrupted.

Lord Varys took a sip if his water then softly stated, “I have heard the North is preparing for War. However, if what my Little Bird have sung is true, it is not a war with the Crown. The North is preparing for the Great War.” 

“Great War? And what Great War would they be preparing for if they are not planning a war against the Crown?” Lord Renly inquired.

“As you have heard, he is currently traveling to Castle Black to investigate strange happenings in the lands Beyond the Wall. Apparently the men of the Nights Watch are reporting the Army of the Death has returned… That the White Walkers are real. Therefore, the King Eddard wishes to make alliances with the Southern Kingdoms to help assist in the coming war for life.” 

The Hand to King Robert had heard enough. He stood up and slammed his hand down on the table, “Lord Varys, I cannot believe these reports! They are nothing but tales that were told to us by wet nurse to get us to behave. These so call dead men are probably just Wildlings! As long as they do not wage war on the Crown let them have the Dornish Sluts and the Flowers of the Reach! Besides because of my Grandson’s actions we have more important matters to attend to then the North and their so called Great War.” He took a deep breath and began to walk around the rectangular table, four sets of eyes following him as he did. “The Southern Six Kingdoms are  on the brink of Rebellion. The only Kingdoms we have firmly under our control are the Stormlands and the Westerlands… We need to do something to get the other Kingdoms to trust the Crown. To place their trust back in King Robert…”

"I agree, my Lord Hand,” the Master of Coin replied smoothly. When Tywin met the man’s gaze he continued. “The Six Kingdoms will never follow Prince Joffrey because of his actions against The Starks. Therefore, as punishment, I would like to make the suggestion that we strip his title and have him join the Nights Watch…” 

‘Gods he speaks the truth. As much as do not wish for my blood to rot at that Wall, this might be the only way for peace.’ He thought as nodded at Lord Baelish, unable to get the words condemning his Grandson to the Wall out of his throat.

"Lord Baelish, you cannot be serious!” The Grand Maester wheezed out. “Joffrey Baratheon is the Crown Prince of Westeros! He is not a thief!” 

“Grand Maester Pycell, we send thieves, rapist and murderers to the Wall,” The Master of Coin retorted as he glared at the old Maester. “Prince Joffrey attempted to do two of the three crimes. If it had not have been for a young girl and a direwolf he would have been successful and his head would be on a spike outside the walls of Winterfell. There is no other option! He must be punished for his actions or the rest of the Six Kingdoms will either join declare Eddard Stark as their King or they will declare their own independence!”

“Enough!” Tywin roared, stopping the bickering between the two men. He then took a deep breath and continued, “What Lord Baelish has said is true! My grandson must be sent to the Wall! This is the only way to prevent a Rebellion. Once the King and my daughter return to the capital, the announcement will be made that Joffrey will be sent to the Wall to atone for his crimes and Tommen will be name as the new Crown Prince!" 

“My Lord Hand, I doubt your daughter, Queen Cersei, will accept this decision.” The Master of Whispers stated. “The Northern Lords offered this punishment at the time of the crime and she refused to send her son to the Wall… I fear she will not punish Prince Joffrey." 

Tywin sat down in his seat once more and gripped the arm rest of his chair as he seethed, "Cersei is one of the main reasons why we are in this mess to begin with! She always coddled the boy. Spoiled him and told him he could have whatever he desired because he was to be King!” ‘And Robert was not a good example to show him how to rule.’ He took a deep breath and continued, “I will deal with my daughter. I will not allow her to make the same mistakes with Tommen! I will teach him how to become a ruler myself!”

“What about King Robert? Surely he will not allow my nephew, his son, to rot at the Wall.” Renly commented. 

“I will make a deal with King Robert,” Tywin replied as he took a sip of wine. He put the glass down and continued. “He will agree to send Joffrey to the wall because if he does, I will pay off the seven million gold dragons debit owed to the Iron Bank of Braavos… They will also agree because I will give him a way to earn a Royal Pardon and renounce his vows…”

“What do you mean?” Renly inquired with a quirked brow. “You will allow him to return to King’s Landing and become King?”

Tywin shook his head. “Joffrey will never become King of Westeros. However, if he honorably serves the Nights Watch and spies on the North, I will allow him to become the heir to Casterly Rock. Surely after a few years the Kingdoms will forget about his scandal in the North and hopefully the Watch will teach him how to become a man.”

As he looked around the table he could tell the other members of the council were surprised by his announcement. However, the look on the Master of Whisper’s face lacked emotion, ‘He is hiding something.’ 

After a few moments of silence, the members of the small council were in agreement that Prince Joffrey must be sent to the wall for his crimes against the Starks and the North. He smiled knowing that at least one problem was solved. “Now, that the issue regarding my Grandson has been solved, and we know that the Starks are making marriage alliances with the Reach and Dorne. I believe we need to make an alliance with the Iron Islands and the Eyrie… I know that Lysa Arryn is the Queen in the North’s sister, however, I know that it has been years since the two have talked. We need to secure these Kingdoms. We should try and wed Myrcella to Robyn Arryn and Tommen to Yara Greyjoy.”

"My Lord,” The Master of Coin interrupted with a slight smirk on the corners of his lips. “I believe it would be best to request betrothals for the Prince and Princess after has been announced to the six kingdoms that Prince Joffrey has been strip from his titles. As long as the country believes he is heir to the throne, none of the kingdoms will agree to a marriage alliance with House Baratheon or House Lannister." 

He sighed. “You are right, Lord Baelish.”

"I think it is time we discuss more important matters. Such as how we will get rid of Aegon Targaryen,” The Master of Coin stated, not even attempting to hide the smirk on his lips.

“I agree,” Lord Renly interjected. “We need to devise a plan to get rid of the Targaryens and their dragons before they arrive in Westeros. As long as they are alive they are a threat to the Crown. To our family. And if Daenerys Targaryen gives birth, it will be harder to get rid of the threat!”

“I agree that we need to come up with a plan. However, I feel this can wait until tomorrow, when the King and Lord Stannis arrive,” Tywin stated. He then stood up from the table and said, “I believe we have discussed enough for today. We will reconvene tomorrow, after the King has returned.”

The small council members nodded in agreement and quickly stood up to take their leave. 

"Lord Varys,” Tywin called, causing the Master of Whispers to turn around. “If you could, please stay for a moment. I have something I need to ask.” 

Lord Varys gave a slight nod as he sat back in his chair and asked, “How might I be of service, my Lord Hand?” 

He then pulled out the chair next to Lord Varys and sat down. "I need for you to tell me everything you have learned about this pretender Aegon Targaryen.”

“Of course, my Lord Hand. Would you like for me to tell you now?”

Tywin sighed. “I believe I have heard enough for tonight. King Robert should be arriving this late tonight or first thing in the morning. I would like for you to meet with me and the King prior to the small council meeting tomorrow. I do not want any surprises.”

Lord Varys nodded, “I will check with my little birds to see if I can find any new information.” The Master of Whispers then stood from the table, dipped his head and took his leave. 

As soon as he was alone in the small council chambers, he refilled his goblet of wine and took a long sip. ‘Tomorrow, we will plan the end of House Targaryen. Tomorrow I will finally be able to plot my revenge on Aerys from shunning Cersei. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of House Lannister’s control on the Iron Throne.’ 

When finished his glass of wine, set the empty glass on the table, and made his way to the Tower of the Hand……


 

Jojen Reed

Jojen stared out the window of the dining hall, lost in his thoughts as the light of the setting sun began to fade into darkness; the only light in the late summer sky was from the full moon as it began to rise over Greywater Watch. He could not stop his mind from wondering about the glimpses of the future he had been shown. He did not understand what they meant. His visions had always been so clear and had purpose. He knew that he and Meera were supposed to go to Winterfell and take Bran north of the Wall. He knew it was his destiny to sacrifice himself so Bran could become the Three-Eyed Raven.

Then something changed. His visions became clouded then began having glimpses of a different future, a future in which he had yet to see his own death… He began to see a different path for his life and for the lives of so many others. He now saw a life with six dragons instead of three – He was now aware that Jon and Daenerys had indeed hatched six dragons. He kept hearing the words, ‘The Dragons must have Three Protectors.’ What does it mean? No longer did he see himself traveling north of the Wall to sacrifice himself so that Bran could learn – He saw a life with Bran and Meera and is Father all in the swamps of Greywater Watch. He saw them gathered around the Weirwood Tree. He knew it was now his destiny to bring Bran and Meera together. They were stronger together. Because of this vision, they traveled to Winterfell to bring Bran to the floating fortress so he could become the seer he needed to become.

He sighed as looked down at his half-eaten bowl of rabbit stew and began absentmindedly stirring it with his spoon. His mind still racing, trying to make sense of how different his visions had become. He had so many thoughts swirling through his mind… The Targaryens with their six dragons across the Narrow Sea. The Baratheons and Lannisters planning for war against the Targaryens. The Starks planning for the Great War. He had continued to see snippets of their futures. However, he could not get the Night King and the Army of the Dead out of this thoughts; he had seen no glimpses of the White Walkers for nearly three moon turns. He was pulled from his musings when he heard his Father, who was sitting next to him, clear his throat. 

"What is on your mind, Jojen?" His Father inquired when Jojen met his gaze. “I haven’t seen you thinking this hard in a long time.” When Jojen did not immediately respond, his Father put his hand over his on the table and tried to comfort him, "Son, we have done everything in our power to assist The Three-Eyed Raven and realm... Meera and Bran are betrothed. She will be there to protect him until the end.”

Jojen nodded in understanding, but his Father’s words did nothing to alleviate the fear of uncertainty he felt in his bones.

"I will ask again, son. What is on your mind? Tell me, I might be able to help."

He took a deep breath and exhaled, “Father, I am just worried. Over the last three moon turns, my visions have changed so much.”

“I am aware. My visions have changed as well.” His father replied as he took a sip of ale.

“Father, I am confused. I am no longer able to see the Night King or the Army of the Dead, or any of his plans.”

“I believe this has happened because Jon’s memories were awoken. And now that Daenerys’ memories are returning as well, there could be several more changes to the visions because they may be coming from this life or from one of their past lives.”

Jojen nodded in understanding and took a sip of water; he believed what his Father has said, but still felt as though something did not make sense. “Father, my future glimpses of the Targaryens are becoming more frequent but are still not quite clear. But what I have seen concerns me."

"The Targaryens? What about them?" Lord Reed asked with a furrowed brow.

He took another a deep breath, trying to find the right words to tell him about the voice that repeatedly told him, ‘The Dragons must have three protectors.’ However, before he could speak, Bran and his sister Meera walked over to the table.

"Lord Reed, Jojen,” Bran stated, getting both his and his father’s attention. The young Stark boy appeared excited, yet slightly nervous as he continued, “Might I speak with you both for a moment? I need to share something."

"Of course. Please, Prince Bran, Meera, join us,” his father stated and gestured towards tow of the empty seats at the table. “Feel free to speak your mind and Jojen and I will help you and guide you in any way that we can.”

Bran smiled as he sat down across the Lord of Greywater Watch. Once he was seated, he looked around the room for prying ears before he softly stated, "Earlier, Meera and I were in the Godswood. She was helping me focus… Helping me to clear my mind so I could concentrate… And once I stopped thinking so hard and relaxed, I was successful! The Three-Eyed Raven appeared to me. He told me it was easiest to use my gift in front of Heart Trees. That the faces carved into those Weirwoods are the eyes and ears of remembering events of the past. Also, he showed me some visions. He showed me how both Jon and Daenerys were born.” The then took a deep breath, “I found something to be quite strange..." he trailed off.

Jojen did not understand what Bran found to be so strange. He looked from Bran to his Father, when he asked, "What do you mean, Bran? Was it the sensation of seeing a vision or was it what you saw in the vision itself?"

"The vision itself, Lord Reed.” Bran replied. “I… I never knew. I mean… I guess I find it strange that Aunt Lyanna gave birth to Jon on the same day, and at the exact same time that Queen Rhaella gave birth to Daenerys. Then, when they died, their deaths were at the exact same time as well… Aunt Lyanna died just moments after she placed Jon into Father’s arms and Queen Rhaella just moments after she place Daenerys into the arms of  Ser Willem Darry. They both died the moment they knew their child would have a future.”

Jojen pondered Bran’s statement, 'That is odd… I knew Jon and Daenerys were about the same age, but I never realized they were born at the same time and on the same day. I wonder if this was the moment, they were both sent back to the past? I wonder if them being returned to their mothers’ wombs was too much and what caused both of their mothers to perish in childbirth? I know that Jon only began to recall his memories a few moons ago, and Daenerys is just beginning to remember her past. This is in fact intriguing.'

“Bran, I believe this is because Jon and Daenerys are from different lives.” Lord Reed responded, pulling Jojen from his silent musings. “I have seen flashes that lead me to believe they were both Azor Ahai from their past life and that they came to this world from different past lives. Also, I from my visions I am lead to believe your Aunt Lyanna and Queen Rhaella were strong women, which is why they were chosen as the vessels to carry Azor Ahai. I believe they knew it was their destiny to die giving birth to the two saviors who will bring forth the Lightbringers."

"There is more you should know,” Bran stated tentatively. “I had other visions and I am not certain what they mean."

"What were the visions?" Jojen pressed as he was still trying to make sense of the new information his father had shared.

“It is hard to explain. These visions were quite different than the births of Jon and Daenerys.” The young greenseer replied. He then took a deep breath and continued. “They were quick flashes of different of events. I do not know what they are or what they mean so that is why Jojen I come to ask you for assistance. You both have so much more experience with time visions than I do.”

“Bran, do you think there is a way that you might be able to show me your visions?” Jojen inquired. “I have also been having visions that I do not quite understand… Maybe if we observe them together we can see a better picture.”

Bran appeared surprised by his request, but he nodded and stated, “We can try.”  

The two young boys quickly made their way to the Godswood, side-by-side, as Lord Reed and his sister followed closely behind.

While they walked, Jojen leaned over and whispered, "Bran, I believe you might be having glimpses of future events. They are not as clear because they have yet to happen and could possibly change. Your greenseeing and warging abilities are already growing stronger. You are already learning to control your skills. I believe that you are connecting with the Three-Eyed Ravens from your past lives – The Three-Eyed Raven you became in both Jon and Daenerys’ lives as well as The Three-Eyed Raven who is currently beyond the Wall."

“I hope you are right,” Bran replied softly with a slight nod of his head.

They then walked in a comfortable silence as they continued to the Godswood. Once they reached the old Weirwood Tree, Bran stated. “I feel the best connection when I touch the bark closest to the carved face. Perhaps I should touch on one side and you should touch on the other.”

Jojen nodded in agreement. He then stated, “Bran, remember to keep your mind clear of all distractions. If you concentrate on the visions you wish to share, hopefully I will be able to see them as well.”

Bran wordlessly nodded, then stretched his arm out and placed the palm of his hand to the right of the laughing face as he closed his eyes. Jojen mimicked his actions, placing his hand on left side of the Weirwood’s face. As soon as his hand hit the bark, he was pulled into another place.

He looked around. It was dark but he could see a small amount of light coming from a door that was cracked open at the end of the hall. He then noticed Bran was standing next to him, “Bran, do you know where we are?”

However, the greenseer did not answer his question. He took him by the arm, and led him towards the light coming from slightly open door. When they reached the door, he gasped; instead of opening the door, suddenly they were standing on the other side, in an unfamiliar bedchamber.

"Daenerys, I do not believe it is the best time for this." He heard someone exclaim in an exacerbated tone. He quickly turned and noticed a young woman with silver hair sitting at a small wooden table, apparently in a heated conversation with a dwarf.

"What do you want me to do Lord Tyrion?" The silver-haired woman retorted. "What will I tell Rhaegar when he is older? How will I explain to him what happened to his father?"

‘That must be Daenerys and Lord Tyrion.’ He then noticed that she held a silver-haired babe in her arms. Her face was flushed and she had tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘What does this mean? What happened to Jon? I take it Jon is the child’s father… Is this a vision of the future in this life or a vision from the past future of Jon or Daenerys’ lives?’

He looked at Bran to see if he could share any more information about this vision, only to see his eyes go white.

Suddenly Daenerys, Tyrion and the babe faded away and they were standing in a desert. They were standing on a hill, overlooking a city surrounded by three staggering sandstone colored walls. "Where the bloody seven hells are we now?" Jojen asked.

“I am not sure,” Bran replied.

He then heard a loud noise. His head snapped toward the sound and he saw a flaming comet falling from the sky. He found himself unable to move has the comet crashed into windowless, grey and ancient ruin. The structure explosion and the palace turned to dust. Everything surrounding the where the comet impacted was burning. The entire city was ablaze. People were screaming as they were burned alive.  Unable to take the scene below any longer, he looked up to the sky, noticing it was filled with flashing red and blue lights and the sun had also turned from yellow to blood red. He knew he was in a vision, but he did not feel safe, he turned to Bran in a panic and pleaded, “Please, get up away. Take us to another vision. Quickly!”

He grabbed Bran shoulder as suddenly they were away from the chaos and in a different vision.

“I'm sorry Lyanna. I am so sorry,” The man sobbed. “I failed. I am so sorry.”

He looked around him and noticed that he was now in the crypts at Winterfell and the King in the North was on his knees before the statue of his sister, Lyanna Stark. 'Why is the King in the North in pain? How did he fail? Jon is alive. Maybe this is from Jon or Daenerys’ past life.' He was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a women scream coming from the crypts. Before he could see where the scream came from, the dark damp crypts faded away and he was again flooded with brightness and dry heat.

"Where are we now?" Jojen muttered as his eyes adjusted to the light. They were in the middle of a cluster of tents. 

“Given the heat, I believe we must be somewhere in Essos or Dorne,” Bran replied quietly. “Follow me… What we need to see is in the largest of the tents,” he added as he gestured towards one a drab yellow, but massive.

Jojen nodded and followed his friend. As they looked through the flaps he observed the floor lined with colorful Myrish carpet. Suddenly, a golden-haired man charged in, sword in hand. "Jaime Lannister, I think?" Soon after were two men, one with auburn hair and the other with raven curls... "Those are Robb and Jon." Inside, there were screams and grunts, ending as someone in black leathers and ratty hair emerged - running fast. 

Suddenly, Jon's thundering voice boomed out of the tent. “Robb! I need you to protect her and our child!” 

"Where are you going, Jon?” Robb called after him. “They need you!”  

He looked at where Robb was shouting and gasped when he saw red eyes. Jon appeared to be possessed as he unsheathed his twin blades. “I am going to go kill the people who did this to her! I am going to kill every single one of those fuckers who are trying to harm my family!” 

All went white as it flashed into a new vision... this one within the tent. A young woman with light brown hair rushed past the two of them screaming for more towels and blankets.

He heard screaming, snapping him from his daze. Both Jojen and Bran's eyes were immediately drawn to the source of the screaming. He gasped when he saw Daenerys, her face was pale, her brow drenched with sweat and she lying in a bed filled with blood. Her legs were spread and a beautiful older woman with jet-black locks about Bran's mother's age stood at the foot of the bed. She was gripping the arms of a man and a young woman at the head of the bed, the latter with black hair and vibrant purple eyes. 

“That's Robb... I don't know any of the women," Bran whispered.

“Daenerys, I need you to push,” the woman at the end of the bed called. “I need you to push now if we are going to save your child.”

"Tell," she started to ground out, gasping and moaning. "Tell Jon that I love him... please..."

“Daenerys! Stay with me! Wake-up!” The older woman called again brought his attention back to the bed. “I need you to push! Push now!” 

“Jon!” She screamed as pushed. 

Jojen heard the door slam shut.

When the door closed they were no longer in the birthing room, they were on a ship. He felt the spray of water on his face and the smell of salt in the air. He looked up into the grey sky when he heard a roar. ‘Wow! Sarogon has grown!’ he thought as the extremely large grey dragon flew over the boat. His gaze followed the dragon as it flew towards a hazy mist on the horizon. Through the mist he could make out what appeared to be ruins from a long abandoned civilization. 

“Pirates!” He heard a man shout, causing him to pull his gaze away from the dragon. He looked where the man was pointing and he saw a ship growing larger and larger as it sailed towards.

A light flashed and he felt the cold. ‘Another vision.’ He opened his eyes and looked around. The sun was setting, but in the distance he could see the seven hundred foot tall wall of ice and two massive dragons flying in circles. They were screeching as if they were in pain.

Suddenly he was pulled once more. He was in the marshes surrounding Greywater Watch. He looked around and saw a younger version of his Father, standing by the swamp, as if he was waiting on someone. He had a cart next to him that appeared to have a body in it. “That is my Father,” he whispered to Bran. “Why would The Three-Eyed Raven be showing us my Father and our swamps?” 

“I don't know,” Bran muttered. 

The two boys observed the young Howland Reed in silence. After a few moments he greeted a small boat that had two guards. Upon a closer look he noticed there was a bulky object in the boat. His Father helped the men out of the boat. Once they were on dry land he asked, “Were you able to find him?”

“Is this the man you have been looking for my Lord?” One of the guards asked as he pulled back the dark cloth. Jojen was unable to get a good look at the body, but he did see that the man’s hair appeared stained with blood and mud and his face was clean shaven.

"Aye, it is,” his father responded with a sigh. “We need to keep his body to the other. The bodies must be kept together.”

The guards appeared to be confused, but nodded. His Father and the two guards then unloaded the body, placed it in the cart with the other and began to push it along the bank.

However, before he could see where his Father and the guards took the bodies, he was pulled into another vision. It was cold… No just cold, it was bone shattering cold. There was snow everywhere. He did not recognize any of the landscape. “Bran, where are we? Are we beyond the Wall?”

However, before Bran could answer him, the wind began to blow. A flock of ravens flew overhead. Then, in the far distance, he saw them… The Army of the Dead. There were dead men, women, children, mammoths, giants, colossal spiders and other animals all marching very slowing. He then saw the White Walkers riding upon dead horses. He looked at all of White Walkers but none stood out. None of them appeared to be the Night King.

"Bran where are we? When is this?” Jojen asked again.

The young Stark prince stared at him with wide eyes. “I… I don't know,” he finally breathed out. 

“Where is the Night King? Are one of those White Walkers the Night King?”

“I do not know… The Night King hasn't shown himself to me.” 

Suddenly Jojen and Bran both dropped to their knees. He gasped as he felt a searing pain in his skull, forcing him to close his eyes and lose his focus. It was as if there was a force physically  pushing him from the vision.

When he opened his eyes he was back in the Godswood in Greywater Watch. He was back in the present. He was panting for air and falling to the ground. Before he reached the ground, his Father wrapped his arms around his waist, catching him and helping him to become steady on his feet. He then looked over and saw that Bran was being comforted by Meera as he tried to catch his breath.

“Jojen. Bran. What happened? What did you see?" His Father inquired.

"It was the Night King,” Bran replied. “It had to have been. He pushed us out of the last vision. He knows we were trying to find him. He knows that we were trying to watch him."  

“Were you finally able to see him?” his Father pressed. 

Jojen shook his head, “No. However, I have the feeling that he wanted us to try and see him. He wants us to know that he is building his army and that he is strong.” 

“Did you see anything else?” Meera asked as she looked between him and her betrothed.

“Aye, we saw several visions… Some from the future and the past,” Bran replied. “They were very interesting. Warging with Jojen caused the visions to become clearer, as if the fog had been lifted. There were more details… And I also saw more visions than I had before. These new visions of the future intrigue me.”

"What were in these visions?" Meera inquired. 

“They were mostly visions of the Targaryens future, I think. I believe I was shown possible threats they face in their journey to reclaim their rightful throne."

Jojen could see the bewildered look on his Father’s face. "How is that even possible?" he pressed the young prince for more information.

“I do not know,” Bran responded softly. “There is still so much I do not understand about the gift I have been given.”

"I think I might have an answer,” Jojen stated. Quickly he had three pairs of inquiring eyes upon him. He took a deep breath as he explained. “I believe that the child inside Daenerys’ womb is special… That he is some type of a greenseer or dreamer like his ancestors before him. I believe their child is helping us with our visions. I think he might be sharing visions of what is yet to come or what could happen.”

“Do you think maybe their son is trying to warn us?” Bran queried.

“I think that it is a possibility.” Jojen replied as he nodded his head. “I mean, out of all the glimpses of the future we saw, they all had to do with his parents. We saw no future visions of the White Walkers or the Baratheons or the Lannisters. Everything we saw about that Targaryens’ journey was clouded and dangerous. However, the vision of the Army if the Dead was very concerning.”

“Why is that, Son?”

“It is because I do not understand why he forced us out of the vision. It was as if he brought us there to tease us, then pushed us away before we could find him… As if he wanted us to know he was coming, but he was not yet ready to show himself to us.”

"I believe that it is important, however I do not believe we should focus on that particular vision for now. We have time before the Night King makes his move.” His Father stated as he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I would like for you to tell me about the other visions. What did you see?”

He sighed as he met his father’s worried gaze. "The other visions we a mixture of strange things. None of it really made much sense and it was hard to tell when the events occurred or if they were yet to occur. In one vision, we saw The King in the North in the crypts of Winterfell, apologizing to his sister. In another, Daenerys was lying in a bed of blood. She was being told to push, so she must have been giving birth. Then, Jon rushed out of the room with two swords… His eyes were glowing red as he stated he was going to kill those who dare tried to harm his family."

When Jojen pause, Bran continued explaining what they had seen. "There was a flaming comet that crashed into a tall, windowless tower in a desert… Neither of us recognized where we were. After it crashed, the sky was filled with blue and red lights and the sun turned bright red."

"In another we were a short distance from the Wall. There were two large dragons and the sky. There were screeching as if they were in physical pain...”

“Then there was the vision of the misty old civilization,” Bran interrupted. “We were on a boat and there was a large grey dragon overhead. We were pulled from that vision when a man shouted that Pirates were approaching." 

"I saw you, Father.” Jojen stated as he looked him in the eyes. “You were younger. There were two bodies and you said they had to be kept together. Who did those bodies belong to? What did you do with them?”  

His father visibly paled. "That is a story for another time son. It is too early to know if I did the right thing… We will know soon enough.”

Jojen nodded in understanding. He was not happy with his father’s answer; it was very unlike is father to hide anything from him.

"What do you think the comet?” Bran asked, causing them all to look up into the red and blue comet, burning brightly in the sky. “Do you think it is the same comet from our vision?”

“I do not know,” Jojen replied with a sigh. “I am unsure if that was a vision from the past or the future. Maybe it was from long in the past and the ruins we saw were what became of the city.”

There was a few more moments of silence before his father spoke. "Jojen, earlier you told me that you had a vision of the Targaryens? What were they about?"

He kept his eyes on the large comet and sighed, "I saw emotions. There was anger, loneliness and regret. There was darkness... There were two eyes shown to me... One was red and the other was blue.” He exhaled and finally met his father’s worried gaze. “I am not sure what it all means. I fell we still need to learn more before we can jump to conclusions.”

His father nodded. 

“However, I also saw vision before, that we did not see tonight,” he continued carefully.

“Tell us what it was,” Meera spoke. “Maybe Bran has seen it as well.”

Jojen looked between the three sets of eyes upon him. “It was somewhere hot and dry. In a desert, but I am not sure where. Jon was in a sword fight against a man who claimed to be the prince who was promised." He then met his father’s gaze once more and continued, “I believe it is best wait and prepare for the coming storms. We all know war will soon be upon us and it is not yet clear whom will be here to fight in those wars… The only thing we can do now is observe from a distance and wait until we have a more clear picture painted of what needs to be done.” 

He looked at Bran who nodded. “You are right Jojen.” The young greenseer then looked at this sister and added, “Meera will you stay with me a little longer? I want to see if I can see more?”

His sister nodded.

Jojen and his father then left Bran and Meera alone in the Godswood. The walk back to the Keep of Greywater Watch was silent; Jojen was too lost in his thoughts to have a conversation at that time. When they reached the castle, he bid his father good night and retired to his chambers.

He laid in his bed unable to sleep. His mind swirling with all that he had seen that night. He replayed each vision in his mind and was left with more questions than answered. The calls of a raven at his window pulled him from his musings.

He smiled as he walked over towards the window and thought, 'I think it is time I undercover what the Night King is hiding from us.' The raven screeched and nodded it’s head in response to his thought. 

Jojen then sat on the wood planked floor of his chamber and warged into the raven. He was determined to find out exactly what the Night King was hiding..…. 

 

 

 


 

 

Notes:

Sorry for the month late date but we are both extremely busy atm. Next Chapter will take a while :) hopefully two weeks. Let us know what you think :) In the comments below as well what you think about the chapter! Opinion and ideas are always appreciated in the comments below!

Chapter 18: Love is In the Air

Summary:

Robb and Jon received new from Westeros and discuss the news.

Jon and Dany also discuss the news from Westeros and spend some time with their dragons.

Notes:

I apologize that this took so long to edit. Every time I thought it was done, I would tweak something here or there.Thank you all for your patience with me and I hope that you all enjoy this section.

Also thank you to JonerysTargaryens for allowing us to use one of her lovely edits in the moonboard! Please check out her edits on Instagram and her stories here and on WattPad!

Chapter Text

 

 

 

Jon Snow

The sun had set hours ago and the majority of the Khalasar was sure to be sleeping after a long day of riding. Jon was lying in bed with his wife, in the Khal’s tent, discussing their past life. They were both laying on their sides, supporting their weight with their elbows, when chuckling and reminiscing as they sipped on glasses of water.

"So it was you,” She inquired with a quirked brow. “You were the one who came do my door as we sailed for White Harbor. It was then that you professed your love to me and bedded me for the first time?” 

He chuckled as he set his cup of water down on the table next to the bed. He then met her stunned violet eyes, moved a lock of her moon-kissed hair behind her ear, and murmured, “Well, in my defense, my sweet wife. You were the one who came to me before the War Council Meeting because you wanted me to make the suggestion… the proposal… that we sail to White Harbor together to show the Northerners you were not the enemy. You wanted to make the suggestion yourself, but you did not think Lord Tyrion would like the idea if you if it came from your lips." 

She raised her eyebrow at him as her neck, cheeks flushed pink, and she nervously asked, “I did? What did you say to me… when I made the suggestion?” 

He smiled as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. He then whispered, "I believe I asked you why you wished to sail to White Harbor with me because I assumed you would rather leave later and fly straight to Winterfell with you dragons.”

“That is what I would have assumed as well.”

“However,” He cut her off. “That is when you told me how you felt.”

“How I felt? What did I say to you?”  

“You used one hand to pull me down by the collar of my tunic. You put your other hand on my cock and I can still feel your warm breath on my ear as you whispered, ‘Jon Snow, I want there to be a little Dragonwolf growing inside my womb by the time we reach Winterfell… I want you to prove to me that the witch who murdered my husband was wrong.’" 

A chuckle escaped his lips once more when she flush crimson and gasped. “I did not! There is no way I would have said that to you!” She then pushed up off her elbows, sat up in the bed, pulled the sheet over her breasts and softly inquired, “Jon Snow, did I really say that to you?”

Jon could no longer contain his laughter. "Of course that is not how it happened, Dany,” he said between chuckles. She playfully swatted at his chest, acting as if she were angry by his jest, but he could tell she was trying to hide her own amusement. 

Once he took a few calming breaths he looked at her lovingly and caressed the side of her beautiful face as the glow of the candles made her light up like a goddess. He then asked, “I thought you remembered our journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor? Of all the nights we spent together, locked in your cabin, trying prove the witch was not reliable source of information... I thought you remembered how we conceived Rhaegar?" 

"I do remember,” she stated defensively. “It… it is a bit hazy, but I do remember spending time with you on a boat as we journeyed to the North. I remember making love to you multiple times during that journey." 

He chuckled as he pulled her face to his and pressed a chaste kiss her on her plump lips before he murmured, “Then why are you asking me all of these questions? You know how we fell in love. I have told you and Robb the story when we were still at Illyrio’s manse.” He then looked her in the eyes and he could see worry. “Dany, is something wrong? Is there something you wish for me to confess? If you feel I am still hiding something, please ask. I promise you, I will not hide anything. I will answer all of your questions truthfully.” 

The smirk that spread across her face caused his heart to skip a beat. She then began to twirl one of his raven curls between her fingers her fingers as she playfully stated, "I only want to remember more of our past life, my love. If you recall, I do not possess all the memories of our past life as you do. I have only received flashes of our time together. I hope that one day soon, all of my memories of our time together will be restored.” 

He smiled as he brought his lips to hers once more. He cupped her face and pulled her closer, intensify their kiss. When her lips parted, he slid his tongue into her mouth and their tongues began to mingle in a familiar dance. After a few minutes, he broke for air, resting his forehead on hers and whispered, “Please, Dany, ask me what you would like to know? I promise you, I will keep nothing from you… I will answer all of your questions honestly.”

Jon watched as the worry began to fall from her face. “Hmmm,” she purred as she looked into his eye and bit the corner of her lower lip, contemplating what she would ask. “Tell me what happened when we arrived in Winterfell. I want to know what my first interactions were with your family. I want to know if they liked me.” 

He chuckled as he played with a loose stand of her silver hair and began to tell the story. “Well,  it was the middle of a blizzard when we arrived in the courtyard at Winterfell, yet Sansa and Arya were waiting there, with a few Stark Household Guard to greet us. I remember when I saw my sisters I was happy. I could not take my eyes off them… Especially Arya. I mean, I spent nearly six years believing she was dead. You told me to go to them. So, I did… and I nearly fell off my horse in the rush to get to them,” he added with a chuckle. He then sighed and continued, “After I embraced them both, I walked back over to where you were still sitting on your horse. You were teary eyed over my reunion with then, I helped you off your horse, even though you said you did not need help, and then I introduced you to my sisters. Arya did not even wait for me to introduce you, she simply look you dead in the eyes asked if you were in love with me or if you were just using me to gain control of the North.” 

She smiled as she took one of his hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles before inquiring, "And what was my reaction?" 

He chuckled as he squeezed her hand, stared into her violet eyes and honestly replied, "I believe you told her... If you did not love me, I would not stand in front of them greeting them. That she should believe your feelings were sincere because you didn't burn me alive, feed me to your dragons or have your Dothraki behead me.” He then chuckled again. “Sometimes I still cannot believe you did not kill me when I first arrived on Dragonstone or after any other the other times that I challenged you… for all of the times we argued before... Sometimes I cannot believe that we fell in love… I actually think I began falling for you the moment I first saw you… But I was stubborn and I never thought that anyone, especially the Dragon Queen, could ever love a bastard.” 

"Did anyone overhear when I confessed my love for you to Arya?" 

He chuckled as shook his head. "No, only Sansa, Arya and myself heard the conversion.” 

“That is a relief,” she stated as she giggled and blushed. “I would have been so embarrassed if the guards or common folk overhead my confession.” She pressed another quick kiss to her lips before she nervously mumbled, “And Sansa… What did Sansa think about me?”

He sighed as took one of his hands and placed his one hand behind his neck, involuntary trying to resolve the tension building behind his shoulders. He was trying to search for the right words and signed again, knowing that he had promised to be completely honest. “Well… Sansa was a little distant towards you at first… To be honest, she was cold and rude.”

“What?”

Jon exhaled again and continued, “Sansa was angry at me because I bent the knee to you without counsel from her… The Northern Lords were not exactly happy. They demanded I explain why I bent the knee to the daughter of the Mad King… to the daughter of the man who killed their Liege Lord and his heir and they stated they did not want to bend the knee to you because you were a Targaryen and no Targaryen could be trusted." He then chuckled as he added, “I find it ironic that they chose me as their King, even when they believed I was just a bastard only to later find out the man they chose as their King was really Targaryen as well a Stark." 

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek before asking, “And then what happened? How did the Northern Lords agree to allow me to be their Queen?" 

“You, my love, announced a proposal to them while we were all gathered in the Great Hall." 

"A proposal?” she inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “You informed the Lords of the North that I would continue to be their King… And that my heir after me would be King of not just the North, but King of all Westeros… That House Stark and House Targaryen would join through marriage and there would always be Northern blood on the Iron Throne." 

She raise her chin from the pillow and looked at him suspiciously, “Heir?" 

 “Aye,” he confirmed as he nodded, “You told all the Northern Lords… and little Lady Lyanna Mormont, who I might add, was very protective of me, that my heir would one day sit on the Iron Throne.”

“But how? I mean… At that time, I believed I was barren. Why would I tell the Northern Lords I would give you heirs?”

“My guess is that when we reached Winterfell, you already knew or at least assumed you were pregnant with Rhaegar.” He replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “The Northern Lords immediately accepted your proposal and later that night we were wed in front of the Heart Tree in Winterfell’s Godswood.” He felt his smile begin to falter and he sighed before he continued. “Less than a fortnight after wed, the White Walkers closed in on Winterfell. You decided to lead the party that would take all those who could not fight, to the Eyrie. Sansa and Arya were with you. You all were ambushed… Sansa and Arya did not survive and were turned into wights.” He could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes, so he pulled her in for a warm embraced. “Less than a moon-turn after their deaths, you confirmed to me that you were carrying Rhaegar." 

She pulled away from his embrace and he watched as she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes. She then smiled as she said, “I am surprised by this. I mean, that I would announce that I would give you heirs because I am positive that Mirri Maz Duur placed a curse on my womb… I do not understand how you were able to break that curse." 

He sigh as he leaned down and kissed her cheek before he whispered, ”I will tell you now, as I told you the day at Dragon Pit in King’s Landing, when you told me you would be the end of your house because of the witch’s curse… ‘Has it ever occurred to you that she might not be a reliable source of information?’

They both smiled and began to laugh. After the laughter subsided, she looked him in the eyes. “Jon, that might be true, but I am still confused. In my... our past life, after I lost Rhaego and Drogo… I had a lover and his seed never took root in my womb,” She stated in a voice just above a whisper. “I guess, what I do not understand is, we conceived Rhaegar almost immediately… How did this happen?” 

Jon could tell she was nervous mentioning that fact that she had taken a lover, Daario, while she was in Meereen. He pressed a kiss to her lips, hoping that he would be able to calm her fears, and then said, “My brother, Bran, told me it had to do with something to do with the death of Viserion. I believe the words he told me were, ‘Only death can pay for life.' He believed that the death of Viserion was that payment for Rhaegar life. That the death of your dragon somehow caused the curse to be lifted from your womb… or as I believe, the witch just said those words to hurt you. Or maybe Daario’s seed was weak… that he was the one who was unable to put a babe in your belly.”

She nodded in understanding then sighed before a smirk appeared on her face. She began to trail the tips of her fingers across he bearded jaw as she purred, “And what did you do after I informed you that you had successfully broken the witch’s curse? That your son was in fact growing inside of my womb?" 

“Let me show you my Queen,” Jon rasped. He then rolled her on her back, took both of her arms and placed them above her head. He then leaned down and whispered, “Maybe if I reenact my reaction it might assist in bring back some more of your lost memories." 

His beautiful wife giggled, which he silenced by sealing his mouth to hers. Within moments, her playful giggles had turned into a lustful moan, causing his manhood to begin to stiffen in response. As they kissed, he released one of his hands from where they were pinning hers above her head and began to unlace to ties of her breeches. Once he had then loosened, he pushed them down and slid his calloused fingers over her soft curls. His fingers continued to travel south until he found her already swollen clit. As soon as he touched the tender bundle of nerves, she moaned into his mouth again and he felt slick heat of her arousal. He then slid his finger into her cunt and she moaned once more.

“Jon,” he heard his brother call as he entered the tent unannounced. “I need to speak with... Oh gods, I am sorry."

“Robb,” he gasped as he quickly pulled his hand out of Daenerys breeches and pulled them up, praying that his brother did not see his wife’s exposed cunt. Once his wife was covered, he directed his gaze towards his brother and seethed, “Seven hells, Robb! I know that your mother taught you the importance of knocking before entering a room!” He felt slightly guilty for the tone that he used when he noticed his brother’s face was the same shade of red as the leaves on a Weirwood Tree; he was clearly embarrassed. 

He could tell his brother was getting ready to mutter an apology, except Dany spoke first. ”Robb, there is no need to apologize. It is not like you have not seen me naked before,” she giggled as she sat up in the bed.

Jon was stunned by his wife’s words. ”Dany! You cannot be serious! The circumstances were completely different… “ 

“So what,” She laughed as she playfully slapped his chest. “Your brother saw your hand between your wife’s thighs! I do not think it was his intention to walk in on his brother and good sister getting ready to make love.” She then looked back towards his brother and added, “Robb, next time you come to our tent in the middle of the night, I believe it would probably be a wise decision to announce your arrival before barging in the room.” 

Robb nodded in response, but was still unable to voice any words.

"What is it Robb?” Jon asked a little softer, suddenly feeling bad for snapping at his brother, “I know that you would not have… Interrupted, if it were not important.” 

"I need to speak with you, Jon,” Robb replied. 

Jon nodded, “Well, say whatever it is that you need to say.”

His brother looked from his, towards his wife and gave her a tentative smile before he looked back toward him and said, “Jon, I need to speak with you in private. Please.” 

He was confused by his brother’s request. However, he knew that if he wanted to speak in private, it must be important. He quickly glanced over at his wife who nodded slightly in understanding. “I will not be long,” he stated as he pressed a kiss to her brow. 

He then got up from the bed and followed his bother outside. They walked in silence for several minutes. As they walked he observed all was calm with the Khalasar. ‘It has been a long few days. Everyone must be sleeping,’ he thought to himself.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Robb grabbed his arm, directing him towards another row of tents. He also noticed that his brother was looking around and observing as if someone might be watching them. 

"Robb what's wrong? Why are you being so secretive? There are no spies within the Khalasar. The Dothraki would spot any intruders easily. They know who is and who is not welcome within our camp.” 

His brother did not say anything in response. He just held a finger up to his lips. A few moments later, Robb grabbed his arm once more and led him into one of the many tents. When they entered the tent, Jon quickly realized it was his brother’s tent. He looked at his brother, hoping that he would finally speak, however the silence continued. Jon sighed, “Robb, please tell me what this is about. Please tell me what is so important that you had to drag me away from my wife, in the middle of the night.”

Robb walked over to the tent flap once more, and poked his head out. When he returned, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a roll of parchment as he said, "Bako and Dothraki scouts saw a man outside of the camp earlier this evening. They told me it was an older man who rode on a fine brown horse.” His brother placed the scroll in his hand and continued, “That man gave this message to Bako and when he did, he told him it was only for the eyes of Khal Aegon.” 

He looked at the scroll and noticed that the seal was already broken. He sighed, “Please tell me you were the one who broke the wax seal and read the message.”

"Aye, I did,” Robb replied with a nod. “I only read it because I needed to know what was happening in Westeros. I needed to know the news from Kings Landing. I needed to know if we needed to prepare for any immediate threats.” 

He began to unroll the scroll as he mused, “By your behavior I take it there is not much if any good news.” 

His brother gave him an uneasy smile. “Please Jon, just read the correspondence for yourself.”

Jon nodded his head, looked down at the parchment in his hand and began to read:

 

 

My King, 

It is as you suspected. Lord Baelish has sent at least one his whores to Pentos to act as a spy and gather information about you and your wife’s whereabouts. He has discovered you have an army of more than 100,000 Dothraki warriors. He is also aware that you and your wife have become the Father and Mother of six dragons. It also appears he missed me while I was on my journey to meet with you because when my boat dropped anchor in King’s Landing, he was waiting for me on the docks. He asked me if I was the one who threatened his whore. Thankfully, he believed me when I said it was not me.

When I returned from Pentos, there was a small council meeting. During this meeting, there were discussions to plan how to the end Targaryen threat. They asked me to disclose all the information I gathered about you while I was in Pentos. I am happy to report your little plan of Aegon having a twin brother, Jaehaerys, worked perfectly; they believe you are the trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. Also, Illyrio has sent the raven to the Martell’s in Dorne to the Martells as you requested.

After I disclosed the story of Jaehaerys, Lord Baelish discussed possible ways of ending your reign. He suggested sending assassins to kill you and your wife or possibly kidnap Daenerys so that you can be led into a trap which would lead to both your deaths as well as the death of your unborn heir. I advise you to double the guard and use extreme caution. No one besides your family can be considered a friend and you, your wife and unborn child must be protected from these threats if we are all to survive the Long Night. 

Tywin Lannister has been named the new hand to King Robert. He should be arriving in the Capital any day, and I have already received word one of his first duties will be to come up with a plan to end your reign before it even begins. 

I have some disturbing news, my King. By the time I returned to King’s Landing, Lord Baelish had informed the small council, King Robert and Tywin Lannister that Daenerys sacrificed her brother to hatch her dragons; he is aware you and your wife are parents to six dragons... and that your wife is with child. 

I will end this message with some good news I have received from my little birds regarding betrothals for you siblings to help unify Westeros. Your brother, Bran is currently fostering in Greywater Watch and has been betrothed to Lord Reed’s daughter, Lady Meera. It appears your brother, Prince Robb has all but formally been betrothed to The Golden Rose of High Garden, Lady Margaery Tyrell. Also, King Eddard Stark is in marriage negotiations with House Martell for a possible betrothal between Princess Sansa and Prince Trystane. He has informed Doran Martell, that if Sansa agrees to marry Prince Trystane, after they meet, he will agree to the betrothal. 

The King and Queen in the North plan to meet with both the Tyrells and Martells as soon as he returns from his quest beyond the Wall. Lady Olenna Tyrell will travel to Winterfell, along with her son, Mace, and Margaery while Prince Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria, will escort Prince Trystane. 

I will keep you informed of the Small Council decisions once Tywin and King Robert have arrived.

I hope your travels are safe, your Grace.

From your eyes and ears in Westeros, Lord Varys, Master of Whispers for House Targaryen 

Jon could feel the anger coursing through his veins as he closed his eyes and seethed, Lord Baelish, Tywin Lannister and King Robert are planning to kill me, Daenerys and our unborn babe! I will kill them first! I will go to Westeros now and destroy them! I will not allow anyone to harm my family!” He opened his eyes and glared at Robb and to slow deep breaths.

“Jon, you need to calm down! You cannot go to Westeros yet! You need a stronger army!” Robb stated as he put his hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I know it must be hard for you to just stay here and wait until they strike but I need for you to take a deep breath and calm down. I promise you nothing will happen to you, Daenerys or your child." 

He nodded and did as his brother instructed. He took a deep breath, hoping it would help to calm the rage building within his gut. He looked at Robb and concentrated on the wind blowing outside of the tent as he continued to take slow deep breathes. As he concentrated on his breathing, he recalled that his brother has been promised to Margaery Tyrell, Bran to Meera Reed and Sansa to Trystane Martell. He felt his rage subside as his plans to unite Westeros were falling into place. Robb marrying Margaery would join the North and the Reach. By Bran marrying Meera, the Northern Lords would remain happy that House Stark would strengthen the Northern ties his Grandfather fractured when he brokered the betrothals of his Uncle Brandon and his mother to southerners. Jon then smiled and looked at his brother, “So… You have been promised to Margaery Tyrell?"  

Robb blushed and looked at floor as he answered, "Aye, it appears that I am.” He then looked up and met his gaze. “I am nervous but very excited about this betrothal. This marriage alliance will be very beneficial to you and to the North. It will make the Reach loyal to us for the war for the throne and during the Great War. It will help to supply both food and soldiers during the wars to come.”

“Robb,” Jon stated as he put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Are you sure you want to marry Margaery Tyrell? I mean, yes it would be good for the North and for the wars to come. However, Talisa is still out there you know. She was the mother of your unborn child in my past life…” 

Robb raised his hand to stop him. “Please, Jon. I will be fine. I have never met Talisa and I never will because there will be no war of the Five Kings in this life. I do not feel the same way about her in this life and I fear that my feelings for her in my past life caused the deaths of her, our son, my mother and so many others… I do not want to repeat my actions from my last life. I do not want the deaths of so many to be on my hands. If I had done my duty and married the Frey girl in my last life, I could have won the War of the Five Kings. I could have been there with the full forces of the North and the Riverlands to answer your call when you asked for help against the White Walkers.” His brother took a deep breath and looked deep into his eyes as he vowed, “Jon, when you told me about my failures in my last life, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would do my duty in this life… I would only marry for an alliance that would benefit the North and strengthen out ties in southern Westeros… For an alliance that would benefit you in your quest to reclaim the Iron Throne… I believe in you Jon. I believe that you and Daenerys are the only hope we have to survive the Long Night.” 

Jon shook his head, “Robb, I cannot ask you to…”

“No, Jon, you listen to me!” His brother exclaimed as he grabbed his arm. “This is something that I want to do! That I need to do! This is the least I can do for all you have done for us. You returned to the past and warn us for what is to come. You saved Father from being beheaded by the bastard Prince Joffrey. You saved my mother from being executed by the Red Wedding. You saved my life… It is only fair if I repay you in some way." 

“Robb,” he stated harshly as he shook his head. “Just because you want to help and prevent what happened in the past, doesn’t mean that you have to marry someone you have never met. Someone you know nothing about. Someone you do not love or respect… I want you to be happy.” 

"Jon, I want to do this. So please do not think that I am sacrificing my happiness for you,” Robb replied earnestly. He then smirked and added, “Besides, I have heard, from a reliable source, Margaery Tyrell is a very beautiful young woman, that she cares about the people and she is well loved by all those who live in the Reach.”

“Who told you that?” Jon inquired incredulously.

“Sam… He is from the Reach. I knew Father would consider Lady Margaery as one of the best choices for my betrothal, so I asked him to tell me about her while we sailed from White Harbor to Pentos.” His brother sighed and then continued, “He also said he has not seen her for years, but he knows people who would visit Horn Hill… they told him she is the most beautiful maiden within all of Westeros." 

Jon raised his eyebrow Robb when he made the statement about Margaery’s beauty, which caused his brother to chuckle. “In Westeros, Jon. Margaery is the most beautiful maiden in Westeros. Daenerys is in Essos, not Westeros,” he then quirked his brow and added, “Also, I believe she is also no longer a maiden,” which caused both brothers to chuckle. 

Jon continued to chuckle as he walked over to the wooden cart and pour him and his brother a glass of watered summer wine. He handed his brother one of the golden chalices, and stated, “From what I heard about Lady Margaery in my past life, I believe Sam’s assessment to be true. I never had to opportunity to meet her, but Sansa was close with her during her time in King’s Landing and that both she and her grandmother, Lady Olenna, were always very kind to her when she was a prisoner of the Lannisters.” 

His brother chuckled once more and when he took a sip from his glass, he heard slight whine. He glanced towards the sound and saw Grey Wind, who looked at him and his brother, from where he had been sleeping on the floor. Jon smiled at the direwolf, in disbelief at how big the wolf had already grown; both Grey Wind and Ghost were size of a large dog. His brother then walked over to the young direwolf, leaned down and said some soothing words as he scratched the fur beneath his chin. The wolf gave a soft mew of happiness and laid his head back down and closed his eyes when Robb whispered, "Go back to sleep boy. Tomorrow will be another long day."

Once Grey Wind was settled, Robb stood up, and continued their conversation. "Jon, I know you are only saying this because you want me to be happy... You have always put others in front of your own happiness. So please understand, this is something I want and need to do. I will not be selfish in this life. I owe it to you, Father, Mother and Dany to put my duty ahead of my dick. I will not be responsible for the deaths of mother and so many others because I did not do what was needed from me in your past."

Jon could not take the pleading look his brother was giving to him so he looked at his glass of wine. He swirled the contents around and too a long, sip before meeting his brother’s gaze once again. "Are you sure you are alright with marrying Lady Margaery Tyrell?" He inquired, repeating his previous question, afraid his brother was making a rash decision.

"I am brother. I promise you, I want to do this.” His brother vowed. “Besides, as I said before, if the Reach is loyal to House Stark, to the North, they will in return be loyal to you as well. This would give us a much larger army and the food that is needed to feed that army and the people. In addition, I do not marry Lady Margaery, you know the Baratheons and Lannisters will do everything in their power to secure an alliance with the Tyrells. It is better this way. Not only will I be helping you, preventing the deaths of Mother, Talisa, and my bannermen, I will also be saving her from the death she suffered at the hands of Cersei in your past life."

He took a sip from his wine as he then looked at his brother and nodded. "Alright, Robb. If this is truly what you want, I will step aside."

“It is.” His brother confirmed. He then smiled and picked up the carafe of wine and refilled each of their glasses. “Perhaps a celebration is in order… We should toast.”

“Toast?”

“Aye, because I, Robb Stark of Winterfell, Prince in the North, will marry the most beautiful, maiden, in Westeros… And Essos, and will never have to marry one of Walder Frey’s daughters." He added with a smirk.

Jon shook his head and a chuckle escaped his lips as he toasted his brother’s glass. As he took a sip of wine, Robb began to laugh. "What's so funny?" Jon asked with a smile

"I find it funny how much things have changed… I am the Crown Prince of the North. My brother is not really a bastard… He is the true heir to the Iron Throne... Somehow, we both found a way of marrying strong, beautiful women. I mean no disrespect, but up until a few moons ago, you were vowing that you would never marry. Never father a child. You were going to be a man of the Nights Watch... Now you are married, to the beautiful Dragon Queen, the last Targaryen female who is carrying your child and you will become King of Westeros... You know, I always thought that father would arrange a marriage for me to a Northern girl… However, I am promised to the beautiful Golden Rose of High Garden."

"Aye, it is funny," Jon mused with a smile as he took another sip from his glass of wine. When he finished his sip, he stared at the wine remaining in the chalice and sighed as he began thinking about Sansa’s possible betrothal.

"What's wrong now Jon? Why are you brooding again?" Robb inquired.

He lifted his head to see his brother’s worried gaze. He sighed again as he looked back down at his empty cup and softly stated, "It's Sansa. I made her a promise in my past life that I would never force her to marry; she was emotionally scarred after the abuse she suffered at the hands of Joffrey and Ramsay… Now she is marrying a man she does not know, as a way to create an alliance for me… For my wars. I feel as if I am breaking my promise to her.”

Robb placed his hand on his left shoulder, forcing him to look his brother in the eyes, "Jon, you are wrong. We are doing this because it is not just your war Jon, it is our War."

Jon furrowed his brow in confusion and Robb smiled at him as continued, "You are family. You are just as much Stark as you are Targaryen. We are a pack and the pack fights together.”

“The lone wolf dies but the pack survives,” Jon replied softly with a smile on his lips.

“Aye, and as a pack we are going to get justice for all of those who lead to our extinction in your past life.” Robb confirmed. “Besides, you are worrying about Sansa from nothing. In his correspondence, Lord Varys states that Father is in negations with house Martell… Sansa has not yet been promised to Prince Trystane, and if she does not like his character, she will not be forced to marry him. Jon, you have to remember, luckily none of those horrible experiences have occurred, she is no longer broken. She still dreams of marrying a prince or a knight and having his children. I have never met Prince Trystane, but as far as I know, Prince Trystane is nothing like Joffrey. Also, didn’t you say, he was betrothed to Princess Myrcella in your last life?”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. “Lord Tyrion stated he betrothed Myrcella to Trystane in an attempt to mend the animosity between the crown and Dorne.”

“And that it ended poorly for both of them as well?”

“Aye. After the death of Prince Oberyn, his paramour, Ellaria Sand, and his daughters killed Princess Myrcella as retribution. Prince Trystane died at the same time as Princess Myrcella.”

“So you see, if Sansa does agree to marry Prince Trystane, this move will save his life as well.”

Jon nodded, and drank the rest of his goblet of wine. He then then took a deep breath, and tried to keep his tone steady as he looked his brother in the eye and voiced his fear, "I am worried brother… I am not sure what I should do. All I know is as long as Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister are in control in Westeros, we will never be safe from assassins or threats. They will do anything they think of to keep a firm grasp on their power.”

“Jon, I will do whatever I can to keep you and Daenerys safe,” his brother promised. “And once we has assembled your army, we will go to Westeros and put you on your rightful throne.”

“Robb, I do not doubt that, but Daenerys is a stubborn woman,” Jon stated as he placed his empty wine chalice on the table and ran his hands down his bearded cheeks in frustration. “She will not let me protect her because she says that can protect herself. I do not know what I am going to do with her! I do not want her to worry about King Robert or Tywin Lannister’s plans to send someone to kill us. If she know the truth, it could cause her too much stress, which will could cause her to have a miscarriage… I will cannot carry the burden of losing another child… Rhaegar was taken from us… I do not think I could live with being the reason we lose another babe."

To his surprise, his brother chuckled as he slapped his shoulder, "I must say brother, you and Dany do not have most healthy of marriages."

"What do you mean?" Jon inquired with a quirked eyebrow, genuinely perplexed by his brother’s comment.

Robb continued to laugh as he sat on a chair next to the wine cart and took a few deep breathes to calm himself before he answered, “You two are hiding things from each other.”

“Robb,” Jon interrupted, “I have been honest with her! I have answered every questions she has asked me honestly since I told her the truth about what happened after she died!”

“Jon that is not what I am saying. I am saying that she does not want you to know that she is pregnant until she is two moons along, which I might add is soon. I also beg you to act surprised once she does inform you she is with child… If she knows that you knew before she tells you, she will then burn me alive for betraying her trust! She will think that I told you because you were too stubborn to tell her from the beginning! … Then you! You do not want her to know King Robert and Tywin Lannister might be sending assassins to murder her and your unborn babe while she sleeps!” His brother then stood up from his chair and refilled his wine glass as he continued, “And she also does not want you to know that she is from another..." His brother abruptly stopped speaking and began to drink the wine he had just poured.

'What does he meant by she if from another...?' He was about to ask what his brother meant, to ask if his wife was hiding something from him, but before he could ask, they were interrupted by Doreah calling his name from outside of the tent.

"Yes, Doreah, please come in,” Jon answered after he cleared his throat. Once she entered he asked, “What is it that you need?”

”Khaleesi is waiting for you in your tent, Khal Aegon. You know she does not like it being kept waiting," she replied with a smile.

He chuckled as he shook his head, “Aye, you are right.” He then looked towards Robb, silently asking him if there were any other urgent matters, which he needed to address.

"Go brother, Dany is waiting for you.” He then smirked and added, “and we both know you do not want to be on the receiving end of a dragon’s wrath.”

“Aye, that is true,” Jon replied with a smile. He quickly finished his glass of wine and placed the golden chalice back on the wine table. “Good night, Robb. Get some rest because soon we will have to discuss how your wedding will take place. We will have to come up with a plan of how and where the ceremony will take place."

“Aye, I will see you in the morning, Jon.”

Jon then left Robb’s tent, and made his way back to the tent he shared with Dany. When he entered their tent, he smiled as saw his beautiful wife leaning over the table, feeding five of their winged children (Arogon, Ragnar, Rhaegal, Viserion and Jogon). As he approached where she was standing, he also notice that Ghost was sitting in front of Dany, tongue hanging out of his mouth, drooling, begging for a scrap of meat.

When he chuckled at the sight, she looked up from the table and smiled at him and said, “You were gone longer than I thought you would be.”

“Aye, I did not intend to be gone that long,” he answered with a smile, before squatting down to show Ghost some affection. He then looked up at her and added, “Robb received news from Lord Varys and wished to discuss with me immediately,” as he scratched the soft white fur on the direwolf's nose.

“And just what did the two of you discuss?” She inquired with a quirked brow.

Jon stood up, pulled her into his arms. He then pressed his lips to hers and his hands traveled from her hips to her arse. He gave each cheek a firm squeeze, broke the kiss, rested his forehead on hers and murmured, “How badly do you wish to know what we discussed?”

“No, not Jon Snow! We will play later!” His wife teasingly chastised as she playfully swatted his shoulder. “Right now, you are going to tell me what took you so long! You need to tell me you and your brother discussed. I need to know that it was important enough to keep me waiting for so long.”

"I believe it was important,” Jon stated with a half-smile before he sighed. “We have received news that Robb has been promised to someone and Sansa has also received an intriguing betrothal request… If these two marriages take place, our quest to secure peace in Westeros before the long night will be much easier."

"Who is Robb promised to?" she squealed with excitement. “And I hope that Sansa’s possible betrothed is someone who is kind to her… She deserves someone who will treat her properly after everything she suffered in our last lives.”

"Robb has been promised to Margaery Tyrell and Father is in negotiations with the Martells about a possible betrothal between Sansa and Prince Trystane."

"Margaery Tyrell, the only daughter of the Lord of High Garden and Warden of the South. From what Lady Olenna told us… me about her in my last life, she believed they would have been a great match," she stated mater-of-factly as she pressed another kiss to his lips. “I while I have never had the pleasure to meet Prince Trystane, however the Sandsnakes told me he was very kind… I am sure he will treat her well.”

"Dany, you remember Lady Olenna and the Sandsnakes?" Jon inquired after breaking the kiss.

"Of course I can remember Lady Olenna and the Sandsnakes from our past life! They were all strong women, therefore, they are rather hard to forget,” She added with a chuckle. “You know, Lady Olenna told me me what happened to Margaery... How Cersei Lannister blew up the Sept of Baelor, burning Margaery and her brother, Loras, alive, all because she saw her as a threat. Because Margaery was younger and more beautiful and beloved by the people. She also states that she regretted supporting Mace when he forced Margaery marry Renly… She wished she could have brokered an alliance with Robb. And the Sandsnakes informed me how Cersei sent Ser Jaime and Ser Bronn to Dorne to retrieve Princess Myrcella… That they killed Prince Doran and Prince Trystane in this attack. They told me Myrcella did not wish to leave, and how Trystane died trying to prevent them from taking her back to King’s Landing.”

‘That is strange… A moon turn ago, she could not remember any of her alliances from our past life… She could not remember Lord Tyrion or Lord Varys or Ser Jorah. She is hiding something from me… But what?' Jon thought.

"So what did Robb say when he found out he was promised?" Dany asked with a glowing smile, breaking him from his thoughts.

"He is eager to make an alliance with the Reach, and seems genuinely excited at this match,” Jon replied with a hesitant, forced smile.

“You don’t feel the same?”

“Aye,” he responded with a nod. “I feel as though he might be making a mistake… As if he is not thinking this decision through thoroughly. I mean no disrespect, I am sure Margaery is a lovely girl, but Robb told me he does not even want to meet the woman he fell in love with and married in our last life. He told me was the one who told Father he would only marry for an alliance… An alliance that would be beneficial to our quest and the North when the Long Night arrives.”

"Jon, it is his decision, not ours,” his wife stated as she placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “If he wants to marry to forge an alliance, we must honor, respect and support his decision."

“I know Dany,” he sighed. “However, I believe he is doing this for the wrong reason… He fears that he will make the same mistakes he did in our past life by marrying only for love. He fears that if he ever meets Talisa, he will again cause her death and the deaths of so many others."

She nodded, “That might be true. However, I am sure that Margaery will be a wonderful wife to Robb. From the stories I remember, she is beautiful and kind and loved by everyone in the Reach. Also, he would be saving her from Cersei and Joffrey.”

“Aye,” Jon replied as he pulled his wife back into his arms.

After a few moments, she pulled away from the embrace and smiled. “You know, before you came in, I was trying teaching our children how to breathe fire so they can cook their own meals and defend themselves."

He chuckled and placed one more kiss to her brow before turning his attention to the five dragon hatchlings, who standing on the table.  He crossed his arms and stated, “Alright, Dany. Show me what our children can do.”

She smiled at him before turning her attention to the small blue dragon. She scratched under his chin then placed a piece of raw horsemeat in front of him and softly, but firmly stated, "Ragnar, Dracarys."

The blue dragon looked at his wife with inquisitive eyes and gave a short loud screech before turning his attention to the piece of raw flesh in front of him. The dragon appeared to be determined as he glared at this dinner. He then opened his mouth and Jon noticed a bright reddish blue light forming in the back of his throat. However, when Ragnar tried to blow the flame, he toppled forward causing the flame extinguished. The little blue dragon then sneezed, which made him and Dany burst out in laughter.

"Hmm... I guess it is a little harder to train five dragons to breathe fire on their own, versus teaching three from my past life," she mused.

'Her past life? Maybe she means her life prior to our life together. Wait, she does not remember her previous life in Essos. How does she remember training her dragons if she does not remember her time in Essos? '

"Jon,” Daenerys called, pulling him from his thoughts. “Do you mind to help me? Maybe our children will be able to learn to breathe fire if you demonstrate first?"

"Dany,” he chuckled. “I am a Targaryen and a Stark, a Dragon and a Wolf or Dragonwolf as you used to say. I am Father of Dragons, the Dragon King and the husband of the beautiful Dragon Queen… My Mother of Dragons.” He then looked her in the eyes, and with a straight face added, “However, my love, I am afraid, I cannot breathe fire.”

"You know that is not what I meant,” Daenerys stated as she playfully slapped his chest. “I would like to know if you will ask Sarogon to breathe dragonfire?"

He raised his eyebrows and looked from his wife to his grey dragon, who had been sitting on the floor, eating a plate of already roasted horsemeat; Jon could not believe Sargon and Ghost were nearly the same size. At the sound of his name, the dragon looked up from his now empty plate of food and towards his parents as he gave them a welcoming screech.

“Sarogon, māzigon kesīr" (Sarogon, come here), his wife firmly stated as she pointed to a spot on the table where the other five dragons were located. The grey dragon gave a roar of understanding, and landed on the table, exactly where his mother had asked. “Sȳrī gaomagon, issa tresy (Well done, my son)”

“I forgot the dragons respond better to requests High Valyrian,” Jon replied sheepishly. “I remember you taught me a few commands in our past life. It is too bad I never had the opportunity to master the language.”

"Do not worry, my love, I have plenty of time to teach you,” She replied with a chuckle. “Now, do you remember how to tell Sarogon to burn the horsemeat?"

He was confused. He turned his gaze from Sarogon to Rhaegal, who was still busy eating his plate of roasted meat, and mumbled, “Dany, shouldn't I be asking Rhaegal to cook the meat? I mean, I was his rider in our past life, so I should be able to communicate with him once again… How do I know if Sarogon will listen to me?"

The laughter of his wife filled the tent before she placed her hand on his cheek and a kiss on his lips. "Jon, that is not how it works. You might have been Rhaegal's rider in your… our past life. However, I believe things in this life will be different.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, Jon, you formed a bond with Sarogon when you hatched him; you will become his rider in this life. Rhaegal… perhaps one of our future children might become Rhaegal’s rider."

Jon took a deep breath and nodded as he looked from his wife to Sarogon. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. As he relaxed, he was surprised he could hear the sound of his wife’s heart, beating in her chest as well as the sound of Sarogon’s heartbeat as well. When he opened his eyes, he looked into the eyes of the gray dragon, pointed at the raw horsemeat and firmly stated, “Sarogon, Dracarys!"

He felt his heart begin to race in anticipation when he saw an orange-red flame permeating from the back of the dragon's throat. He noticed that as Sarogon was about to breath fire, the other five dragon were observing their eldest brother with anticipation as to what he might be doing. Sarogon then released his flame on the meat, causing it to sizzle as it cooked.

Jon felt an overwhelming since of pride for his oldest winged child’s accomplishment and the five younger dragons chirped in approval at their older brother’s success. As soon as the horsemeat was fully cooked, Sarogon tossed the piece of the roasted meat in the air, caught it and ate it. “Good job, Sarogon,” he congratulated his son with a smile.

"That was a very good, Sarogon,” His wife purred as she leaned over and scratched the scales under the gray dragon chin. “Thanks to your demonstration, we might be able to get your younger brothers to breathe fire sooner rather than later."

When his wife was done praising Sarogon, she looked towards the second largest of their dragons, the dragon she had stated she felt a connection with and placed a piece of raw meat on the silver platter in front of him. She then looked the red dragon in the eyes and firmly stated, "Arogon, Dracarys," as she pointed at the raw horseflesh. The dragon opened his mouth quickly breathed a small stream of fire onto the meat. "Good job, Arogon," Daenerys cooed in response once the meat had cooked.

"Now, Jon,” Daenerys said as she looked up from Arogon. “I think you should ask Sarogon to breathe ice."

“Dany,” he chuckled, “I know you cannot remember much of our past life, but your dragons can only breathe fire... In our past life, Rhaegal, Viserion and Jogon could only breathe fire. There are no ice dragons."

“Trust me Jon. Ask him, I think you will be surprised.” 

However, before he could reply she pressed a kiss to his lips. As the kiss became more passionate, he felt her hands move from behind his neck, down to his arse. He broke the kiss, out of shock, when she squeezed his arse cheeks.

She then nipped his ear and seductively whispered, "Suvion... Take a deep breath and tell Sarogon suvion.” She then turned around to face the dragons and he wrapped his arms protectively around her waist.

Jon then took a deep, calming breath before he looked over at the gray dragon and firmly, but calmly stated, “Sarogon, suvion!”  

To his surprise, when the dragon opened his mouth, instead of the reddish-orange flame in the back of his throat, there was a pale-blue glow. He then gasped as a cold, misty blast shot from the dragon’s throat, hitting the wall of the tent, causing any icy frost to cover the surface. He looked at Daenerys in his confusion, and noticed she was smiling.

“How… How did you know Sarogon…” Jon breathed out.

However, before he could finish asking his question, she turned around in his arms and pressed her lips to his.

'I will not let her get away from this again. She is hiding something from me. I need to know what she remembers.' Jon thought as he broke the kiss before he became too caught up in lust to remember what he needed to ask. He rested his forehead on hers as they both caught their breath. He took one final deep breath before he murmured, "Dany... How did you know Sarogon could breathe ice? I mean, your dragons could only breathe fire in our past life… How did you know Sarogon was different?”

He noticed a momentary look of panic on her face before she smiled and replied, “I knew Sarogon was different because Robb receive a raven from your father, Lord Stark, just before we left Illyrio’s manse. He informed us Sarogon was a Hybrid Dragon… I thought Robb had told you this; I did not mean to keep this information from you, my love.”

"A hybrid dragon?" He inquired with a quirked brow.

"Yes,” she replied with a nod of her head. “It was referenced in one of the old Valyrian books my older brother... Your father, Rhaegar, kept inside the Tower of Joy. The book was taken back to Winterfell by Lord Stark and was kept in the library… In this book it is theorized, that when a red and blue comet appears in the sky, after a dragon is hatched, it is because the dragon hatching is hybrid dragon. And that his rider is the Prince who is Promised… The one who will bring the dawn."

"Dany, you do not honestly believe in the prophecies Melisandre preached? You do not honestly believe I am the prince who is promised? Do you?"

"Jon Snow, I do believe you are the prince who is promised,” she stated with a smile. Jon was about to retort when she placed a finger over his lips to silence him as she continued. “As I was staying, you are the prince who is promised and I am the princess who is promised... I believe that we are destined to be together. That what we share is more than just love it is fate. I believe that together, we will destroy the great other and bring the dawn."

He sighed as he pushed a loose lock of her moon-kissed hair behind her ear. He then said, "Dany, I still do not understand how you knew Sarogon would breathe ice based on my emotions."

"I knew Sarogon would breathe ice based on your calm emotions such as happiness because of what is written in the book. It reports a dragon can breathe fire and ice based on the emotions of his rider; calm or relaxed the dragon is capable of breathing ice while fear and anger will cause him to breathe fire.” She then placed her hand on his cheek and added, “If the rider is content, the dragon will be content, and can breathe either fire or ice... Whichever the rider desires at that moment.”

"So you knew Sarogon would breathe ice if you calmed my emotions by kissing me and grabbing my arse?" Jon deadpanned.

"Well it worked didn't it!" Daenerys replied as she burst out in laughter.

He smiled as he placed a kiss on the palm of her hand and chuckled, "Aye, it did.”

After a few more minute of working with their dragons, he noticed his wife yawn as she rested a hand on her lower abdomen. He walked behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder as he murmured, “Come on love, let us go to bed. It has been a long day and you need your rest.”

She yawned again and nodded, allowing him to lead her to the bed. Once they were in the bed, he pulled the light linen sheet up and again wrapped arms around her, pulling her back to his chest and resting his hand on her stomach. He began to made slow, lazy circles across her still flat stomach, just as he did when she was growing Rhaegar inside her womb, and whispered, "Dany, if we do have children, are we going to force them into marriages for alliances or are we going to let them decide based on love?"

He heard her sigh as she wrapped her hands around his and answered, "Jon, if we do have children, as much as I hate to say it, I fear we might have to choose spouses that will help stabilize the realm… However, we are the last Targaryens... As much as I do not want to force my children to marry, I fear we will have strongly encourage children to marry one another. We have six dragons. Dragons only respond to those with the blood of Old Valyria. Over the centuries, that blood has been diluted. It will be up to our children to keep the bloodline as pure as possible. There must be someone who will be able to form a bond with the dragons for generations to come."

"You think our children should marry one another?”

She nodded. “I feel that it is something that must be done. After we are gone, we need someone whom will be able to control the dragons. And after our children are gone… There must never be a Targaryen alone in the world.” She then turned her head to face him and inquired, “Do you disagree?"

Jon sighed. "I hate the thought, but you are right. I have already diluted to bloodline with the blood of the First men. If the bloodline is diluted further or by someone without any magic in their veins, there will be no one left to control the dragons." When his wife yawned again he pressed a kiss to her brow and murmured, “Go to sleep, Dany. We will have time to make final decisions on this matter later… I mean first we have to have children.” He added with a chuckle.

She smiled and closed her eyes. Jon continued to caress her womb as they both drifted off to sleep……

Chapter 19: Betrayal

Summary:

Section 1. Cersei - Cersei reveals shocking news and receives shocking news.
Section 2. Stannis - Stannis joins the small council meeting and plans against the Targaryens are decided.
Section 3. Eddard - Eddard and company arrive at the Wall. Letters are received from Winterfell. The King in the North and Benjen meet with the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon.
Section 4. Ser Barristan - Truths are revealed. Plans are made.
Section 5. Daenerys - Dany confronts Jon about truths.
Section 6. Robert - Robert receives shocking news and is furious.
Section 7. Jaime - Jaime makes plans for his future with some help from a surprising source.

Notes:

Hello our wonderful readers! I am so sorry that this has taken so long to get out but life has been crazy for both of us. Then when it was done, we decided it needed a little more so the story was not choppy. We really hope that you enjoy this and I apologize for grammatical any errors. This is over 50 pages long in Word Document and over 24700 words. Please enjoy and leave a comment to let us know what you think! Again, thank you so much for reading and your patience!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Cersei Lannister

 

It had been nearly a day since King Robert, Queen Cersei and the rest of the royal traveling party arrived back in Kings Landing. The Queen of the Southern Six Kingdoms was sitting on the balcony of her chambers in the Red Keep, eating her breakfast as she overlooked Blackwater Bay. She took a long slow sip of freshly squeezed orange juice as she watched the boats sailing in and out of the harbor and the seagulls flying about and screeching through the cloudless blue sky. The air was thick and muggy and smelled of shit and sweat, however after being gone for nearly two and a half moon turns, she was enjoying being back where she is in control. Where she is surrounded by her own lavish belongings and by people whom she knows are loyal to her.

She finished her glass of juice, set the empty glass on the table and sat back in her chair, sighing as she recalled everything she had to endure during the journey from Winterfell back to the Capital. She felt her anger and frustration rising, griping the arms of the chair as she remembered how she could do nothing as the peasants called her beautiful first born baby boy, their Crown Prince, Joffrey a rapist and a murderer. All of this because of the vicious lies of the Stark daughters and her deformed little brother. All because the North is plotting against her and her family for some unknown reason.

‘Calm yourself Cersei,’ she thought as she stood up from her chair and walked back into her chambers. She closed the door leading to the balcony, hoping the smell of shit had not made its way into her chambers. ‘Father is here now. He will take care of everything. It is not good to stress. You need to remain calm. Everything will work out. Father will make sure of it. He will get the whole mess with the North to go away. He will find a way to get the people to again love their golden Crown Prince.’

Cersei took another deep breath as she walked over to the refreshments left on the table in her room by the servants. She poured another glass of juice and took a sip as she looked at the familiar, personal belongings in her room in an attempt to help alleviate her stress. On the floors was a plush, crimson red carpet she had brought from her childhood room at Casterly Rock. In the middle of the room was an oversized bed covered with satin white sheets, fluffy pillows, and gold and crimson coverlet. The bedframe had the golden lion of House Lannister on the posts and the canopy was crimson with gold trim, matching the blankets. She smiled as she recalled of the times her brother had taken her in that bed and how this is where their three children had been created. 

She took sip of her juice and as she smiled knowing that today was the day, she would learn how one of her enemies would be eliminated. This morning, she had received a summons, stating that her presence was required at the small council meeting… The same small council meeting where they would be discussing how they were going to put an end to the family that had ruined her life when King Aerys had wed her Rhaegar to Princess Elia. Today she would learn just how the Dragonspawn and their unborn child would die. Her father would make sure there were no more threats to her crown. She smiled as she imagined the bodies of the silver-haired Dragon Whore with her rounded stomach and her pretender Targaryen or Blackfyre husband, being presented to her, wrapped in Lannister crimson and gold, just as her father had presented the bodies of Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon to her husband eighteen years ago. She was pulled from her musings when she heard a knock on her door before it opened. She looked up and saw one of her handmaidens.

“Your Grace,” she stated as she curtsied, “I have brought your brother to see you as requested.”

“Send him in, then leave… We are not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, your Grace,” the handmaiden replied with another curtsy.

A few moments later, her brother entered her chambers, closing the door behind him. Cersei admired how majestic he appeared with his sword clanking against his polished armor and white cloak on his back. She smiled and put her now empty glass on the table as she continue to stare at her lover.

"You called for me, Cersei?" Ser Jaime stated when he stopped in front of her, breaking her from her daze.

"Yes, I did. I have news," she stated sweetly as she placed her hand on his cheek.

"News?" he inquired with a quirked brow.

Cersei smiled and nodded. Then wordlessly took one of his hands and placed it on her stomach. She watch as his face morphed from confusion, to shock. 

"You... You're pregnant?" he gasped.

"Yes. Grand Maester Pycellee confirmed it once we arrived back in King’s Landing," she replied as she caressed the sides of his face.

"Cersei, you can't be fucking serious,” he seethed as he removed her hands from his face and her stomach and took a step back. “This could get us killed. Why didn't you use moon tea, like you normally do?"

"I did it for us!” Cersei exclaimed. “Westeros is in need of some good and positive news so they can look passed the vile untrue rumors about Joffrey! What better news than the arrival of a new little prince! How can you not see, I did this to stop the rebellion the North is trying to start! A rebellion that is being built on nothing but lies! So, I used a woman’s greatest weapon… What is between my legs."  

"Cersei this… This will never work! What you did will not go right. Every one of the six Kingdoms knows that... You and Robert hate each other!” Jaime exclaimed in a harsh whisper, as he looked her in the eyes.

Cersei could not believe her brother’s reaction. She turned away from his piercing gaze and walked over towards the table. She grabbed an empty glass, poured a cup of water and began to drink in an attempt to calm her. She had drank nearly the entire glass when she heard the sound of Jaime’s amour clanking as he walked up behind her.

"They will know the child is not Robert’s,” her brother stated quietly as he placed his hand on her shoulder. “Cersei, as I said, the whole realm knows that you and Robert no longer share a bed. They will know this child is bastard.” He then sighed and sincerely added, “You need to take moon tea before it's too late. If you have this child, the Lannister name will be tarnished… We will be killed. Cersei we need to leave now… We can live out or days in exile..."

She shook her as she turned around to look him in the eyes. When she did, she saw fear and grief in his eyes that he had to suggest that she get rid of a child he believes was created out of love. She sighed, and felt tears beginning to from in her eyes, knowing that her next words would crush him.

"Jaime,” she whispered softly as a tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek, “The child is not yours... This child is not a bastard."

"What? What do you mean? Of course, the child mine. I am the only one you have been with since Myrcella has been born… Right?"

Cersei could no longer meet his gaze and looked down at her now empty glass and mumbled, “The child is not yours Jaime.”

"The child is not mine? What do you mean the child is not mine! You betrayed me!” He brother exclaimed softly with anguish in his tone. When she looked up from her glass he grabbed her shoulders and continued, “Who is do you fuck, Cersei? Tell me, who is the father of this child? I will kill him now.”

"The father is Robert," she blurted out. She watched as her brother’s face shifted from pain and anger to confusion.

"Robert... The King? Your husband? You cannot be serious… Are you just saying this because that is what you want everyone to believe?”

The Queen shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes before meeting her brother’s piercing gaze. She sighed then replied, “Jaime, I took moon tea before leaving Winterfell. Robert is truly the father of this child.”

Her brother was speechless as he took in what she had just confessed. She walked over to the table and poured him a glass of wine. When she handed him the glass as he greedily drank the contents and placed the empty cup back on the wooden table.

"Why Cersei? Tell me why?” He inquired, still with pain in his tone. “I do not understand. You hate Robert. Robert has been treating you poorly ever since your only true son with him died. Why would you fall into bed with him and create a child that was not conceived out of love?"

"Gods you truly are the stupidest Lannister!” Cersei shrieked. “How can you not see that I did it for us! Jon Arryn was on the verge of discovering the Royal children were not Robert’s heirs. I also believed that suspected they were your children!”

“What?” Jaime asked incredulously.

“Jon Arryn asked to borrow book called The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, from Grand Maester Pycelle. This book described every detail of the history of all the great houses of Westeros, including the including the lineage and appearance of all heirs. My son born from Robert’s seed looked just like a Baratheon as did every other Baratheon in that book… He knew Robert was not the father of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen… Don’t you see, I have to give Robert a true heir to prevent suspicions... I believe Jon Arryn informed others of his suspicion… I think he might have told Ned Stark his theory."

"Ned Stark?’ Her brother gasped. “What do you mean Cersei? Why do you think he told Ned Stark of his theory?"

"Gods Jaime, any fool would be honored the have their daughter betrothed to the Crown Prince… Why would, Ned Stark, pass up the opportunity to for his daughter to become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? Why would he pass up the opportunity to become Hand of the King? A position which only would strengthen the North!” However she did not give her brother the opportunity to respond before she continued, “It took me a while to understand why he didn't accept these generous offers… It is because he knows. He has to! There is no other explanation so I am thankful he will not be in the Capital and that my precious Joffrey will not have to marry that plain, Northern wench! Jaime, he knows that there is not a true Baratheon heir to put on the throne. Therefore, I had to do something before he spread his knowledge. We cannot allow for any of the other great house find out... If this were to happen, a rebellion would breakout against the Lannisters and we would all be killed! So that is the reason why I took my fat, whoring husband’s seed.”

"Cersei,” Jaime stated softly, with pain and disbelief clear in his tone. “How did you get him to give you his seed? I mean the two of you had not slept together since you were pregnant with Myrcella? Why would he take you into his bed now?"

She cringed as she recalled how she snuck into her husband’s room at the Inn at the Crossroads and several other times during their travel back to the Capital. How she would always have to push some random tavern wench out of this bed, then rub and suck his member back to life, gagging as she tasted some whore’s juices on his cock. Then once he was hard, the only way she could get herself wet to fuck her husband was by picturing her lover in her mind. She hated that she had dishonored her own body. That she had allowed Robert to grab her slim, toned stomach, her breasts and her arse. How she let him kiss her lips, neck, and chest. How he pinched, rolled and sucked on her dusky pink nipples. She remembered every word from his mouth wine soured mouth as she rode him, ‘That’s it! Faster ya little whore! … Gods your cunt is so tight... You are so much more beautiful than my wife… Come on you slut! Harder... I command you to make your King cum!’ She remembered how he slapped her arse so hard he left whelps and then squeezed it as he filled her with his seed. And she will never forget his slurred words as he finished, ‘That is your King’s seed you just received. You’d better pray that takes root and you’ll have something to remember me by!’

She then recalled how Maggie the Frog had told her she would have three children and the King would have twenty. She laughed silently to herself, knowing the witch’s prophecy was wrong. She had already had four children, although she had to get rid of Robert’s first dark haired child. She hoped that this child would favor Robert as well. The sound of her brother clearing his throat pulled her back to the present.

"I did what I did when I made him think he put Joff, Myrcella and Tommen into my belly. I waited until he was passed out on wine. I then rubbed and sucked his cock until it was firm and then I pictured you as I rode him until he gave me his seed..."

"And does he remember you fucking him?” Her brother interjected. “He could cast you aside or kill you for carrying someone else’s bastard!”

“He already knows I am with child,” Cersei replied curtly.

“And how did you get him to believe the child was his?”

“I had tell him about all of the times I pleasured him while on the road.” She responded as she felt bile rising from her stomach one again. “He stated that he recalled those events and is convinced the child is his.”

"If you wanted another child, why didn’t you just keep my seed?” Jaime asked in a pained tone.

“Because, this child must look like him… I did this to keep us and our children safe. I must bear an heir with the Baratheon traits… Dark brown of hair and blue of eyes. Everyone knew the appearance of my first-born son, Robert’s only true heir... That he looked just like a Baratheon… If this child does not look like a Baratheon, all of Westeros will believe it when Ned Stark announces the royal children are bastards. A rebellion would surely break out, which would lead to our heads on spikes! This child growing inside my womb is giving us more time to get our Six Kingdoms back under control!”

“I don’t believe you… I need to leave,” Her brother mumbled before he looked her in the eyes and spat, “Is there anything else before I leave… Your Grace.”

“Yes,” Cersei replied forcing a smile. Even though her lover was being dense, she would not let his mood ruin her excitement. “Will you be attending the small council meeting today? I was invited to attend. They will be discussing how they will be ending the Targaryen threat… How we will kill the pretender, his whore of a wife and the child growing within her womb,” she added as a true smile stretched across her face.

"I will have no part on how they will kill an innocent young woman with a babe growing inside her belly. The two Targaryens were not even born until the end of the Rebellion! They have committed no crimes! I will have no part in ending innocent lives. I already ended the rule of the Mad King and Rhaegar is dead. There is no proof and no one will want to see Targaryens on the Iron Throne.” Her brother then looked her in the eyes and stated, "The Targaryens have been through enough Cersei! They are not a threat at this time. They are living with the Dothraki who will never cross the Narrow Sea. Just let them be! Let them live the rest of their days in exile! If they make a move to invade Westeros I may change my mind, but until they are a threat, I cannot harm them."

“The Targaryens are a threat to Joffrey's throne!" Cersei raged as she felt anger surging through her veins.

"Joffrey is alone is a threat to the throne! He is not the leader the realm needs!” her brother retorted. “He is a spoiled, coddled, bastard who has no right to lead the Kingdoms!"

“How could you say that about your son?” the Queen seethed.

“Gods Cersei! How can you be so blind! Joffrey is a monster! I love him. He is my son… However, he is not what Westeros needs!”

“So you think the Targaryens are what the realm needs?”

“I just know the realm does not need Joffrey as King,” Her brother shook his head as he walked towards the door. He then looked back towards her and softly added, “Just let them be Cersei."

Once her brother left she sat down on the side of her bed and tried to calm herself, 'I will not let that fucking Targaryen Pretender and his Dragon Whore end my family reign. As much as it pains me how I came to be pregnant with this child... I will care for him and love him how I do with Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. This child will prevent people from thinking about the legitimacy of my other children and it will secure the Lannister control on the realm. A third son will never become King… Therefore, the Lannisters will control the crown after I find a way to kill Robert.’  

A short time later, she found herself escorted to the small council chambers by her assigned Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant. When they finally reached the small council chambers, Ser Meryn was about to open the wooden door when she heard yelling. She held up her hand to stop him from opening the door. She listened closely, unable to make out the words or whom was speaking them, so she slowly opened the door herself.

Cersei then peaked through the ajar wooden door and saw Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, Lord Renly, Ser Barristan, and Grand Maester Pycelle. She pushed the door open a little more and her attention was directed towards her fat husband when she heard his furious tone. ‘Why in the seven hells is he present at this meeting! In the eighteen years we have been married, I do not recall one time since his first few months as King that he has been present in a Small Council meeting.’

She looked at the direction where her rotund, red-faced husband was shouting and was surprised when he was shouting at the head of his Kingsguard, Ser Barristan. ‘This is interesting… I need to know what they are discussing!’ she thought as she pushed the door wide open and made her presence known.

As the door creaked open, the bickering stopped and there were seven pairs of piercing eyes glaring at her. The silence continued as she entered the room, with a smirk on her face and took the empty seat next to her husband. As the silence lingered, she poured herself a glass of water and took a sip.

"Your Grace,” Lord Varys stated with an aloof look on his face. “I was glad to see you and the King arrives safely back in Kings Landing after the events of that occurred while in Winterfell."

Her smile faltered slightly, at his words, ‘He is keeping something from us. But what?’ she thought as she forced the smile back on her face. "I am happy to be home, Lord Varys,” she replied sincerely as possible as she looked into his eyes, “However, we are not gathered here today to discuss what occurred in the North. I believe there are more important topics at hand, such as why my Lord Husband, the King, is so angry at the Commander of this Kingsgaurd and how we are going to destroy the Targaryen threat."

"It appears Ser Barristan does not wish for us to harm the Targaryen princess or her pretender husband across the Narrow Sea," Lord Baelish interrupted with a smug smile on the corners of is lips. 

She raised her eyebrow and glared at the Old Knight whom had once loyally served the Targaryens and icily inquired, “Ser Barristan, would you care to explain to us, why it is that you do not wish to end the Targaryen threat, before they cross the Narrow Sea?”

However, before the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard could answer, her husband stood up from his chair and slammed his hands on the table. "Ser Barristan, you swore an oath to me at the battle at the Trident… after I KILLED that SILVER HAIRED RAPIST YOU CALL YOUR PRINCE! I am having second thoughts about sparing your life that day!” Her red-faced husband then looked the older man in the eyes and demanded, “Tell me, Ser Barristan, are you still fucking loyal to the Dragonspawn?"

"Your Grace, I am not loyal to the Targaryens! I am loyal to the throne!” Ser Barristan quickly replied and the Queen noticed the shocked look on his face. “I have upheld my oath to you and protected you loyally for the last eighteen years! All I said was that the Targaryens have been through enough! I do not think we should be murdering an innocent young pregnant woman in her sleep! There are no Houses in Westeros whom are loyal to the Targaryens. Per the report Lord Varys just provided, they were heading east towards the Dothraki Sea, not towards Westeros! They pose no threat at this time! I said let them be!"

"Did nothing wrong!” King Robert shouted as he slammed his fists on the table once more with such force that it caused Cersei to flinch; his face was red and sweaty and his nostrils were flaring. “Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Lyanna Stark, my betrothed! The woman I loved… The woman the seven kingdoms could not replace! The Mad King burned Rickard Stark with wildfire as his heir, Brandon, strangled himself trying to save him! The world will be better off without the Targaryens and their Madness! And we will be better off if their little dragonspawn was never born! They are a threat! They are going to sail across the Narrow Sea and rain fire and blood upon my realm! I cannot let that happen!”

"Your Grace, you are judging them based on the sins of her father and older brother!” The old knight protested as he shook his head. “Rhaegar’s children, Rhaenys and Aegon were killed during the sacking of King’s Landing. Queen Rhaella did giving birth to Daenerys. She has been forced to live in exile in Essos with her older brother whom is now dead. They have no family or loyalist to support them in Westeros. They have suffered enough. I believe that we she just monitor their movements. If they present a threat, then discuss taking action!"

"They have six Dragons, Ser Barristan!” Cersei exclaimed, no longer able to hold her tongue. “They have an army of more than one hundred thousand savages! They are a threat to my husband's throne! They are a threat to the Baratheon Legacy. To our children… to our unborn child!” She added as she placed her hand protectively over her stomach.

Cersei smirked as she heard gasps echo throughout the room. As she looked around the room, her husband, Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys appeared unaffected by the news, while the other men appeared shocked. After a few moments, she shifted her attention back on the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and continued her protest. "Perhaps, Ser Barristan, since it appears you are still loyal to the Dragonspawns, we should charge you with treason!"

However, before the old Kingsguard could respond, the wooden opened of the Small Council Chambers flew open and her father entered the room.

"What in the seven hells is going on in here? I could hear your bickering from the throne room!” The Hand of the King growled as he made his way towards the table.

An unnerving silence cast over the room, the only sound was the sound of her father’s boots on the tiled floor as he continued his trek towards his seat at the table. The silence remained as he took his seat. He glared at each person sitting at the table.

After a few moments, Cersei broke the tense silence as she looked to the older man and replied, "Father, it appears that Ser Barristan might be a Targaryen Loyalist. He does not see the Targaryens as a threat to my husband and my children."

Her father looked from her to the Commander of Kingsgaurd, confusion apparent on his face as he inquired, "Ser Barristan, are you still loyal to House Targaryen?"

The older knight sighed and shook his head before he met her father’s steely gaze and responded, "I am not my Lord Hand. I was only stating that I do not think the Targaryens are a threat at this time. They are innocent of their family’s crimes. They have not done anything wrong, and until they do, I feel that we should monitor the situation and not over react… We should wait to even see if they become a threat."

"They are a threat!” Her father stated as he continued to glare at Ser Barristan. “Both Lord Baelish and Lord Varys’ spies have reported the Targaryens have hatched six dragons. That they have an army of more of 100,000 Dothraki! The man whom the disgraced princess has married, claims to be Aegon Targaryen, true heir to the Iron Throne and they report she is with child! I believe this constitutes as a threat to Westeros!"

"I understand, my Lord Hand… However, even if they have hatch six dragons, it will take many years before those dragons are grown and large enough to do any damage. The Dothraki will also never cross the Narrow Sea because they believe it is poisoned water. The Targaryen’s have no army, no money, no allies. I do not understand how they can be seen as a threat to anyone at this time,” Ser Barristan pleaded his case.

"They are a threat to House Baratheon, House Lannister and all of Westeros! They want revenge for what became of their family! The Targaryens… All Targaryens are mad!” Her father roared. He then took a deep breath and continued, “Ser Barristan, my family needs to be protected by those who take threats to their lives seriously. I need the Commander of the Kingsgaurd to be someone whom I can trust with the lives of my King, my daughter the queen and the royal children. I cannot have someone in charge who questions the commands of the King and the decisions of the small council. Which is why your services to the crown will no longer be required. Your advanced age has hindered your decision-making. You will be compensated for your loyal years of service to the Crown… I will also recommend that Ser Jaime Lannister, the man who saved us all from the Mad King, be named the new Commander of the Kings guard."

"Father! He is speaking treason against my husband and your grandchildren! The punishment for treason is death!"

Her father glared at her before he shook his head and stated, “Ser Barristan has committed no treason. He has a difference of opinion on how to handle the Targaryens. Therefore, the correct course of action will be to release him from his duties.” He then turn to face the old knight and continued, "Ser Barristan, because you have faithfully and loyally protected King Robert and the Royal family for the past eighteen years, I believe that you should be compensated for your services." He removed a large red velvet coin purse from his cloak and threw in onto the table in front of the knight, “This should be enough to get you started in your new life… Now please leave before I change my mind.”

“Your Grace, you know this is wrong!” Ser Barristan exclaimed as he looked into her husband’s eyes. “I have protected you and your family for the last eighteen years! I have commanded your Kingsgaurd! Brothers of the Kingsguard serve until death...”

Her husband looked at the knight and sharply stated, “I release you from your Kingsguard vows, Ser Barristan.”

“What am I supposed to do? Return to Harvest Hall?”

“Ser Barristan, your age has apparently clouded your judgement. I feel it is best that you leave the Capital at once… Where you go I do not care,” her husband replied coldly. “Now, leave!”

“I was just trying to keep your conscious clear! I just wanted to prevent you from murdering a young woman and her unborn babe. A young woman whom has not even been in Westeros since the day she was born! Eighteen loyal, faithful years of service and his is how I am repaid,” he stated as he picked up the bag of gold and looked at it. After a few moments of silence, he placed the coin purse back on the table and declared, “I do no not want your gold.” The then took off his white cloak, threw it onto the table and began to walk towards the door, removing his white armor and discarding it on the floor as he left the room. 

The room was silent for several moments as the members of the small council digested the actions of the former commander of the Kingsguard.

“Well, where were we,” the Hand of the King announced, breaking the silence and reaching across the table to pick-up the coin purse.

“My Lord Hand,” the Spider spoke, gaining her father’s attention. “If I may, keep the gold."

“And just why would you need this gold, Lord Varys?” her father inquired with a quirked brow.

“As you are aware, getting funds from the Master of Coin takes time and as you are aware, time is not something we have a lot of at this time,” the Master of Whispers stated smoothly. “In Essos, I am afraid I am unable to pay my little birds with sweets… I would like to invest the money onto my network of Little Birds across the Narrow Sea. I feel that this investment could lead us to a more precise location of the Targaryens… Which would be what is best for the safety and security of the Crown.”

“Fine, Lord Varys,” her father replied as slid the bag of gold dragons down the table to the Master of Whispers.

“Thank you, my Lord Hand,” the eunuch replied as he picked up the bag of gold, without any hint of emotion on his face.  

'Such a smooth talker… What are you planning dear Spider? How much gold does it cost to get information from across the Narrow Sea?'

“Alright, let’s get started!” Tywin announced, bringing the attention to him. “We are here to discuss the solutions to the Targaryens and choose which solution is best for….”

However, before her father could complete his sentence, the small council chamber door flew open, slamming against the stonewall. Cersei gasped as her good-brother, Stannis walked through the door with a man with greyish-white hair and short white beard, ‘Ser Davos,’  she recalled, and beautiful woman with long red hair and long velvet robes that were the same shade as her hair. ‘The woman looks like a whore! Why the fuck would Stannis bring a whore to the small council meeting?’

"Lord Stannis,” her father announced coldly as he stared at the Master of Ships. “I was beginning to think you were not going to join us."

"I apologize for my tardiness, however, the seas were harsh and unkind. Our ship only just arrived, and we made our way straight here from the docks." The Lord of Dragonstone proclaimed in an icy tone as he made his way towards the empty seat at the table. Suddenly his gaze landed on her, he quickly looked at her father and growled, “Lord Hand, the raven I received just prior to departing Dragonstone specifically stated the Queen would not be in attendance for this meeting… What is she doing here? She has no say as to how we deal with the Targaryen threat.”

Cersei was shocked and confused. “I was invited to partake in these discussions,” the Queen spat. She then noticed, by the looks on the faces of the other members of the small council, her good brother spoke the truth. "What is the meaning of this!?"

Her father took a deep breathe. She could tell he was frustrated by her outburst as he gritted out, "Cersei, you will not be present while we devise our plan to end the Targaryen threat...”

“If you did not want me here to discuss the Targaryens, then why was my presence requested?” She interrupted.

"Your Grace,” the Master of Coin replied before her father could answer. “We asked you to join us, so we could deliver news to you personally. We of the small council have reached a resolution of a matter which has been causing… worry… throughout the six kingdoms.”

“What other matter? The only matter effecting this country at this time is the threat of the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea! They are planning to come across the Narrow Sea and take the thrown away from my Joffrey, Lord Baelish!”

"We have decided it would be best for the realm to strip Joffrey of his titles. He will be leaving tomorrow to join the Nights Watch. He will live out the remainder of his days at the Wall," The Hand of the King stated as he stared he in the eyes.

The Queen of the South gasped. She could tell by cold the expression on her father’s face he was speaking the truth. She looked around at the other members of the small council and saw that none of them held any remorse of reservations at this decision. “I cannot believe you all! Joffrey is the Crown Prince! I do not see how you all could even contemplate sending my Joffrey to the Wall… To that cold hell to die! He is not a common thief or murderer or rapist. I will NOT allow this to happen!”

"Leave us!” Her father growled. “Apparently the King and I need to discuss this ruling with my daughter in private.”

All of the small council members quickly left the small council chambers, not having to be told twice to leave the room. Once the room was empty, she turned towards her father and husband and pleaded, “Father, please! You cannot allow them to ship my baby boy to the Wall! Joffrey is innocent! He has done nothing wrong! He has not even had a trial!”

“He did have a trial in the North and you gave the North their independence as compensation when he was found guilty of his crimes!” Lord Tywin exclaimed before looking her in the eyes and stating, “You should have agreed with the North’s request to send him to the Wall! If you had, we would still have control over all seven kingdoms!”

“My King… Please you cannot allow this to happen! You know Joffrey committed no crimes… The Starks planned this! Those Northern dogs created those lies so they could gain their own power!” Cersei cried softly to her husband.

“I agreed to this Cersei,” the King roared. “The Starks did not wrong Joffrey! It was he whom wronged the Starks! Your own brother was a witness and you saw the evidence of an attack by Sansa Stark’s torn gown!” He then took a deep breath and continued, “This is your fault Cersei… You coddled him! You made him the way he is! He believed that just because he was the Crown Prince he could do or have whatever he pleased! If Joffrey becomes King, the people will fear him, just as they did the Mad King! It is like the child is a product of incest, just like the mad Dragonspawn!”

Cersei sucked in a breath at her husband’s words, ‘Surely he does not know Jaime father Joff?’  she thought before she quickly began defend per golden prince once more, "Joffrey is not mad! He is not a rapist or murderer! He does not deserve to be sent to the wall! … Surely there is something else that can me done…”

"Joffrey is the reason we lost the North! If we do not take action, we will lose the rest of the six kingdoms! The people will rebel against the crown of Joffrey remain the crown prince! The small council has voted on this decision. The King has agreed to a deal. The decision is final Cersei. Joffrey will leave for the Wall and this decision is final,” her father firmly stated.

“Deal?” Cersei exclaimed. “How is sending my son to live the rest of his days at the wall a deal?”

“Hold your tongue woman, and your Father will explain.”

Cersei took a few calming breaths before looking at her father, “Yes father, please explain this deal to me.”

"If we send Joffrey to the Nights Watch... An anonymous donor will pay the crowns debt of 7 million gold dragons, in full. Also, Prince Tommen will also replace Joffrey as the next Crown Prince of Westeros, keeping the crown in control of the Baratheon’s and preventing a rebellion. Tommen is still young enough that he can be molded into a proper and just King."

She was surprised by this she looked at her husband as she shouted at him. "You sold my son! You agreed to this to pay off the crowns debt!"

"I did not sell him! I made a deal with your father in order to keep our son safe! If he stays in King’s Landing the people will break down the walls and sack the Red Keep! They will kill all of us just as we did the Targaryens! Plus this deal gives Joffrey a chance to redeem himself and become a true man! And to hopefully learn some fucking honor!"

“He is a Prince! He should not have to spend the rest of his days, freezing at the Wall with a bunch of criminals!”

"Godsdamn it Cersei!” Twyin interjected. “Joffrey will have a chance to redeem himself! If he learns to become a man, if he is loyal to the Nights Watch… and reports to us any information or secrets he might learn from the North… of their intentions… In a few years, once the whole fiasco at Winterfell has been forgotten, the King will silently sign a pardon, releasing Joffrey from his Night’s Watch vows…”

“So he will still become King,” Cersei said with a smile, interrupting her father.

“Gods woman, that spoiled shit will never become King! The people will not forget what he did to the Stark girls, just as they have never forgotten what Rhaegar did to my Lyanna!” Robert roared. He then took a deep breath and continued, “However, your father will name him as his heir. He will one day be the Lord of Casterly Rock and Tommen’s Warden of the West."

“I cannot believe either of you! How can you send your son, your grandson to rot at the Wall, even if it is only for a few years! I do not see why you cannot send him to Essos? He can go one of the free cities for a few years or he can go to Casterly Rock…”

"Joffrey will go to the Wall, Cersei and that is final!” Perhaps we would not be in this situation if you had shown that boy some discipline as a child!“ Her Father announced as he stood from the table and glared at her and in a low tone added, “And I know you… Do not attempt to sneak him from the city. His guards have been doubled and all the servant passages are also blocked. It will do you no good. You cannot prevent this. Now leave! You will be the one to tell Joffrey he will be leaving at dawn!”

Cersei was furious. She quickly left the room knowing that she would not be able to prevent her son from his punishment. As she exited, she walked past the other members of the small council, whom had been waiting in the hall. She hurried towards the Throne Room, hoping to keep her tears at bay until she was alone. However, before she made it to the Throne Room, she head the doors of the Small Council Chambers slam shut. The closing of the door, and being alone in the hall, caused her tears to fall. She leaned against the cold stonewall for support as her mind raced, ‘I must find a way to save him! The Wall is no place for the Crown Prince! I cannot believe Father and Robert are just going to let him waste away with common thieves, murderers and rapists! He will never be safe in the North!’

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the clanking sound of armor coming towards her "Cersei, there your are! Can you tell me why is Ser Barristan... Cersei, what is wrong? Why are you crying?”

The Queen sobbed louder as she embraced her lover. “Father and Robert are sending my Joffrey to the Wall! … They are forcing him to join the Nights Watch until the whole situation with the Stark whores is forgotten!”

She felt her brother’s sharp, unsurprised inhale. She pulled herself from his arms and looked him in the eyes. “You knew! You knew they were sending Joffrey to that prison and did not tell me!”

"Cersei... Father told me this morning after I saw you… And I agree, it is for the best.” Jaime replied after clearing his throat. “You know, he will be a horrible King. And he will be pardoned from his vows and be named Father’s heir as soon as he proves to Father and Robert he is no longer a spoiled child! Cersei, he is being given a chance to redeem himself… The King of the North’s brother is a man of the Nights watch. He will be a perfect spy because we know he is loyal to us! This is best for us and for the seven kingdoms"

She shook her head and gritted through her teeth, “I do not believe you! How could you even think it is best for our son to be sent to the Wall!”

The Queen of the Southern Six Kingdoms then pushed past her brother as she made her way to her oldest son’s chambers……

 


 

Stannis Baratheon 

 

 

As soon as Queen Cersei left the Small Council chambers, Stannis and the other members of the Small Council quickly filed back into the room. He made his way back to the rectangular wooden table and took his seat, while Melisandre and Ser Davos stood behind him. Once every one was seated, he felt all eyes of those gathered in the room were on him.

"Lord Stannis, I am pleased that you have decided to join us here in King’s Landing,” Tywin Lannister called. “However, could you please explain why you have decided to bring two guests to attend this important Small Council Meeting?"

"Ser Davos and Melisandre are my most trusted advisors. I feel that their council is invaluable and will help to save the Throne from the Targaryens and any other terrors the night might bring," Stannis replied coldly as he stared into the eyes of the King’s Hand.

“Very well, they may stay,” Tywin conceded with a stiff nod and a piercing gaze.

"I think it would be wise your Grace, my Lord Hand,” The Master of Coin interjected, helping to cut the tension that was beginning to develop in the room. “If we finally begin the discussions and decide on a plan to determine how it is we will end the Targaryen threat."

“That is the best news I have heard all day,” the King responded as he looked at Lord Baelish.

"Yes, Lord Baelish,” The Hand of the King agreed. “But first, I would like for Lord Varys to share any information he has learned from his little birds. I want to make sure that everyone has received the same information."

“As I informed the council at our last meeting, that man across the Narrow Sea who has named himself Aegon Targaryen, is a trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell,” The Master of Whispers stated with his wistful voice.

“What are you talking about Spider,” The King roared as he stood from the table. “Elia gave birth to two dragonspawn, both of whom were presented to me just over eighteen years ago!”

"That is impossible!” The Hand of the King added. “I ordered the deaths of the Rhaegar and Elia’s children. I saw the birthmark on Aegon and I presented his body to the King myself! He must be a pretender! The son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen is dead and the body was sent to Dorne!"

“That is true, my Lord Hand,” Lord Varys agreed with a nod. "However, I have recently heard rumors that Princess Elia in fact had three children with the Silver Prince. One daughter, Rhaenys and twin boys... The man who has married Daenerys is the younger, twin brother of Aegon… The name he was given at birth was Jaehaerys.”

“That is impossible! It would have been announce if she had birthed twins,” Stannis stated.

“Yes, Lord Stannis,” The Spider said with a nod. “Joyful new such as the birth of twins is normally celebrated, especially when it is an heir and a spare heir… However, Princess Elia and Prince Rhaegar were smart. She and Rhaegar were planning a rebellion to overthrow the Mad King; therefore, they knew it was best to hide their spare heir… Which is why they allowed only her personal Maester to attend the birth of her children. They knew they needed to keep his existence of a second son secret until after the war had ended.”

"Even if what you are saying is true, that this Aegon or Jaehaerys is a true Dragonspawn, where has he been hiding for the last eighteen years?" The King inquired.

"My little birds have just informed me he was kept hidden on Dragonstone and was said to be the child of once of Princess Elia’s handmaidens.”

“How did they think that? The little bastard had to have had silver hair and purple eyes?” The King questioned.

“They were able to hide the child because he took the features of this mother; he has dark hair and dark eyes,” The Spider replied. “However, when King Aerys summonsed Princess Elia back to the Capitol, she left her spare heir under the care of his grandmother, Queen Rhaella. Then, once the Queen received news of the deaths of Elia and her children, she feared for her grandson’s safety, and sent young Jaehaerys across the Narrow Sea in the care of Prince Rhaegar’s best friend, Jon Connington. I have heard Connington worked as a sell-sword with the Golden Company to support himself and the boy.”

"Why did he show himself now? Why after eighteen years, did he seek out and marry his aunt whom he had never met?" The Master of Ships inquired.

"Jaehaerys heard rumors that his Uncle Viserys had gone mad… that he was planning to sell Daenerys to a Dothraki warlord named Khal Drogo in an army. Apparently, even though they had never met, Jaehaerys could not stand the thought of aunt was being sold as if she were a broodmare… So before the wedding, he sailed to Pentos and challenged the Dothraki Khal to a duel for his aunt’s hand. Once he defeated the horse lord, he was able to hatch the dragon egg given to him by his father, with fire and the blood of the dead Khal… By proving his strength and walking out of a fire unburnt, the Khalasar named him their new Khal. He then presented himself to Daenerys, so he could save her from her brother… The two young Targaryens were instantly drawn to each other... Love at first sight you might say.” The Spider said with a slight smile. “They were wedded and bedded within a few days of meeting. A few weeks after the wedding, they joined the Khalasar. It was when the new Khal introduced his Khaleesi, that she sacrificed Viserys to hatch five other dragons; she too was able to leave the roaring fire unburnt. The common folk of Pentos call them the father and mother of dragons."

‘That is an impossible story! It must be some sort of mummery… No one can walk out of a fire unburnt… A spell… It is nothing but some sort of dark magic that made them resistant to the flames…’ Stannis thought to himself as the room fell silent.

"Lord Tywin and your Grace,” The Master of Coin spoke once more. “I have come up with a couple possible… solutions… as to how we can end the Targaryen threat, before they reach Westerosi soil.”

“Since you are so eager to share, please continue,” Tywin the Hand of the King replied.

"Your Grace, my Lords,” Lord Baelish smiled smugly as he spoke. “My first suggestion would be to hire the Faceless men to assassinate the Targaryens in their sleep. I feel this would be the quickest and easiest way to quietly prevent them from crossing the sea.”

“Also the most expensive,” Lord Renly exclaimed.

“You are the Master of Coin, Lord Baelish! You are aware of the Crown’s financial situation,” The Hand replied sternly. “I don’t think we can entertain that suggestion at this time. Please… Continue with your other suggestion.”

“Very well,” Lord Baelish responded as his smile faulted for a moment. He rubbed his beard and continued, “My second suggestion would be to send someone to kidnapping the pregnant disgraced princess."

"Why would we kidnap Daenerys Targaryen? What purpose would that serve?" Stannis inquired with a quirked brow.

"From the reports I have received, it is apparent that this Aegon or Jaehaerys truly loves his wife. Therefore, I believe if anyone were to kidnap her… He would do anything in his power to get her back… Once we capture her, she can be kept here in the dungeons… We can send a ransom note, stating he must come to King’s Landing alone… And we will exchange his life for the lives of him and his child.” The Master of Coin’s smirk then grew, “However, we will never release them. We can execute them both and their child on the steps of the Sept of Baelor."

“I like that plan!” The King exclaimed happily, with a spark in his eye Stannis had not seen in over a decade. “Lord Baelish! I need a new hammer… Please have once commissioned at once! Spare no expense! I killed the Silver Prince with a war hammer! I will kill the rest of the dragonspawns with the same weapon!”

“Your Grace,” the Master of Whispers spoke, drawing all set of eyes to him. “I have already informed the rest of the council during your travels… getting to the Daenerys will be nearly impossible. Jaehaerys protects her at all times. If he is unable to protect her himself, she has several Dothraki guards… He has also been teaching her swordplay, so she can protect herself."

"It doesn't matter how many guards... Savages, he has protecting her... We will hire a Faceless Man to capture her! They are skilled and can blend right in with the savages!" He King roared before turning to Lord Baelish, “I do not care how much it costs! Find the money and make it happen! We can count coppers after the Dragonspawn are all dead!”

“I will see that the funds for the excellent idea are procured, your Grace,” The Master of Coin replied with curl on the corners of his lips as he dipped his head. “Then I will travel to Braavos to make the final arrangements.”

Stannis looked around the table and noticed that the members of the council seemed in agreement. He then turned his head around and looked at Melisandre. His priestess nodded at him, silently telling his this was not what she had seen in the flames.

"I have a better solution and one that will save the Crown money that we could use to prepare for war if the Kingdom is still in an uproar after Joffrey goes to the Wall,” Stannis announced as he stood from his chair.

“What could be better than a Baratheon killing the Dragonspawn on the steps of the Sept of Balor?” His oldest brother questioned.

“With my plan, there will be little to no cost to the Crown and they will still be killed at the hands of Baratheon.”

“Please continue,” the Hand of the King stated skeptically.

“Melisandre is a priestess of the Lord of Light. She came to me and told me it was my destiny to fight against the Dragon King… That she saw in the flames that I was the one to face him… Let me go to Essos and meet this Jaehaerys Targaryen. I will face him and show his that ‘Ours is Fury!’ After I have killed him, I will bring his bride back to you, too execute on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. After all, the people do not yet know the truth of his birth, they will think of him as a pretender or if they learn the truth it could cause another uprising with the Dornish. The only death that needs to be seem by the people is the death of the Mad King’s daughter."

King Robert, smiled as he stood up and walked over towards him. "My Brother! I do not know about seeing shit in flames,” he stated as he shot a weary glance at Melisandre before facing him and smiling. “However, I feel this is an excellent idea! You are right, the people might not know that this Jaehaerys is a true Targaryen because of his Dornish features… The Dornish might not take too kindly to us killing another of their kin… The people of the might have sympathy towards him or might name him their King. I am just glad to know that a Baratheon’s will end his live and I will be the one to kill the last of the Dragonspawns! ” The King then poured two glasses of wine and handed one to his brother before wrapping his arm around his shoulder ad declaring, “A toast! To me and my brother Stannis… We will be known forever as the Dragon Slayers!”

There was a round of cheers and clanking glasses. After a few moments, Robert happily roared, “Baelish, make sure my brother has everything that he needs to be successful. Get him a sack of gold! Stannis, you are the Master of Ships… Take as many ships and men as you need to kill the Father of Dragons and to bring me the dragon whore!"

“Robert, that his not necessary,” Stannis replied as he shook his head.

“What do you mean? Of course you will need ships and men if you wish to be successful,” Tywin remarked.

"As I said… It is my destiny to face Jaehaerys Targaryen. Melisandre has seen me fighting him with a flaming sword, Lightbringer…"

"Lord Stannis,” Lord Varys interrupted. “My little bird tell me the Targaryens have a Khalasar of more than 100,000 thousand savages… I may ask, how will you defeat him without a navy or an army to assist?"

"Simple,” Stannis stated, addressing the faces in the room. “I will challenge this Dragonspawn, this Khal Jaehaerys, to a dual, just as he did Khal Drogo. He will accept my offer so that he does not appear weak in front of the Dothraki, and Khalasar will no longer follow him or his Dragonwhore. On the morrow, I will set sail back to Dragonstone to prepare for my journey to Essos."

“Are your sure there is nothing I can do for you in this mission?”

“I have seen it in the flames, your Grace,” Melisandre spoke confidently for the first time, stepping between the brothers. “The flames show only a few people… Of course, Lord Stannis. Then there is Ser Davos and his sons, sailing the ship… Lord Stannis’ wife and daughter are on the bow of the ship, watching the waves roll… These are all who are needed for this to be a successful mission."

“I will agree to this request of yours! OURS IS FURY!” The King roared before refilling his wine glass. "To my brother… The Dragon Slayer!” ……

 


 

Eddard Stark

 

 

The summer snows had begun to melt, leaving patches of green grass poking through the blanket of white. The King in the North and his traveling companions were atop their horses, about to reach the top of a hill, when suddenly they were stopped by Benjen, and without explanation, told to wait until he said to proceed. ‘Why did he stop us here?’ Ned wondered. ‘I have not yet received reports of Wildlings south of the Wall?’

Once his little brother reached to top of the hill, it was just a few moments before he called for him and the rest of the party to continue. When they reached the hills apex, the King in the North gasped. Eddard Stark had seen much Westeros throughout his life. He was born in the North and fostered in the Vale. He married in the Riverlands and fought a war south of the Neck. He saw the dead bodies of his son’s older sister and brother as they were presented to his once best friend in King’s Landing. He had seen the Stormlands and the fertile rolling hills of the Reach. He had also seen the red mountains and desert sands of Dorne. However, none of those sights could have prepared him for the splendor of the Wall.

"Welcome, to the Wall that guards the Realms of Men," Benjen stated loud enough for all to hear. His brother then pulled his horse alongside and whispered, “Sorry, brother, but I needed to see your face when you saw if for the first time.”

“Gods Benjen… Your and Jon’s descriptions of the Wall just did not prepare me for this. And to think, that this entire wall was brought down with the flame from just one dragon…” Ned mumbled so softly that only his brother could hear what he said as he continued to stare at the seven-hundred foot tall wall of ice.“

“Aye.” 

After a few moments of silence, Eddard shook his head to try to clear the thoughts of the massive structure before him, falling to the ground. He then tightened the grip on the reins, looked to his guards, Theon and Hand and announced, "Everyone, we best get moving if we want to reach Castle Black before night fall. We must remember why we have traveled all this way! We must find out what is truly happening on the other side of the Wall. You will all have plenty of time to admire the Wall up close while I speak with Maester Aemon and Lord Commander Mormont."

“Yes, your Grace,” the group responded.

As the group continued their trek towards Castle Black Ned began to feel anxious, ‘Will they believe me about the Night King and the Army of the Dead? What if they think I am mad? Do they already know of the strange occurrences happening to the North?

“Ned, everything will be fine,” Benjen stated softly. He then leaned a little closer and added, “We have already been finding wildling villages abandoned while on ranging missions and the air feels different. The Lord Commander and Maester Aemon already know that something is different… That there is something strange happening beyond the Wall.”

“Aye.” Ned replied as he turned to face his brother and continued, "In your raven to Jeor Mormont, you did let him know that I was requesting an audience with him and Maester Aemon upon my arrival?"

"Aye, I did," Benjen replied. “Ned, you need to calm down. They will believe you. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” The King in the North replied as he released a shaky breath.

They continued the final few leagues to Castle Black in silence. When they approached the gates, he looked up and noticed two brothers of the Nights Watch, standing along the Castle walls.

“Riders approaching,” he heard a voice call.

Ned expected the gate to be opened as soon they reached, however, he was mistaken; he and his party were met with glares of confusion.

"Who are you and state your business with the Watch?" one of the men hollered nervously from his post when he and his party finally reached the gate to Castle Black. However, before he could answer, he heard another voice.

"What are you ladies doing?" He heard stern voice call.

"Ser Allister, there are riders at the gate, Ser Allister. We were asking for their business with the Watch." One of the two brothers stuttered as he pointed down to the group outside of the gate.

Ned gasped as he heard the named 'Ser Allister.' He tighten his grip on the reins of his horse as he recalled of what Jon had told him about Castle Black’s Master at Arms. 'He was the one who planned Jon’s murder. He was one of the men who shoved their dagger into Jon’s chest and left him to die cold and alone. I’m sorry Lyanna. I should have never allowed him to join the Night’s Watch… I should have taken him to King’s Landing with me so I could have kept my eyes on him.'

“Brother, are you alright?” Benjen inquired as he placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

Ned gave his brother a stiff nod and turned his gaze back towards the men atop the ramparts of Castle Black.

Ser Allister then met his gaze before looking over at Benjen. "You bastards!” The Night’s Watch Master at Arms roared. “Did you not realize that is one of our brother are down there? I know you were informed before your patrol that we are expecting the return of Benjen Stark at any time… and that he is bringing his brother, the new King in the North, with him.” Ser Allister then turned back towards them and called, “Benjen! It is good to see you again."  

Ned could tell the man’s welcoming tone was false. Even from where he was below, he could see the hatred in the older man’s eyes.

“Ser Allister, it is good to be home,” Benjen replied coolly. “I am glad to see that the Wall is still standing… That it was properly manned in my absence.”

"That was a good one Stark. You and I both know the Wall has not been properly manned in years.”

“Aye. And I informed my brother, The King in the North, of our situation… He is here requesting to see the status of the Wall and seeking an audience with the Lord Commander.”

Ser Allister then turned to the two young brothers of the Watch. Eddard could not hear what was said, but one of the young men hurried out of sight and the large black gates began to open.

When the King of the North entered the courtyard of Castle Black, he dismounted his steed and handed his reins to one of the waiting men. He then took the opportunity to study the condition of the castle that could possibly be the headquarters for the Great War to come. Ned was in utter disbelief at what he saw; many of the large towers were littered with cracks and looked as if a strong wind could send them crumbling to the ground. The wooden staircases looked as if they were about to rot away. There was not a proper training yard set up and training weapons, armor and shield all were in poor condition. 'It would seemed what Jon has said was true. Castle Black has not been properly manned or maintained for years. I will have to change this… This is unacceptable. I must also make sure to fortify and prepare Eastwatch by the Sea and the Shadow Tower… and maybe some of the other unmanned castles the wall as well so there is room to comfortably house all who seek refuge and all those who will be fighting for the living… Gods Lyanna, I am so sorry I sent Jon here. I thought that he would have been safe with Benjen. What kind of father was I to him? How can he not hate me for what I did? What was I thinking? I should have told him the truth in my past life… If I had told him the truth he may have choose to do something different with his life... He would not have felt he had to join the Nights Watch because this is the only place a Bastard could earn honor. I wonder if Jon would have gone to Pentos to save Daenerys? Gods I was such a fool in my last life. I will be smarter this time around. I will keep him safe.' He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the gruff voice of Ser Allister.

"I served the Targaryens during Roberts Rebellion. You betrayed the Targaryen house. You betrayed Rhaegar Targaryen. The crowned prince… I was sent here to rot away because of your actions… because I stayed loyal to the Crown. Because I remained loyal to House Targaryen."

Eddard took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm as he turned to face the man who helped murder his son. "I joined the rebellion because the Mad King murdered my Father and brother, Brandon, when all they wanted was to have Prince Rhaegar return my sister to her home...”

“Rhaegar Targaryen was a good man and he would have been an excellent king if your whore of a sister had not bewitch him… It was because your sister that he forgot about his duty… He wanted to save her from that pig she was promised to, I don’t think he ever meant to fall in love… I guess that is something that you did have in common with the Crown Prince. You both forgot about your marriage vows and bedded a whore.” Ser Allister stated through gritted teeth. “Things would have been different if she had never run away with him.”

“Lyanna is dead. Rhaegar is dead. We cannot ask them the truth of what happened nearly twenty years ago.”

“Aye, that is right because your friend decided to murder his Prince on the Trident. And know this,” Ser Allister spat, “I will never call you my King or your Grace… You do not deserve that honor. You are the traitor… It should have been you and the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, who were banished here… To live out the rest of you days at the Wall… Instead, you have both become kings…”

“I never asked to be King of the North,” Ned challenged as he glared into the older man’s eyes. “My people chose me as their King, to lead them, because they are smart enough to know that Joffrey will never be the king the people need and because we saw that Robert was no longer capable of leading the seven kingdoms... I will not ask you to call me your King. However, know this… I do not regret my decision to join the Rebellion against King Aerys and even if you do not like me… It is my duty to the North to see that you and the other brothers of the Night Watch have everything you need to guard the realms of men.”

"Ned," Eddard heard Benjen call from a set of old wooden stairs, thankfully pulling his attention away for the so-called Targaryen Loyalist before he said something he would regret. “The Lord Commander and Maester Aemon will be ready to receive you shortly. Rooms for you and your party have been prepared. If you would like, you can wash up and change before heading to the dining hall for a small meal.”

“Thank you, Benjen,” Ned replied as he walked away from Castle Black’s Master at Arms without a farewell and began to walk towards his little brother. “Please lead the way.”

A short time later, Ned had washed up, changed clothes and was sitting next to his brother at an old wooden table in the dining hall, with a steaming bowl of stew and tankard of ale in front of him. He had eaten about half the bowl of the bland, yet savory meal when he heard an unknown voice call to him.

"Your Grace!" Ned turned is his towards the voice, and noticed it was a young man, about the same age a Jon, who was nearly running to him with something clenched in his hands. “Your Grace, I apologize for disturbing you meal… But Maester Aemon asked me to deliver these to you immediately upon your arrival… they are messages from Winterfell….”

Ned smiled as he took the two rolled pieces of parchment from the young man. He then looked up at the young man and replied, "Thank you... I am sorry, but I did not get your name, son."

"Pyp, your Grace… My name is Pyp."

He smiled, “Thank you, Pyp.” 'Pyp… Pyp was one of Jon’s close friends during his last life,' he thought as the young man dipped his head and took his leave.

“Well Ned, you had better hurry and open those before the others finish settling in and come to get their food.”

Ned smiled at his brother, the opened the grey wax seal of the first scroll and began to read:

  

 

 

 

 

My Dearest Ned,

I have some troubling news. I am sure that Theon was successful at finding you along the King’s Road, so you are aware of what occurred in Winterfell. However, shortly after Theon left, I received a raven with the three-headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen. At first I believed the message was from Jon, but once I opened and read the correspondence I knew those words would never come from Jon. Ned the letter was a threat from someone claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, the son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. In the letter, the man claimed that if we do not bend the knee to him when he returns to Westeros, he will burn Winterfell to the ground with his dragon. I know this man is a pretender because you were able to confirm the body presented to King Robert was in fact the son of Elia and Rhaegar.

I am not sure who sent this letter or where this man came from, but I am smart enough to know this is a pretender. Did Jon ever speak to you about another Aegon? Or a Pretender in his past life? I thought I would speak with you before we send a message to the boys.

I have some other news as well. Robb and Daenerys recently uncovered why Jon has changed so much. He lied about how his family died. After Daenerys died, she was changed into the Night Queen. She turned their son into a White Walker… Jon was forced to end them both to prevent the deaths of their people.

I will end this letter with a bit of positive news… Robb sent a letter stating that  Jon’s sire had also gifted dragon eggs to his half-siblings… Magister Illyrio stated he will bring Aegon and Rhaenys dragon eggs with him when he returns to Pentos. If all goes well, Jon and Daenerys will have six dragons instead of the four he thought they were going to have.

I hope your journey to the Wall was uneventful. Please stay safe my love.

Catelyn Tully Stark, Queen in the North, Lady of Winterfell.

 

“Dear Gods, someone is pretending to be Jon,” Ned mumbled softly as started at the scroll in his hands.

"What are you talking about?" Benjen whispered as he placed his spoon down on the table.

Ned turned to face his brother and quietly stated, “Someone, somewhere, is claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, the trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen… He threatened to burn Winterfell to the ground if we do not swear fealty upon his arrival to Westeros.”

"Do you think the Martell’s will believe this man?"

"I don’t know. Nevertheless, even if they believe this man to be a pretender he is, this could cause problems for Jon… He has already sent a letter, threatened the North. I am sure he will, if the has not already, send letters to the other great houses as well as King Robert and Tywin Lannister, threatening them as well… So when Jon arrives, they will all fear him… Jon does not want to be feared, he is striving to unite Westeros!” Ned sighed and then continued, “I have never heard of this man, and Robert hasn’t either… However, they know Jon was in Pentos and that he announced himself as Aegon Targaryen. Robert and Tywin will believe this pretender is Jon. They are already planning of a way to end the Targaryens… What if…"

"Ned calm down," Benjen interrupted in a quiet, yet stern tone.

He raised his eyebrow as he looked at Benjen, "Calm down? Benjen how can I calm down? What if there is truly a Blackfyre out there, who is trying to take Jon’s throne? What if Robert gets to Jon and he dies? Gods if Jon dies again, I will never be able to forgive myself."

“Ned, I think you are getting ahead of yourself!” Benjen replied with a sigh. “We do not know who this is! What if that letter was just a ruse sent by Little Finger or Tywin Lannister? They could be using this as a way to get the North to stand with them against that Targaryens.”

“Aye, that is a possibility,” Ned relented with a deep sigh as he looked back down at the scroll in his hands.

“Ned, is there more?”

The King in the North then quickly and quietly informed his brother that Jon had to be the one to kill Daenerys and baby Rhaegar in his past life. He also told him about the other two dragon eggs that had belonged to Jon’s siblings. After a few moments, his brother reminded him there was another scroll to read, so he opened the wax seal and quickly read the letter.

 

 

 

 

 

Dearest Ned, 

I have more bad news. Robert has sent a raven, requesting that you report to King’s Landing to help him and Tywin ‘rid the realm of the last Dragonspawn.’ That this will be your opportunity to avenge Lyanna’s death. You were right about Petyr… He was the one who informed Robert Jon and Daenerys have hatched six dragons and have and army of over 100,000 Dothraki Warriors.

However, that was not the only thing Baelish told Robert… There is some more good news… Apparently, Daenerys is with child. She is carrying your grandchild, and I pray to the old gods and the new that the child is born healthy. I already know that you are looking forward to holding your grandchild in your arms… and one day I hope Jon will allow me to be part of the child’s life as well.

This news also scares me as well. Robert is not happy with the news of Daenerys’ pregnancy. I fear that he will want to move quickly; he knows they are a threat. We must warn them, but I have no way of sending this news.

In other good news, Edmure arrived safely and I have informed him of the truth. He has vowed to help us… We have decided it will be best to speak with our Father together.

Stay safe my love and come home as soon as you can. 

Catelyn Tully Stark, Queen in the North, Lady of Winterfell.

 

As Ned read the letter, he could feel the mixture of different emotions on his face. He felt his heartrate increase when he learned that Robert already knew Jon and Daenerys were expecting a child; he wanted to travel to King’s Landing and strangle Little Finger with his own hands. He was scared that Robert would do something drastic and he would not be able to do anything to stop the attacks. He could also not help the smile that spread across his face at the thought of being able to hold his grandchild in his arms in this life.

"I haven’t see you smile like that in a long time,” His brother stated, causing Ned to look up from the message and meet his brother’s eyes. “The raven must have brought you at least some good news."

"Aye, Jon and Daenerys are expecting my first grandchild,” Ned whispered.

He saw the smile spread on Benjen’s face as he breathed out, "Daenerys is Pregnant?"

"It would seemed so."

“That is wonderful news!” His brother said with a smile as he pulled him in for an embrace.

After a few moments they soon pulled apart, Ned then took a deep breath as his worry returned. His mind racing as he stared at his half eaten bowl of stew.

“Ned, you are brooding. What else was in that letter?”

“Apparently, Petyr Baelish has learned this news. He has already informed Robert… He knows Daenerys is with child, he knows about their army of Dothraki and about their dragons... Robert is requesting I make a trip to King’s Landing… I feel he wants to forge some sort of alliance to defeat the Targaryens… With as much as he hates that Targaryens, I fear he has already sent assassins to Essos."

“Ned, Jon is smart. I sure he is aware Robert will be sending assassins. He will be prepared.”

“Aye, you are right,” Ned conceded.

“And besides… You are going to be a grandfather,” Benjen said with an infectious smile.

“What are the two of you smiling about,” Theon called as he walked into the room. “I think the last time I saw you smiling like that was when Lady Stark… Her Grace, told us she was pregnant with Rickon.”

“You are very perceptive, Theon,” Ned said with a chuckle.

“Wait… What? Is her Grace with child?”

Both Benjen and Ned began to laugh. The King then motioned for Theon to have a seat next to him. Once he was seated, he whispered to Ironborn, "Daenerys is pregnant with Jon’s child. I am going to be a grandfather."

"Your Grace that's wonderful news,” Theon said softly as a smile spread across his face. “You must be very excited.”

"Aye, I am," Ned chuckled as he pulled Theon into an embrace. 'Gods Lya... You would have been a wonderful grandmother. I could see you now, showing the young one how to ride a horse or shoot a bow and arrow. I am sure that Arya will love to show him or her how to be part of the pack.'

The sound of Theon’s chuckles pulled him from his musings. "What's so funny Theon?" The King asked.

"Your Grace, it is nothing really,” Theon said between chuckles. “It’s just there is so much to take in. For so long I knew Jon as the Bastard of Winterfell. I could never even get him to visit a brothel, let alone look at a girl. He never wanted to take a wife or have a child because of his name… And look at him now. He is the first of your sons to take a wife and he will soon be a Father."

"Aye, it is surprising. A few moons ago, I never would have believed any of this."

“What is surprising, your Grace?” He heard Lord Tyrion ask as he approached the table with a bowl of stew in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other.

Ned forced a smile as his anxiety rose and stated, “A few moons ago, I never would have believed I would be named King in the North or that I would be visiting Castle Black.”

Tyrion nodded as he sat down, thankfully accepting his answer. ‘Well I did not lie to him,’ Ned thought as he finished his bowl of stew.

Ned was still in the dining hall, enjoying some time joking and laughing with his men when Pyp returned to inform him the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon were ready to speak with him. The young steward then escorted him and Benjen though the dark halls of Castle Black, to the Lord Commander’s office. Once they arrived, Pyp knocked and announced their arrival.

When they entered, Pyp excused himself, leaving the King of the North and his brother alone with the two men seated in simple wooden chairs, next to a roaring fire. Although it had been many years since Ned had seen the former Lord of Bear Island, the Nights Watch’s current Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, he recognized him immediately. His years at the Wall had not been kind; his hair had more grey and white and worry lines etched his brow. However, even though he was now dressed in all black, he still carried the appearance of a strong, proud man.

The King of the North then shifted his attention to the frail, elderly man with sitting next to the Lord Commander Mormont. ‘So this is Jon’s Great Uncle, Maester Aemon. He is just as Jon and Benjen have described him… Blind, yet you can see the wisdom in his eyes.’

“Lord Commander, Maester Aemon, I would like to thank you for your hospitality,” Ned stated.

"Your Grace, King Eddard Stark. It is an honor to see you again. Commander Mormont stated as he stood from his chair and shook Ned’s hand. “Benjen, I am glad to see you have returned from your visit. Please, both of you, have a seat,” he added as he motioned to the two empty chairs.

Once they were seated, Ned turned his gaze towards old Maester. He smiled as he took the old man’s hands in his and stated, "Maester Aemon, I have heard much about you from my family. It is an honor to finally meet you."

“Your younger brother has always spoke fondly of you as well, your Grace. It should be my honor to finally meet you,” the elderly Maester replied with a smile.

“I must say, I was quite surprised to receive your message… That you were personally coming to inspect the condition of the Wall and the Castles along the Wall,” The Lord stated, pulling Ned’s attention away from the Maester. Once his eyes were on the Lord Commander, he continued, “I have a feeling that you are hear for more than inspecting a giant hunk of ice and dilapidated castles at your northern border… We have also heard rumors that your heir and your bastard were lost beyond the Wall. I promise you, your Grace, none of my men have let them through the Wall.”

"Aye, you are right. There is more to this visit than just inspecting the conditions at Castle Black… And I apologize that the rumors of my sons being lost North of the Wall have reached you, but they were necessary rumors… Moreover, I need to know that what is said in the room does not leave this room… At least not until the time is right.”

Ned could see the look of confusion on the faces of the two men, so he continued, “I need your vow. That what is discussed in this room at this time will not be repeated, whispered or uttered until the time is right… If it is repeated, it could me the death of all the living Targaryens, especially if would is gotten back to Robert.”

"Your Grace, Please... Maester Aemon will not…"

"I know Lord Commander,” Ned said with a sad smile. “I agree, King Robert has no right to harm or threaten to harm your Maester. I am sure that Robert has forgotten about him here at the Wall and promise I will keep his location a secret. However, Robert has made a vow to kill every living Targaryen… I will not allow him it kill my nephew… The boy I raised as my own bastard son, his wife or their unborn child." He then looked at Maester Aemon, “You do not have my blood Maester Aemon, but you are family through marriage. I will not allow any harm to come to you.”

“Rhaegar and Lyanna… Their child lived… They had a son.” Maester Aemon breathed out.

“You knew Rhaegar and Lyanna married?” Benjen inquired.

“Oh yes. Rhaegar often sent correspondences to me and I would right him back… I have not always been blind. He would send me messages, written in High Valyrian,” he added with a chuckle, as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “All these years I thought the child died with Lyanna in the Tower of Joy. Now you tell me he was raised in Winterfell as your bastard, he is married with a babe on the way… Please, your Grace, tell us everything.”

Ned then proceeded to tell them everything. He told them about the deserter from the watch he had executed prior to Jon’s departure to Essos, about Jon’s past life at the Wall and his fight, and that Westeros needed to stand united before the Night King strikes. He helped Maester Aemon wipe his tears when he informed him that Jon had saved Daenerys from Khal Drogon and Viserys, had married Daenerys once again, they had hatched six dragons and were expecting their first child. He also informed the Lord Commander that they were planning to pardon his son, Jorah, once they returned to Westeros.

"Your Grace, the Targaryen’s, your nephew… son and his wife really plan to pardon my Jorah?”

“Aye,” Ned said with a smile. “In the past, your son saved my good daughter on more than one occasion. He had proven that he is no longer the man who sold poachers into slavery. He has proven that he was capable of change… I am glad that I was not able to execute him before he set sail for Essos… And as long as he remains loyal to the Targaryen’s, he will receive a Royal Pardon and if he wishes to return to the North, I will allow it… Although, he will not be Lord of Bear Island, your sister, Maege, has done a wonderful job as Lady of Bear Island and I will not take that from her.”

"Thank you, your Grace, for giving my son a second chance,” the Lord Commander stated.

“Of course,” The King of the North replied with a smile. “Now, we must discuss of plan for bringing the Wildlings south of the Wall. Benjen will lead myself and a small group of men to search for Mance Rayder.”

"Your Grace, if I may ask, why do you wish to find the King Beyond the Wall?" Maester Aemon asked.

"Aye, we need to find Mance Rayder and invite him and his army South of the Wall…”

"You want to bring the Free Folk South of the Wall?" Commander Mormont asked with a furrowed brow.

“Aye,” Ned responded with a nod.

"Why?"

"We need them to stand with us when it comes time to fight the Night King.”

"But, your Grace, we have been fighting the Wildlings for years. What if they come South and pillage the lands and rape the women?”

"Aye, I understand your concern,” Ned said with a sigh. “However, it is not their fault they were born on the wrong side of the Wall. We need men in the Great War. Mance has amassed an army of over 100,000 Free Folk. His army is filled with giants and mammoths and other warriors who have seen and fought against this threat… If we are to survive the Long Night, we will need them on our side."

The Lord Commander sighed as he sat back against his chair, he met Ned’s gaze and asked, "What are your plan if they do agree to come South of the Wall?”

"Since they are on the south side of the Wall, they will be in my Kingdom. I will give them lands in the Gift to build a village and to farm. I will not require them to call me their King, however, they must not rape or pillage while south of the Wall. Also, I will give them work, rebuilding the crumbling castles along the Wall. They will be required to pay part of their harvest to the Wall, to help feed the brothers of the Night’s Watch. In exchanged, they will join our fight against the Night King. Once we have defeated the Night King, they can choose to return North of the Wall, or they can stay in Westeros, if they swear fealty to Jon and Daenerys."

Commander Mormont was silent for several moments. He rubbed his beard and finally met Ned’s gaze and replied, "You have my support, your Grace. I will allow Benjen to lead you and your guards beyond the Wall. I also have to worry about the brothers who will see me as a traitor.”

“I agree, Lord Commander,” Benjen stated. “Which is why I suggest they cross at the Nightfort.”

“How will they pass? The Nightfort has not been manned for nearly two centuries… there will be no one there to open the gate and allow you to cross.”

“You are wrong, Lord Commander, there is a hidden passage, the Black Gate, that will allow them to cross the Wall,” Maester Aemon said with a smile. “It is set deep in a wall of the well at the center of the kitchens. It is made of weirwood and only a brother of the Night's Watch can open the Black Gate, by reciting the Nights Watch vows.”

“Your Grace, I am allowing you to cross the Wall, however, I cannot be responsible for the safety of you or your men. There is a chance you could encounter the Wights and White Walkers… or perhaps even the Night King. How is it you plan to stay safe?"

"Thanks to Jon, we know that Valyrian Steel, Fire and Dragonglass can defeat the wights and Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass can defeat the White Walkers. I have had Ice melted and reforged into two swords – I carry one and Benjen has the other,” Ned answered the Lord Commander’s question. He then added, “I truly do hope to meet this Night King… I want to end his existence before he tries something to harm Jon, Daenerys or any other members of my family again."

"Ned,” Benjen replied with a gasp. “Even if we do meet the Night King, we will never be able to defeat him! We do not yet know how! Plus, we do not have an army with us! As it stand now, with just our small group, Theon, and your four guards will be fighting with torches if need be, which does nothing if they face a White Walker! If we do see him, I believe it would be best to run the other way. Saving the Free Folk is much more important. If you get yourself killed you will just be adding yourself as well as the Free Folk to the Night King’s Army. Then everything Jon has planned will be for naught!”

The King in the North sighed, knowing his brother was correct.

"Fire and ice,” Maester Aemon whispered with a gasp. He then looked at Ned, even though Ned knew he could not see him, it was as if the Old Maester was staring into his soul when he spoke loud enough for all to hear, “You must wait until Jon and Daenerys arrive to face the Night King. You said they have hatched six dragons. When those dragons are larger, they will be able to rain fire… And you said my Nephew’s dragon was different.”

“Aye, if what Lord Tyrion has read is correct, Saragon is a hybrid dragon; the dragon can breathe both fire and ice.”

“And where did this book come from, your Grace?”

“The book once belonged to Rhaegar. I found it with my sister in Dorne.”

“Do you think that your Hand would be kind enough to read that book to this old man? I believe that book is one of the volumes I sent to Rhaegar… There might be more answers within those pages.”

“I am sure Lord Tyrion would be delighted,” the King in the North replied. “Although, I have not yet told him the full truth. He is not aware that Jon is Rhaegar’s son.”

“Your secret is safe with me, your Grace,” the Maester said with a smile. “I am sure Lord Tyrion is quite tired from his journey… I will send Pyp to bring him to my chambers on the morrow, after he breaks his fast.”

“I will relay the message,” Ned replied with a nod.

A short time later, Ned and Benjen stood to take their leave. Ned shook hands with Maester Aemon and the Lord Commander once more.

"The hospitality of Castle Black is yours, your Grace,” The Lord Commander stated as he pulled his friend in for an embrace. “If you need anything at all, let your brother know, he will make sure that whatever you need is received."

"Thank you, Jeor."

"Once more thing, your Grace,” the Lord Commander stated as he pulled away from Ned’s embrace and walked over to retrieve an item from behind his desk. As he made he way back over, Ned could tell it was Longclaw. “Before you go, I would like for you to take this."

“Longclaw,” Ned whispered as he admired the sword in his friend’s hands. He then cleared his throat and looked at his friend, “Jeor, I cannot accept this. I already have a Valyrian Steel sword and so does Benjen. You will need this sword at the wall.”

"Longclaw has been in my family for centuries. I am old your Grace and there is no one at the Wall with enough honor to accept this sword.” The Lord Commander said with a sigh. “I would like for you to keep the sword for now. Allow one of your traveling party to use the sword while you are beyond the Wall. Then… Once the King returns, give him the sword. He and his wife are the ones to save us all. They will know of someone worthy to carry the sword.”

"Thank you, Lord Commander," Ned replied as he took the sword from the older man. “I will be sure to keep it safe.”

Ned and Benjen then left the Lord Commander’s chamber and made their way down the wooden stairs when he noticed Theon and his guards practicing in the training yard.

"Are you going to let Theon use Longclaw?" His brother whispered.

"Aye,” Ned replied with a nod of his head. “I will lend the sword while we are beyond the Wall. Once we return. I will keep the sword secured and Jon can decide whose hand Longclaw belongs in.”

“I believe that is a smart decision. Are you going to give it to him now?” Benjen inquired.

“No, I will have him come to my chambers prior to our departure… This is something I would like to do in private.”

His brother nodded in agreement. After a few minutes, Benjen escorted him to his chambers. He quickly undressed and got under the furs as he thought, ‘In two days I will be traveling beyond the Wall… I need to send Robert a reply stating that I will not be able to come to King’s Landing at this time. Should I travel to King’s Landing so I can learn of his plan? Surly there is no need because Varys will warn Jon… I pray to the Old Gods and the New that that Spider can be trusted. I pray that we are successful in getting the Free Folk south. And may the Old Gods and the New favor us as we play the Game of Thrones…’

 


 

 

Ser Barristan Selmy

 

After Ser Barristan stormed out of the Small Council Chambers, he made his through the halls of the Red Keep to his way to his chambers in the White Sword Tower. He was furious. He wished he could go to the training yard and vent his frustration on a straw dummy, but right now, more than anything, he wanted to get as far away, from King’s Landing as possible. As he gathered his belongings and threw them into a canvas traveling sack, his mind raced, ‘After nearly eighteen years of loyal service they are casting me aside because of a disagreement! All I said was I believed we should wait until they make plans to cross the sea! I cannot understand how can they plan the murder of an innocent young woman and her unborn babe? There has been no words or whispers of The Targaryens in years! They have not sent demands or threats to the Crown… Gods things would have been so different if Rhaegar had defeated What gives them the right to end an old House what was banished from the Seven Kingdoms. Have they not suffered enough?'  

When he finished packing, he took one last look around the room that had been his home since he was twenty-three years old. He slung his sack over his shoulder and turned towards the door. However to his surprise, the door was closed and Lord Varys standing in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing here Spider? Shouldn’t you be celebrating how the information from your Little Birds is going to kill an innocent young woman and her unborn babe?” Ser Barristan gritted out.

"Calm down Ser Barristan. I am only here to have a word with you… And I believe you will find purpose from this conversation," The Master of Whispers said with hint of a smile.

“What purpose do I have? I have been shamed! I have given my life to protecting the Royal Families of Westeros! The crown believes I have a traitor because of a difference in opinion?” Ser Barristan sighed, “I have no purpose… Nowhere to call home… I gave up my claim to Harvest Hall and my cousin wed the girl I was to marry when I was named a member of the Kingsgaurd.”

“Ser Barristan, as I have said, I may have an answer to your need of a purpose.” The Spider then looked him in the eyes and stated, “However, first I must know, if what you said is true… That you believe that Targaryen’s across the Narrow Sea are innocent of the Mad King’s crimes.”

“Why would I say something like that to the King and his Hand if I did not believe it to be true!”

"Good.” Lord Varys whispered. “Then I believe you truly are a man of honor and the man for the task."

“What are you talking about Spider? For all I know, speaking the truth could get me killed. I am sure Tywin will next be sending assassins after me! So please forgive me Lord Varys. I do not believe there is any task or purpose you could provide to me.” Ser Barristan then began to walk around the Spider. But stopped when the Spider began to speak once more.

"I believe you are right, Ser Barristan… If you return to Harvest Hall, Tywin will probably send assassins after you and your family. He might even send them before you even leave the Red Keep."

The former Commander of the Kingsguard then turned to face the bald man and whispered, “What? Are Robert and Tywin planning to kill me?”

“I believe it is best we speak somewhere more private… I am not the only one with Little Birds, and the walls have ears,” Lord Varys whispered as he walked towards the wall and opened one of the old servant doors. “I believe it is best we go this way, to avoid those eyes and ears.”

Ser Barristan was conflicted. He did not trust the Spider, but everything he had said could be true. Therefore, with a stiff nod, he adjusted his traveling sack on his shoulder and followed the eunuch through the dark hidden tunnels beneath the Red Keep. As they walked up and down various stairwells, twisted and turned down several different halls Barristan kept a hand on the cold stone wall to prevent himself from falling. ‘Dear gods, is this man leading me to safety or to my death? I should have grabbed a candle before I left my chambers. How does he know where he is when there is no light?’  

Finally, after what felt like hours, he heard the sound of an iron gate being unlocked and opened, before Lord Varys finally lit a torch, and placed it in the sconce attached to the wall. When he did, it revealed they were in the cellar of the Red Keep that housed the skulls of the Targaryen dragons. Ser Barristan was mesmerized as he took in his surroundings.

"Tell me, Ser Barristan, what is it that you see?"

"The Dragon skulls… I haven't seen them since..."

"Since the Usurper, Robert Baratheon removed them from the Throne Room." Varys interrupted.

"What?” Ser Barristan gasped. “You serve House Targaryen?"

“I serve only the Realm, Ser Barristan,” the Master of Whisperers answered with a hit of a smile. "I believe we can both agree, Robert Baratheon is not the man whom should be leading Westeros… I believe it is Rhaegar’s last heir, the true heir to the throne and his wife, Daenerys, whom should be leading the Seven Kingdoms during these dark times."

Ser Barristan was at a loss for words for several moments before he inquired, “How do you know that this, Aegon or Jaehaerys, is the rightful person to rule the Seven Kingdoms? How do you know he is not a pretender? How do you know he truly has a dragon and has married the Princess?"

"Because Ser Barristan,” The eunuch stated as he looked straight into his eyes, “I have met the young man. I believe him. He truly is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.”

"You've met the man?" Ser Barristan breathed out, still in shock, “When?”

"Yes, I met with him about two moons ago, when I went to Pentos,” The Master of Whispers said with a nod. “And believe me, he is a very honorable young man, much like the man who raised him. He cares for his family and for his people. I believe him when he told me he only wants what is best for all the people of Westeros."

The Old Knight was again rendered speechless. His mind was spinning. “Why? Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked.

"Because, Ser Barristan, if presented with the opportunity to again serve as Kingsguard to the rightful rulers, would you accept? Would you choose to serve the last surviving son of Prince Rhaegar or the man you swore fealty to on the battlefield, Robert Baratheon?"

‘I wish I would have knelt to the Stag! I wish I would have taken the Black,’ Ser Barristan wanted to exclaim. However, he did not trust the Spider. “Is this some sort of trick? Are your trying to get me to say something so Tywin can come after me and my family?”

"I promise you, there is no need to worry, Ser Barristan. At the moment, it is only the two of us here in this cellar. I am expecting one of my Little Birds to report to me shortly, but my birds are loyal to me. The words of this conversation are to remain private… as if they never occurred.”

Something about the look in the Spider’s eyes put the knight at ease. "If Rhaegar had lived, I would have stayed loyal to the Targaryens. I should have stayed loyal even in my Prince’s death but I thought only about saving my own life. I was foolish to believe that Robert Baratheon would be a King I would be proud to protect… Especially after all the rumors he spread about Prince Rhaegar kidnapping and raping the Lady Lyanna."

"Lucky for you. The rightful King and Queen believe what you have just said… They asked if you would join them… They would like for you to be the Lord Commander of their Kingsgaurd."

“What?” Ser Barristan breathed out. “I am sure if they ever saw me I would be the first one they kill. They would burn me alive with their dragons because the Prince was killed under my watch, and because I knelt to the Staggs and Lions.”

“They are very forgiving my good Ser,” Lord Varys chuckled. The bald man then sighed and continued, “They are nothing like King Aerys. They understand the position you were in at the Trident… They are actually thankful you knelt instead of wasting away at the Wall. And they are the ones requesting you join them in Essos.” The Spider then removed a letter from the sleeve of his silk robes and handed to him, “I brought this letter back with me from Pentos. I was instructed to give it to you once you were dismissed…”

“What? How did they know Robert would dismiss me from the Kingsguard?”  

“Please, Ser Barristan, read the letter. It will give you answers you are seeking.”

The knight looked down at the letter in his hand and when he saw the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on the wax seal, he had to swallow down the lump in his throat to prevent himself from crying out. Fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall, he slid his finger under the wax and began to read,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ser Barristan,

I would like to thank you for standing by my brother’s side at the Trident. As you told me in my last life, you were not able to save Rhaegar, and you regretted kneeling to Robert… That you only did it to save the life of your family at Harvest Hall. I do not blame you for kneeling because you thought of others before yourself; you knew that Tywin Lannister would kill your family if your refused to kneel or take the black. I know the only reason you were loyal to and protected Robert Baratheon is because you were true to the oath you swore. Now that he has broken that oath, you are no longer bound to Robert Baratheon or the Lannisters. Therefore, my husband, King Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen would like to invite you to Essos so you can meet with us and determine if we are rulers you would like to follow. I hope that we are, because we would like for you to be the Lord Commander of our Kingsguard. We know that you are a worthy warrior and that you would be willing to give your life to keep us and our future children safe from any enemies. Lord Varys will know where to find us.

Best regards,

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Me, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm

 

“Past life… Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen?” The knight mumbled as he looked up from the letter in shock and towards the Master of Whispers.

"I am afraid those are no my secrets to tell… The King and Queen wish for you to hear their stories from them and them alone.” The Spider then reached back into his sleeve and handed him the coin purse he decline earlier. “This coin is to help you in your journey. There is a ship waiting for you in the Harbor that will take you to Pentos. I have already paid your passage and you will have a private cabin on a vessel belonging to the Pentoshi Magister Illyrio Mopatis, named Serra of the Sea. The Magister will meet on the docks as soon as the boat arrives in Pentos.”

“How do I know this is real? That the Targaryen are truly requesting my service?”

“All I can do is give you the facts.”

Suddenly Ser Barristan heard a low whistle coming from one of the dark halls. His hand immediately went to the hilt of his sword, however, before he could draw his sword and call out, Varys grabbed his arm.

“There is no need to be alarmed my friend, it is only the Little Bird I was expecting,” Lord Varys stated. When Barristan exhaled, the eunuch continued, “The ship sails with the morning tide… I suggest you make your way to the boat now, so you can settle into your cabin.” The Master of Whispers then dipped his head. “I wish you good fortune in your travels Ser Barristan… I will see you again in the future.”

Ser Barristan then watched as the Spider made his way down one of the dark hall, leaving him with just the dragon skulls. The knight walked around admiring the skulls, as he thought, ‘What should I do? Is this one of the Spider’s schemes? And what did the letter mean when Daenerys wrote Aegon of Houses Stark and Targaryen? Did Rhaegar and Lyanna have a son? Is that why Ser Arthur was not at the Trident? I never believed the Prince capable of kidnapping the young woman? If this is true… If this Aegon is truly Rhaegar’s son then I must go and protect them. I must go to Essos and get answers. I must keep my oath. Even if the man is a pretender, he is married to the Princess, and she is the last known Targaryen. I must keep her safe,’ he concluded as he stopped pacing.

When he looked up, he realized he was standing in front of the largest of the skulls, the skull of the dragon that had belonged to Aegon the Conqueror, Balerion the Black Dread. It was then he placed his traveling sack on the ground, pulled his sword from its scabbard, and silently promised, ‘I, Ser Barristan Selmy, vow to protect the last Targaryens. I was unable to protect Rhaegar on the battlefield, and swore to severe the Usurper to save my own life. I promise to find them across the Narrow Sea, and serve them loyally until the end of my days. I swear this by the old gods and the new.’

Ser Barristan then stood and sheathed his sword before he wiped the dust off his knee. He then picked up the bag that contained all his belongs and made his way down to the docks in search of Serra of the Sea……

 


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Not even the normally soothing feelings of her scalp being massaged as Doreah washed her hair could ease Daenerys’ thoughts. It had only been a few of days since Mirri Maz Duur confronted her the field, informing her she was there to help and that she would birth Jon a son and that something had returned to the past with her. As much as that meeting kept playing in her head, her mind searching for any small hints as to what followed her from her past life; the thing that was making her head ache was Jon.

For the last couple of days, Jon had become even protective of her. He was always looking over his shoulder, as if someone were going to attack at any moment and he was quicker to anger. Even now, as she was bathing, there were two Dothraki warriors, standing guard just outside the entrance of the tent.

‘Why has he become even more protective? What has happened in the last few days that could have caused him to worry about my safety? Does he know about my meeting with the witch?’ Suddenly, it occurred to her, he eyes flashed open and she sat up in the copper tub as she realized, ‘The last time Jon was so worried about my safety was after Cersei and sent assassins while I was growing Rhaegar in my womb! What is hiding from me! Has he figured out that I am with child? Did Robb tell him? Has the Usurper already sent assassins after us? What is he hiding from me?’

“Khaleesi, are you alright? Do you need me to fetch more hot water?”

“I am fine Doreah,” The Queen replied for a forced smile. “I believe I am finished with my bath.”

After the former bedslave helped her from the tub, Dany dismissed her, stating she could dress herself without assistance. As she dried off with the thin cotton town, she realized she was two moons with a child. ‘I will be showing soon. I need to tell Jon. I cannot hide this any longer, especially if he already thinks I might already be with child.’ She then quickly dressed in her tan leather riding breeches and shirt, and made her way in search of her husband or her good-brother. However, as soon as she exited her tent, she was stopped by Rakharo.

“Khaleesi to stay in tent,” The Bloodrider replied in broken common tongue.

“Let me pass,” she ordered, as she looked into the young Dothraki warriors eyes.

“I sorry, Khaleesi. Khal said you stay in tent. Khal said very important you stay safe.”

"The Khal told you I was not to leave the tent,” Daenerys stated flatly as she felt her dragonblood beginning to boil. “Did he tell you why I was not to leave the tent?"

“No Khaleesi,” Rakharo stated as he shook his head. “Khal just said if anything happens to Khaleesi he will cut off heads… Like he did Drogo. Please go back inside tent. I keep you safe with my life Khaleesi.”

“Fine!” Daenerys gritted out through her teeth. “However, if you see my husband, tell him I need to speak with him,” she added as she walked back in to the tent.

She reentered the tent and she let out a frustrated sigh as walked to the small wooden table and sat down as her mind raced. Jon tell Rakharo she was not to leave the tent was confirmation that Jon suspected or was aware she was with child. ‘How could he have known? My stomach has not yet grown. I have been eating carefully not to get sick. I have been drinking plenty of water… the only thing that has changed has been my breast are slightly larger and slightly tender… I wonder if Jon has realized this? If he did, why did he not confront me? I know that he wants children, but is he upset about the timing of this child? Is there a threat to us or he just being over protective?‘

She let out another sigh of frustration as she slammed her hand down on the table, stood up and began to pace around the room. As her thoughts continued to swirl in her head, she noticed a rolled up piece of parchment on the ground, next to the chair where Jon normally hung his tunic. She walked over, picked the scroll up, and began to read the message.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My King, 

It is as you suspected. Lord Baelish has sent at least one his whores to Pentos to act as a spy and gather information about you and your wife’s whereabouts. He has discovered you have an army of more than 100,000 Dothraki warriors. He is also aware that you and your wife have become the Father and Mother of six dragons. It also appears he missed me while I was on my journey to meet with you because when my boat dropped anchor in King’s Landing, he was waiting for me on the docks. He asked me if I was the one who threatened his whore. Thankfully, he believed me when I said it was not me.

When I returned from Pentos, there was a small council meeting. During this meeting, there were discussions to plan how to the end Targaryen threat. They asked me to disclose all the information I gathered about you while I was in Pentos. I am happy to report your little plan of Aegon having a twin brother, Jaehaerys, worked perfectly; they believe you are the trueborn son of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen. Also, Illyrio has sent the raven to the Martell’s in Dorne to the Martells as you requested.

After I disclosed the story of Jaehaerys, Lord Baelish discussed possible ways of ending your reign. He suggested sending assassins to kill you and your wife or possibly kidnap Daenerys so that you can be led into a trap which would lead to both your deaths as well as the death of your unborn heir. I advise you to double the guard and use extreme caution. No one besides your family can be considered a friend and you, your wife and unborn child must be protected from these threats if we are all to survive the Long Night. 

Tywin Lannister has been named the new hand to King Robert. He should be arriving in the Capital any day, and I have already received word one of his first duties will be to come up with a plan to end your reign before it even begins. 

I have some disturbing news, my King. By the time I returned to King’s Landing, Lord Baelish had informed the small council, King Robert and Tywin Lannister that Daenerys sacrificed her brother to hatch her dragons; he is aware you and your wife are parents to six dragons... and that your wife is with child. 

I will end this message with some good news I have received from my little birds regarding betrothals for you siblings to help unify Westeros. Your brother, Bran is currently fostering in Greywater Watch and has been betrothed to Lord Reed’s daughter, Lady Meera. It appears your brother, Prince Robb has all but formally been betrothed to The Golden Rose of High Garden, Lady Margaery Tyrell. Also, King Eddard Stark is in marriage negotiations with House Martell for a possible betrothal between Princess Sansa and Prince Trystane. He has informed Doran Martell, that if Sansa agrees to marry Prince Trystane, after they meet, he will agree to the betrothal. 

The King and Queen in the North plan to meet with both the Tyrells and Martells as soon as he returns from his quest beyond the Wall. Lady Olenna Tyrell will travel to Winterfell, along with her son, Mace, and Margaery while Prince Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria, will escort Prince Trystane. 

I will keep you informed of the Small Council decisions once Tywin and King Robert have arrived.

I hope your travels are safe, your Grace.

From your eyes and ears in Westeros, Lord Varys, Master of Whispers for House Targaryen 

 

“How long have you been hiding this from me!” She exclaimed aloud when she finished reading the message. She then rolled the scroll and placed it in her pocket, donned Dark Sister and made her way back out of the tent.

Before Rakharo could stop her, she glared daggers at her Kos and firmly stated, “Anha am yeri Khaleesi. Yeri will listen to anna. Take anna to the Khal ajjin! Anha eth talk ma mae ajjin… che yeri will duel anna save ma jinak kashi anna will be to the athdrivar.” (“I am your Khaleesi. You will listen to me. Take me to the Khal now! Or you will duel me again and this time it will be to the death”)

“Yes, Khaleesi,” he stated in submission. “Follow me. I take you to Khal Aegon.”

She gave him a stiff nod and followed him to the same tent they had used during their meeting with Illyrio and Varys. “Khal Aegon in here. I wait outside.”

“Thank you,” She stated with another stiff nod.

Daenerys then took a deep breath, moved the tent flap to the side and entered. When she did she saw Jon, Robb, Jorah and Bako standing around the wooden table, looking at a map. She overheard Jon asking his bloodrider what was the quickest route to Vaes Dothrak. When she head this, she knew he was asking because they would need to stop there, so she could be presented before the dosh khaleen. That she would again have to eat a raw stallion heart, so their child would be strong in the eyes of the Dothraki.

“Dany?” Jon asked as he walked over to her, pulling her from her thoughts. When she looked into his eyes she saw confusion and genuine concern in his grey orbs, “What are your doing here? Where is Rakharo? You look pale, are you alright?”

“Rakharo is outside. I am fine, however there is something we need to discuss… in private,” she whispered in response.

Her husband furrowed his brow in confusion, before he gave her a slight nod before he turned around and dismissed the others. Once they were alone he inquired, “What is it you would like to discuss?” 

Instead of answering his question, she smacked him hard across his face, leaving an angry red mark on his cheek and seethed, “How dare you lie to me! How dare you try to keep me locked up our tent like some helpless little girl!”

"Daenerys, I…”

“I found this Jon… It must have fallen out of your tunic,” she stated as she removed Varys letter from her pocket. “Were you ever going to tell me Robert know about all of our dragons? That they are currently trying to come up with a plan to kill us… to kill our unborn son!”

"Dany... I can explain..."

"Be quiet, Jon! Just be quiet!” She interrupted as she slapped him once again. “I will not stand another lie from your mouth! You have been lying to me for days! You promised me you would be honest with me! That you would not hide anything from me!" 

“Gods Dany! I just wanted to keep you and our babe safe!”

“Why did you not tell me you knew I was with child? If you found out days ago, why did you not say anything? Are you angry? Do you not want our babe? ”

“Gods Dany, of course I want our child, more than anything! How could you think that I did not want our babe?” Jon asked in a pained tone. “I knew you were with child before we even go the letter! I’ve known for weeks!”

“What?” she breathed out.

"Aye. I noticed the signs… They were so similar to when you were growing Rhaegar. You have not had your moon blood since we have been married. You have not been drinking wine. Your breasts have been tender and have grown. I did not want to say anything because I was afraid..."

"You kept this from me because you were afraid... Afraid of how disappointed I would be if I were to lose the babe," she answered softly.

“Aye,” Jon replied with a nod as he pulled her into his arms.

Daenerys broke the tender embrace when remembered why she was angry with him. She took the letter from his hand and snapped, “I understand why you did not tell me you knew I was with child. However, that does not explain why you did not tell me the Usurper knows! I had every right for you to tell me they are plotting ways to kill you, me and our unborn son! How could you not tell me our son’s life is in danger?”

"Son?” Jon inquired with a look of confusion on his comely face. “Dany, we have no way of knowing for certain if our child will be a boy or a girl until they come into this world.”

Dany’s breath hitched in her throat. She could feel panic spreading across her face.

"You... You met with her didn't you?"

"Met with who?" she retorted.

"Don't play games with me Daenerys!” her husband growled. “You have also been keeping secrets from me as well. I know that you have seen the witch! The witch who took Rhaego from you!"

"How did... How did you know?"

Jon shook his head as he walked over to a chair at the table and sat down. Daenerys followed and sat down across from him. He poured them each a glass and took a long sip before he answered. "Robb told me he saw an older woman when we were looking you in the woods. She told him she was looking for a lost sheep. He did not think anything of it at the time… However, I asked him to describe the woman to me..."

"I'm... I am confused. How do you know it was Marri Maz Duur? You have never seen her before."

"In our past life… After you died, I was devastated… I wanted to give up. So Bran showed me a visions of how you became the Queen you were, showing me that you always had and always would put your people before yourself. That because of your death on the battlefield, so many others were able to get to safety…” Jon sighed deeply and continued, “In these visions he showed me how you begged a woman to save Drogo… How she tricked you thinking that his horse would be sacrifice enough to save his life… He then showed me the pain you endured when Rhaego was taken from you in sacrifice… He showed me how your burned her in Drogo’s funeral pyre and hatched your dragons… After Robb described the woman to me, I know it was her.” Jon then slammed his hand on the table and angrily inquired, “Why Daenerys? Why in the seven hells would you ever take the chance… What if she would have harmed you again! Does our unborn child mean nothing for you? It is like you are not even the same woman!”

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of Targaryen,” she stated firmly as she looked him in the eyes. “You do not tell me what is best for my child!"

"Your child?” he asked with a pained look. “That is my child as well! I should have some say in the safety of OUR CHILD! Gods woman, you are so fucking stubborn! Why cannot you just not admit that you were irresponsible Daenerys! Rakharo stated he was going to kill the woman but you made him leave so you could speak with her in private! What if she took our child, the same way she took Rhaego from you in our past life? What would have happened if she also placed a curse on you once more? Only death can pay for life… Bran told us the only reason the curse was broken before was because of Viserion’s death”

"Stop it, Jon Snow!” Daenerys exclaimed. “Things are different than they were in our past lives! She will not harm me as she did before! In my past life she was only protecting me with that curse... So no other man’s seed could take root in my womb except yours…"

"What do you mean? You are not making any sense." Jon interrupted.

"It.. It is nothing, my love..." she stuttered.

"It isn't nothing, Daenerys. I can tell that you are hiding something from me,” her husband nearly growled. “Ever since you hatched the Dragons you have been different… It is like you became a different person. We promised to be honest with each other, so tell me what happened in those flames. Tell me the truth!"

She sighed as stood up and started pacing around the room, her mind struggling to come up with the correct words to respond.

"Dany do you love me?"

His question halted her pacing. She looked into his stormy grey eyes and honestly answered, “I do, Jon. You are the most important person in my life. I cannot live without you.”

Her husband then stood up, walked to her and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her temple and wiped tears from her cheek she did not realize were falling. “Please Dany. Please tell me. Tell me what has you so concerned. Tell me what happened,” he pleaded as he looked into her eyes.

"I'm... I'm... Not from your past life," she stated quietly.

"What? What do you mean you are not from my past life?"

"I am from the past, however it was a different past,” Daenerys whispered.

“Dany, you are not making any sense.”

“Jon, I am not the Daenerys from your past life. I am from a different past. A past life where you had three dragons, Sarogon, Ragnar and Balerion… You had found out the truth about you parentage while you were still at the Wall… In my past, we had agreed to a marriage alliance before you even set foot on Dragonstone...."

"If you are not my Daenerys... The Daenerys I fell in love with, who are you?" he inquired with a pained tone as he broke their embrace and stepped back and began to walk away.

“Jon, listen to me,” she stated as she grabbed his arm. “Please, let me explain.”

He then turned around, looked at her and exclaimed, "Explain! Explain what! How you lied to me after we promised we would not keep secrets! You let me believe that you are my Dany – the Dragon Queen with a good heart – the Queen that would risk her own life for the safety of her people! You let me believe you were the woman I fell in love with! That you were the mother of my son!”

“Jon, I was the mother of your son! We had a son named Rhaegar in my past life as well!”

“How am I supposed to believe you? I do not even know who you are. You let me believe you were my wife… The mother of my child,” Jon spat.

“Damn it Jon, you were my husband in my past life as well! We loved each other! We had a son… I swear, when we married I did not know I was from a different past! All of my memories were hazy, they were unclear… It was only after I stepped into the flames that the memories of my past life began being return to me… I still do not even remember everything!” the Khaleesi cried.

Her husband pulled his arm out of her grip and rand his hand through his hair and stated, “I have dishonored my wife’s memory by laying with a woman whom is not her!”

“You didn't Jon! You did not betray or dishonor her! You kept your vows to keep me safe!"

“Do not compare yourself to my wife! Do not compare yourself to the mother of my son! You are not her!” Jon gritted out as he started into her eyes.

“I was also your wife and the mother of your son in your past life… I am your wife... I am the mother of your unborn son in this life!"

“No. You are not her. I do not know you. You are a stranger. I need to go.” He stated as began to walk towards the tent flap. “I need some time to… I don’t know... Make sense of all this. I will stay with Robb tonight. Rakharo and Jorah will stand guard outside of your tent.”

“Rhaegon,” Daenerys called.

“What?” Jon questioned as he turned to face her.

"Our son will be named Rhaegon Targaryen. After our son’s name Rhaegar from our past lives, and after his father. Please Jon… please let me explain everything I know."

“I’m sorry Dany, I am not ready to listen… right now I just need some time alone,” he replied before turned around and leaving the tent.

As the tent flap closed, she clutched her stomach and her tears began to fall……

 


 

R obert Baratheon

 

It was late in the evening, the sun had set and King Robert wished he was in his room with one of the whores from Lord Baelish’s brothel. However, he found himself walking through the halls of the Red Keep, with his Good Father, towards the last place he wanted to go, to see the last person he wanted to see, the Mother of his heirs. Robert was still wondering how in the seven hells he got her with child for a fourth time. Nevertheless, after she had recounted their couplings during the long journey south, he vaguely began to remember blonde hair and green eyes. The memories made him nauseated. As much as he hated the fact his wife was with child, in light of Joffrey’s banishment, he knew a new royal child was what the realm needed, and he now needed spare heir. Joffrey’s banishment to the wall was the reason he was going to visit his wife. He had to tell her she would not get to say good-bye.

“This was for the best, your Grace,” the Hand of the King stated flatly, pulling Robert from his thoughts. “You and I both know Cersei would have went straight to the docks and caused a scene had she known he was leaving tonight.”

“I know. I just wish we could have one of the handmaidens tell her… or Ser Jaime. She has always been close with her brother. I am sure hearing the news from him would soften the blow,” the King grumbled as they rounded the corner and stopped outside the door to his wife’s chambers. He was just about to knock on the door when he heard she was not alone and she seemed upset. “Maybe one of her little spies has already told her the news.” Robert said with a laugh as he turned towards Tywin. However, his laugher was short lived when the voices behind the door got louder.

“Gods damn it, Cersei! Don’t touch me!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you Jaime!” He head his wife bellow. “Why will you not touch me?”

“You are pregnant with Robert’s child!“

“Jaime, our first born son is being banished to the Wall in the morning! It could be years before I see him again…”

“Our son is evil, Cersei! There is no saving him! Joffrey deserves to live his life at the Wall. Maybe they can teach him how to become a man… Something I was never able to do because I could never be a father to him.”

“How can you say that,” He heard the Queen screech before she heard the sound of someone being slapped in the face. “Our Joffrey is the Crown Prince!”

“Joffrey is a monster!” Jaime retorted. “The kingdoms with be much better off with our Tommen as King.”

“Tommen is too soft. He will never be as good of a King as our Joffrey… Jaime I need to forget… I need you to fuck me until I forget he is leaving! Until I forget, the child in my womb is not yours! Then I want you to go down to the docks, find the boat that is taking him to Eastwatch by the Sea. I want you to pay the captain handsomely to take our son to somewhere in Essos. Somewhere he can live in secret!”

Robert was momentary frozen in place as his mind processed what he had just heard. He could no longer hear what was being said on the other side of the door because his mind was racing, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. Thankfully, his good father pushed the door open and stormed inside the room.

 “The two of you had better start talking!” Tywin roared, breaking Robert from his stupor. Robert followed his good father into the room as the man continued to yell, “I need answers! Are Joffrey and Tommen children born between an incestuous affair between the two of you?”

When neither Jaime nor Cersei spoke, Robert was furious. He glared at his wife and spat, “You had better speak now woman! I am your husband! I am your King! Are Joffrey and Tommen my children?”

“How… How could you…”

“Cersei there is no denying it,” her twin brother interrupted quietly. “They heard everything. They know the truth.”

“How could you?” Robert snarled. “How could you lay with your brother and tell me the children were mine?”

“Gods you are so dumb,” Cersei laughed. “You have been drunk and whoring our entire marriage… on our wedding night you called me Lyanna! I have three bastards, how many do you have, Robert?”

“That is not important, Woman,” the King seethed. “It is your fucking duty as my wife… as Queen to give me heirs!” He then turned his gaze towards his hand and continued his rant, “Tywin, did you know?”

“No, your Grace,” his hand spoke with a look of disgust on his face. “And I will be sure to deal with this and ensure it does not happen again.”

“That is no good enough! I want them gone! All of them! Tommen, Myrcella! Have it announced what your daughter and son did!” Robert hollered. “I need fucking guards to throw your fucking children and their spawn in the black cells! They will all be publicly executed! Or send Tommen to the Wall with his Devil Spawn of a brother!”

“You cannot do that!” Cersei cried.

“And why not? I am King! I would rather one of my bastards be king over one of yours! My bastards at least have my blood!”

“Your Grace,” Lord Tywin stated, pulling his gaze from his wife. “Cersei is right. We cannot execute them…”

“I know they are your children, but what they did is treason! And your grandchildren are threats to MY THRONE!” Robert spat. “I don’t care, they will all die!”

“Your Grace, the realm is already in enough turmoil,” His Hand placated. “If this information is released. If you kill them, there will be more cause for a rebellion… Considering you have no heir…”

“I have no heir because your daughter decided to fuck her brother! How am I supposed to know if the child in her belly even mine?”

“As much as it pains me to say, this child is yours Robert,” his wife replied with venom in her tone.

“I still want them gone! All of them! I will take a new wife… Once who will be younger and more beautiful and who will give me heirs!”

“Your Grace, the Queen is carrying your child. Your heir! You cannot set her aside,” The Hand of the stated.

King Robert growled in frustration and began to pace around the room as he tried to comprehend what his Hand had said. The King then turned his attention to Ser Jaime, “You must leave, I do not care where you go, or what your do… But you must leave Kingslayer! If I ever see you again I will kill you! I will get my Warhammer and drive it into your chest, just like I did to Rhaegar Targaryen! I do not take kindly to people who take what is MINE!”

“Yes… Yes, your Grace,” Ser Jaime stuttered.

“Now, GET OUT! LEAVE! I SWEAR TO THE GODS I WILL KILL YOU IF I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, KINGSLAYER!” the King hollered as Jaime made his way out of the room.

Once he was gone, he turned is attention back towards is wife who had her head hung low and continued, “I swear to the seven, if this child comes out looking like a Lannister, I will kill it and I will kill you!”

His wife then snapped her head up, he could see the fire in her eyes, he could tell she wanted to retort, but was holding her tongue.

The King then turned toward his Hand and exclaimed, “Seven Hells, Tywin! You need to fix this! I want them gone… All of them! First thing in the morning, you have better tell me how this will happen or I will kill your daughter, her bastards and your son if he has not left the city!”

The King then turned around and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he heard his wife protesting behind him……

 


 

Jaime Lannister

 

Ser Jaime’s mind was racing as nearly ran as he made his way to his chambers in the White Sword Tower. ‘What the fuck am I going to do? I need to leave the Red Keep. Where am I going to go? Would Casterly Rock be safe? Should I join Joff at the Wall? If I join the Nights Watch, would I be safe? Those vows are for life… However, so are those of the Kingsguard. Seven Hells, I deserve a life at the Wall. I deserve to die. Everything I have done in my life has been for naught because I listened to Cersei. I should have accepted my betrothal to Lysa Tully and became the next Lord of Casterly Rock… Instead I listened to her… because of her I joined the Kingsguard. I could have had a real life with children I could call my own… Instead, I listened to her and spent my life watching other raise my children. I broke my vows to Rhaegar to protect his family. I broke my vows not to father children. I broke my vows to protect my King when I killed Aerys. The people of Westeros will forever be seen as nothing but an oath breaker… I am nothing but an oath breaker.’ He shook his head and sighed, trying to clear his mind as he opened the door to his chamber.

“FUCK! What the FUCK am I going to do!” he said aloud as he slammed the door and walked into his room.

“I might have a solution to your problem.”

“Who’s in here?” Jaime exclaimed as his hand went to the hilt of his sword, his eyes searching for whoever was in his chambers. “Show yourself!”

“Ser Jaime, I am no threat. I am not here to harm you… I only wish to help you and bring purpose to your life once more… To help you find your honor you feel you have lost.”

“Lord Varys,” Jaime stated in shock, his hand falling from the hilt of his sword as the bald man stepped out of the shadows.

“If you want to live… if you want a life with purpose, you need to quickly pack a few, necessary belongings and follow me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ser Jaime, do you really think you will be allowed to live within the Southern Six Kingdoms, now that Robert knows you are the true father of HIS children.”

“How…”

“Ser Jaime, I have known since before the children were born, you were the one who sired them,” the Spider interrupted. “Knowing the truth about everything is my job.”

“And you never said anything? You could have had Cersei and I executed years ago and you remained silent?” Jaime said incredulously. “Why?”

“There was no reason to speak that truth,” The eunuch replied nonchalantly. “If I had sung that song, it would have started another war. After the tragedy of Rebellion, Westeros was in need of peace… and your father’s gold.”

“Who do you serve?”

“I serve the realm. I only want what is best to reunite Westeros for the Great War,” The Spymaster stated as he stared into his eyes. “And what is best for Westeros if for you to live and to protect the family you swore to protect.”

“What?”

“You swore an oath to Rhaegar, that you would protect his family with your life.”

“And I failed,” Jaime stated as tears began to fill his eyes. “Elia died. Aegon and Rhaenys died…”

“Their deaths were not on your hands Ser Jaime.  If you had saved them, King Aerys would have had his Guild of Alchemists blow up the entire city of King’s Landing with wildfire.” Ser Jaime was about to speak but the Master of Whispers held up his hand and continued, “Ser Jaime you are a hero. I remained quiet because what difference did it make. The Mad King was dead. Robert defeated Prince Rhaegar at the Trident. You had already received a pardon for the slaying of King Aerys… So again, I remained silent because the outcome would have remained the same. So as I said. If you would like to again save the people of Westeros and keep the oath you made to protect Rhaegar’s family I suggest you quickly pack a few belongings and follow me.”

All Jaime could do in response was nod his head. It took only a few moments for the former Kingsguard to pack a traveling sack with a few changes of clothes. As he packed, his mind once again raced, ‘Is the boy in Essos really the son of Rhaegar? Do they really have Dragons? Are they planning to come back to Westeros? Is he good hearted like Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella? Is he mad like Aerys? But it is impossible… Aegon is dead.’

Once he was done the Spider handed him a thick, black, hooded cloak. Ser Jaime donned the article and them began to follow the Master of Whispers thought the tunnels under the Red Keep. As they walked, the Spider informed him Rhaegar’s last remaining son was in fact in Essos. That his name was Aegon.

“Aegon is dead,” Jaime protested and they continued to walk through the damp dark tunnels. “I was in the Throne Room when Aegon’s body was presented to King Robert!”

“You are correct. Aegon, the son of Elia and Rhaegar did perish in King’s Landing… However, there is another…”

“What are you talking about, Spider… You know what. This was a bad idea. I should just let them take my head. They should have just let them have it eighteen years ago!”

“Ser Jaime, things are not always as they seem,” that Master of Whispers stated as he stopped to open a thick iron gate, which lead to the street. Jaime followed him and they began to make their way toward the docks. “You will get on that ship,” Varys stated pointing towards a study vessel with white sails in the harbor. “You have a friend on that boat. He will tell you what your need to know.”

“I cannot do this… I have to stay. Tommen, Myrcella. They need me,” Jaime stated as he felt anxiety stirring in his gut.

“I promise you. If you stay in Westeros you will be killed. Robert will not allow you to live.”

Suddenly, Jaime heard a loud band. His head snapped towards the noise, and it noticed flames were bellowing from the White Sword Tower. All Jaime could do was nod his head in response. When he turned around he notice Lord Varys was nowhere in sight. He then quickly made his way down to the docks and boarded the ship with the white sails……

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Comment, Kudos and Bookmarks really appreciated! Please let us know if you loved or hated! Suggestions or ways to improve are always welcome!

Chapter 20: Forgiveness is Earned

Summary:

Section One: Robert listens to Tywin's plan
Section Two: Cersei learns the fates of her children and Jaime
Section Three: Varys and Robert devise a plan of thier own
Section Four: Ned receives news as he prepares to leave for his journey beyond the Wall
Section Five: Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan speak
Section Six: Robb talks to Jon about his feelings

Notes:

Hey guys new chapter! Finally I know! Sorry for the long wait but as you know life has been hard on the both of us but rest a sure we are still continuing the story and will see it through :) Next chapter will take about two weeks but anyway sit back relax and enjoy the chapter! :) your thoughts and ideas are always appreciated in the comments below. Please comment your comments help keep us going :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robert Baratheon

A pounding knock on his door cause Robert to awaken from his wine infused slumber. When he opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy and his head was throbbing. He glanced over towards the open window and as his vision slowly coming into focus, he noticed the sun had yet to rise. He rolled back over, hoping he was just imagining the knocking, only for the pounding to become louder and more urgent.

“Seven bloody hells!,” Robert exclaimed as he sat up on the sided of the bed, causing the whore next to him to sit up as well. “Whoever is on the other side of that fucking door better have a good fucking reason to be disturbing your King before the fucking sun has come up!”

"Your Grace, it is Lancel… your squire,” he heard the nervous sounding voice on the other side of the door reply. “May I enter?”

“Do you know what time it is boy?”

“It… It is early your Grace… May I enter?”

“In a minute,” he growled as he got out of the bed and put on his black velvet robe. Once his robe was secured, he turned to face the whore who had gotten out of bed, and was gathering her clothing, “Maya…”

“It’s Mhaegen, your Grace,” the young whore stated as she put on her small clothes.

“Mheagen… I believe it is best you get back to that baby. Take care of her,” Robert stated softly.

“Yes, your Grace,” she stated as donned her thin white dress before making her way to the door.

“Does she… The babe really look like me?” The King inquired just before she reached the door.

“Yes, your Grace. She has your hair and eyes. I named her Barra… After you,” she stated as she opened the door and left the room.

The King then sat back down on the side of his bed as his thoughts began to spin around in his head, ‘I wonder if my child with Cersei will look like me? All of my bastards… that I know about… favor me… I swear to all the gods if the babe Cersei is carrying comes out with golden hair I will kill her myself. Damn the consequences! I will kill her and all her bastards as well!’

“Your Grace,” Lancel stated, pulling the King from his thoughts, “Lord Tywin would like an audience with you while you break your fast. He states he has urgent news.”

“Fine, have the servants bring enough for two,” Robert grumbled in response.

“Yes, your Grace, I will tell the servants straight away and inform the Lord Hand you are ready to receive him,” his squire replied as he bowed deeply and began to make his way towards the door.

"So, Lannister... Lionspawn,” the King called stopping the young man.

“Ya…Yes your Grace?” the boy questioned as he turned around.

“So are you also a product of incest?"

“Na… No your Grace,” the young man stuttered, clearly shocked by the King’s question. “My Father is Lord Kevan Lannister and my lady mother, Dorna, was a Swyft before she married my lord father... Why… Why would you ask that, your Grace?”

The King could tell the boy was clearly confused. "Did you know?” The King asked as he stared daggers at the young man.

“Did… Did I know what?”

“That you Lannisters just like the Dragonspawns… Fucking your brothers and sisters! Committing fucking treason! Birthing bastards and pawning them off as trueborn heirs!”

The boy gasped, “I… I did not know, your Grace.”

“Tell me Lannister, did Cersei ask for me to name you my squire so she could fuck you as well? You do look an awful lot like that brother of hers."

Lancel paled under the King’s glare. He opened and close his mouth several time, but no words came out.

"My gods! How many fucking Lannisters are fucking my wife!" The King roared.

“I… I do not know, your Grace… I did not want to, she forced me to when Ser Jaime was unable to visit her.”

“Get out of here! Have the servants bring me my food and wine while you tell Tywin to get his ass here now because I have a lot to discuss with him! After that you need to leave the Capital… The only reason I am not killing you right now is because you were honest with me… However, if I ever see your blonde head again I will throw you in the Black Cells and I will kill you myself!”

His squire nodded his head, bowed and quickly and wordlessly left the room.

Robert was furious. He walked over to his wooden dining table, poured himself a glass of Arbor Gold and guzzled it down as he thought, 'My gods, Cersei has fucked her brother and cousin? I wonder whom else she has been fucking? She is such a fucking whore! At least the Dragon Spawn whore princess across the Narrow Sea is not fucking her brother! I think I was too easy on her damn cousin… I should not let him get off so easily… He should die or be sent to the Wall as well… After I speak with Tywin I will send my guards after the little Lannister cunt…'

A few minutes later, several servant girls brought several decanters of wine, platters of fresh fruits, roasted meats and cheeses and placed them on the dining tabled on the balcony, overlooking Blackwater Bay. He took his seat at the table, sipping on a glass of wine as he absentmindedly watched the sun begin to rise over the Harbor while he waited for his Hand to arrive.

“Your Grace, Lord Tywin has arrived,” one of the servants stated as she refilled his wine glass. “Would you like for me to escort him to your balcony?”

Robert nodded his head, and the servant girl disappeared inside of his chambers. A few moments later, his Hand entered, being escorted by Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Boros Blount.

“Good Moring, your Grace,” Tywin stated calmly with a respectful dip of his head.

“Sit, my Lord Hand… Eat, something… We have much to discuss,” Robert stated sharply as he gestured towards the open chair across from him.

Lord Tywin sat down in the empty chair across from the king and replied, “Thank you for accepting my audience, your Grace. However, I feel I cannot eat at this time.“

The King nodded in response then looked towards the Kingsguards and stated, “You two, wait outside my chamber doors. Do not let anyone enter my chambers.”

The two Kingsguards nodded and quickly left the room. When he heard the door latch shut, he turned his attention back toward the Hand of the King. His Hand had dark bags under his eyes, his face was pale and he looked as if he had not slept. ‘Serves him right for fathering incestuous bastards!’

When his Hand remained silent, Robert broke the tense silence when he burst out in angry laughter. "Did you realize that your whore of a daughter was not only fucking Ser Jaime, but my squire, Lancel?" The King inquired as he filled his plate.

“No, I was unaware,” Lord Tywin mumbled as he face paled further.

“I want him gone as well! I’ve changed my mind… I told him to leave King’s Landing, but that is not punishment enough… We can send him to the Wall to serve out the rest of his days with your son and your bastard grandson!” Robert roared, slamming his hand on the table, no longer amused at the situation.

“I am sorry, your Grace, it is not possible for Ser Jaime…,”

“Not possible, of course it is possible!” Robert interrupted. “Lancel is probably currently getting a good-bye fuck from the Queen and Ser Jaime was ordered to be taken to the Black Cells last night! I will order your nephew to be thrown into the same cell and they can both be on the next ship to East Watch! I sure that they would love each other’s company!”

"As I was saying, your Grace, it is not possible for Ser Jaime to go to the Wall.”

“And just why is it not possible,” Robert roared.

“Ser Jaime cannot be taken to the Wall because he burned to death last night in the White Sword Tower... When the Gold Cloaks went to his chambers to escort him to the Black Cells, his room was engulfed in flames… There was a note, from Jaime, left under Ser Meryn Trant’s chamber door, stating he was sorry to have loved Cersei… However, I do not believe my son would have killed himself.”

“I am glad he is gone, but your son was a coward! He only killed himself so he did not have to face the consequences of his treason!”

Robert could tell his hand wanted to say something, that he was fighting back his anger and tears. However, the man remained silent, so the King then sat back down at the table and drank a glass of wine to calm his wrath before he continued. “Lord Hand, now that we no longer have to deal with your oath breaking son and as far as I am concerned, Lancel can rot in the Black Cells until the next time the Watch comes asking for recruits… I need to know what your plan is for your whore of a daughter and her remaining bastards… I still want them all dead… But I am willing to entertain other options if you truly feel keeping them alive will help calm the instability of the realm caused by her oldest bastard.”

"I have arranged for Tommen and Myrcella to leave the capital this afternoon. They will be sent to Casterly Rock where they will be fostered by my brother Lord Kevan Lannister who is currently acting as the Lord of Casterly Rock in my stead and his wife." Tywin then sighed and stated, “I would also like to request Lancel be returned to Casterly Rock as well… It would cause rumors throughout the realm if it was learned he was being held in the Black Cells without being charged with a crime.” 

“Fine, I let her little cunt of a cousin live… But tell me why I should allow her bastards to continue to breath?” The King inquired. “I bet your whore of a daughter is planning to kill me so her Bastard Tommen can take the Throne. Give me a good reason why I should agree to this… Tell me why I should not announce to Westeros that your daughter is a brother-cousin fucking whore who bore nothing but bastards!”

"Myrcella and Tommen are bastards, however, they are innocent of the crime their parents… my children, committed and should not be punished. Joffrey is on his way to the Wall, and because our arrangement to have him take over as Lord of Casterly Rock was never written and signed, he will live out the rest of his days as a man of the Nights Watch. But if you kill Tommen and Myrcella, the realm could destabilize further because you have no true born heirs." 

“Why would war breakout of I announce what the Lannister’s did to the Crown? I should kill you as well and name a new Hand of the King and name a new Westerland’s house as Warden of the West. I am sure they would rally behind me… Tell me why I still need you? Why should I not cast your whore of a daughter aside and take a new Queen? A Queen that would have been loyal to me, who would have loved me! A Queen like Lyanna would have been!"

He noticed Tywin gripped the sides of his chair as he countered, "Without the Lannister gold, how would you pay off your debt to the Iron Bank? You? House Baratheon does not have that kind of gold. House Stark? Well you no longer hold the North and cannot demand anything from them. House Tyrrell? The Tyrell’s are wealthy; however, their golden rose will become the next Queen in the North. Dorne is also trying to forge an alliance with the North… You see, House Lannister is your only true ally. You will do your duty. After my daughter births this child, you will continue fuck her and she will give you as many trueborn heirs as you want." 

"How do I even know this child is mine? I can swear to you, if the spawn your daughter births has blond hair and green eyes I will kill it and your daughter as well and I will name my bastard, Edric Storm, as my heir! At least he was born between two different noble families,” Robert spat. “I swear if Cersei wasn’t pregnant, I’d kill her now! As long as Tommen and Myrcella are alive, they will be a threat to my throne. So tell me, how exactly you plan to guarantee they will not be a threat to my true heir’s throne, if in fact Cersei does give me a true heir?”

"Myrcella is a girl; therefore, she is not and never will be a threat… She is an asset whom can be used for a political marriage.”

“That could work,” Robert replied as he finished his glass of wine. He then put down the empty cup and asked, “What of the boy?”

“Tommen, will become my brother, Kevan’s, squire. When he proves himself, he will be knighted and will join the Kingsguard.”

"That boy is too soft!” Robert exclaimed as he burst out in laughter. “You and I both know he will never become a knight! He would do nothing but embarrass himself!”

“There is another option that does not include death, your Grace.”

“And what would that be,” the King snorted.

“Perhaps, in a few years, he could be sent to the Citadel. He could train to become a Maester. By doing this, he would renounce his claim to the Throne.”

“That could work… Fine… However, if he does not agree to go to the Citadel when he comes of age, he will be killed and you will not stop me.”

"Agreed,” His Hand replied with a stiff nod before he stood up. “Please excuse me your Grace, I am going to speak with my daughter.”

“Fine… When you see that cunt daughter of your, make sure to tell her I will not allow her to coddle my heirs as she did Joffrey and Tommen. I will not allow her to be the reason I lose any more of my kingdoms.”

"Yes, your Grace, and I agree Cersei cannot be allowed to poison the mind of your children,” Tywin replied. “I will ensure your heirs are not soft and learn from a young age that they cannot have whatever they want simply because they are royalty. I will teach them how to play the game of thrones myself if necessary."

A few moments later, Robert found himself alone in his chambers with a table full of food and several pitchers of wine. He had no appetite. He poured another goblet of wine, stood from the table and began to pace as he thought, ‘I cannot trust the Lannisters. I know that Cersei and probably Tywin are scheming behind my back to take away my throne. I wish I could just expose them for the incestuous lionspawn they are!’

Suddenly and idea came to mine. He quickly walked towards his chamber doors, pulled them open and demanded, "Ser Arys, tell Lord Varys I would like to see him at my noon day meal! And send some chamber maids to prepare the King’s bath."

“Yes, your Grace,” the Kingsguard stated as he dipped his head.

Robert watched as Kingsguard nodded and swiftly disappeared down the hall……


 

Cersei Lannister

Cersei was running through the lush woods near Lannisport with her friends Jeyne Farman and Melara Hetherspoon. They we laughing and excited to find the fortuneteller who would be able to tell them their futures and whom they would marry. Her father had promised her she would marry Prince Rhaegar, and become Queen, however she wanted to know when they would be married. When they arrived at the run down, dark green tent, Cersei took a hand of each of her friends and lifted her chin high before entering. All three girls gasped at the sight of the woman; the woman was older, short, and covered in warts… her eyes were crusty and yellow, she had no teeth and jowls were pale green. Within a few seconds of entering the tent, Jeyne released her hand, and ran into the woods screaming. 

“Come back here,” Cersei screamed at the girl. However, the girl did not turn around, and disappeared into the night. “Fine!” she huffed out as she tightened her grip on Melara’s hand, “I know who my true friend is.”

“I think you should follow your friend,” the wood’s witch croaked in an accented voice.

“Cersei, I think she is right. Let’s go home,” Melara whispered, fear evident in her tone.

“No,” the young Cersei replied as she looked her friend in the eyes. She then turned her head toward the wood’s witch and tried to mask the fear in the voice as she stated, “I have heard your name is Maggy the Frog and you can tell people about their futures…"

“You have heard correctly.”

“Then I am not leaving until you tell me my fortune,” Cersei stated definitively.

“I do not think that this a wise choice… You need to leave.”

“Please Cersei,” Melara pleaded, “I want to go home.”

“NO! I am not leaving this tent until I hear my fortune! Father promised me I would marry the Prince and I need to know when!”

“I will not tell you your future. Trust me… Futures are not something that you wish to know.”

“You will tell me my future… My Father is Tywin Lannister, the Warden of the West… You are on his lands. If you do not tell me my fortune, I will tell my father where you are and he will have your eyes gouged out!”

“Fine,” Maggy relented, “Give me your hand child.” 

Cersei, smiled victoriously, willingly giving her hand to the witch, expecting the woman to read her palm and tell her, her future. However, the next thing Cersei knew, the fortuneteller grabbed her hand and sliced her thumb open with a twisted iron dagger. The young woman felt slightly nauseated as Maggy began to drink the blood for the cut she had made. 

After what felt like several minutes, the witch released Cersei’s hand, wiped the blood from the corners of her mouth with the back of her own hand and stated, “Three questions I will answer for you. Ask wisey”

“When will I marry the Prince?” Cersei quickly asked.

“Never,” The witch stated matter of factly. Cersei gasped and the witch continued. “You shall marry the King.”

“So, I will be Queen?”

“Aye. Queen you shall be… Until the red and blue comet brings another, younger and more beautiful to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”

“Will the King and I have children?” 

“Oh, aye,” the witch replied with a chuckle. “The King with have more than twenty, while you will have five… All will look like their fathers… Three of which will see early shrouds… And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you”

Cersei stared at the woman, perplexed. She did not understand why Rhaegar would have so many more children that she would. And what was a valongar? What did she mean by the valongar would choke her to death. Cersei determined that the witch was mad. She then turned to her friend, grabbed her hand and trying to hid the fear in her voice as she stated, “Come on Melara. This woman is a joke. She is no fortuneteller. She is just making all of this up. Let’s go back to the Castle. I am sure my father and Jaime are looking for us.” 

“I am not mad, my dear… I speak nothing but the truth,” Maggy the frog spoke between cackles. 

“No you don’t,” Cersei spat. “There is no way the King will have twenty children, while I will only bear him five!”

“I never said you would be the only one to bear his children,” the witch interrupted, still laughing.

“And what is a valongar? Why would a valongar kill his Queen?”

Instead of answering her questions, the witch laughed harder, angering the young woman. Cersei then grabbed one of the many jars of potions from the table, and threw it into the eyes of the woman. She tighten her grip on her friend’s hand and they began to run from the green tent as the witch yelled at them in a foreign tongue.

 

The Queen awoke with a start, gasping for air as he clutched her chest. “Maggy the Frog is wrong!” she exclaimed aloud to her empty room as she sat up on the side of her bed before getting up. She slid her feet into her soft slippers and donned her gold and crimson silk robe before beginning to pace around in her chambers, reliving the nightmare from her youth. “The blue and red comet means nothing. Catelyn Tully Stark is not younger than I… And I am defiantly more beautiful than she can ever dream to be… The Targaryen bitch is the Queen of Horselords and Robert is seeing that she is killed. Soon there will be no other threats. I will be Queen until my Joffrey marries… I will deal with his wife when the time comes.”

A knock on the door briefly startled the Queen. She stopped her pacing and looked out of her window, noticing the pink and orange light beginning to fill the sky as the sun started to rise. “Enter,” she called, knowing it was one of her servants, arriving to help her prepare for the day.

“Good Morning, your Grace,” the chamber main stated, as she entered the room. After providing a perfect curtsey, the girl continued, “Would you like for me to prepare your bath before you break your fast?”

“No,” the Queen stated flatly. “I would like for you to help me dress. Then please have the servants prepare a meal with the finest foods… I would like to break my fast with Joffrey before he leaves for… leaves on his journey.”

“I… I am sorry your Grace, but you will not be able to dine with Prince Joffrey,” the young girl hesitantly replied.

Cersei whipped her head around, clearly surprised that the young servant girl denied her request. “What do you mean? I am Queen. I will dine with my son if I chose to dine with my son,” she spat.

The young maid looked down at the floor but did not answer.

“Look at me girl!” When the girl looked up Cersei continued, “Why cannot I not break my fast with Prince Joffrey?”

“I am sorry your Grace, if Prince Joffrey were here, I would…”

“If he were here? Of course, he is here! He is not leaving until this afternoon!”

“I am sorry your Grace. I was told the King and your Father were coming to tell you last night.”

“Coming to tell me what?” Cersei seethed through her teeth.

“That conditions were better… That Prince Joffrey left for his journey last night, just after the sun set.”

“What?!”

“I am sorry, your Grace, I thought you knew,” the handmaiden whispered.

Cersei was furious. She could not believe that her fat husband and Father exiled her son without her getting a chance to say good-bye. Without a definitive plan to prevent him from having to take the black. “Get Ser Jaime, NOW! I need to see my brother!” she shrieked.

When the servant did not answer Cersei turned around and continued, “Are you deaf! I said bring me my brother. Leave and do not return until you bring him to me.”

The girl had paled. She was visibly shaking as she stiffly curtsey and quickly left the room without a word.

The Queen began pacing her chambers once again as she waited for her brother to arrive. Her mind racing and her blood boiling. She could not believe her Husband and Father went behind her back, exiling her son without allowing her the chance to say good-bye. She then remembered how Jaime left last night, without even saying a word. She prayed that she would at least get to see her lover before he left. She need to see him. Her mind was in such jumble about what had occurred the night before; she did not recall anything that was after Jaime left the room. After he father stormed out of the room, she had spent the night in her bed, crying and praying Jaime would return once the halls were quiet… He never came. She did not understand why her brother did not come to her. She needed him. She needed a plan. She needed Jaime to help her inforce a plan. She knew Robert would not allow Jaime to remain in King’s Landing. She needed to know where he was planning to go… She needed to know he would be safe. Perhaps she could find some empty chambers were he could hide. Robert rarely leaves his rooms, he would never notice if Jaime were hiding within the castle.

She was still pacing the room when she heard her chamber creaking open. She rushed toward the door, “Oh Gods, Jaime,” she started as she turned to face the door, only to realize it was not Jaime. “Father, what are you doing here?” She questioned sharply.

“I am here to provide you with news,” The Hand of the King responded as he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“And what news would that be?” The Queen spat as she stared into the cold green eyes of her father. “That you sent Joffrey to the Wall last night! That you sent him off without letting me say good-bye!”

“Sit down,” her father growled, his face turning red as he motioned towards the wooden table and chairs by the window. Once they were both seated he continued, “I have had just about all I can take of you! I betrayed my friend for you… so you could become Queen as you always dreamed! You only had one job in your life; to fuck the King and give him heirs! You FAILED! You are lucky Robert is agreeable to my plan… You are lucky he did not have the boat turned around so your Bastard could be executed on the steps of the Sept of Baelor… You are lucky that you are not being executed on the steps of the Sept of Baelor!”

“What are Robert’s plans for me? If his is not killing me, is he casting me aside? If so, I will gladly take moon tea to ride my body of his spawn!” She stated though gritted teeth.

“You will do your duty! You will use the weapon between your legs. Fuck your husband… only your husband and provide him with as many heirs as he desires. Because of you, I now have to pay the full debt to the Iron Bank… Not for Joffrey’s release from his vows to the Watch, but to keep your little affair a secret! Robert wanted to expose the affair… to name your children bastards and have them killed! Luckily, I was able to convince him killing you and the children would be detrimental to the realm.”

“What does he plan to do with Tommen and Myrcella? You said he was not naming them bastards…”

“Tommen and Myrcella are leaving King’s Landing after their midday meal. Their belongings are being packed as we speak. They are to be fostered at Casterly Rock by your Uncle Kevan and Aunt Dorna.”

Cersei gasped, “He cannot do that! He cannot take my children away from me!”

“YOU, Woman! Are lucky he is allowing them to live!” Tywin snarled. “They are bastards, Cersei! As long as they are alive they are a threat to his true heirs!” He took a deep breath and continued, “As I was saying, they will be raised at Casterly Rock. Tommen will squire for Kevan. If he is able to toughen to soft boy into a man, he will be name a knight and become a member of the Kingsguard… If not he will be sent to the Citadel to become a Maester. He will never be King. Myrcella will be raised a proper southern lady and Princess. Robert and I will use her to force a marriage alliance that will benefit the crown.”

“Robert is doing this because he knows how much I love my children… Having them so far away will feel like they are dead! He wants to see me suffer! My Tommen will never be able to take a wife or have children… That his crown is being ripped from his head. And my beautiful Myrcella is being used like a pawn in his game!” Cersei then looked her father in the eyes and stated, “I do not understand why we just don’t kill him already. Then we would truly control the Seven Kingdoms.”

Her father just glared at her as if she had grown another head. He took several deep breaths and shook his head. “I never thought you were the stupidest Lannister. However, you are truly a fool. The people will not follow Joffrey. He dug his own grave when he tried to rape and murder the Stark girls. Tommen is too soft. My brother will be able to toughen him up but he does not have what it takes to be King.” He then lowered his voice and continued, “The people will not follow me, yet, because it will be too suspicious; I just arrived and the King has no true heirs. You have to give it time. You need to do your part and give him true heirs. Then and only then can we discuss… Robert’s future.”

“So you agree with Robert,” Cersei breathed out. “I cannot believe you are doing this to your own grandchildren.”

“The next ruler of Westeros will still have Lannister blood in his veins. However, it will be the child growing in your womb. Not one of your Bastards.”

“Fine,” Cersei relented in defeat. “I demand to see Tommen and Myrcella before they leave.”

Her father nodded in response, “I will have the children brought to your chambers just before they leave. I will not allow you to cause a scene in public. They will eat their midday meal with you and then depart.”

“Will Jaime be escorting the children to Casterly Rock… I am sure Robert has banished him from the Capital as well… Wait that would be too kind. I bet Robert is making him take the Black with Joffrey.” When she looked at his face, his expression was unreadable. Therefore, she pressed, “Let me guess, they two of you have already sent Jaime to the Wall as well! Not allowing me a chance to say good-bye to either of them! You did this just to punish me!”

Suddenly her Father slammed his hand on the table and stood up. “Because of you Jaime is no longer with us!” Tywin stated coldly. “If you would have just kept your fucking legs closed to your brother we would not be in this situation! Because of you, the King has no true heirs! Because of you I have to pay the Crown’s debt of seven million gold dragons to the Iron Bank! Because of you my oldest grandson will spend the rest of his Wall! Because of you, my SON is DEAD! This is all your fault!”

“What?” Cersei breathed out, praying she had heard her father incorrectly.

“Jaime is dead,” he verified.

“That is impossible… He has not had a trial! Robert cannot just kill him without a trial… Surely, he is still in the Black Cells… You will be able to save him.” She rambled.

“Robert did not kill Jaime…”

“Of course he did not kill Jaime himself…”

“Jaime killed himself,” Tywin interrupted.

“What? I do not believe it. We will have Grand Maester Pycelle examine the body… He will find evidence that Jaime was murdered.

“Cersei, there is not body. Jaime lit his bedding on fire. All that remains are charred bones.”

“Jaime would never do that! Someone must have lit his bedding while he slept,” Cersei muttered in disbelief.

Tywin then took a folded letter out of his pocket and handed it to the Queen. “This was found in Ser Meryn Trant’s chambers… It was slid under his door.”

When Cersei look down at the note, she immediately recognized Jaime’s messy handwriting; her eyes began to fill with tears as she read:

I am sorry. This is entirely my fault. I should have done my duty and married Lysa Tully. I never should have let my love for Cersei cloud my judgement. I love my children and wish that I could have been a true father to them. Please let them know their ‘Uncle Jaime’ loves them very much. However, I regret they ever existed. I should have stayed away from King’s Landing. I never should have went along with Cersei’s idea to be named a member of the Kingsguard. I am sorry.

The note fell to the table. Cersei felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. She could not breathe. The room was spinning. Her vision was foggy. She could not think. She could not hear what her father was saying.

“Cersei… Cersei,” she finally heard her Father call as he forced a glass of water into her hand. She drank the glass of water as he continued to speak. “Damn it Cersei you need to take care of yourself. Let me help you to bed… You look pale.”

“Please help me to bed… and send for Grand Maester Pycelle… I need to speak with him… I need to make sure my baby is okay. I… I cannot deal with all of this stress.”

He father nodded and helped her into her bed. As soon as the door closed, she sat up in the bed. She knew she had to come up with a plan to save her children and she knew the only person she could rely on at this time was the Grand Maester……

 


 

Lord Varys

 

It was nearly midday and the Spider smiled to himself as he read the song his little bird had just brought to him. He gave the young boy two candied plums as payment and promised him an entire box of his favorite sweets if he was successful in his next task. When Varys saw the smile on the child’s face he knew Cersei’s days of scheming would soon be coming to an end. After giving the child instructions, the Master of Whispers read the note once more.

The Hand came to visit the Queen, told her that her bastards were being sent to Casterly Rock and she was to provide the King with as many trueborn heirs as he desired. The Queen states the King is responsible for Ser Jaime’s death; that he only killed himself because he knew the King would have had him executed. She also states the King is the reason her children are being sent away. The Grand Maester then came and he and the Queen came up with a plan to poison the King’s wine; they have chosen the Strangler so the death would be quick but also that he would suffer… She wants his death to be soon and when others are gathered, so that she will not be suspected and can play the part of distressed wife. Once the King is dead, the Queen plans to name herself Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms. Once the King is dead, she plans to take moon tea to kill her growing child because she feels dirty having the ‘Whoremonger’ King’s child growing in her belly and she believes the people will have sympathy for her if she loses her husband and her unborn child. She then will send a decree to the Wall, freeing Joffrey so he does not have to take the black and can reclaim his titles and his crown; she asked the Grand Maester to draft the decree and she will sign as soon as the King takes his last breath.

Varys rolled the noted and placed it into the pocket of his sleeve before traveling to the King’s private chambers for the midday meal. As much as he hated kissing the ass of the Whoremonger Usurper, he knew this was where his King needed him and he has to play his part. When he arrived at Robert’s rooms, Ser Meryn went inside the room to see if the King was ready to receive him, leaving him alone with Ser Arys.

“So, how is his Grace this beautiful day?” Lord Varys inquired while he waited for the other Kingsguard to return.

“Surprisingly, not as drunk as usual… And currently no whores are present,” the Kingsguard replied. “I have not seen him this focused… ever.”

“I would hope he is focused,” Lord Varys stated. “There is much unrest and our King needs to be focused.”

Before the Ser Arys could reply, Ser Meryn opened the ironwood doors and ushered him to the King’s balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. The King was standing at the railing and appeared to be lost in thought as he stared at the water. When Ser Meryn coughed the King turned around and almost appeared to be smiling as he said, “Lord Varys, I am happy to see you.” He then looked at the Kingsguard and barked, “You, wait by the door. My Master of Whispers and I are not to be disturbed under any circumstance. You understand.”

“Yes, your Grace,” he replied before bowing and leaving the room.

“Ah, Spider, I hope that your Little Birds have sung to your this morning,” The King stated as he sat down at the table, which had an assortment of sandwiches and fruits and pitchers of wine laid out.

“Indeed they have, Grace,” the Spider responded.

“Sit down, Lord Varys… Please eat unlike that ungrateful shit Hand of mine and tell me what you know.”

The Master of Whispers sat down in the chair across from the King and stated, “Your Grace, it appears both Lord Tywin and the Queen believe Ser Jaime took his own life. Neither suspect he did not die by his own hand. All that remains of his body is a pile of charred bones… Therefore. Grand Maester Pycell is unable to test for poisons.”

“Perfect,” The King replied with a smile before taking a long sip of wine. After he placed his half-drunken glass on the table, used the back of his hand to wipe the drips of wine from his beard then added, “Any other news, Spider?”

Varys then took a deep breath and removed the message from his sleeve. He handed this King the correspondence as he stated, “My little birds have heard some interesting songs from the Queen’s chambers earlier today, your Grace.”

While the King read the note, Varys filled his plate with a sandwich and some grapes. He did not really want to eat, but knew that he had to keep up the charade. Varys watched the King’s face show a gambit of emotions as he read the message.

Suddenly, The King barked out a laugh, surprising the Master of Whispers, he put the messaged down on the table, “Lord Varys, your plan to make Ser Jaime’s death appear to be a suicide was brilliant! She is more delusional than I thought!” Robert then finished his glass of wine. “The King’s mood then soured slightly “I cannot believe she wants to save that coddled, arrogant son of hers… Varys, we must find a way to make sure Joffrey is never released from his Nights Watch Vows… Also, we must do something about her other Lionspawn… Tommen and Myrcella must die! As long as they are alive they are a threat to my child and my throne!”

“Your Grace, the Queen is fiercely loyal to her children and her family. She is truly delusional if she believed we would not be expecting her retaliation. I agree, Tommen must be… Taken care of, but I believe Princess Myrcella’s life could be beneficial.”

“And why would I allow that brother fucking whore’s daughter to be allowed to live?”

“It was as Lord Tywin told you this morning… Myrcella can be used for political gain...”

“Fine,” the King relented. “However, if there is any inkling that she might become a threat, I want her DEAD!”

“Of course, your Grace,” Lord Varys replied as he dipped his head.

“Also, I want Tommen dead before he leaves the Capital! I want to see Cersei’s face as she holds her dead bastard son! And then I want her dead as well!”

“I do not believe that is a wise idea, your Grace.”

“And why is that? I want to see her suffer! Then I want her dead, before she can even bury her bastard,” Robert bellowed.

“Your Grace, you are an intelligent man. You know the death of the Crown Prince and the pregnant Queen, in the Red Keep would cause much suspicion... I feel it would be wise to wait.”

“I already told you I want them dead, NOW! How long would you have me wait?”

“I agree that each moment Tommen is alive he is a threat… However, if we wait until he is traveling to Casterly Rock, an illness could take him and Lancel both. No one would think twice if illness were to strike down travelers during a long journey. Might I suggest Tears of Lys. It is an expensive poison, yet it is undetectable… It is odorless and tasteless. Once ingested, the poor soul will be dead within hours,” Lord Varys replied coolly before popping a grape into his mouth.

“Fine… Nevertheless, I want them to be dead at the soonest possible moment of their journey! And tell me… Just where can a get some of this Tears of Lys?”

“I know the Grand Maester has some with his supplies, but involving him would be too risky. I am sure he would inform the Queen immediately of such a request.”

“Then where am I supposed to get the poison? The traveling party should be leaving within a few hours,” The King then huffed.

“I have heard that The Master of Coin, for some unknown reason, received a shipment of the poison, shortly before you left for Winterfell,” Varys mused before nibbling on his sandwich.

“Good, send Lord Baelish to me after we are done.” The King then inquired, “And what about the Queen? She is planning to kill me… I feel we have more than enough evidence… Instead of just killing her, we should put her on trial. This would ensure the entire realm knows she is a traitorous bitch! The sooner she is dead, the sooner I will never have to look at her dumb bitch, traitorous, cunt face again.”

“As much as that would be satisfying, I still feel it would be wisest to wait until the Queen has given birth to your child… It would be much easier to explain the Queen’s death if she were to die of childbirth fever… Then you would also have a true heir.”

“That does make sense… Fine, make it happen, but promise me, the whore will never be given the chance to hold my child… Also, promise me, if that child is born with golden hair it will never take a full breath.”

“Of course your, Grace. No one would think anything wrong if both a child and mother die in child birth.”

“Good.”

“Will there be anything else, your Grace?” The Master of Whispers inquired with a quirked brow, hoping the King was done and he could retire to his chambers.

“Yes, I need for you to find out when she plans to poison me.”

“I will have my little birds searching for any information. I already have following both the Grand Maester and the Queen. I promise I will share any songs as soon as they have reached my ears.”

“Thank you, Spider,” King Robert replied sincerely.

“Of course, your Grace,” Varys replied with a dip of his head. He then looked the southern King in the eyes and continued, “If that is all, I best have the Kingsguard retrieve Lord Baelish.”

When the King nodded, Varys stood from the table and took his leave. He had the Kingsguard send for Lord Baelish as requested before he went to find his most capable little birds, ones that could prevent Tommen’s death. He did not know how he was going to stop the attack on Tommen, but he knew he needed to try because his King and Queen did not believe that children should be punished for the crimes of their parents……

 

 


 

Eddard Stark

 

Finally, the summer snows that had delayed the King in the North and his traveling companions from embarking on their journey beyond the Wall over the last few days had become nothing but a flurry. However, there was still a bone chilling bite to the air and as he walked through the dark halls of Castle Black with Jeor Mormont, he could not help but long for the warm walls of Winterfell and his family. And for an unknownth number of times, he was internally cursing himself for allowing Jon to be sent here in his last life.

“I believe the weather is finally taking a turn for the better,” the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch spoke, pulling the King from his thought. “I would suggest you leave as soon as possible to stay ahead of the next storm. As you Stark’s say ‘Winter is Coming,’ and we all need to be ready for what is coming with this storm.”

“Aye, it is,” Ned agreed as they stepped from the drafty hallway and into the Commander’s solar. Once the door was closed, the King added, “If Jon is right, the next winter should arrive in approximately in six years... which is not much time to prepare ourselves and our people for the coming storm."

“I agree, we must prepare,” the former Lord of Bear Island agreed as he sat down. Once Ned was seated across from him, he continued. “However, your Grace, something seem off from what you are telling me, things appear to be moving faster than what your boy told you.”

“Faster? What do you mean?” Ned asked with a furrowed brow.

“I had a group of rangers return from a mission last night, much sooner than planned. They were at Craster’s Keep and one of his wives gave birth to a son. One of the young rangers thought it was odd to see the older man take the babe out in the middle of the night… He saw one of the White Walkers take the infant. Also, all of the Wildling Villages between here and Craster’s Keep have been abandoned… They did happen to see a few Wildling’s while they were traveling…”, but instead of engaging the rangers and fighting as they normally do, they left as quick as they could. Telling my men to run away if they wanted to save themselves from….” the Lord Commander trailed off

“Save themselves from what?”

The Lord Commander sighed, “The screaming beasts that haunt at night.”

“Are they talking about the Wights? Jon said the Wights have ear piecing screams.”

“I think it is something different. That they are from some sort of large creature that hunts at night. Did Jon tell you about any sort of creature that hunted at night?”

"No," the King of the North answered as he ran his hand down his beard, contemplating what he had just been told. Suddenly he remembered a story Old Nan had told him when he was a child, “Ice spiders,” he gasped. “Old Nan said that ice spiders hunted at night and its screams were unnatural. Nevertheless, this is all so odd… I am sure Jon would have mentioned ice spiders.”

"Ice spiders?" The Lord Commander scoffed. “You know, I do not know what to believe these days. Anything is possible.”

"Aye, it is,” Ned agreed. However, before he could continue, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” the Lord Commander called.

"Your Grace,” Pyp acknowledged with a dip if his head before he turned to Joer Mormont. “Lord Commander, we just received this raven for you… It is from King’s Landing and it is sealed with the sigil of the Hand of the King."

“Thank you, Pyp,” the Lord Commander replied. Ned watched as the man’s eyes quickly read the message and was surprised when he heard him gasp.

"What's wrong Jeor? What is the new from the Capital?"

Instead of answering the King, the Lord Commander handed him the message. Ned could barely believe what the correspondence stated. He looked towards Maester Aemon’s steward and requested that Lord Tyrion be brought to him immediately. With a dip of his head, the young man went left for his task.

Once the door clicked shut, Jeor Mormont looked at him with wide eyes and stated, "I cannot believe Tywin Lannister and King Robert, have determined Prince Joffrey is not fit to rule. That he has dishonored the North and the Iron Throne… That as punishment, he has been stripped of his titles and will have to serve the remainder of his days as a brother of the Night’s Watch."

"Aye,” Ned replied. “I knew things would be different, but I cannot believe Joffrey is on his way to serve at the Wall… And I cannot believe Cersei had allowed this to happen…”

“I doubt Tywin gave her much of a choice,” Jeor scoffed. “He probably got Robert to realize this was the only way to prevent a rebellion in the Southern Six Kingdoms and Cersei did not have a say.”

“Either that or Tywin has some sort of plan for Joffrey in the North… Everything that man does has motive.” The King in the North replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He then looked his friend in the eyes and stated, “Jeor, he must be watched. Joffrey cannot be allowed access to Ravens or messengers. And as much as it pains me to say, he will have enemies here… He may possibly be hated more that the Starks by the Targaryen Loyalists who were forced to join after the Rebellion… He must be protected. If anything were to happen to him, the Lannister’s will see it as an act of war.”

"Then we should most surely protect him at all costs. I will assign him as my personal steward. Maybe I can get that boy to become a man."

“Aye, I believe that to be wise,” the King in the North agreed.

The two men spoke for a few more minutes about the King’s journey north of the Wall until Pyp brought Lord Tyrion to the Lord Commander’s study. The Lord Commander excused himself leaving The King in the North and his Hand to discuss matter in private.

"Good Morning, your Grace,” the dwarf replied with a dip of his head. “I hope you were able to sleep well despite the bitter cold.”

“I slept well, thank you my Lord Hand.”

“You know, this place is nothing like Winterfell,” Tyrion replied before he took a drink from his leather flask. “Even with wine, a feather bed, piles of furs and a fire burning in the hearth, I could not keep the chill from penetrating to my core.”

“Aye, I cannot wait to return and be within the warm walls of home,” Ned replied with a smile.

“You know, I have heard stories about the Hot Springs in Winterfell… It is said, those Hot Springs are heated by furnaces of the world… Which are only found in two other places, the Smoking Mountain of Dragonstone and the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria. Leaving people to believe the hot springs are heated by a dragon.”

“Lord Tyrion, as much as I would love to discuss the history and lore of Winterfell, there are more important things that must be discussed before I leave.” When his Hand nodded the King continued, “Winter is coming faster than in J… than it has in the past."

"What do you mean, your Grace?" Tyrion inquired with a furrowed brow.

Ned stood up from where he was sitting, walked over to the window and watched the snow flurries swirling for a moment before he turned to face the dwarf once more and stated, "There is something is unsettling by this weather. In the North, it is cold and we are used to summer snows, however these are different that those of the past… It appears that winter will arrive sooner than was thought and we will need to be ready.”

“Your Grace, I am confident you will be able to prepare your people for the coming winter. After all, I was taught that the Starks were once the Kings of Winter.”

“What I am saying, my Lord Hand, is we need to make sure not only the North is prepared, but all of Westeros. I fear the coming Winter will be the harshest on record… And that with cold and storms, we might see things that have not been seen in thousands of years…”

"Your Grace, are you telling me you believe the tales about the White Walkers I heard some of the brothers muttering about when I broke my fast… You don’t actually believe that this Winter could be our last?"

"I do,” Ned replied honestly as he look his hand in the eye. “Jon has seen them and he has fought against them. Jon is my blood and I would trust him with my life. He has never given me reason not to trust him, and so far everything he’s told me has been true."

"Your Bastard, your Grace?" Lord Tyrion inquired.

"Please do not call him a bastard, Lord Tyrion. He will always be a son to me.” Ned retorted rather harshly before he sighed and continued. “But, to answer your question, aye, Jon told me what this winter will bring and I promise you, The Night King and his army of reanimated corpses are real. The details in which he has described it too me, has given me sleepless nights... However, I still need to see these monsters for myself… I need to save as many of the Wildlings… Free Folks as possible so they are not added to his ranks."

“Your Grace I am not sure I understand what you are saying,” the Dwarf stated with a perplexed look on his face. “How do you know your bas… Jon has seen and fought against these… creatures, when he and your heir have been lost beyond the Wall for nearly three moon turns? And now you are talking about bringing the people whom could have kidnapped or killed your sons into your Kingdom.”

“Because, Lord Tyrion, Robb and Jon are not beyond the wall,” Ned replied with a smile.

“If they are not beyond the Wall, where are they? Why are we here? We could be within the warm, comforting walls of Winterfell, planning the creation of more glass gardens to ensure the North has enough food for winter.”

"They are in Essos."

"Essos, your Grace?"

The King in the North nodded. "Aye. They have been there for nearly three moon turns now.”

“I do not understand, your Grace, why did you tell everyone in the North… all of your bannermen and King Robert they were lost beyond the Wall? Why are they in Essos? Why are you just now telling me this?”

“My Lord Hand, I had to make sure I could trust you with the truth… that you were not going to report the truth to your sister or Father.”

“I can assure you, both my Father and Sister want me dead.” Tyrion replied with a snort. “The only member of my family that even gives two shits if I live or die would be my brother Jaime.”

“Aye, I can see that now.” Eddard then took a deep breath to calm his nerves before answering his Hand. “Lord Tyrion, I have had to lie for years to keep my family safe. Therefore, I made up the story that Robb and Jon were investigating beyond the Wall so that King Robert would not question their whereabouts. They have journeyed to Essos to meet with the Targaryens."

“Your Grace,” the dwarf gasped. “Why would you send your heir and your bas… natural born son to Essos to meet with the Targaryens? How did you even know where to find them? Varys only learned of their location when the dragon was hatched."

"Lord Tyrion, it does not matter how I know where they were. Just know that I will do whatever it takes to make sure my people and the people of Westeros survive the coming winter. Westeros must be united if we to stand a chance in defeating the Great Other. I feel the only way for Westeros to defeat the Army of the Dead is with the help of the Targaryens and their dragons."

"You're going to bend the knee to the Targaryens?" His Hand incredulously inquired.

"No. Not yet because the Lords of the North are a stubborn lot… The North Remembers the victor’s truth of the Rebellion.” Ned could tell the Dwarf wanted to interject, so he quickly continued, “Many Northerners blame the Targaryens for the death of their family members during that War. Therefore, they will not accept the Targaryens as their King and Queen, even if I believe to be the best chance for the survival of my people.”

“How can you be so sure an alliance with the Targaryens is what is best? What are you going to offer them? Your heir is all but betrothed to Lady Margaery. And plus she has already married this Aegon Targaryen… Who may or may not even be a Targaryen…”

“My Lord, I can assure you, my boys know what this Winter brings and they know that we will have to set our pasts and differences aside if we are to survive. They will stay with the Targaryen’s for a time, judging their character.”

“So you are allowing your sons to be hostages to the Targaryens?”

“No, my Lord, they can return home at any time they choose and I will welcome them with open arms. My boys are where they feel they are needed and they have been reporting to me. It appears Prince Viserys was mad like his father and has died, while Daenerys appears to have much of mother’s character; kind yet stern, a true queen with the best interests of her people at heart.”

“What have they told you about this Aegon? What of his character? Does he have the Targaryen madness?”

“I can assure you, my Lord, Aegon was raised to be a good man. An honorable man. We have nothing to fear from him.”

“How can you be so sure? We do not even know where he has been for the last eighteen years or if he is truly a Targaryen.”

“How I know this is not important at this time.” Ned could tell his hand wanted to interject, so he quickly continued, “What is important is that we come up with a way to convince my people we need Westeros to stand together before winter. We both know Robert and your Father do not give a damn about the people of the southern six kingdoms… We need rulers on the Iron Throne who care about their people and we will need their six dragons in the Great War that is to come."

"Your Grace, you cannot just expect the Targaryens to let you rule the North unless they receive something in return… I mean what is if that your plan to offer them in this alliance?”

“My Lord Hand, if all goes according to plan. We can offer that the North, the Reach, Dorne, and the Riverlands and possibly even the Vale, will all remain neutral in their quest against King Robert and the Lannisters to retake the Iron Throne.”

The King in the North was shocked when Lord Tyrion burst out in laughter. “What is so funny, my Lord?” he inquired.

"I am sorry, your Grace,” Tyron stated, taking a deep breath and silencing his laughter. “I agree, staying neutral in that war sounds like what would be best for your people. However, this is not how wars work. My Father is ruthless and manipulating. He will bribe people and give them what they desire. If the plan of marriage to Houses Martell and Tyrell go has planned you will have the support of those two houses, but my father will find an ambitious house who will turn on their liege in exchange for power and gold."

"Aye, I understand. I have an idea of which Lords allegiances might be swayed by power and coin. I am learning to play the game which is another reason I chose you as my hand. You a very knowledgeable with it come to diplomacy.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

Ned nodded, “Now Lord Tyrion, with that being said, you must understand. When the Targaryens and Lannisters does arrive, the North will stay out of the fight. I will not put the lives of my people in danger when there is a greater danger ahead."

The dwarf open and closed his mouth several times before he stated, “Of course, your Grace. I understand. And I agree that my Father should not be allowed to rule over the seven Kingdoms.”

"Good,” Ned said with a nod. “Now another reason I have call you hear is because I have just received word, from King’s Landing, that for your nephew, Joffrey, has received a suitable punishment for his crimes against the North.

“And what would that be… Praying to the Seven for forgiveness and a public apology,” Tyrion snickered.

“No,” Ned chuckled. “He has been stripped of his titles and it has been determined he must serve the remainder of this life as a sworn brother of the Nights Watch.”

"Joffrey is joining the Nights Watch?" Tyrion said, clearly surprised by his King’s words.

“Aye, that is what the correspondence stated,” Ned confirmed.

“By all gods, this must be a dream,” His Hand chortled. “After all these years that little shit is finally getting what he deserves! Oh, I would pay good coin to watch that little fucker searing his vows to the Watch."

“As much as I would love to watch that as well, it will be at least a moon turn before he arrives and I prefer, for your own safety, you are gone before he steps foot in Castle Black.”

“I understand, Grace. My nephew probably blames me for his banishment. I will pack my things and leave at first light.”

“Lord Tyrion, I do not want you here when Joffrey arrives, however, I would like for you to do some research for me before you return to Winterfell.”

“Research?” the dwarf asked with a perplexed look on his face. “Why don’t you just write down what is needed and Maester Luwin can request whatever it is you need from the Citadel.”

“Because, my Lord. The books that are needed are not in the Citadel’s library… they are here, at Castle Black. Also, Maester Aemon might also have some books on the topic in his personal library.”

“You want me to see if I can find any information about the White Walkers,” Tyrion stated with a smile.

“Aye,” Ned replied with a nod. “Castle Black has one of the oldest libraries in Westeros. Many of the books have not been read in over a century… I figured with your desire of knowing things, you will be the perfect man for the job.”

“I would be honored, your Grace. If it is true and these creatures really do exist, we will need as much information about them as we can find.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.”

“You are welcome, your Grace.” His Hand replied sincerely before standing up. “If that will be all, I best get started on this research so I can get as much done before Joffrey arrives.”

“Just a couple more things,” the King in the North stated as he took three folded letters of this the pocket of his jerkin and handed to the dwarf. “This top letter is for you. It details my plans for assimilating the Free Folk into the North. The second letter is for Cat and the third if for Jon. I would like for you to give those two letters to her if you have not heard from me within three moon turns.”

“Of course your Grace,” Tyrion replied. “Although, I have no doubt you will be successful in your mission and these letter will not need to be given to her.”

“I hope you are right.”

“I am sorry Grace, but there is one thing I do not understand… why you have written a letter for natural son and not one for Robb, your heir?”

“Lord Tyrion, I once told you... I will tell you the truth about Jon's mother…”

“This is a letter telling him about his mother,” the dwarf cut him off.

“In a sense,” the King said with a smile. “I promise you, I will tell you about Jon once we are reunited."

“I look forward to that conversation, your Grace.”

“Once last thing. While I am gone, please watch over my family and my kingdom.”

“It will be my honor, your Grace.” Tyrion stated with a dip of his head.

A short time later, after he said his final good-byes to Maester Aemon and the Lord Commander, Ned found himself sitting atop of his horse with his Valyrian Steel sword strapped to this hip. His Brother, Theon and his four household guards were next to him, atop their horses. The King in the North took one last deep breath as the steel gates leading beyond the Wall clicked as they opened……

 


 

Jaime Lannister

The Kingslayer felt uneasy. They had been sailing for close to two days now and his emotions were still all over the place – feelings of joy, of guilt of fear. He tossed and turned on the small bunk as his mind continued to race, pondering if he made the right decision. He knew he had to get out of Kings Landing; if he had stayed, he would surely be a dead man by now. And he was heading to fulfill a vow he swore over eighteen years ago; to protect Rhaegar’s family by serving his last surviving son. But how could he trust that the Spider was being honest with him… part of him felt as if he should have stayed with Cersei, admitted to his crimes and accepted his punishment. Another part of him felt as if he needed to leave, but should have demanded Tommen and Myrcella come with him. The thought of anything happening to his children made him queasy and the rocking of the boat was not helping.

A knock on his door interrupted his internal torment, figuring it was one of the ships servants, bringing his meal, he did not even get out of his bed as he called for the person to enter.

“When I received the message you were on this ship I was quite surprised,” the familiar voice called as he heard the door close.

“Ser Barristan,” Jaime breathed out in disbelief as he opened his eyes and sat up on the side of the bunk. “What are you doing here? Did they send you to kill me?”

“Did who, send me to kill you?”

“My Father and King Robert,” Ser Jaime deadpanned. “I would not surprise me if they did.”

“I was dismissed by your father and King Robert… I no longer answer to their orders.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Ser Jaime muttered under his breath.

If the older knight heard him, he chose to ignore the comment because he then held up a piece a parchment, looked the younger man square in the eyes and stated, “This note was slid under my door. I will be honest, did not believe it at first… That you were on this boat and that we have the same goal… You know why I am leaving Westeros, but I do not understand why you, the newly appointment Commander of the Kingsguard, have decided flea Westeros? And if this message is to be trusted, the Red Keep believes you killed yourself.”

“You are the friend Lord Varys told me about?”

“Lord Varys seems to think so,” Ser Barristan scoffed. “However, how do I know I can trust you? How do I know you were not sent to kill me? How do I know this is not some ruse; that the Spider is not double crossing the Targaryen’s and sent you here to kill me and the young King, Queen and their babe?”

“Ser Barristan, I believe we have much to discuss,” the Kingslayer replied, trying his best to force a smile as he got up from his bed. He then motioned towards the empty table and chairs at the sided of the room and stated, “Please, have a seat and I will explain.”

The older knight stared at him suspiciously before he nodded and followed the younger man.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” The Kingslayer offered once they were both seated.

“Just tell me why I can trust you,” Ser Barristan replied.

Ser Jaime sighed and stated, “Robert found out the truth… If I had stayed I would be dead by now.”

“The truth?” Ser Barristan inquired with a quirked eyebrow. “Why would the King want his good brother and Commander of his Kingsguard dead?”

“Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are not King Robert’s children… They are my bastards,” the Kingslayer all but whispered. “If I had stayed my head would be rolling down the steps of the Sept of Baelor at worst… At best I would be on a ship heading for the Wall.”

“You fathered the royal children… On your sister,” Ser Barristan breathed out. When Jaime nodded the older man continued, “You broke your vows and fathered children on the Queen?”

“It is not something I am proud of,” Jaime defended himself. “I loved her. I never wanted to be Kingsguard. I know I have made mistakes…”

“Gods you really are an oath breaker... First you kill the King…”

“I killed Aerys to save the city! He was going to blow up King’s Landing with wildfire!”

“What?”

Jaime sighed, “I killed Aerys because he ordered Lord Rossart, the head of his guild of alchemists, to light the caches of wildfire he had planted throughout the city. He knew he had lost the war and he wasn’t going to go down easy… He decided if he was going to die, so would the rest of King’s Landing.”

“And why did you never tell anyone?”

“What good would it have done? I put my sword through the King’s back. Then afterwards, I was too shocked to move… Rhaegar was already dead and I broke my oath to him. If I had left after I killed Aerys and Rossart, I could have saved Elia and the children… Young Aegon would have lived to become King…”

“You don’t know that.”

“You are right. However, I did not even try to save them. I cannot tell you how long I sat on the Iron Throne after I killed the King… All I know is I was frozen in place… I physically could not move and I honestly do not even remember if I tried. However, if I had moved, I could have gotten them to the escape route Rhaegar had planned if anything were to happen King Aerys. I could have tried to get them to that boat and to Dragonstone. If I had done that, they could have then escaped to Essos.” Jaime then met the man’s gaze, smiled sadly and stated, “I swore to Rhaegar I would protect his family and I failed.”

After a few moments of silence, Ser Barristan asked, “I still do not understand why you are here? How do I know you are not here to try and save your family’s throne? To win back their support?”

“My Father will never forgive me,” Jaime snorted. He then sighed and continued, “I wish I knew why I was here... I was prepared to face the executioner, but Varys had other plans… He told me that by getting on this boat, I could fulfill my vow to Rhaegar and protect the last of his children and his family. I was about to turn around and tell him I would face my punishment… That I did not deserve a second chance but then the explosion occurred. I did not know what to do. I could not turn around... This was my only option.”

“What about your children?”

“Varys assured me he would do everything in his power to keep Tommen and Myrcella safe… We both know Joffrey cannot be saved. He is a monster and received the punishment he deserved.”

The other exiled Kingsguard nodded in acknowledgement and paused before he inquired, “If what you say is true, why did you not escape with Cersei and your children? You could have escaped across the narrow sea and lived in exile.”

“Cersei would never give up her extravagant life style… and besides, she betrayed me… The child in her belly is not mine.”

“Whose is it?” Ser Barristan gasped.

“It is Robert’s true heir,” Jaime replied dryly.  

“If she pawed the other children off as Robert’s how do you know this child is not yours?”

“We have not laid together in months… Since Winterfell… Since she changed.” Jaime answered sadly. “Cersei has never been perfect, but I thought I knew her. I loved her. I joined the Kingsguard just so I could be in King’s Landing with her… However, she has not been the same since that comet appeared in the sky… ” Jaime trailed off.

“How am I supposed to trust you? How do I know you will not betray me and the Targaryens and give this information to your family?”

“What family?” Ser Jaime inquired with a slight, forced smirk. “I am sure my father thinks I am a disgrace to the Lannister name… the King knows that truth about the Royal children… Also, as you said before, they believe I am dead. If they find out I am alive, they would send assassins after me. So if you want, you can kill me now… Or you can tell me what Varys meant when he told me Rhaegar’s son is truly the Aegon Targaryen residing in Westeros.”

Ser Barristan sighed. “I really do not know much. Lord Varys gave me a message… It did not seem to make much sense… It was as if they knew I was going to be released from the Baratheon Kingsguard. Also, she states her husband is King Aegon, of Houses Stark and Targaryen…”

“Lyanna,” Jaime gasped.

“Aye, that is the conclusion I came too as well. I always wondered why Ser Arthur did not accompany Prince Rhaegar to the Trident… Rhaegar wanted his wife and child protected at all costs.”

“Where has he been all this time? Why have we never heard about him?”

“I believe those are questions we will learn the answer to when we reach Pentos,” Ser Barristan answered.

“Pentos? I thought they left with the Dothraki horde nearly two moons ago.”

“Lord Varys contact, is in Pentos. From there we will get further instruction.” Jaime nodded in response. However, before he could speak, the older knight continued. “I want you to understand something, Ser Jaime… If I find any reason at all not to trust you… If you betray the Targaryens in anyway… If you send any messages back your sister or father… I will kill you myself. Do you understand?”

“Understood,” Jaime breathed out.

“Good,” The older knight stated as he stood up from the table. “Now get some rest. We should be ashore in Pentos in two or three days if the winds remain kind.”

With that, Ser Barristan left the room. After the door shut, Ser Jaime’s mind again continued to spin, uncertain of his future…...

 


 

Robb Stark

 

Even though the sun was shining brightly overhead in the cloudless blue sky, the landscape was changing to magnificent plants, and shrubs Robb had had never seen before he could not concentrate on their beauty. All the Prince of the North could think about was the scowl that had been affixed to his brother’s face for nearly the past week as they made their way into the Dothraki Sea and to Vaes Dothrak. Robb missed the smiles from his brother that he had become accustomed to over the last few moon turns. He knew Jon was worried about the dangers Lord Varys stated were coming and Daenerys had told him he was upset they were not from the same past but that had been days ago and his brother would still not speak with anyone unless it was related to their journey to the Dothraki holy city.

Unable to take the torturous silence and longer, Robb rode up alongside of his brother’s black stallion and stated, “Jon, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” When Jon ignored his question he continued, “I have known you nearly my entire life and I can tell when something is bothering you. Don’t shut me out… Please tell me what has happened. Tell me what is going on between you and Dany." When his brother continued to ignore his presence, Robb lost his patience and snapped, "Gods damn it Jon! You are acting like a spoiled child instead of the confident King we need to lead us! Quit fucking brooding and tell me what is wrong?"

This seemed to get his brother’s attention. Jon whipped his head towards him, his eyes narrowed and he quietly growled, “Robb, not now.”

"Then when? You have been sleeping in my tent for days, so clearly I know that something happened between the two of you. I have given you your space to let you think about whatever happened, but it has been long enough. Do not shut me out. You can talk to me about anything.”

“Aye, I know this.”

“So tell me, brother, what the fuck happened between the two of you?" Robb inquired sincerely as he gazed into his brother’s stormy grey eyes.

Robb kept his gaze affixed on his brother, and watched as his closed off demeanor begin to fade; his tense jaw began to loosen up, and the thick ridges of his brown came down. Jon’s eyes drifted to Daenerys, who was feeding Arogon from her shoulder as she rode along next to Doreah. He then took a deep breath and confessed, “Robb… Dany… Dany has been lying to me for months.”

"What do you mean? You have known the whole time she pregnant, I don’t know why this is bothering you now."

"It is not that Robb.”

“Then what is it?”

“Dany, she is not who she says she is. She is not my wife... She is not the Daenerys from my past life. I do not know who she is." Jon stated, melancholy clear in his tone stared into the distance where Sarogon flying ahead of them.

Robb placed a hand his brother's shoulder, hoping to comfort his brother as he inquired, “I am glad she finally told you.”

“You knew?”

"Aye, I knew. I have known since shortly after she hatched her dragons.”

“Why did you not tell me?” hurt clear in his brother’s tone.

“I wanted to, but she begged me not to…”

"Why?” Jon interrupted.

"I did not tell you because it was something that she needed to tell you and she was afraid to tell you because she knew you would react like this!"

"Like what? Angry because I have been betrayed and manipulated?"

“Brooding. Not wanting to talk to her. You blaming yourself that you betrayed your Daenerys from your past life. She knew you would feel anger towards her and not let her explain,” Robb exclaimed.

"And why should I? She took my trust. My heart and stomped on it like it does not mean shit!" His brother took a deep breath and continued, “You don’t understand Robb…”

“What don’t I understand?” Robb pressed. “Let me in… Talk to me.”

“Dany… She was my light. It might have been the Red Priestess who returned me to my body after I was murdered, but I was never truly alive until I met Daenerys. She was the one who brought me back to life. She gave me a reason to want to continue to live even though the world we were living in was nothing but shit. She saw me for who I was as a person and not just Ned Stark’s bastard. She loved me when everyone thought I was just some bastard named king because of whom they thought sired me. The only reason I agreed to this crazy plan was because they promised me I could save her… I have already failed. She is not my Dany… She does not love me. How am I supposed to love this stranger in my wife’s body?”

Robb was surprised by his brother’s reaction. For a few moments he was speechless as he pondered what to say. Finally he muttered, “You feel as though you are betraying the Daenerys from your past because you are already falling in love with this Daenerys.”

“That’s…”

“No Jon! Listen to me,” Robb interrupted. “You are scared. Scared that you are forsaking your vows to your wife… However, as much as you want to fight her... as much as you think she is a completely different person, she is still Daenerys Targaryen. She might not be the same Daenerys from your past life but she is Daenerys, daughter of Rhealla and Aerys… A strong, compassionate, loving woman… The mother of your unborn child… If you would just talk to her, she could tell you what she knows of her past..." 

"What do you know of her past?" Jon cut in.

"Daenerys does not remember everything. She has received bits and pieces of her past life. She knows that was sent to this life the day she was born, but does not know how it happened… But she thinks that something went wrong because most of the memories from her past are hazy and she thought they were just dreams... She only realized she was from a different past life when she hatched the dragons in front of the Khalasar just over a moon turn ago."

"That is still no excuse!” Jon exclaimed, nostrils flaring. “She still should have told me that she was from a different past as soon as she learned!"

"I understand that Jon, and I agree she should have told you sooner,” Robb replied, trying to keep is voice calm. “However, if you would have let her explain, she could have told you she does not yet have all the answers. She does not yet know what happened to her Jon or your, their, son. She does not know how they lost the War against the Army of the Dead or how she was sent back. She wanted to piece together her past before she told you, so that she could tell you everything and not give you a bunch of ‘I don’t knows!’ as answers.”

"Robb you don't understand how I feel. You do not remember what it is like to lose the one who made your heart complete… the person that gave your life purpose and meaning for getting up and keep going even though the world around you was crashing down. How would you feel if you were told you were going to be able to save your wife from death, only to find out it was a lie. That you were not really being given a second chance to the woman you loved? That your wife is truly dead and there is no saving her? The gods just love playing sick jokes on me. They should have never sent me back… I should have never agreed. This was all a mistake." 

"So what is your plan Jon? Let the world perish at the hands of the Night King because your wife is not the exact same woman you fell in love with?” However, he did not give his brother a chance to answer before he continued, “Let me guess, you are going to leave your wife, break your marriage vows and make you fist born a bastard, all because she did not know she was not your Daenerys when you married.”

"You know I would never do that! I would never allow my child to be a bastard!”

“Then what is your problem? You need to get your head out of your ass and talk to your wife! Did you ever think that maybe she was sent back from another lifetime for a reason?”

“You still don’t understand!”

“What is there to understand? Daenerys,” he pause to motion back where is good sister was traveling behind them, “is your wife. She the mother of your child! Clearly you two had a connection or I would not be becoming an Uncle in less than seven moons. So tell me… What is it that I do not understand?”

 “I don't know if I can trust her," Jon exclaimed before he softly added, “You know what happened to be… You know that I was betrayed so many times in my last life. She never gave me reason not to trust her… she was always honest with me even if she was being stubborn and demanding that I bend the knee… When we met, I was honest with her and she did not realize how honest I was until she lost her child… How am I supposed to regain her trust? How do I know she will still stand beside me because I am not the same Jon from her past?”

"Godsdamnit Jon! Talk to your wife! She is still Daenerys Targaryen! She has also battled the Night King! You need listen to what she has to say! You need to let her tell you what she knows.”

"I am just not ready!”

Robb then took a deep breath and stated, “Well don’t take too long. If you keep pushing her away you might just lose her and your child forever.”

Without waiting for Jon to reply, Robb turned his horse and headed back to where Daenerys was riding.

"What did he say?" Dany asked as she fed Arogon the last piece of charred horse flesh in her hand.

He looked at her and smiled sadly. "He has a lot on his mind Daenerys. He is not ready to talk yet. Please, just give him time."

"Robb, you don’t think he is going to leave me and our child? That he will find another wife."

"No, he won't, Dany,” Robb replied with a true smile. “Jon would never abandon you or his child. He just feels as though he is betraying the Daenerys from his past life. Please just give him a little more time. He will come to you when he is ready.”

His good-sister nodded in response before turning her gaze back toward the horizon in front of them……

 

 


 

Notes:

Pls leave kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and pls let us know what you think about the chapter in the comments below ;)

Chapter 21: See You for What You Are

Summary:

Section 1 - Joffrey journeys to and arrives at Eastwatch
Section 2 - Ser Davos hears an unpleasant conversation and makes a decision
Section 3 - Dany and Jon speak under the stars

Notes:

Hey, Fans or readers I might say! The update is finally here woohoo!! Sorry for the long wait we were really busy :) Real life has been busy for the both of us but as you can see the story is still going forward. This chapter was originally 6 sections but we have already done 3 sections. So we decided it would be best to divide it into two sections. Alright now as I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter!! :) your opinions and ideas are always appreciated.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Section One – Joffrey

Joffrey pulled the furs tighter across his shoulders as the rickety old wooden ship rocked back in forth in the choppy waters. It was becoming bone-chilling cold with no hearth for warmth. He was not supposed to be on this boat. He should not have been on any boat at all. He should be in the humid warmth of King’s Landing, having servants attend to his every wish or desire. He missed having his stomach full of freshly baked breads, roasted boars, sweet pastries and Arbor Gold. He actually missed the shit smell in the air. He was angry he was on this ship in the first place and he was angry with those whom had ruined his life.

He was angry with his Father and Grandfather for banishing him to the Wall. He was angry that they were too craven to tell him this news themselves, that they felt it was necessary to send his mother to inform him of their plan. She had told him his Father and Grandfather had planned to strip him of his titles and send him to the Wall so he could learn to become a man. Then, after a few years, after the lies the Starks were spreading have been forgotten, and if he behaved and sent secrets from the North, he would be rewarded; he would be released from his Night’s Watch vows and named the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.

He was furious at her because she lied to him. She had promised he would never step foot in any Castle along the Wall. She promised he would never again have to step foot in the North (unless it was to punish the traitorous Starks). She told him she would work with Grand Maester Pycelle to develop a plan and have him smuggled safely out of King’s Landing and to the safety of one of the free cities in Essos. She promised him she would make sure he would take his rightful place as King of all Seven Kingdoms as soon as she could get rid of King Robert. She promised him King Robert and his Grandfather would not get away with taking away what was rightfully his. So when the guards came to his room though one of the hidden passages, he thought it was his mother’s way of granting his safety. And then when they grabbed the escape bag his mother had helped him to pack, and told him to quickly and quietly follow, he obliged without question because he believed they were sent to rescue him. He had willingly followed them through the dark, damp, rat infested passages beneath the Red Keep. It had seemed like hours before they finally reach the docks and the ship he believed would be his salvation. He trusted his mother. He trusted she would remain true to her word. However, every promise she made to him as she sat next to him on his bed and held him in her arms to calm his fears were just a mountain of lies.

Joffrey thought something was off when he had been taken into a tiny cabin, with only room for a small bunk beneath a drafty window. ‘I am the Crown Prince, the Captain should have given me his quarters,’ he remembered stating before the guards covered him mouth and told him to remain quiet for his own good. The next think he knew, they threw him into the room and bolted the door, trapping him in the tiny space. A space so small he could not even truly stretch his legs. As he sat alone in the tiny cabin, he wondered why his mother did not come to say good-bye. Why did she not tell him where he was going and how long he would be gone? Where was the gold he would need and who were his guards? As the days stretched on, the only interactions he had was with an older dirty, mangy-looking deck hand that brought him stale bread, cold broth, and water. When he asked where his warm food and wine were, the man snorted and did not answer.

Every day he also noticed the air was getting colder and colder. He lost track of how long he had been on the ship. All he could think about was the chill in his drafty room and how the cold burned his lungs every time to took a breath. ‘Why was it getting colder? It is not supposed to be hot in Essos? Why have we been at sea for so long? Should we not be coming into port soon? I thought it only took about a week to cross the Narrow Sea… Maybe I should have paid more attention to the Maester in my lessons.’ Finally, after over two weeks at sea, he demanded the deckhand, whom brought him his meals, to tell him when they would reach their destination in Essos. This is when he found out his mother had lied to him. This vessel was not bound for the warmth of Essos. The boat was in the Shivering Sea, nearly to the Bay of Seals, and would be docking at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea in less than a week. Which meant they would be docking at any time.

Joffrey did not know how much time had passed, when the putrid smelling deckhand whom had been acting as his ‘servant’ during the journey north was shaking him awake.

“Time to get up boy,” the dark haired man rasped. “We’ve arrived at Eastwatch, so I’d best be gettin’ you to the rest of the prisoners and recruits so suspicions ain’t raised when we get off the boat.”

“Prisoner?” Joffrey questioned incredulously as he shot up in the bed. “I am NOT a prisoner or a recruit! I am the next King of Westeros and I was kidnapped! How dare you call me a prisoner or a recruit? I demand to know your name! My mother will not appreciate the way you have treated me!”

“Look boy. The name’s Yoren. I am sworn brother of the Night’s Watch,” the man harshly stated as he pulled the Prince by the arm to get him out of the bed. He then stared him straight in the eyes and continued, “I was able to keep you separated from the other recruits and prisoners for your own safety during the journey up here… At the request of the King and the Hand of the King. However, now that we are at the Wall there is no keeping you separated. You will have no special treatment. Most of the brothers probably already know of your crimes against the Starks and I ain’t gonna be able to defend you… You are gonna have to learn to defend yourself. You will receive no special treatment. You are no longer the Crown Prince of Westeros… You ain’t special anymore. Here you are just another criminal or bastard, sent away so society don’t have to deal with you. You understand me boy?”

Joffrey wordlessly nodded, trying to keep his tears of anger and fear at bay.

“Good, now let’s go boy,” Yoren stated a bit softer as he grabbed the disgraced prince by the shoulder and began to lead him out of the tiny cabin. As they walked the brother of the Nights Watch handed him a wineskin that was warm to the touch. “This is filled some broth… It won’t stay warm long once we get outside but it will help keep your bones a little warm. We will rest here at Eastwatch for a few days before traveling to Castle Black… It will take us approximately a fortnight to reach Castle Black from here... Maybe a little longer if there are not enough horses.”

The younger man nodded again and followed Yoren to the deck, where there were about fifteen other young men, all of whom seem dirty and poor. He also noticed three men in an iron cage and without thinking he inquired, “Yoren, why are those recruits in a cage?”

“That is said to be the worst of the worst and was destined for the black cells. It might be best you stay away from him. Now I need to go and make sure Commander Cotter is ready to receive us. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just stay to yourself while I am gone.”

Joffrey began to pace the deck while he waited for Yoren to return. He noticed there were only two other recruits besides him and the man in the cage. One was a morbidly obese young boy and the other was a young man with shoulder length tangled blonde hair. The two boys seem to have a rapport with one another, talking, laughing and generally seemed to be excited to be here, therefore they did not seem to notice Joffrey’s presence. As the prince continued to pace his mind wondered. He wanted to know why the one man was in an iron cage. So with a renewed confidence, he walked over to the cage and began his interrogation. “You… You there with the silver streak in your hair. Who are you and why are you in that cage?” He barked.

“And why would a boy like to know?”

“I am the Crown Prince! I don’t have to answer to you! You will answer me!”

“A man has heard you are now just a boy with no lands and no titles. A man has heard you are now no one,” the odd man replied calmly as if he were stating a known fact.

“Listen to me! I will be King of all Seven Kingdoms very soon and I demand an answer!” Joffrey scoffed, losing his patience. “Who are you and why were you going to the Black Cells? Why are you locked in that cage?”

The man smiled slightly and replied, “A man is no one. I am in this cage for the same reasons you are heading to the Wall… So people do not have to look at me and because Valar Morghulis.”

“Valar Morghulis,” Joffrey whispered to himself before looking back at the man and stating. “What are you talking about? Those are not real words. This trip must have made you delusional!”

“A man is cold and has a thirst. A man does not eat or drink for a day and night. A boy could make a friend. A boy could share his broth.”

Joffrey looked down at the wineskin in his hands. He uncorked the lid and took a long sip. He then began to hand the broth to the weird man with the white streak in his hair. However, before the man grasped it, the former prince stopped when the broth was just out of reach and stated, “And why would I share? You have nothing to offer me.” He then turned the wineskin, pouring its contents onto the deck on the ship as he continued to speak, “You. Are. Nothing but a thief. You do not deserve warm broth. You should be rotting in the black cells.”

“A boy did not make a wise decision. A boy lacks honor,” Joffrey heard the man say in the same eerily calm tone as before.

However, this time the tone sent a chill up his spine. So instead of retorting, he quickly turned around and began to walk down the deck of the ship, towards were the recruits were standing. It was then that he noticed that massive Wall of ice and stone and the weathered castle at it’s base and winding staircases leading to the top of the Wall. Joffrey was awestruck. Never had he imagined he would see the Wall.

As Yoren led them off the ship and into the castle Joffrey thought, Why is it so tall? Why did they even build a Wall to keep the Wildings out? Surely the Wildings cannot get over that so why is there even a need for anyone to be here? What if there is something else on the other side besides the Wildlings? I bet someone was just bored and decided to build this Wall so they would have a place to send their bastards… Then the weak rulers decided to be merciful and send the thieves and rapist here. When I am King, this place will be abandoned and the thieves and bastards will all receive the punishment the deserve… Death.’ ……

 


Section Two - Davos Seaworth

The sun was warm and bright and there was a gentle breeze blowing when Onion Knight saw the seagulls flying in the sky. He silently thanked the seven gods for this sign because he knew it meant the three ships of Stannis’ fleet, would arrive in Pentos before sundown. Ser Davos loved being at sea, however, he was looking forward to getting off Stannis’ flagship and away from the Red Woman, even if is only to gather necessary supplies for their journey. He was also looking forward to seeing his wife, Marya, and sons - Dale, Allard, Matthos, Maric, Devan, Stannis and Steffon, whom would be meeting them in Pentos with his ship Black Bertha and Dale’s ship, the Wraith. He hoped that his son’s would already be there, and that they have been able to find out which direction the Targaryen’s were heading so they would not have to be at port long.

“Ser Davos,” young Shireen called as she walked over and sat down on one of the wooden crates next to where he was standing. “I have got something to share with you.”

“Hello Lady Shireen,” the older man stated, looking down at the young girl with a warm smile, “What are you doing up here? Why aren’t you with your mother?”

“She is not feeling well and ask me to let her rest. I do not think she cares for sea travel too well. So, if it is alright, I thought I would some spend some time with you because you are my friend.”

The Onion Knight smiled, “Of course you can spend some time with me. I love your company.” He then noticed a red leather bound book in her hands, “And just what is this?” he inquired as he sat down next to her.

“I brought you something to read. It's about Aegon and his dragons!” The young girl exclaimed with a twinkle in her blue eyes.

Davos smiled at the young girl as he tucked a windblown strand of hair behind the left ear of her greyscale-scarred face, and sadly replied, “Little Lady, that was very thoughtful of you, however, I am afraid reading is not something I learned as a boy, growing up in Fleabottom or during my many years at sea.”

“Well I can teach you,” Shireen excitedly replied. Before Davos could protest, she took his hand and traced the title as she stated, “When you see A, E, and G together like that, it sounds like egg.” When he nodded she continued, “The title of the whole book is A History of Aegon the Conqueror. It is the story of Aegon Targaryen and his two sisters. It describes how they used their dragons to unite six of the seven kingdoms of Westeros with the help of their dragons. Did you know he married both of his sisters to keep the Valyrian bloodline pure, so their family would continue to be able to control dragons after their deaths.”

“You have quite a fascination with the Targaryens.”

“Did you know they used to live at Dragonstone with their Dragons? The Targaryens were the ones who built the Castle. That Aegon the Conqueror took both of his sisters as wives to keep the Targaryen blood pure so they could control their dragons.”

“Aye, I did milady,” Davos replied with a chuckle.

Shireen then set the book down on the crate next to her, looked up at him with her Baratheon blue eyes and stated, “Ser Davos, why does Father want to hurt the Targaryens? They are our family after all.”

“What do you mean little Lady?” Ser Davos inquired with a furrowed brow.

“Rhaelle Targaryen, the youngest daughter of King Aegon V, was married to Ormund Baratheon. They are my grandfather’s parents. So that means we are cousins.”

“I did not know this. How did you find this out?”

“I found a book with the family tree, hidden under a loose floorboard in the library at Dragonstone. The History and Linage of House Targaryen is the title on the cover of the book. It was kept up to date because it had all of the last Targaryen King and Queen’s children’s names written in it as well as their grandchildren.”

“King Aerys and Queen Rhealla only had three children… Rhaegar, Viserys and Daenerys.”

“You are wrong, Ser Davos. Apparently, she was much like my mother in the sense that she had a difficult time birthing children or having them survive for long after birth… In the book, it stated she miscarried a great number of times, and that she also gave birth to many babies. However, many of them were did not breathe after they were born, or died within a year of their births.” The young girl then paused and appeared to be in thought before she continued, “If I remember correctly, their children’s names were Rhaegar, Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys, Viserys, Daenerys, and Aerys.” She sighed and then continued sadly, “I don’t think Father wanted me to know. He did not want me to know that he is planning to kill our cousins.”

“Well little one, your Uncle Robert and Father believe the Targaryens are a threat to your family and to Westeros. They believe they are going to be like Aegon the Conqueror return to Westeros with fire and blood to take over the Iron Throne…”

“Do you really think they have dragons?” Shireen excitedly inquired.

“Aye, it is said they have six dragons. Which is another reason your father and King Robert are concerned they will hurt the people of Westeros,” Davos replied.

“But Ser Davos, just because they have dragons, does not mean they do not want peace. I do not understand. Have they made threats towards the crown or the people of Westeros?”

“I have not yet heard of any threats, however, the Targaryens are also known to be mad… The Mad King used to burn people to death because he believed everyone was trying to kill him.”

“I understand that. However, is if fair to judge these Targaryens for the sins of their family? How are we supposed to know if they are mad if we have never met them? From what I have heard, Daenerys was whisked away from her mother’s breast to safety across the Narrow Sea. She had had to live her entire life in foreign lands because Uncle Robert was upset and went to war when her brother, Prince Rhaegar, married his betrothed, Lady Lyanna…”

“Married her? What are you talking about? Prince Rhaegar kidnapped the Stark girl, raped her and left her to die in Dorne.”

“I don’t think that is true. It was written in the family tree, that Prince Rhaegar took a new wife because Princess Elia could no longer bear him children. So, in 282 AC, I think, the High Septon annulled his marriage to Princess Elia and married him to Lady Lyanna Stark. Then later that year they had son named Aegon.” Davos was too surprised to speak, so the young girl continued, “So see, Ser Davos, I do not think she was kidnapped if they were married. However, I do not understand why would they name their son the same name as his half-brother, who died just a few moons before?”

“I… I am not sure milady,” the Onion Knight choked before regaining his composure and asking, “Milady, where is this book now?”

“It’s in my…”

“Pardon me milady, Father,” His son, Matthos, interrupting walked over to them.

“Hello Matthos,” Shireen replied with a smile, “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“It is milady,” his son answered with a tight smile, informing Davos that his son had something concerning on his mind. “Milady, is it alright if I have a private word with my father?”

“Of course,” she replied with a smile, “I will go and see if I can find us a snack, then we will get back to your reading lesson.”

“I would like that very much. Thank you milady.”

The young girl then jumped down from the crate and Davos watched her with a smile as she disappeared into the cabin if the ship. Once the girl was out of sight, he turn towards his son and inquired, “I know that face Matthos, what is it?”

“Father, I just walked past Lord Stannis’ chambers and,” his son then paused.

“And?”

“He is with the Red Woman again. She was looking into the flames to determine our course.” His son then hesitated before he continued, “Father, I am not sure I trust that woman. I think you should speak with him.”

“Aye, I will go now. Do you mind to finish our preparations for arrival in Pentos?”

After Matthos nodded, Ser Davos left his son on the deck and made his way to Lord Stannis’ chambers. As he walked down the dark hallway, he got a sinking feeling in his gut that something just was not right. Ever since the Red Lady showed up at Dragonstone about five moons ago Stannis and his wife, Selyse, began to change. No longer was he the strongminded, just and fair ruler that he had once admired. He stopped praying to the seven and converted to the Lord of Light. He stopped spending time with his sweet daughter. It was as if he no longer knew the man.

A few moments later, he reached the door to Stannis’ study chamber. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear his Lord and the Red Woman speaking.

“What is it that you saw in the flames Lady Melisandre?”

“I have seen you leading the fight against the dark, I have seen it in the flames. The flames do not lie, else you would not be here. It is night in your Seven Kingdoms now, but soon the sun will rise again. The war will continue, Davos Seaworth, and some other will soon learn that even an ember in the ashes can still ignite a great blaze. You are the Lord's chosen, the warrior of fire. It is written in prophecy as well. When the red star bleeds and fades to icy blue and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to lead the battle against the Great Other. In order for you to complete your destiny, we must follow the icy bleeding star to when it will fall. It takes us to a tropical oasis located on the Jade Gates. A city of colorful buildings, surrounded by the desert. It is there, outside the three stone city walls and strong gates, in a garden of bones… This is where you will meet you the Targaryens. This is where you will receive what is necessary to create a hero’s sword. It is here you will mark the beginning of your destiny.” The Red Woman then paused before she continued, “However, there will be a price to pay for you to become the Prince who is Promised.”

Ser Davos felt his heart pounding. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something in the tone of the Red Woman’s voice that put him on edge. Something that made his skin crawl. He just felt as if she were toxic and sucking the life of his Lord. He felt as if he no longer knew the man he had served so loyally for nearly the last twenty years, the man who had given him a name, a ship and lands.

He took a deep breath and peeked through the crack in the door, to see Lord Stannis standing over a map that was spread out on the table.

“Qarth,” Lord Stannis stated incredulously as he pointed to a spot on the map. “Why would the Targaryens be going to Qarth? They are leaders of a Dothraki horde… That city is said to be safe from the savages because they would have to pass through the Red Waste.”

“I do not have the answer as to why. The Lord of Light just shows me the path that must be taken… He guides me where it is we must go.”

Stannis nodded his head, “I must go and tell Ser Davos we will be sailing for Qarth as soon as the ships are supplied.”

Davos stepped back and was getting ready to turn to leave when Melisandre grabbed Lord Stannis’ arm and stated, “Wait, there is more you must know.”

“What else is there to know? You said the Lord of Light was just a guide.”

“Yes, but I also saw that you must give a great offering… A grand sacrifice in order to be successful.”

“A sacrifice? What must I sacrifice?”

“King’s blood must be sacrificed to the flames to ensure your victory.”

“King’s blood? You need some of my blood to ensure my victory?” Stannis inquired.

“The Lord of Light will need a great sacrifice… A larger sacrifice than a few leaches of your blood…”

“Are you telling me I must sacrifice my daughter?” When he did not hear the Red Woman reply Stannis continued, “I do not think I could sacrifice her… She is my only living heir.”

“My Lord, I promise you without a sacrifice your mission will be doomed. Without your success, the people of Westeros will suffer. They will have no one to lead them and they will fall victim to the Great Other.”

“You must find another way because I will not sacrifice my daughter, Lady Melisandre,” Davos sighed in relief only to have his heart start beating so hard he felt his pulse in his ears when he heard Stannis’ next words. “Unless… you are certain it is the only way to ensure my victory. So, please, check the flames once more.”

It took all Ser Davos’ will power not to burst through the door and tell Stannis to stop this nonsense. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against the side of the wall, trying to calm his racing heart. He heard a few crackles and he knew the witch must have been throwing something into her brazier when he heard the flames roar. After a few moments, he witch began to speak. “I see fire surrounded by darkness… A dark mist making its way toward the false prince. I… I believe their might be another way, but it is not guaranteed and if it does not work there will be no other options...”

“What is it that I must do?”

“I must give you a son.”

“A son?”

“Not just any son. This son will serve a purpose. He will bring death to the false Prince and ensure the survival of the rightful Prince who is Promised.” Davos then heard what sounded like a gown falling to the ground before the Red Woman continued, “The power of your King’s blood will create a being that will undertake the dangerous mission of destroying the threat.”

Unable to take any more of the conversation - or lack thereof - Davos turned to leave. He could not believe Stannis, the just, strong leader was betraying his wife. He could not believe he was considering sacrificing his daughter to some god of fire. He tried to calm his mind with deep breaths as he absentmindedly made his way to the deck of the ship; he had to think of a plan to ensure Shireen’s safety.

“Father, we should be arriving in Pentos before sundown. I believe Mother and my brothers should have arrived by now,” Matthos stated as he walked towards him, pulling him from his musings. “Father, what’s wrong?”

“You are right. Lord Stannis is listening to the Red Lady,” he spat with disgust. “We will be sailing to Qarth because that is what she saw in the flames…”

“Father, you look ill. You are not one to suffer from seasickness, especially when the winds have been…”

“Where’s Shireen?” Davos cut his son off in a panic.

“I am right here Ser Davos.”

At the sweet sound of her voice, Davos spun around and pulled the girl into a tight embrace. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and stated, “Gods milady, you had me worried. Where were you?”

“I went to see my mother and offered her an orange. I remember you telling me that oranges help to ward off sea illnesses.” A sad smile appeared on the girls face as she continued, “She refused to eat. Ser Davos, I am worried about her. She looks so pale and clammy and she was breathing fast.”

“I am sure once we reach land she will be fine, milady,” he stated as he embraced her once again, trying to calm the young girls fears. Suddenly he had an idea. “Milady, since your mother is ill and your father has been so busy preparing for… for his battle against Aegon Targaryen, perhaps you would like to join me and my wife on my ship. My youngest son, Steffon, is about your age, I am sure he would love to play with you.”

“I have never had a friend before. Do you think your son would like me?”

“Steffon and my wife will both adore you!”

“Do you think Father would let me go to your ship?”

“I believe he would,” Ser Davos said with a nod and a smile.

“Oh! I believe Father is in his study… I am going to ask him right now!”

Davos then quickly grabbed the girl’s arm in a panic, afraid of what she might find if she were to go to her Father’s study at that moment. “Milady, I believe you were in the middle of my first reading lesson. How about we go together after we read that book, okay?”

Shireen nodded and the two made their way back over to the crates. Once they were both seated, the young girl once again opened the book and began to read the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives……

 


Section Seven - Daenerys Targaryen

 

As soon as Jon had announced Daenerys was with child, the Khalasar demanded they (as she knew they would) go to Vaes Dothrak to receive the blessing of the Great Stallion. She knew that she would have to eat an entire horse heart in front of their people; she prayed she would again have the strength to eat the entire heart and that the Dosh Khaleen would again praise her son as the Stallion who would mount the world. After a moon turn of riding, she felt relief when the Horse Gate leading the way into the only Dothraki city came into view, thankful that she would have a chance to visit the markets and eat something other than horsemeat or rabbits. After they passed under the two giant bronze horse statues, Doreah, lead her to her tent, helped her bathe, wash her hair and dress in a thin, soft cotton night shirt before excusing herself, leaving the Khaleesi alone with her thoughts. 

She sat down on the side of her bed, her hand resting against the slight swell of her nearly four moon turns swell, closed her eyes and wished that Jon would at least talk to her long enough to let her explain. She missed her husband. She had not had a true conversation with him in nearly a moon turn. Not since the day, he discovered she had not told him the truth about her past. Jon had of course said common pleasantries in passing, but he did not seek out her company or shared a bed with her; he had been distant and she did not know how to bring him back. She recalled, in her past life, when she had been pregnant with Rhaegar, how he would lay down beside her, caress her belly and whisper sweet endearments or tell stories about growing up with his siblings in Winterfell to their son as he grew. She was pulled from her memories when she heard the soft snores of her five scaled children and the sweet little coos Ghost was making in his puppy dreams, which caused a sweet hint of a smile to briefly spread across her face.

The moment did not last long because she recalled the missing brother; the only child not present in her room was Sarogon, whom had not strayed from Jon’s side over the past month. Her mood soured and anxiety gripped her heart at the thought that Jon might never forgive her. ‘Why would be forgive me? He trusted me and I betrayed him. The only reason he has not cast me aside is because of our son. He feels that I have trapped him in a marriage that he does not want or desire. If he never forgives me, I would not blame him. I should have listened to Robb and told him the truth right away… Robb should have never even been the first to know; I should have told Jon as soon as I hatched the dragons… He shared the painful memories of what happened to me… his Dany from his life. He would have expected I did the same and not hid secrets. How will be every trust me? How would I trust him if he was the one who kept this secret? I should have trusted him. I was betrayed so much in my last life… And my Jon was always so understanding and this Jon has proven to be the same… I know that even though this is a different Jon, he is still Jon. He still possesses all the character traits I fell in love with… He is handsome, compassionate, caring, a natural leader and I still feel the connection that we belong together, that even if I wanted to, I could never stay away from him. I just wish he would return to me.’

The Khaleesi sighed as she laid down, she pulled the thin blanket up over her breast, turned to her side and was about to blow out the candle when she heard a shuffling sound outside her tent. She quickly jumped out of the bed, grabbed Dark Sister, and made her way over to the tent flap. “Whose there?” She questioned as she tightened the grip on her sword.

“Daenerys, it’s me… Can we talk?”

She dropped the sword to the ground at the sound of familiar voice. She then rushed to untie the strings securing the tent flap.

When she opened the tent flap, .Jon was standing in front of her, with a look of nervousness and uncertainty on his face. ‘Gods he is beautiful… Get ahold of yourself Dany.’ She chastised herself as she took a deep breath, looked into his stormy grey eyes and as calmly as she could stated, “Jon, I must say I am surprised to see you here. Please come in.”

He was quiet and rooted where he stood. She began to feel nervous and tried unsuccessfully to keep her tone calm as she spat, “Jon you said you wanted to talk. You came to my tent to talk and I’d rather not stand at the tent flap for this conversation.”

"Come with me, please,” he requested, with a hint of nervousness in his tone.

"Come with you? Where?”

"I need to show you something," he softly stated in his thick Northern accent, with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Jon, I am not dressed for venturing into Vaes Dothrak and I am rather tired…”

“Please, Dany… I just want to speak with you where we can be alone… Away from this world if even just for a few minutes.”

He had to look away from his pleading eyes as she replied, "Jon, I am not sure…"

“Please, Dany,” he interrupted as he placed his hand under her chin, and brought her gaze back to his eyes. “Please just come with me and listen to what I have to say.”

She felt lost as she looked into his eyes. She could not recall every seeing him look so broken – so desperate – so vulnerable. She nodded her head, then grabbed her thin cloak from the end of the bed and donned it as she followed him out of the tent.

Jon took her hand and led her to where he already had their horses saddled. He helped her atop her silver, before climbing onto his black stallion. There was a comfortable silence as he led them away from the bustling camp of the sacred city, and out thought the Horse Gate. After a few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard were those of their horses as they galloped into the Dothraki Sea. The sky opened and she could see millions of stars painting the sky above.

A few minutes later, Jon stopped them when they reached the foot of one of the red stone mountains, which had a well-worn path to the top. Jon quickly dismounted from his stallion, tacked his house to one of the small trees before walking over to her with a shy smile and helping her from her silver mare. After her horse was secured next to his, he held his arm out, “Come with me Dany. There is something I want to show you… It can be seen best from the top.”

She nodded, and took his arm, allowing him to guide her up the path. They walked in relative silence with their arms linked to the plateau; every now and again, Jon telling her to watch her step. As they walked, Dany took in the subtle changes in her husband’s appearance. He was beginning to embrace some of the Dothraki culture; he was no longer wearing his Northern leathers but the thinner, softer Dothraki leather cuirass and kilt. Although, in the evenings, when it cooled - such as now, she noticed he still favored his Stark fur cloak. His face was a bit leaner and the muscles of his arms were more defined than she recalled. “He has gotten stronger,” she hummed.

“What was that?”

She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, realizing she had said those words aloud. So she took a deep breath, gripped her hand tighter around his forearm and shyly stated, “I was just noticing that your arms are stronger… your muscles are more defined.”

“Aye, I have been training with our men,” he replied with a chuckle. “Right now, they only follow me because I killed Khal Drogo and withstood the flames as his body burned… However, I want them to know that I am not a god. That I will fight alongside of them. That I am a leader. I want them to know they can put their faith in me, a stranger.”

She nodded and she absentmindedly placed her hand on the swell of her stomach they continued in silence.

When they reached to top, he turned her to face Vaes Dothrak. In the distance, she could see the way the glow from the comet reflected off the red stone mountains. It was an aurora of red and blue filling the sky in the distance.

"It’s beautiful isn't it?"

"It is," she agreed as she turned her gaze back at him, “I remember the comets from my last life. A bleeding comet appeared after I hatched my dragons. And one similar to this one appeared after your dragons were hatched. At the time, I did not know what it meant…”

“In my past life, there was only one comet, the bleeding star it was called. I remember seeing it when I was at the wall. At the time I did not know what it meant either.”

“This comet is different though. It is brighter and been in the sky for moons now. I do not recall the comets from my past life lasting this long.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed. “The bleeding star in my past only lasted for about a month. I believe this one might be different because we hatched our dragons so closely together… Maybe it caused there to be more magic. I keep dreaming that there is something more… that there is some reason the comet is still burning brightly in the sky.” He then paused, he looked as though he wanted to say more, but remained quiet.

The two stood next to each other in silence watching the comet as it appeared to hover in the sky for a few moments before Dany took a deep breath, knowing that this was her chance. She turned toward her husband, taking his hand to get his attention. When he looked her in the eyes she started, "Jon, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I was craven. I should have trusted you."

“You are not the one who should be sorry, Dany. I am the one who should be apologizing to you. I should have listened to what you had to say, but I was a coward. I was stubborn and childish…”

“Jon, you had every right to be angry at me. You were honest with me about what happened to Daenerys in you past life… I should have been honest with you as well. I should have told you as soon as I learned I was from a different past.”

“Aye, you should have,” her husband replied softly. “Dany, we have to trust each other. We both know what is coming for us. We have to be united for the threat. I feel we have both been sent back for a reason.”

“I agree. No more secrets.”

Her husband smiled at her, and pushed a loose hair behind her ear, looked at her with such an expression of guilt and sadness as he murmured, “Dany, I am so sorry. I should have been there for you and for our son over the last moon turn…“

 “JON SNOW!” she exclaimed as she grabbed his hands and placed them on her stomach. “Our son is fine! He is healthy and strong… Just like his father."

"Daenerys, I swear to you, I will not abandon you or our son again.” He then paused and took a deep breath before he added, “But, if we want this marriage to be a true marriage, not just a partnership, we need to build it on love and trust and faith. We need to put our trust in each other. We cannot keep secrets from each other. "

"I agree Jon,” she replied sincerely. “I am sorry as well. I should have been honest with you as soon as my memories began to return. I should have told you the truth. My only excuse was that I was afraid. Afraid I would lose you again.” She felt a tear slip down her cheek as she added, “I do not think I could live with losing you again.”

“In my past life, before I left for the mission beyond the Wall, you I asked you to put your trust in me, even though I was a stranger because it was our best chance.” He looked at her with so many emotions in his eyes as he added, “I think it is time I started to heed that advice.”

“I think that would be good advice for both of us,” Daenerys agreed with a slight smile.

Jon then pulled her into him arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. She rested her head in his neck taking in his unique scent. After a few peaceful moments, he pulled back and said, “Dany, to move forward, I think we need to look back.” When she quirked he brow in confusion he continued, “I think we need to share everything - every little detail of our past lives. Maybe the gods did this for a reason… Maybe there is something we can learn from each other’s pasts. From our past failures… I mean, we were both sent back, so we both must have failed. I have already told you what happened in my life, can you share what happened in yours.”

“I agree.”

Jon then took off his cloak and spread it across the red clay. After they were both seated, she looked at him and asked, “So, where would you like me to start?"

"I guess, first tell me about myself,” he replied almost shyly. “Was I a good man? Honorable? Or was I some perfumed arsehole? I remember you said that we were married…that we had a son, but I was so angry when you were trying to tell me I was not pay much attention.”

"Yes Jon, you were a very noble and honorable man. You were a good husband and father to our son.”

“What else do you remember about me? Did I tell you anything about my life before we met?”

“Well, before we met, you, well the Jon from my past life, he had been named King in the North after retaking Winterfell from Ramsey Bolton. Your people were also aware you were not the baseborn son of Ned Stark. They followed you knowing you were born Aegon VI Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna." 

“I wasn’t some perfumed arsehole, who cared only about power?” 

Daenerys chuckled, “Not at all. You wanted nothing more than to keep your people and all the people of Westeros safe from the threat beyond the Wall. By the time we met, you had known the truth of your identity for several years, so you no longer cared.”

"I didn't? I don’t understand? How could I not care that I had been lied to my entire life? I am still trying to come to teams with the truth." 

"From what I recall, you told me were angry at first, but over the years, learned to cope with and accept the truth. You had also come to terms with the reason why your father, Lord Stark, kept the truth from you. The only thing you were angry about was the fact he did not tell you the truth in person, before you left to join the Night’s Watch.”

“If Lord Stark never told me, how did I find out?”

“When you left for the Wall, he wrote a letter, and gave it to Benjen with instructions for it to be given to you in the event of his death. Apparently, before Benjen went on the ranging mission, he gave the letter to Maester Aemon for safekeeping. He was the one who gave you the letter after Joffrey had your father executed on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. He was with you when you learn the truth about yourself.”

“Did Maester Aemon know? I mean did he know the truth about me before the letter?”

“I am not sure. I cannot remember,” she answered honestly.

Jon nodded then asked, "So if what you’re saying is true, did I leave the Night’s Watch?” When she shook her head his brow furrowed and he continued, “I do not understand, why did I not come to you in Essos or go South to help Robb… I think I would have liked to have met my family across the Narrow Sea, or stand beside Robb. I do not understand why did I not take that information as a chance get away from a life at the Wall?"

She sighed and placed her head on his shoulder. "I think you told me you did ride south, to join Robb after you learned he called the Northern banners. However, your friends found you and took you back because you had already sworn an oath to the Nights Watch. It was when you returned that you were summonsed to Maester Aemon’s chambers and you discovered the truth… Even though you took your vows under false pretense, an oath is not something that could be broken. Also, you knew if you were to leave the Wall and did join your brother, he would have to behead your for desertion. To everyone you were still Ned Stark’s bastard who had sworn his life to defending the Wall.  You did not want to put him in that situation and you were not yet ready to share the truth of who you really were… And because Maester Aemon was your family and you did not want to leave him to be alone in the world.”

He nodded, then wrapped his arm around her and continued his questions. "You said I had three dragons.”

“Yes, Sarogon, Ragnar and Arogon. I believe they must have been hatched from the same eggs given to by your Father and Varys.”

“Did I tell you how I got them? How they were born.”

"You did. Maester Aemon gave them to you with the letter. He stated the grey one was sent when you came to the Wall and the red and blue ones, that we now know belonged to your siblings, were sent to him after the sacking of King’s Landing by a Targaryen Loyalist.” She took a deep breath, fearful of how he would react when she answered the second part of his question. However, she had promised to tell the truth. She looked into his eyes and answered, “You hatched your sons after a Battle against the Wildlings at Castle Black. When you walked into Ygritte’s funeral pyre."

"Ygritte?" he breathed out with a look of confusion on his face.

"Yes, you two were together, briefly, when you we infiltrated the Wildling camp in my life as well.” She took another deep breath to try to calm her racing hear and the tightening in her gut. She knew she had to tell him the rest. “Jon, there is something else you need to know.” She could not find the strength to look at him any longer, so she looked up to the comet when she stated, “When Ygritte died, she was with child. Your child.”

"She was with child?" he rasped out in a pained voice.

Her heart broke at the tone of his voice, she met his gaze and nodded slightly.

“How? I don’t understand. She never wanted a child. She always used some herbs to prevent becoming with child…” he trailed off.

"You had informed me you were a prisoner of the Wildlings and she claimed you. You said you never really knew if it was lust or love or loneliness or fear that they would know you were still loyal to the Watch… You had told me you never meant to bed her… That you were always able to thwart her advances… But she broke you down and that it only happened once. You stated you felt guilty because that night, after you bedded her, when everyone in the camp was asleep, you left. You chose your duty and returned to Castle Black to warn them of the coming attack. You apparently had a couple months to prepare Castle Black for the battle. Ygritte died in your arms during the battle, after she shot through the heart with an arrow. You did not find out she was with child until after the battle, when Tormund informed you."

"Did I ever say anything more about that unborn child?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

She could tell he was trying to hold back his emotions. She pulled him into her arms and whispered, "Just that you never thought you would have children because you was part of the Nights Watch. That you called your dragons your sons because you believed they were the only children you would ever have because you never wanted to bring a bastard into the world."

They sat in silence as she let him process the information she had provided. After a few minutes, he spoke, “Tell me what happened after - How was I able to marry you if I was still under oath of the Nights Watch?"

She met his eyes and continued the story, "After you allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall, you were betrayed by your brothers. Several of them stabbed and you were resurrected by the Red Priestess, Melisandre."

"What about my siblings. Do you know what happen to them? Were they alive?"

She sighed, “Both of our past lives are different in some ways but it's mostly the same. Robb and his mother were betrayed and killed by the Freys and Boltons at what became known as the Red Wedding. Arya was able to escape King’s Landing after your father was executed. She eventually made her way to Braavos and trained as a Faceless man before returning to Westeros. Sansa was not able to escape and was hostage of the Lannisters. She was forced to marry Tyrion Lannister, however she smuggled out of King’s Landing during Joffrey’s wedding feast by Petyr Baelish. He eventually sold her to the Boltons and she was forced to marry Roose Bolton’s bastard Ramsey, who raped and tortured her. Eventually she was able to escape to the Wall with the help of Theon Greyjoy and Brienne of Tarth, where you had Maester Aemon treat her injuries both physical and mental…" 

"Thank the gods for that, Maester Aemon was always skilled as a healer." Jon's fists clenched. "A thousand lifetimes of killing Ramsay Bolton are not enough."

Dany's expression was one of concern. "Jon... calm down. Your father knows the truth about the Boltons and will not allow it to happen,” she stated firmly meeting his gaze. She them grabbed his hand, “Please Jon, sit down. Let me continue.”

After he settled on the cloak next to her, she continued, “After your Watch ended, you and Sansa were able to gather support from the Northern Houses to retake Winterfell. To gain trust, you shared the truth of what has happening north of the Wall, your true identity, and the truth of how you were released from your vows to the Night’s Watch. Some of them did not want to trust you at first, because of your Targaryen blood. Sansa stated you might have Targaryen blood but you are still Ned Stark’s son. That he raised you to be an honorable man. That you could have left the Night’s Watch and Usurped Robb’s claim to the North, but that you stayed at the Wall because you had taken an oath.” She then chuckled and added, “I believed they were also rather impressed with your dragons, as were Ramsey and his army.”

“Did the dragons kill many during the battle?”

“No,” she chuckled once more. “When the Umbers and Karstarks saw the dragons across the battlefield, the majority swiftly surrendered. The only ones who did not were Ramsey, Lord Umber and Lord Karstark. Wun Wun swiftly captured them as they tried to retreat to Winterfell. Apparently it was all over within minutes with only those three lives lost.”

“How did they die?” He asked with a nervousness in his tone.

“You executed Lord Umber and Lord Karstark by removing their heads with Winters Wolf. Sansa executed Ramsey by feeding him to his hounds.” She watched as he exhaled, apparently relived at how he had delivered justice. “Just after their executions, Bran returned to Winterfell with Meera Reed and he told them you were the one to lead them through winter. It was then you were named King in the North.”

"And how was it that we met. That we fell in love?” he inquired.

"As you told me, when Daenerys from your past life arrived at Dragonstone, she summonsed you south, to bend the knee. Also, that Tyrion was looking for a political marriage to help bring allies."

"Yes, that's why you left Daario in Meereen."

"The same with my past life. However, Daario did not take very kindly to being cast aside. He loved me and I did not love him. While we were at sea, Daario sent word to Westeros that I was nothing more than a Whore and he was the one who commanded my armies. However, the damage had already been done… Tyrion stated my only hopes of a political marriage were to Jaime Lannister, if he could sway him to leave his sister or to Robin Arryn. Then Melisandre showed up on Dragonstone and told me your story. That you were my blood, the trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, hidden and raised in the north. She also informed me that you had three dragons, and three armies; the North, the Vale, and 100,000 Wildlings.”

"So what did you do?"

"I commanded Tyrion to send a raven, demanding you come to Dragonstone and bend the knee,” she said matter of factly, which caused them both to chuckle. After a few moments she continued, “However, before, he could leave the throne room, I received a raven from your Hand, Ser Davos, that stated you would not bend the knee because the throne was yours by right… but that you would like to meet to discuss terms of an alliance that would benefit us both. We agreed that a marriage alliance would benefit us both and a few days later, you showed up on Dragonstone with your sister…”

“I cannot imagine Sansa on the back of a dragon.”

“Not Sansa, Arya.” When he furrowed his brow in confusion, she continued. “Bran told you she was in the Riverlands. You picked her up on your way to battle Euron Greyjoy…”

“I battled against Euron?” he interrupted once more.

“Yes, you saved my allies and brought him to me as a wedding gift,” she answered with a smile before adding, “You also gave me Dark Sister.”

“Dark Sister? I did not even know the swords were in the crypt in my past life.”

“Apparently, your father, Ned, also sent them to the Wall as well. Uncle Aemon gave you both Dawn and Dark Sister to you.”

“Dawn?”

It was then that Daenerys realized he did not know that Winters Wolf was really Dawn. She shook her head, “Yes, during our duel, you told me the Dayne’s wanted for you to wield the sword, but asked Lord Stark to change its name and the pommel.”

She watched as Jon took off his sword belt and appeared in awe that he possessed the ancestral sword that once belonged to his Kingsguard. Suddenly he looked up at her with wide eyes and exclaimed, “Why were we dueling? I thought we both agreed to the marriage alliance?”

“Because we wanted to know who the better swordsmen was…”

“You could wield a sword?”

"Yes, I was known as the greatest swordsmen in Essos, and you were known as the swordsmen in Westeros…”

"Who taught you how to wield a sword?" he asked incredulously.

"Hmm… A lot of people. Ser Jorah for one. I trained against the Dothraki. And Grey Worm," she answered with a smile.

“And I take it you remember your training. That is how you were able to defeat Rakharo. And I thought I was a good teacher.”

After a few minutes of laughter, she looked at him and asked, “Do you have any other questions?"

"Aye, do you know how your life ended? How it was that you came to be sent back?"

She sighed and shook her head. “No. I wish that I did, but not all of my memories have returned to me. Whenever I try to remember, all I feel is pain and sadness and the feeling that I was running… But from what I do not know.” She looked into his eyes and took his hand before continuing, “And I promise you, Jon, I did not know until I hatched the dragons. When I hatched them, Bran came to me and started showing me glimpses of my past. Ever since, the memories of my time in Westeros have slowly been coming back.”

“What about your time in Essos?”

"It was Mazi Maz Duur.” She held up her hand to prevent him from interrupting. “When we met in the woods a few moons ago, she told me she put a curse on my womb to protect me from heartbreak because I could only bear your children… That anyone else’s seed would not cause a human child to grow. You were the one to break that curse. She also said she had to warn me.”

Warn you from what?”

She told me a threat from my past life has followed from my past life followed me into this life..."

"Threat? Do you know what she meant by that?" He raised his eyebrow at her.

“No,” she stated as she shook her head. “I do not know if she did not know, or if she did not want to tell me. Or if you coming to look for me scared her away.” She then felt tears beginning to form in her eyes as she choked out, “Jon, I am afraid. Afraid something came back with me that could separate us once more. I do not think my heart could handle that.”

Jon pulled her into his arms and comforted her as she let her tears fall. A few minutes later she heard him ask, “Do you think it was the Night King?”

"No, I don't think it was. That is what I was thinking at first, but it just doesn’t feel right because we were sent back to defeat the Night King and bring the Dawn, so that must mean he is already here."

“Don’t worry, Dany, we have time. We will figure out what followed you, and we will do it together.” He then looked deep into her eyes and vowed, “But know this, no matter what, I will protect you and our son, always.”

“Thank you, Jon,” she whispered as she pulled away from him embrace.

"Can you try to remember? See if you can come up with any clues as to what might be coming after us."

“I can try,” she agreed, closing her eyes and concentrating on the past… 

Darkness. Fear. Regret.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and noticed she was in a dark small room. Confusion. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the door. She made her way over to the door, turned the brass knob. As she did, a blinding white light filled the room nearly blinding her. She had to hold up her arm and squeeze her eyes closed. Nevertheless, she knew she needed to continue forward to discover where this vision was trying to lead her.

She took a few steps forward and once she could tell the blinding light had dissipated, she opened her eyes, surprised to see the Dragonglass Throne in front of her. ‘Dragonstone? Why am I on Dragonstone?’ she thought as she continued forward into the empty and quiet room. The Dragonglass Throne was calling to her. She reached her hand out to touch it’s familiar smooth surface she heard something, pulling her attention away. ‘It also sounds like someone crying. But it is not like any cry I have heard.’ The cry was not human, almost monstrous, however she could not stop her feet as they moved closer and closer towards the sound. The sound becoming louder and more heinous with each footstep she took.

Before she knew it, she was standing in the Chamber of the Painted Table. She covered her ears with her hand to try to silence the piercing screams that had impossibly became louder. Suddenly the screaming stopped and sadness replaced the fear. She fell to the ground and was unable to hold back the tears that began to cascade down her cheeks.

"Daenerys, why are you here?"

She looked up towards the voice. That is when she noticed a figure standing near to open windows, watching as a storm was rolling. She gasped, '’It is me… but how is that possible?'

"This does not make sense. This is not a memory…You are me? Why am I meeting myself here? "

"Yes, I am you. But I am not from your past life; I am you from Jon’s past life," she stated as she turned from the windows and began to walk towards her.

The younger Daenerys was shocked. She was at a loss for words and unable to move from where she sat on the cold stone floor. Her mind was spinning as the older version of herself held out her hand. Without a second thought, she took the outstretched hand and was helped to her feet. Once she was standing she whispered, "I do not understand… I was just trying to see if I could see anything new from my past. Anything that might be able to help us prepare for this fight. How… Why am I here?”

"Bran has already warned you it wasn't the right time,” she replied with a sigh as she looked her in the eyes. “He told you it was not safe for you to remember all your memories at one time… That you would die if all of your memories were returned at the same time."

"So I'm dying?"  

"Not yet," she stated. “I was sent to prevent you from hurting yourself and your son.”

"You came to save me?” She muttered. When her older self nodded, she continued, “But how? How did you know? How are you alive?"

"I'm not alive. My body will forever be gone, but my soul lives inside of Jon. I was his Lightbringer just like you were Jon’s in your past life."

"I'm still confused."

"I cannot explain right now.” Suddenly their head snapped towards the hall when they heard the sound of a door slamming. The other woman tightened the grip on her had and stressed, “Hurry. You must go now. If you do not, you and your son will die. You cannot try this again. I will not be able to save your from yourself a second time.

"Please… Just a bit longer. I have so many questions! I need to know…"

“There is no time.” She cried as she ushered her towards to door, “You must leave, now. We will meet again and I swear to you, everything will make sense before the War for the Dawn."

Suddenly the door flew open and the two women were face to face with the Night King. “Daenerys, you must go back to Jon, now! Open your eyes!”

"Dany! Dany, open your eyes love!” She heard Jon’s panicked voice. “Please Dany, open your eyes.” As her eyes fluttered open, she heard his sigh in relief as he pulled her to his chest and kissed her brow. “Gods Dany! Are you alright?"

"I'm. I'm fine, Jon," she stated as she pulled away and looked deep into his eyes, noticing fear and that he had tears threatening to spill.

"Your nose is bleeding," he stated with concern in his tone.

‘I thought it was a dream,’ she thought as she wiped the blood from her nose. She then inquire, “What happened?"

“Gods Dany, you were so peaceful… It was almost as if your were asleep. Then suddenly your nose began to bleed. That is when I became concerned… I was scared that I was going to lose you. I heard you say you needed to come back to me or both you and our babe would die. That is when I woke you.”

"Bran did warn me…”

“Warn you about what?”

“In the flames, when I hatched our sons, he told me if I tried to see all of my past life at once, it could lead to my death. He said it was too much for my mind to handle at one time."

“Why didn’t you tell me this could happen,” he snapped. He then took a deep breath and in a calmer tone inquired, “Why didn't you tell me what happen? It could have killed you and our son. It would have been my fault if anything happened to either of you."

"Jon, I didn't think just by trying to remember what happened could lead to my death.” She placed her hand on his cheek and continued, “My love, it would not have been your fault. I was the one being care…”

"Just please, promise me you won't try anymore," he pleaded. “I cannot lose you or our son again.”

"I promise," She whispered back at him as he pulled her close to his chest once more.

As they embraced, she once again began to feel the connection they had lost over the last moon turn. When he pulled back, she could see the look of love in his eyes and she knew he felt the connection as well. Suddenly his mouth was on hers. She returned his kiss, trying her best to pour her soul into the frantic kiss. Without breaking the kiss, he lowered her onto his cloak, each of them quickly removing the others clothes. In no time, they were each naked, caressing each other’s bare skin, making up for the last moon turn. He began to trace her slick folds with finger light touches whiles she stroked his already hardened cock.

Dany could no longer take the delay. She pushed his hands from her clit, broke the kiss and pushed him down on the cloak before quickly straddling him. She then looked him in the eyes, seeing nothing but pure love and devotion as she aligned his member with her entrance, slowly lowered herself, enjoying the way he stretched her so perfectly. ‘We are one. This is how we are meant to be,’ she thought as she braced herself with her hands on this chiseled pecks and began to rock her hips.

“Gods, Dany. I missed you so much,” he murmured as he brought his hands to her hips, speeding up her leisurely pace. “I love you. I am so sorry.”

“Shh, my love. I am here,” she answered before leaning down and crushing her lips to his.

During their passionate kiss, she felt her eyes begin to well with tears; never in her life could she remember feeling so loved. Suddenly, she felt Jon roll her onto her back. He broke the kiss, and when she opened her eyes he was hovered over her, staring down at her and breathing hard. He wiped away the tears that had begun to fall with the pad of his thumb, and she noticed the concern in his eyes as he whispered, “Dany, am I hurting you?”

“No,” she shook her head, “You feel perfect. This is perfect. You are perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dany. From this day until my last,” he vowed before he recaptured her lips and began to thrust deep into her channel. With each rock of his hips, the coil in her belly got stronger and stronger. Suddenly, he began to massage her bundle of nerves, sending her over the edge of bliss. She felt her walls spasm around his pillar and she pulled away from his kiss, crying out in pleasure as her orgasm coursed through her. He continued to thrust as she came down from her high, and within seconds he, he had his own cry of release before he collapsed on top her with his falling into the crock of her neck.

“Jon,” she murmured.

“Hmmm.”

“Do you mind to get off of me? You are smashing our son,” she said with a chuckle, even though she was still panting for air.

“I’m sorry, Dany,” Jon chucked as he rolled to his side.

They laid in a serene silence, staring at that stars, his hand rubbing sweet circles on the slight swell of her womb. She broke the silence with a chuckle.

“What’s so funny, my love?”

"You know, I have been wishing for this ever since we announced our marriage,” she declared as she took her eyes off the sky and directed them towards her husband.

"Wishing for what?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“Fucking outside under the open sky."

“WHAT?”

She laughed and nodded, "Yes Jon Snow! I know you are aware it is Dothraki traditions that all marriages must be consummated under the open sky… So I guess we are now officially wed in the eyes of the Horse God.”

“Aye,” he agree with a chuckle of his own. “I believe that means we are officially wed before the old gods and the horse god… That just leaves the new gods and the Lord of Light.”

Their laughter died down and she settled into his arms, enjoying the cool night air in the strong, warm, loving arms of her husband. After a few minutes she glanced over at him and noticed he had a few tears trickling down his cheek. She quickly wiped his tears, knowing that he still felt guilty for brooding for so long. “Jon, you are here now. It was my fault too. As we said earlier we must be honest with one another.”

“Aye, together we will prevent the Night King from destroying everyone and everything we love.” He then moved down to her stomach and pressed a soft kiss to her womb, “That includes you my son. I will not fail you this time. You will live to grow and become a strong and honorable man, just like your Grandfather Ned. He is going to be able to hold you in this life. This time you will be surrounded by so many people to keep you safe and who love you unconditionally… I love you Rhaegon.”

At his words she felt a soft flutter deep within her womb. She knew it was too soon for him to feel their son, but she knew it was Rhaegon tell his father that he loved him too……

 

Notes:

Let us know what you guys think! Your ideas and comments are always appreciated.

Chapter 22: Beyond the Wall

Summary:

1. Tyron and Maester Aemon speak about prophecies. The Maester also shares news with the Imp.
2. Ned and company beyond the Wall
3. Catelyn, Edmure and Maester Luwin come up with a plan regarding the Vale and receive news from the Capital.

Notes:

"I think we all need a little balm after the shitshow season 8 has become. Please enjoy. " -Cmyatt07

"Hey guys. I hope you all have a good day. Um listhen here.... I know Season 8 has been horrible and disappointed but dont let that be the reason to stop reading this story. I know it might be hard but think of this story of being a alternate universe where the writers actually gives a damn about the characters and doesn't make them mad for no reason. (Like Daenerys I mean WTF) but anyway next chapter will be massive the threats wil be a little revealed so stay tuned for that😊. Like I always say sit back relax and enjoy this chapter.

Oh this is not the longest chapter we promised the next chapter will be a lot longer 😊" - Ruben8554

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Tyrion Lannister

For over a fortnight, Tyrion had all but locked himself inside the dusty, musty smelling library at Castle Black, researching, as his King commanded, praying to find some useful bit of knowledge. He was beginning to lose hope that the paper mite infested pages would bring him any clues about solving the riddle of the two worlds he had read about in the ancient Valyrian book he discovered within the Winterfell library.

As he stared at the High Valyrian description, the letters began to meld together before his tired eyes. The Imp sighed in frustration as he slammed the book closed and took a long sip of wine. When he set the empty glass down on the table he muttered, “Why in seven are the books that are supposed to contain the most knowledge always written in another language. Maybe I should just send these to the Citadel and ask the Maesters there to transcribe them to the common tongue.”

He refilled his cup from the picture on the table and took another healthy sip from his wine as he eyed the book, internally cursing himself for not paying closer attention to Maester Creylen’s lessons. Tyrion never dreamed he would have to transcribe words and the only time he ever really used the language was in a brothel to impress the whores. After he finished his glass of wine, he sighed once more before grabbing the book and opening it back to the marked page. He dipped his quill in the ink and got back to work.

"I hear you are having trouble Lord Tyrion?" He heard an old voice call.

"Yes, I'm afraid that I am Maester Aemon," the Hand of the King in the North replied with a chuckle as he placed his quill of the table and looked up to see the Maester with his steward, Pyp standing at the door.

“Would you like some help my boy?” As if the elderly man’s eyes could see the perplexed look on Tyrion’s face he continued, “I might no longer be able to use my eyes, but my mind is sound.”

“I could use any help I can get.”

A few minutes later, Maester Aemon was settled in the seat across from him and he had sent Pyp off to tend to the ravens. Once the door shut, the older man stated, "I haven't been inside of this library for many years. I believe the last time when I was here is when I could still read… I am not even sure anyone has been in this room since I lost my sight."

"Surely someone else at this gods forsaken castle must share your love of knowledge and books!”

"Lord Tyrion do you truly believe that thieves and rapist send to spend their lives at the Wall care to read a book? That they have been taught to read or even write their own names? And if they did, do you believe they have a thirst for knowledge such as men like you and I?” the Maester inquired with a bit a mirth in his tone. “Even if a learned recruit comes to the Wall, I am sure the last thing they want to do is read a book.”

“When I was a child, my sister said the only reason my father did not send me here to waste away was because I was too short,” the Imp said with a chuckle. “At the time I had no clue what the Wall was or why it was here. That is when my nursemaid told me the stories of grumkins and snarks and ice spiders and became intrigued. I must have read every book in Casterly Rock’s library… not that it was impressive I might add… searching for information about the Wall… But there was nothing about the mythical creatures I was told about. I only found it was built to prevent Wildlings from attacking the people of the North.”

“Lord Tyrion, do you actually believe the Wall was built to keep the Wildlings to the North?” The challenged.

 

“I will say seeing the Wall is much as more impressive than reading about it in a book. You know, it does make more sense that it was built for some other reason than to keep savages out of the North… And my King believes this as well.” Tyrion then paused and looked towards the blind Maester and asked, “Maester Aemon, you have spent the majority of your life here at the Wall, might I ask, why do you feel Bran the Builder built this Wall of ice and stone?”

“To protect the realms of men,” the Maester answered simply.

“So you too believe the Wall was built to prevent grumkins and snarks and White Walkers from attacking.

The older man just nodded in confirmation. Tyrion was shocked to see that a learned man from the Citadel believed such a tale.

“Might I ask what it is you are searching for, my Lord?” The Maester inquired after a few moments of silence. “If you are searching for tales about the Long Night and the early days of the Nights Watch, I know exactly where those books are located.

"As much as I would love to read those books, I am currently trying to translate an old Valyrian Book for the King… However, my Valyrian is not as sharp as it should be."

"If I ask Lord Tyrion where did you find this Valyrian book? I was not aware any were left in the Library."

He took another sip of his wine and answered the Maesters question, “This book came from the library at Winterfell. I was surprised to find several Valyrian books there.”

He heard the Maester inhale sharply before asking, “And what is the book about?”

“If I am reading it correctly, it is a book of prophecies.”

“And the King asked you to read this book. Why?”

"King Eddard believes there might be something in this book that could help stop the Walkers beyond the Wall. At first, I thought he was crazy with this talk of White Walkers and dead men. However, as I spent more time with him, and got to know him better, I have learned he is as they say, honorable to the core. I fear that honor would have gotten him killed had he actually gone south to the viper’s pit of King’s Landing.”

“And what do you think about this book?”

“From what I've been able to translate, it appears the Valyrians have been quite accurate with their prophecies and legends."

"Care to explain, my Lord?" Maester Aemon inquired with a smile.

“Well I am sure you have heard about the comet in the sky.”

“I have. Glowing red and blue.”

“Yes, well in one to the stories, it states that this was a sign of the return of dragons. And, well as you have heard, your niece and nephew have recently hatched six dragons across the Narrow Sea.”

“King Eddard told me of this when he arrived.”

“Well, I guess we will have to wait until more stories emerge to see if this prophecy is true…”

“The prophecy of the Hybrid Dragon and the return of the Promised Prince.”

“You have knowledge of this story,” Tyrion stated, thankful the Maester could not see the way his mouth hung open.

“I remember reading it when I was a younger man,” The Maester replied with a smile. “If you do not mind, can you tell me of some of the other prophecies in this book?”

"The Valyrians started that a prince would forsake his title and his duties for love. They will have a son, that returned from another life, that the child will be known as the song of Ice and Fire…”

“And his wife returned as well and hers is the song of fire and blood.” Maester Aemon finished.

“You know this one as well?” Tyrion asked incredulously.

“Well Lord Tyrion, I believe that book once mine… I sent it to my grand-nephew about twenty years ago.”

“Then how did it get to Winterfell?” Tyrion then gasped. Suddenly everything began to make sense. Ned returning from Roberts Rebellion with the bones of his sister and a bastard. The Valyrian books. How he never wanted to talk about Jon’s mother or his sister. The fact that Robb and the bastard are in Essos not North of the Wall. “Ned Stark, I cannot believe you had it in you,” he stated with a chuckle

“What is it Lord Hand?”

"Ned Stark fooled us all,” Tyrion laughed. “Gods it is so obvious. Jon Snow.”

“What about Lord Stark’s bastard?” Maester Aemon breathed out.

“Jon Snow is not Ned Stark’s bastard… He has been protecting his sister’s son! Jon Snow must be this Aegon Targaryen who has surfaced in Essos."

The blind Maester cleared his throat and whispered, "And why do you think that, my Lord?"

"We have all been so blind! Every time I ask about the bastard’s mother, King Eddard would get uncomfortable and change the subject. He would get defensive whenever I called him a bastard. Then, just before he left to go beyond the Wall, he told me both Robb and Jon were safe in Essos and meeting with the Targaryens, to form an alliance… That they had never traveled to the Wall, but have been in Essos for months.”

"What are you going to do with this information, my Lord?"

“You knew?” he stated as he looked at the blind Maester.

“Lord Tyrion, what are you going to do with this information? Are you planning to tell your family? The truth can be easily denied.”

“Gods, no one would ever believe me even if I told anyone! And besides who would I tell?”

“Your Father. Your sister. King Robert.”

Tyrion barked out a laugh, “Why in the seven hells would I ever tell them this information. Although, I would love to see the look on my sister and King Robert’s faces if they ever do learn the truth! That the man my sister wanted to marry and the woman the whoremonger king wanted to married had a child!” He sighed as took the elderly Maester’s hand and vowed, “I swear to you, I am loyal to King Eddard. This truth will stay in this room.”

“How can I be so sure of this?”

“Maester Aemon, King Eddard not only saved his nephew’s life, he has saved mine as well. Had I had to travel south with the royal party, I can promise you, my sister would have killed me… I probably would have been dead before we reached the neck. However, he name me his Hand… But, it has been more than that, he and his family have welcomed me into their home. They treat me as a person and not a broken thing. For the first time in my life, I feel as if I have a family. Why would I want to screw that up?”

"Thank you, my Lord. However, remember. I might be old and blind, but I am still a Dragon. And what are the words of House Targaryen?"

“Fire and Blood,” Tyrion automatically relied as if he were answering the inquiry of his childhood Maester. He was relieved when he saw a smile on the old man’s face.

“Now, do not forget that.”

“I don’t believe I ever could. You know, I have heard Aegon has married Daenerys and that they have hatched dragons.” he replied with a smile before taking a sip of wine.

“They have,” the Maester answered with a smile. “And I have heard they are deeply in love. I can only hope to live long enough to meet them, their dragons, and their babe. I could die a happy man knowing that my family has not seen it end.”

The Hand to the King in the North nearly choked on his wine as he blurted out, "She is already with child?"

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. It is believed she conceived very shortly after their marriage, making her about four and a half moon-turns gone.”

“If King Eddard is aware, I am sure King Robert and my father are as well,” Tyrion sighed. “I am sure they are planning to send assassins after them, if they haven’t already."

"I am sure you are correct, my Lord. However, I believe they will be safe. They have six dragons and a full Dothraki army behind them,” Tyrion then saw a hit of a smile on the old man’s face as he learned towards him and whispered, “I also believe they have eyes and ears in the Capital. They will know what the Usurper is planning."

“I hope you are right and I hope you do get a chance to meet your family,” the Imp replied sincerely.

“Me too, my Lord. Me too.”

After a few moments of silence, Tyrion looked at the man across from him and asked, "Maester Aemon as much as I have enjoyed your company, I have a feeling you came here to discuss something with me was there something you wanted to discuss with me?"

“You are correct, Lord Hand. I have a couple pieces of information for you.”

“Go on…” Tyrion stated as he began to feel anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach.

"As you are aware, the King has disinterred your nephew, Joffrey…”

“Yes…”

“Well I have just received word that he has arrived at Eastwatch and they will begin the journey to Castle Black after a sennight of rest.” Suddenly, Tyrion broke out in laughter and the Maester inquired, “My Lord, are you well? If you would like, we can get a tonic for you from my chamber. Sometimes disturbing news can cause a gambit of emotions."

“I am well, good Maester.” Tyrion replied between chuckles. “It’s… It’s just I cannot believe that my sister allowed for her precious Joffrey to actually make it to the Wall! I figured she would have had him smuggled to Casterly Rock or one of the free cities of Essos.” Tyrion then noticed Maester Aemon still wore a look of concern on his face so he continued, “Please do not worry about my safety, I promised King Eddard I would be gone before he arrived… Which means I have about a fortnight before I need to leave.”

“There is another piece of news. An announcement from the Capital.” The Maester stated as he removed a scroll from this sleeve and handed it to the Hand of the King in the North.

Tyrion unraveled the already read scroll and began to read:

 

 

It is with a heavy heart, I must announce the deaths of Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jamie Lannister. Both men perished as a fire swept through the White Sword Tower, leaving nothing but ash. The bells at the Sept of Baelor rang in honor of these two brave loyal knights. They will be missed and replacements will be named soon.

“Jaime,” Tyrion breathed out as tears begin to well in his eyes. “Jaime was the only one in my family that ever treated me as though a were a person and not an abomination.”

It was then the Maester removed another scroll and handed it to him. Wiping his eyes, praying to keep his tears at bay, he looked at the scroll and noticed there was no sigil on the wax seal but his breath hitched with he saw his name written on the side of the scroll.

 

 

Tyrion, I am safe. Robert discovered the truth about his children. Ser Barristan and I were smuggled out of King’s Landing before the fire erupted. I am not sure where we are heading or when I will be able to write to you again. I hope to see you again one day, that is, if your King will allow me a home in the North.  Love, Jaime

“Thank you Maester Aemon,” he whispered.

“I take it the scroll contained good news.”

“It did.”

“Well my Lord, I guess I will leave you to your work,” the Maester said with a smile and began to stand from his chair.

Tyrion looked at the book and groaned, when suddenly he realized the man in front of him was fluent in Valyrian. “Wait, Maester Aemon.”

“Yes my Lord?”

"Maester Aemon, I am aware that Valyrian is your family’s mother tongue. Do you think you would be able to assist me with translating this book."

“I would be honored to help you my Lord. I remember several of the stories in this book. But I believe I might also have something that will help you when I am not here. If I recall correctly, on the third shelf of the bookshelf closest to the door there is a small green book. Go get it.”

Tyrion did as the Maester requested and when her returned to tried to hand the Maester to have him shake his head. “No Lord Tyrion, this is a gift for you.”

“A gift for me?”

“Yes. When I was a young boy, I had some difficulty learning Valyrian, so my Maester gave me this book." Tyrion began to thumb through the pages looking at the letters and pictures as the Maester continued to speak. “That book helped me to learn the language and I sure it will help you as well. By using this, you will be able to pronounce the words correctly and I can help you to translate properly.”

"Thank you Maester Aemon."

The Maester smiled and nodded, “The books are wasted on my old eyes and I would love nothing more than to find a way for the people to survive the coming winter. You I believe you are currently working on transcribing the Tales of the Lightbringers, correct?"

“That is correct.”

“Did you happen to bring the second book in the series?”

"There is a second book?”

“There is my Lord,” The Maester confirmed with a nod of his head.

“I am sorry Maester Aemon, but this is the only book of prophecies I saw in Winterfell’s library. Perhaps the book is elsewhere."

"If they were not together, I fear it has been lost because I sent the books to Rhaegar a few years before his death. I assumed he would have kept them together.”

“You never know Maester Aemon. Perhaps the other book is at Dragonstone or in the Red Keep.”

“Perhaps you are correct.”

The two men then began to work together to translate and transcribe the book for the King in the North……

 


Eddard Stark

It had been weeks since the King in the North and his party left Castle Black in search of the King Beyond the Wall. Their travel had been slowed by a series of blizzard like storms and the current storm seemed to be the worst yet. Eddard had lived through several Northern winters and he had never seen a storm like this; all he could think about was that this was still summer, what would winter bring? The winds were whistling and the snow was so thick he could not see ten feet in front of him.

"Your Grace! The snowstorm… it is too strong! We need to find somewhere to take shelter and wait for it to die down,” he heard Jory call from beside him.

“Aye, you are right!” Ned agreed as turned towards were he heard his loyal guard’s voice, putting his arm across his face in attempt to block the wind and snow. “Take one of the brothers of the Night’s Watch and see if you find a place we can shelter for the night.”

"It will be done, your Grace.”

Ned then guided his own horse to a small grove of trees and motioned for the remaining men in his party to make their way over. Once they all dismounted, ordered them to stay close, rest and eat some of the hard jerky to regain their strength. Within a few minutes, Benjen made his way over.

“Brother, it seems as though the men are losing faith… We have been ranging for weeks...”

“I know Ben, you are right. I honestly thought we would have found something by now. We should have found some abandoned Wildling settlements or some dead animals. But nothing. We have found nothing… No signs of life. No signs of the dead. Nothing disturbing. All we have found is too much snow and ice and freezing cold,” The King in the North sighed. “I am starting to think we should just turn around and go back to Castle Black. We can barely see in this storm. It is so frustrating… The answers could be twenty feet to or left or right, yet we miss it because we can only see ten.”

“Ned you just need to have a little patience. I say let us range for another fortnight. If we still have found nothing then we will return to Castle Black,” Benjen stated calmly as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You are right… It is just frustrating. It is as if the Night King know we are looking for him and he is hiding behind this bloody storm!” Ned paused briefly before he slammed his hand against one of the trees and exclaimed, “He is probably the one causing this fucking storm and is laughing at us!”

“I know you we wanting to find some proof for your people. However, I believe you. The Nights Watch believes you. We know what is out there – we know what the Night King is capable of doing. Even if we do not find anything on this ranging mission, just know the Night’s Watch rangers have been instructed to bring back anything out of the ordinary – Commander Mormont will notify you immediately.” Benjen they looked him in the eyes and vowed, “Brother, you are not alone. We will work together and we will win this battle.”

Before Ned could reply, he heard a crack of a stick behind him. He and Benjen quickly unsheathed their swords and began to search the area around them for the blue glowing eyes that Jon had described. To his relief, he saw a torch and as the fire got closer, he realized it was Jory and the Nights Watch brother, Grenn, returning.

“Your Grace, we have found a cave,” Jory called. “It is just about a league to the north. I believe it will be large enough to shelter us all until the storm passes.”

With a nod of his head, and a few commands given to his men, it only took a few minutes before they were all mounted and following Jory as he led them towards the shelter. As they rode, Ned began to feel a sense of unease in the pit of his stomach. He could not shake the feeling they were being watched. He scanned his surroundings, searching for blue eyes or anything else out of place and saw nothing; he could barely make out Jory in front of him.

After a short ride, they arrived at the mouth of a cave. He dismounted his horse, tacked it on a nearby tree and removed an unlit torch from his saddlebag. He then had Jory light his torch and proceed to walk to the entrance of the cave. He looked around and noticed everything was dark.

“Jory, Grenn,” the King in the North called. When the two men reached their King’s side he continued, “Did you all investigate the inside the entire cave?”

“No, your Grace. We only took a few steps inside to make sure it would be large enough for the entire party,” Jory replied.

“Alright, we need to make sure the cave is safe,” Ned acknowledged. He then looked over toward one of his household guards and a brother on the Nights Watch, “Alyn, Karl. Would you please light your torches and stand guard at the front of the cave. Keep watch over the horses and watch for anything out of the ordinary while the rest of us make sure the cave is secure.” He then addressed the group as he added, “We will need to rest in shifts. I will send someone to relieve your shortly.”

The two men nodded and lit their torches as the King in the North requested. A few moments later, Ned, Jory, Benjen, Theon, Hallis, Harwin and Grenn were making their way into the dark cave. The King could not explain it but something felt wrong as they walked deeper into the cavern; the air felt thick and had a pungent, decaying odor. When the cave forked, they split into two groups – He, Jory, Benjen, and Hallis in one group and Theon, Grenn and Harwin in the other.

As Ned and his group made their way through the crevice, he noticed the walls were lined with shards of Dragonglass. “Ben… I never heard of their being Dragonglass in the North?”

“I have never seen any north of the Wall,” his brother confirmed as he ran his hand over the shiny black rocks. “It looks as though it was placed here, a long time ago.”

“Aye... I wonder if this was used as a shelter during the first long night?”

“What the fuck,” he heard Theon exclaim, halting his conversation with his brother. “Your Grace! Hurry! You need to see this!”

Ned felt his heart clench in fear at the tone in Theon’s voice. ‘It is something bad,’ he thought as his group quickly made their way to the other path within the cave. It did not take long for his group to reach the others and he nearly dropped his torch when he saw what Theon and his group had found; the ground was covered in what appeared to be a pool of blood.

"What the fuck happened here!?"

“I don’t know your Grace, but it appears whatever did this, drug whatever it killed further into the cavern,” Theon replied.

Ned held up his torch and noticed that Theon was correct; there appeared to be a trail of blood that lead deeper into the dark cave. He handed his torch to Jory and drew Frost from its scabbard. "Be on your guard! We still do not know what happened, and whatever did this might still be in this cave. Hallis, Jory, Grenn, Hawin, make sure your torches remain lit, Ben, Theon, keep your swords ready… If what I believe did this is still here, the only way to destroy it is with fire or Valyrian steel."

The men nodded in understanding. Theon drew Longclaw while Benjen drew Winterstorm and the others made lit more torches before they began to track the trail of blood down the path. They moved forward slowly as a group, Jory at his left providing light, Benjen in the middle and Theon at the rear. As Ned walked, he noticed there appeared to be spirals and ancient symbols etched into the side of the walls. However, before he could inquire, he heard Benjen and several of the others gasp.

“Ned! Look at this!” Benjen exclaimed.

The King in the North turned his head to look where the torches were casting their orange glow. “Dear gods!” he muttered as he took in the slaughter before him. He could not believe it. In the center of the wall there was a child, who could not have been more than eight name days, impaled on some sort of spike. Around the child were dozens of severed arms, strategically placed to form a spiral, yet no bodies could be found. As Ned walked closer, he noticed that each of the arms was a left arm. ‘Why in the seven hells are there only left arms?’

“What the fuck?" Jory whispered, clearly in shock at the gruesome scene in front of them.

"Who or what could have done this?" another one of the men replied with a quivering tone.

"White Walkers,” Benjen replied. “This had to have been done by the White Walkers.”

"The White Walkers? Do you think they are close?" Theon responded, as he seemed to be scanning the cave for any of the creatures.

“I do not know.” Ned answered as he walked closer to the child in the middle of the spiral. “But I think we should start looking for any clues.” He then began to inspect the child in the center of the spiral. He was dressing in Wildling furs and the only wound appeared to be the metal spike through his heart – which was attaching him to the wall of the cave. His eyes were drawn to the young boys face; he looked so calm and peaceful in his death. He was just about to ask the men to help him remove the child when suddenly the eyes snapped open and he was face to face with glowing blue eyes. He jumped back and gasped, just before the child lifted a hidden dagger in his right hand and let out a monstrous screech.

“Your Grace! MOVE!” He heard Jory scream in a panic.

However, Ned was unable to move, his body frozen in fear. The next thing he knew, he was pushed out of the way and Jory placed his torch against the howling thing that was once a young wildling boy. Within a few seconds, the boy was engulfed in flames, which quickly spread to the severed limbs around the boy.

The group stood in amazement, as the screams ceased and the flame grew brighter. Their awe was broken when then heard a commotion coming from the front of the cave. The King tightened his grip on Frost and led the men back towards the entrance of the cavern. When they reached the mouth of the cave, Ned saw a person in thick furs run a knife across the throat of brother of the Nights Watch. He watch as the man, Karl, held his throat and fell to his knees before hitting the ground. It was then that he noticed Alyn’s limp body on the ground as well. An arrow through his heart.

“STOP!” the King hissed through gritted teeth as he held his arms up to keep his men behind him. He did not know how many men there were at the mouth of the cave.

Apparently, his voice was a little louder than he meant it to be because a hooded figure, bow and arrow in hand, stepped forward. The hood was lowered revealing a red-headed female who smiled as she stated to the figure large redheaded, bearded figure with the knife in his hand, “Hey, Tormund, looks like we have found ourselves some crows.” She then looked to the other side of the cave and continued, “What do ya think we should do with them?”

“I always enjoy killin’ me some crows,” the large man with the knife, the female had called Tormund replied

Ned looked to his sides, noticing that his men still hand their swords drawn. He knew that he had to stop this. He needed to do something. Suddenly he recalled that Jon had had a close friend named Tormund. So the placed his sword back in it’s scabbard, looked at the Wildlings in the eyes and clearly stated, “We are not your enemy. We are here to help save you from the Army of the dead.” He could see the bewildered look on the faces of the fur-clad warriors.

“And why should we trust you southern folk?” The bearded man asked.

Ned looked at his men and stated, “Sheath your swords, these men are not our enemy.”

“Your Grace, they just killed Alyn and Karl,” Jory replied, clearly shocked by the command he had been given. “They have threatened to kill us.”

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!” The King in the North roared. Once his men had secured their weapons he looked back at the large bearded red-head and stated, “You are Tormund Giantsbane.”

“Aye,” the man stated with a quirked brow. “How would you know that?”

“I have heard about you… I have heard stories of your relationship with a bear… And that you were given the name Giantsbane because you killed a giant when you were ten. That you got your strength because you fed off giant’s milk for three months.”

“How would you know that? I ain’t never told any southerners those stories!” The large man breathed out.

“I know many things about the Free Folk and I swear to you upon the old gods I am not your enemy. I know what is coming for us all and I am here to help. I would like to speak with your King, Mance Rayder and propose a deal that could help save us all.”

“And just how can a group of southerners and men of the Night’s Watch help us? And why?” Tormund asked incredulously.

"My name is Eddard Stark. I am the Lord of Winterfell and the King of the Northern Kingdom of Westeros!”

“Psst… We might live North of the Wall, be we ain’t no idiots. We all know that there is some perfumed King down in Kings Landing… Bar… Bar-fat-man – “

“Robert Baratheon,” Ned interrupted.

“Yeah, that’s it. He is the King of the seven kingdoms.” Tormund replied enthusiastically. “So I do not know why you are claiming to be the King in the North and the Lord of Waterfall…” the man then looked at his companion and asked, "Where the fuck is Waterfall?"

“I don’t know, I never heard of it. Maybe it's to the East,” the female wildling replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Not Waterfall you idiots! Winterfell.” Theon exclaimed. “Winterfell is the Castle belonging to House Stark… And this is Eddard Stark and he is the King in the North…”

"Anything South of the Wall isn't the North!” Tormund stated. “This, where you are standing now, is the North! The real North!"

He noticed Theon take a step forward as he prepared to retort. Ned quickly placed his arm in front of his ward, looked at the two Wildlings and stated, “I am not the King of the Free Folk and I do not ask to be. However, as I said, I would like to speak with your King. I believe I have a solution that could keep you all safe during the Long Night.”

“And just why should we to believe you?” The woman asked as she lifted her bow, arrow already nocked. 

"Your Grace, there are seven of us and only two of them. Surely, we can take care of them easily. We can find another group that can take us to Mance,” Theon stated as he drew Longclaw once again.

Tormund’s laugh broke through the thick air. “I can’t believe these Southerners believe there are only two of us?” Suddenly the ground began to shake. At the mouth of the cave he saw two tree truck sized legs. The bearded man’s laughter then ceased, his face became serious and he stated, “This is Wun-Wun.”

‘Seven hells Jon was right. Giants are real.’ The Giant entered the room along with seven other wildlings. 

"Now tell me, King of the Waterfall’s little guard, do you think you can win?”

Ned looked at his ward, placed his hand on the young man’s arm and stated, "Theon, lower your weapon."

He could tell Theon wanted to protest. Luckily, Benjen placed his hand on his shoulder and calmly said, “Theon, don’t get yourself killed. You cannot fell a giant.”

Theon huffed, but nodded and lowered his blade.

Ned then turned back towards that group of Wildlings and stated, “We will not fight you. However, I do request an audience with your King.”

"Why do you think Mance would want to talk to crows or some little man who calls himself the King in the North." 

“Because I am willing to give all the Free Folk safe passage south of the Wall,” Ned then paused before adding, “What do you have to lose… If you let me speak with him it could save all of your lives. If you kill me, you are all as good as soldiers in the army of the dead.”

Tormund then looked at the giant and the female wildling, they both nodded.

“Alright, King of Waterfall. We will take you to Mance. But until we reach him, you need to surrender your weapons. I ain’t gonna allow you to kill me in my sleep.”

Ned nodded to his men, and the wildlings began to collect the swords and blades, before binding their hands.

"What's your name girl?" Ned heard Theon ask as the the redheaded female wildling collected Longclaw.

"What's it to you, Crow?" she inquired as she began to bind his wrists together with some string.

"My name’s Theon Greyjoy and I ain’t no Crow!”

“Awe, so let me guess, you know your way around a woman?” the girl replied with a amused look on her face.

“I know my way around a woman,” Theon exclaimed defensively. "And I will be happy to prove it to you… Maybe I just want to know the name of the woman who will be screaming my name later.”

"It’s Ygritte you little shit,” She replied with a smile. “And I bet you could not handle me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Theon retorted incredulously, “Cause I bet I could please you in ways you never thought existed… I bet once you had me, you would never want another.”

“Theon!” Ned exclaimed though gritted teeth, although neither the red headed Wildling nor his ward paid attention as their banter continued.

“We will just have to see about that, lover boy,” Ygritte replied with a smile as she finished tightening the ropes binding Theon’s wrists. “You know, with your hands bound you will have to be creative.”

Thankfully, before Theon could answer Tormund’s booming voice echoed, “Ygritte, you can fuck him after we make camp. It will take us a few days to reach Mance’s camp. So let’s get the fuck out of here before those dead fuckers come back!”

“I have a request,” Ned stated as they were led out of the cave.

“And what you that be King Waterfall?”

“Please, burn the bodies of my men before we go. I do not want them to be turned.”

Tormund nodded and took one of the torches that his men had laid on the ground and lite the bodies of Karl and Alyn.

“And now his watch as ended,” her heard Benjen whisper next to him once both bodies were engulfed in flames.

As they walked out of the cave Ned said a silent prayer that they would be safe during the rest of their travels and that the meeting with the King Beyond the Wall would go according to plan……

 


 

Catelyn Tully Stark

The Queen in the North could not believe it was still summer. She had called the North, Winterfell, home for the past eighteen years and in all those years, she could not recall such a blast of cold air and frequent summer snows. She was thankful for the roaring fire in the hearth of her solar and for the warmth that radiated from the walls; the thought of going outside at a time like this made her shiver, but she knew it would soon be necessary. However,  

“Cat, do you really think it would be wise to travel to the Eyrie right now?” Edmure asked from where he sat beside her, as if he could read her mind.

When she snapped her head from where she had been staring out the window and met his gaze, she could clearly see concern on her brother’s face. She sighed. “I suppose we could wait until the weather clears.”

“Perhaps we should wait until your husband returns from the Wall,” Edmure countered before taking a bite of blackened bacon.

"Edmure!” Catelyn exclaimed, surprised by her brother’s statement. “I do not think we should wait. Who know what Lysa – and probably Petyr are scheming right now… We need to thwart whatever it is they are planning! We cannot let them get away with her husband’s death! If we didn’t know the truth, their plan would be already falling into place… Ned would be on his way to King’s Landing where he would lose his head! Sansa would be a prisoner in the Red Keep and Robb would start a war to get her back!”

“Cat, the more I think about it, the more I do not think it would be wise to leave Winterfell without letting the King in the North know where his wife has gone and why. Littlefinger has poisoned our sister’s mind! Moreover, we have no evidence that she and Lord Baelish killed Jon Arryn. She will become paranoid if we show up unannounced and will likely do something rash such as throw us out of the Moon Door!”

"But we cannot…”

“I never said we were going to let them get away with poisoning Jon Arryn,” Edmure cut her off. “But we need to be smarter with our actions. We have altered their plans when Ned did not travel South and when the North gained their independence… We have future alliances in place with the Reach and Dorne. If your husband is successful, we will have over 100,000 Wildlings as allies. We need to device a sound plan.”

“So we wait,” the Queen in the North spat. “It could be years before those alliances are sealed!” A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. She heard Maester Luwin on the other side of the door and bid him to enter.

“Your Grace,” the Maester dipped his head as he reached the table. “You have received a couple of ravens.”

The Queen nodded, taking the messages from the Maester. She was surprised when she looked at the sigil of the first scroll and noticed it was from the Vale.

“Ed, it from Lysa,” she whispered as she broke the blue wax seal and began to read:

 

 

My Dearest Sister Cat,

I am outraged about what Prince Joffrey did to your daughters! I am happy the North has earned their independence, but I still feel as though the Lannisters must pay… Not only for what they did to your beautiful girls, but what they did to my husband. I would like to declare the Vale to the North in the wars to come. I feel the best way to do this is through a marriage alliance. You know my dear husband thought of Ned as his own son, and it was always a dream of his to join house Arryn to house Stark. I have heard Sansa will soon be betrothed to Prince Trystane of Dorne, which I feel is a good match… Therefore, I am proposing my sweet Robin marry your Sweet Arya. I have not yet spoken to Father, but I am sure he will raise his banners to our cause… We will have the power of the North, the Riverlands, the Reach, Dorne, and the Vale when it comes time to destroy the Lannisters for what they did to our family. Remember our house words, Family. Duty. Honor. I look forward to your response, sister, and perhaps we could plan a visit soon.

Lysa Arryn, Lady of the Eyrie and Protector of the Vale

 

She lowered her hand and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Cat, what did Lysa say?” Her brother inquired.

"She wants Arya to marry her bastard to unite the Vale and the North," she spat, unable to control her anger.

"A marriage alliance? That makes no sense. We are already family."

"She said it was her dear, late husband’s dream to join House Stark and House Arryn.” Cat paused to take a long sip of wine. She then sighed, looked her brother in the eyes and stated, “Ed, I feel Lysa is truly lost. Her mind has been poisoned. She has been blinded by love or what she think is love for Petyr. She is already trying to get us to go to war against the Lannisters! I know that she thinks if Arya is married to her bastard, the North and our allies will put them on the Iron Throne. What is wrong with her?”

“What are you - We going to do?” Edmure replied, not taking his gaze away from hers.

Instead of answering her brother, she look at the Maester and firmly stated, “Maester Luwin send a raven to my sister. Inform her I decline her offer. We are family and should not need a marriage alliance to form a stronger bond."

"Your Grace, I council against declining the betrothal…" Master Luwin replied cautiously.

“Maester Luwin, I will not promise my daughter to my sister’s son!” Catelyn protested, shocked that the Maester did not leave to do as she had bid, that he was challenging her decision. She then felt a soothing hand placed over hers – Edmure’s way of silently telling her to calm.

“I agree with my sister, Maester. I do not see the point of promising Arya to Robyn. Our houses are already family.”

“And I agree as well.”

“They why are you counseling me to accept this betrothal?”

“Your Grace, we need to think of a way to earn the loyalty of the Vale, while we find out what your sister and Lord Baelish are planning,” the Maester replied calmly.

“And what is it that you suggest,” she asked with a quirked brow.

“I believe it would be wise to make you sister believe we will consider the betrothal. You have stated multiple times, you will not force your children into marriages they do not desire… Therefore, perhaps it would be wise to offer to foster Robyn in Winterfell.”

Catelyn was shocked, she opened her mouth to reply, but did not know exactly what to say, so the Maester continued.

“By fostering your nephew, will take him away from his mother. I believe your husband, his Grace, stated young Robyn did not know how to fight or even ride a horse in the past. Perhaps, by raising him in Winterfell, we can teach him to become the Lord that Vale needs… and it will keep him safe from his mother and Lord Baelish. I believe King Aegon and Queen Daenerys believe that children should not be blames for the sins of their parents. I think we should try and save the boy.”

She stared at the Maester for a few moments before turning her gaze towards her brother.

“Cat it could work,” her brother softly stated.

The Queen then turned her attention back to the Maester and asked, "How can we be sure Robyn will change? Do you honestly think we will be able to transform him from a sickly boy into a proper lord?"

“We were told Robyn was sickly because Lord Baelish was slowing having him poisoned. Therefore, yes. I do believe that if the boy is away from his mother and whomever Lord Baelish has paid to poison him, he could grow into a strong, proper lord.”

Catelyn was still warry. However, if there was a chance to save her nephew, it was something she was willing to take. She took a deep breath and replied, “When you are excused, I would like for you to send the raven to my sister. State House Stark would like to foster Robyn. That His Grace considered Jon Arryn to be a second Father, and he would love to teach his son to be a man and warrior. Also, states that fostering will be an opportunity for Arya to get to know her potential betrothed… That we promised our children they would have consideration in choosing their betrothed.”

“Of course your Grace.”

She then picked up the others scroll, noticing the black wax, informing her the message was from Lord Varys.

 

 

Queen in the North,

I write to inform you Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime are heading to Essos to serve the rightful King and Queen. Ser Barristan was released from the Kingsguard because he did not feel the Targaryens were a threat… Ser Jaime left King’s Landing with my help after King Robert ordered his death – he attempted to burn him to death because he learned the royal children are actually bastards born between Cersei and her brother. Robert first wanted to execute Cersei, but was counseled against this decision because would lose the support of the Westerlands, as well as the his true heir in her womb at this time. To solidify the claim of his child, King has asked of me to poison Tommen and Myrcella as they make their way to Casterly Rock. I will do everything in my power to keep those children safe. However, in order to make it appear as a successful attempt, some members of the party will be killed with a rare poison, procured from Lord Baelish… The same used to kill Jon Arryn. I am aware King Aegon and Queen Daenerys will not take kindly to Robert’s judgement to have the children killed as they believe children should not be held accountable to the sins of their parents. Therefore, I have made the preparation of my little birds to save Tommen and Myrcella and sent them both to Casterly Rock for their own safety. I will write again when I learn more. It is not safe to send me any correspondences at this time - Lord Varys, Master of Whispers.

 

Catelyn was shocked. She laid the messaged down on the table as she attempted to absorb what she had just read. ’Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan are heading to Essos. Robert has found out the truth about Cersei's children… Robert is planning to kill children… Cersei is with child?’  

“Cat, what did the letter say?”

“News from the Capital,” Catelyn answered as she handed her brother the message.

After Edmure read the message, he wordlessly handed it to Maester Luwin. Once they had all read the message Catelyn stated, “Maester Luwin, I hate to see people die, but if it can be proved the poison used to kill the Lannister traveling party was the same used to kill Jon Arryn, could this be the proof we need against Lord Baelish… and my sister.”

“It would be very helpful indeed,” The Maester agreed before excusing himself to send the raven to Lysa.

Edmure also excused himself, stating that he had promised Rickon he would practice swordplay, leaving the Queen in the North alone with her thoughts and praying they would be able to prevent Petyr Baelish from ever harming her family again……

 

 


 

 

Notes:

I only updated this for those who want a little better day in their lives. The update is coming don't worry but it will take a few days.

Eh. Listen let's face it Dumb and Dumber fucked the show badly but I think we as fans have to end the story in the way it should be told but anyway, an update is coming... 😊

Chapter 23: Threats

Summary:

Section 1 - Robb: Robb and Jon make some decisions concerning the future
Section 2 - Dany: Dany and Jon make plans and prepare for that Ceremony
Section 3 - Jon: The Horse Heart Eating Ceremony
Section 4 - Aerys: Aerys tells of his past and rids himself of threats

Notes:

Please enjoy this section and let us know what you think in the comments - Comments keep us motivated!

I apologize for mistakes, I wanted to get this finished because I will be really busy the next few days (my oldest is graduating from High School) - cmyatt01

Hey guys new chapter finally. If there is any errors please excuse the botb of us... we are a little busy atm but I promise you guys I will change any errors later tonight😊 Like my co-Writer said please leave a comment and let us know your opinions, thoughts and ideas!!It keeps us going and motivated😊 Like I always say! Sit back relax and enjoy the chapter!!😊

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

 

Robb Stark 

Robb figured he must have overslept, because when he woke, Jon was not present in his tent. So, he quickly got up, washed his face and dressed before making his way outside of his tent in search of something to eat. As he walked through the busy, dusty paths of Vaes Dothrak, he noticed the Dothraki were preparing the holy city for the special ceremony of the Dosh Khaleen, which would be held that evening. He felt the spectacle, which forced the Khaleesi to eat a raw stallion heart, was ridiculous, barbaric and unnecessary. However, his good-sister was agreeable, adamant, that she must partake in the ceremony. When he voiced his displeasure, she had informed him if she did not go through with the heart-eating ceremony or if she did not eat the entire heart, the Dothraki will take it as a sign that her child would be deformed, weak, stillborn or female.

As he continued his stroll, he recalled Maester Luwin’s few lessons about the Dothraki; that they were strong, fearless fighters, who taught their son’s to shoot a bow and arrow from horseback, as soon as they learned to ride a horse. He chuckled when he remembered begging the Maester to teach him more, so he could make sure the North would be prepared for a Dothraki invasion, only to be told the Dothraki would never cross the sea because they feared the water was poison. “Oh how wrong you were Maester Luwin,” he softly said to himself.

The Northern Prince’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt his direwolf nuzzled against the side of his leg and whimper. He squatted down and began to stoke the grey pup’s fur before he asked, "What's wrong Greywind?" The wolf looked him in the eyes and Robb sensed that he wanted to show him something. Robb chucked and stated, “Alright boy, lead the way.”

After a few minutes, he realized the wolf had led him to the Khal’s tent. As he approached the tent, he realized that since they had arrived at Vas Dothrak, Greywind had not seen much of his brother; the other direwolf had been staying with the Khaleesi. “Ah, you are missing Ghost,” he said sympathetically as he ruffled the fur atop Greywind’s head. “I don’t think Dany will mind if I let him out for a bit so the two of you can play.”

Robb suddenly felt anxious when he did not see Ser Jorah or Rakharo stating guard outside of the tent. He rushed up to the tent flap and just as he was about to barge in when he heard laughing. He paused. Not just Dany’s laughter, he heard Jon’s laugh as well. ‘Gods I have not heard either of them laugh in over a moon turn!’ 

“I would not bother Khal and Khaleesi. They are making up for lost time,” He heard Doreah state from behind him. He turned to see a smirk on the corners of her lips and she motioned him over.

“And why should I not go in to see my brother and good-sister?”

Doreah placed her hand on his forearm and began to guide him a few feet away from the tent’s opening before she whispered, “They just arrive back at tent not long ago.”

“Arrived back?” Robb questioned in a low tone.

“Yes. When I was going to see if Khaleesi needed anything before I go to bed last night. But as I come upon her tent, I saw her leaving with Khal. Then this morning, they returned just as the sun was rising. They were smiling and laughing, and I saw them kiss as they went into the tent. The flap was not even secured before they were taking each other’s clothes off…Khal loves his Khaleesi very much,” the young woman said with a smile on her face.

Robb was stunned for a moment. He had been badgering Jon to go and speak with his wife for weeks. He knew Jon had been in his tent with him last night, brooding on his makeshift bed when he climbed under his own furs and blew out the candle. He then smiled as he mumbled, “Well, it appears my stubborn brother has finally realized what a fool he has been for the last moon turn.”

“Yes, they are very happy,” Doreah confirmed. “And they have made their happiness know up until just a short time ago.” Robb must have had a perplexed look on his face because she smiled and whispered, “Khaleesi had cries of pleasure and begged him to continue using his mouth…”

Robb gasped and was about to press for more information when his attention was pulled back toward the Khal’s tent. He heard his brother laugh and he noticed the tent flap began to open and his brother began to make his way out. Robb silently cursed as Greywind ran inside the tent and he pulled Doreah to hide out of view.

“Well hello, Greywind, you come to visit your brother,” he head Jon chuckle.

“You know, I haven’t given you permission to leave… Are you sure you must go?”

“Dany, I wish I could stay in this tent with you forever. However, you know the ceremony for our son is tonight… And I was informed yesterday that my bloodriders and I must slaughter a stallion and cut the heart using only stone knives. But before I do that, I need to speak with Robb.”

"Fine. Jon Snow you may leave. But promise me, you will return before the ceremony."

“Aye. I swear it.”

Robb peeked out from his hiding spot and watched as Jon pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips before walking away.

“I must go help Khaleesi bath and prepare for tonight and you had better get to your tent… You do not want to keep Khal waiting.” Doreah said as she began to walk away.

Robb shook his head and began to make his way back to his tent.

"I see you had a long night, brother," Robb stated firmly as he stood from his bed when Jon walked into the tent. “I was told you were seen leaving camp in the middle of the night with a female.”

“What?” Jon breathed out, clearly confused.

“You heard me. You were seen sneaking out of the city last night with a woman. Both of you on horseback. What do you have to say for yourself? How could you do that to Dany?”

“Robb, I swear…” Jon began to defend himself.

However, Robb was unable to keep up the ruse and burst out in laughter, “Gods Snow, I know it was Dany! I am just glad the two of you finally talked…”

“Shut up, Stark!” Jon interrupted him. “I do not want to hear another word out of your mouth.”

"Fine… Fine…” Robb held his hand up in surrender. “I will keep my mouth closed… However, from what Doreah told me, I do not think your mouth has been closed much this morning.”

Jon looked away and Robb broke out in laughter again, especially as he watched the crimson blush traveling up his brother’s neck. "What exactly did you hear from Doreah?"

“Enough to know that you did not return until the sun was rising and that there were many happy sounds coming from the Khal’s tent this morning. Also, that the Khaleesi wanted you to continue to do that thing with your mouth… What exactly is that thing with your mouth?” Robb questioned with a quirked eyebrow.

Jon’s flush continued to spread, and Robb pressed, “Now I really need to know. What exactly was it that you have done with your mouth that caused your wife so much pleasure.”

"How long is this going to continue?" Jon snapped.

"Until you admit that you have been an idiot for the last moon turn… Or you tell what it is you do with your mouth.”

“And why would I tell you that?!”

“I will be marrying soon and I might want to make sure I can keep my wife pleased as well,” Robb confessed. “And from what Doreah told me, you seem as though you know how to please your woman.”

“Robb,” Jon ton softened. “I am sure that you will please Margaery. Do not worry yourself.”

“Aye, I know you are right… But I would still like for you to admit to me as well.”

Jon sighed, “Fine, you were right! I was a stubborn fool.”

“A stubborn fool that what?” Robb pressed.

“A stubborn fool that wasted the last moon turn of my life because I could not see my wife for who she really is… That she still have the same gentile heart and fiery personality. That even though she has had a different past, she is still the same woman I fell in love with. She is the love of my life.”

“Thank you,” Robb replied cockily. He then walked over to the table and poured then each a glass of watered wine. He handed the glass to his brother and made a toast, “To my brother Jon Snow, who has just proven that he does not, know nothing.”

“Aye, to me, that I finally know somethings,” Jon agreed with a chuckle.

After they finished their wine, Robb looked at his brother and stated, “Now promise me. If I ever call you out again for being a stubborn fool, you will listen to me and not be a brooding idiot.”

"I swear it," Jon confirmed as he looked him in the eyes, “I will listen to your counsel.”

"See it wasn't that hard now was it brother?”

Which cause Jon to softly chuckle, “Aye, you were right. I should have talked to her sooner.”

“So Jon, as I had to pull this confession out of you, I take it there is another reason you came to visit me this morning.”

"Aye, there are a few things,” Jon then motioned for them to sit down at the small wooden table. Once they were both seated, he continued, “As you know, Daenerys has to eat a full horse heart without vomiting.”

Robb nodded, slightly confused where his brother was going with this conversation. “Aye. You told me the reason we must come to Vaes Dothrak instead of going straight to Qarth was because your child had to receive the blessing of the Dosh Khaleen.”

Jon nodded then continued, “When she has finished, she will announce our child’s name, Rhaegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Aegon and Daenerys, heir to the Iron Throne.”

“You all have decided on a name for you son,” Robb replied with a smile. “I think it is a wonderful name for the crown prince.”

Jon gave him that shy half smile, which inform him he still had more to say. “Out with it Jon”

"Well,” Jon paused, looking down and raking his hands through his loose curls, before meeting his gazed once again. “I want Rhaegon to grown and become an honorable man with or without me as his father."

"What are you talking about? You were just saying that you love Dany. That you realized you were being an idiot."

"Aye, and trust me, there is no where I want to be but by her side and help our son to become a just and kind ruler. However, if Dany and I don't survive the war for the throne or the Long Night. We do not want Rhaegon or any of our future children to grow up in the Capital. We would like for them to be fostered in Winterfell."

"Jon…"

"Robb, we already agreed to it. If we die we want to make sure of children are surrounded by family and people who love them. People who can tell them that their parents loved them very much and died so they could make a better world that the shit one we were born into. Dany and I know that if anything were to happen to us, our children will be safe.”

“Jon, nothing is going to…”

"Robb please understand. I need you to swear to me,” his brother pleaded. “I need you to swear to me that if anything were to happen to me and Dany, you will take our children to Winterfell. Let them know they were loved and wanted. Teach them to swing a sword, use a bow and arrow. Teach them to honorable and just and giving… I cannot allow what happened to Rhaenys and Aegon happen to our children."

"Aye, I swear to you. If anything were to every happen to you and Dany, I will raise any children of yours as my own.”

"Thank you, Robb," Jon whispered as he pulled him in for a warm embrace.

When the embrace broke, Robb smirked, “Now don’t you go doing anything stupid to get yourself killed. Besides, it will likely be several years before we travel back to Westeros.”

“About that…” Jon trailed off.

“Jon, you said it would be at least four or five years before we journey home. That we have to finish gathering your army. We need to free the Unsullied and that other slaves of Essos.”

“Aye, Dany and I will remain in Essos for several more years, but I think it is time you return home.”

"What? You want me to return to Winterfell? Why?" Robb whispered in disbelief.

"Margaery Tyrell…"

"What about her?"

"You need to meet your future wife, Robb. You need to make a good impression on House Tyrell! If you are not there to greet them, that does not show a good impression!” Robb was about to interrupt, but Jon held his hand up and continued. “Robb, having Lady Margaery and Lady Olenna travel across the Narrow Sea to Essos is not the right thing to do. You need to be there to greet them when they arrive in Winterfell."

He smiled at his brother. “I understand your opinion and I respect what you said. You did make some valid arguments. But don’t you think this conversation is premature? We should at least wait until father returns from beyond the Wall.”

"No Robb let us discuss this now. The journey back to Winterfell will take longer, which is why I am recommending as soon as we get to Qarth, you get on a boat to White Harbor."

Robb was frustrated. He did not want to leave his brother alone in Essos, especially with the fear that King Robert could be sending assassins. He remembered Jon telling him Robert tried to have Dany poisoned with wine in her last life while she was in Vaes Dothrak. Suddenly, and idea struck him. “Fine, Jon. I will travel to Winterfell to be there to receive the Tyrells when they arrive.”

“Thank you, brother,” Jon said with a smile as he mad to stand from his chair.

“But,” Robb stated, causing his brother to sit back down in his seat.

“But what?”

"I would like for you, Daenerys and Rhaegon will come with me to Winterfell."

Jon laughed, thinking he had made a joke. When his brother noticed he was not joking he furrowed his brow and inquired, "You’re serious?"

"Aye, I am.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Robb started with a sigh. “In both of your past lives, Daenerys never got the opportunity to meet Father or Rickon. And I know that Father would love to meet her and his grandson."

Jon walked over towards him, with a serious expression on his face, "Robb, are you mad? You cannot be serious! If anyone catches sight of Daenerys in Westeros she will be killed on sight! What if Rhaegon shares her typical Targaryen features? He would be killed alongside his mother with no questions asked.” Jon sighed, "I cannot take a chance of anything happening to either one of them.”

"We can die her hair, Jon. It has been done before. We can use teas to stain her hair or use some black die… it would not be permanent.”

“Robb, I don’t know…”

“Jon, you know how excited Arya and Sansa will be to meet their nephew and your wife… Please, just promise me you will think about it. Talk to Dany. See what she says."

His brother’s face seemed to soften, "Aye, I will think about it and discuss it with Dany. But I'm not promising anything Robb. The safety of my family comes first."

He nodded at Jon, "Of course brother. I understand."

Jon then stood up from the table and stated, “Come on. It’s time to go.”

“Time to go where?”

“Apparently I have to slaughter a stallion and cut out it’s heart with a stone knife. I am allowed to have my bloodriders with me… I consider you to be one of my bloodriders.”

The brothers then made their way out of Robb’s tent to meet with the Khal’s bloodriders……

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

After Doreah had helped her with her bath and fixed her hair into a simple Dothraki braid, Daenerys requested she reset the bath for her husband. After a steaming bath was prepared, she sent her handmaiden away, stating she would be able to dress herself for the ceremony. However, instead of dressing in the traditional Dothraki skirt and top Doreah had selected for the evening, the Khaleesi found herself standing in front of the full-length looking glass, her thin cream-colored silk dressing robe open as she admired the changes in her body caused as her son grew within her womb. She was hoping that by reminding herself why she was eating the stallion heart, she could will herself do complete the task without getting sick. ‘Come on Dany. Why are you so worried? You have done this before. You know you can do this. You know what to expect. You know that if you do not do this, the Dothraki will think of you as weak and that your child will be deformed or weak. You need to do this for Rhaegon… You need your people to know he is strong!’

She was pulled from her thoughts when she felt a fluttering movement in her womb, just below her navel. She quickly moved her hands the swell of her stomach where she felt the movement. Tears began to fill her eyes again when she felt a gentle movement under her hand. Over the past few weeks she had felt little flutters and movements within her womb, but this was the first time she had actually been able to feel any of his tiny kicks and flips.

“Hey Dany, I have something I wish to discuss with…Dany, what’s wrong?” she heard Jon exclaim from behind her. “Are you alright? Is the babe alright?” he continued as he rushed to her side.

“I am fine. We are fine,” she promised with a smile, wiping her tears as she turned to face her husband.

“I saw you crying… When I came in you were looking into the mirror crying as you held your stomach… If you are fine, why are you crying?”

“These are happy tears, my love,” She stated as the tears began to fall once more. A chucked escaped her lips and he perplexed look on his face, so she explained, “He moved… I felt Rhaegon move and then he push against my hand.”

“Really?”

Daenerys nodded and took his hand, placing it where there son had just moved. Within moments, she felt another soft movement exactly where Jon’s hand was placed.

She watched as Jon’s face softened and his eyes became glassy. He then quickly knelt down and pressed a kiss to her stomach and whispered, “I love you my son. I know that you are strong so please be kind to your mamma once you get a little bigger. Okay? And know that I love you.”

Jon spent a few more minutes speaking sweet endearments to their babe and pressing kisses to her belly before she could no longer take it. “Jon Snow, I love you, but you really smell.”

“What?”

“Jon you smell like a mixture of sex, sweat, dirt and blood. If you do not bathe, I fear I will not be able to keep down my lunch… or the horse heart I have to eat tonight,” she stated flatly, trying her best to keep a straight face.

“Aye, I supposed that I do,” Jon stated with a chuckle as he stood up. “Join me?”

“There is no way I am getting in a tub with you smelling the way that you do! Especially after Doreah already help me bath and fix my hair for the tonight.”

“Come on Dany, I know you want to join me,” her husband asked as he took off his made his way over to the copper bathing tub. “Please join me, let me make sure all your curves are clean,” Jon asked once he submerged himself into the water, not even attempting to hide the mischief in his eyes.  

“Jon, you know, if you would have stayed with me earlier, you could have been the one washing my curves. However, you said you had to talk to your brother about something and then you had to butcher a horse with a stone knife.”

“Fine! Don’t join me,” Jon huffed in disappointment. She then saw that playful smile spread across his face and he continued, “You know… You could come over here and make sure I am cleaned up to your standards for this evening. You would not want your Khal to smell like horse shit.”

“Fine,” Dany relented with a sigh.

She then tied her robe as she made her way towards the tub and sat down on the stool Doreah had left behind after helping her to bathe earlier. Jon was laying in the tub with his eyes closed, appearing calm and content. She took on of the washcloths from the small table beside her and dipped it into the steaming bath before using lathering it with the cake of soap. “So my love, when you walked into the tent earlier, you stated you had something you wished to discuss with me. What is it?” Dany asked as she scrubbed the rippled planes of her husband’s chest.

“Hmmmm?” he hummed.

“Jon?” When he did not responded, she began to feel irritated that he was not listening to her. So she took one of the bronze cups from the table, dipped it into the water and poured it over his head.

“What was that for!” Jon exclaimed as he eyes shot open and he sat up straight up in the tub, splashing water onto her and the floor as he did.

“I asked you a question.” She watched as his cheeks began to fill with a slightly rose hue and she could not hold back the laugh as she teased, “Just what was on your mind, Jon Snow?”

His face went from pink to bright red as he shyly murmured, “I was just thinking about what type of man Rhaegon will be… then about how much fun we had creating him.”

“We did have fun, didn’t we,” she chuckled as she leaned over and placed a long slow kiss his lips. Just as she was about to pull away, she felt his hands tangle in her hair, attempting to keep her in place. She playfully slapped his chest, causing him to release her. “Jon Snow! I know what you are doing and it is not going to work!” She teased. “I told you, I have already taken my bath. Keep your hands to yourself or you will be washing your own body!”

“You know I cannot do that,” Jon retorted.

“And why not?”

“Because… Look at you!” Jon then motioned at her chest area and continued, “Your robe isn’t hiding anything… You know how much I love you breast, especially with how much they have grown since you are pregnant!”

Dany looked down and felt heat rising up her neck when noticed her thin robe was stuck to her chest and her erect nipples were on display through the sheer silk material. “Jon!” She exclaimed as she threw the washcloth onto his chest. “I told you I did not want to get wet! I am nearly ready for the ceremony tonight and I have already let Doreah go so she could do ‘many things’ with Rakharo… If you pull me into this tub you will be the one to have to re-braid my hair.”

“Fine,” Jon huffed as he took the rag from his chest and the soap from the table and began to scrub.

“Jon, when you came in early, you had said you wanted to discuss something… What is it?”

“Oh,” he stated as he looked up and met her gaze. “Well before we… uh procured, the stallion heart I went to speak with Robb about something I have been thinking about for a while.” Jon stopped talking, and appeared to be searching for the right words.

“And what would that be?” Daenerys asked with a furrowed brow. “Did he not want to look after Rhaegon or our future children in the even something were to happen to us?”

Jon shook his head, “No, he said he would be will to foster of children.”

“Have you received more news from Varys?” When Jon shook his head she had had enough and spat, “Just tell me whatever it is Jon!”

 “I told Robb I think he needs to return to Winterfell,” he quietly stated before he leaned down and began to wash his feet.

“What? Why would you even suggest that?” she asked, in complete disbelief. “Look at me and answer!” She exclaimed when he did not acknowledge her questions.

Jon finally met her gaze. “Because, he needs to be in Winterfell to meet the Tyrells.”

“I thought the Tyrells would travel to Essos?”

“Aye. At first, I thought that would be the best to have them travel to Essos. But over the last month I have done quite a bit of thinking. And the more I think about it, the more I feel he should be at Winterfell to receive the Tyrells when they arrive. I mean, how could they agree to a betrothal or wedding when Robb will be gone for nearly a year? Father will not be able to give them any guarantees that Robb is even alive. What if they do not agree to travel to Essos and get married in a foreign land?”

“We will lose the support of the Reach when it comes time to return to Westeros.” Daenerys answered softly.

“Aye and we will not only need the soldiers from the Reach, but the food as well. We cannot lose the Reach.”

“You are right,” Dany sighed. “So when will he be leaving?”

“Well, it will not be for a while yet… In the last correspondence we received, a few days ago, Father had just left to journey beyond the Wall. Robb wants to be with us when Rhaegon is born. I am guessing it will still be at least two to three moon turns before he returns to Winterfell, so it will be about six moon turns until the Tyrells and Martells arrive… ” Jon trailed off and she noticed his brooding face slip into place.

“What is it? Quit thinking so hard and just tell me.”

“Robb wants us to travel with him to Winterfell,” her husband rushed.

“What? He wants us to go to Westeros?”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed. “He thinks that Father and my siblings will want to meet Rhaegon and meet you.”

Dany felt tears welling in her eyes, she quickly wiped them away. “You really think you family would want to meet me and our son?” she softly inquired.

“Of course they want to meet you! Why do you think they would not want to meet you?”

“What about Lady Catelyn? Will she want us there?”

“Robb assured me that he will keep his mother in line.”

“I swear I want to have a long conversation...”

“Dany, it is in the past. She knows the truth now. She cannot hurt me anymore and I, as well as Robb will not allow her to mistreat you or our son.”

“And how would you me and your son the people of Winterfell? You are supposed to be lost beyond the Wall.”

“I will tell them I fell in love with a Wildling beyond the Wall. That we married under one of the Heart Trees with Robb as our witness and our son was born out of love.”

Dany had to wipe more tears from her eyes and took a deep breath, “Jon as much as I would love to go to Winterfell and meet your family, there is no hiding who I am. I could never pass as a Wildling… My silver alone would give away that I am a Targaryen. That I’m the Mad King’s daughter… and there is nothing we can do to change this.”

“That is where you are wrong, my love,” Jon stated matter-of-factly. “We will dye your hair.”

“Dye my hair?”

“Aye, we could dye it dark brown or black.”

“What about Rhaegon? What if he has Valyrian features?”

“Dany, there will not be a much of a worry for him. It is cold in the North – he will wear a hat, no one will see his hair.”

“What about my eyes? You cannot get rid of purple eyes.”

“True, but you need to remember, the Daynes were also known for their purple eyes.”

“How would you explain a Wildling with purple eyes?” Dany asked incredulously.

“Well, I thought about that as well. Your father was a fisherman from Lys, who met your mother at Hardhome. The Wildlings are very passionate people – You mother stole your father while he was at port and they had a torrid love affair. When he had to leave and your mother stayed with her clan... You were born nine moon turns later.”

“And what would my name be? I am quite certain there are no wildlings name Daenerys.”

“Aye,” Jon chuckled, “I was thinking we could tell people your name is Danyelle, but you go by Dany and Rhaegon could be Raymund… That he goes by Ray for shout… Dany, Ray and Jon Snow.”

“That could work!” Dany excitedly exclaimed as she grabbed him by his wet raven curls and pulled his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

“So we will go?” the Khal asked with a smile on his face.

“Yes Jon… We will go and visit your…”

“Our,” He corrected her.

“Our family in Winterfell shortly after Rhaegon is born.” She said with a smile. “However, there is something else I would like to do while we are there.”

“And what would that be love?”

“I would like to visit Uncle Aemon at the Wall. I remember you telling me he was your Grand Maester…”

“You met Uncle Aemon in your past life?” Jon cut her off.

“I don’t remember,” she answered honestly. “I just remember you telling me he was going to be on his way to Winterfell as soon as the Citadel sent a new Maester to the Wall. That he was extremely wise and loving. I would love nothing more than to let him know he is not alone in this world.”

“I believe Uncle Aemon would love to meet us,” Jon sighed. “But the Wall is no place for a woman and child. And I can honestly say, I have no desire to ever step foot in Castle Black again.”

“Jon, please. Think about it… We do not know how long Uncle Aemon has in this life. I do not want him to die knowing he is alone. I want him to know that he has a family. That he is not alone in this world.”

“Aye, I will think about it.”

“Thank you,” Dany replied as she stood up from the stool and pressed one more kiss to his lips before making her way over to the outfit Doreah had laid out for her.

A short time later, the Khal and Khaleesi made their way to the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen for the Khalakka ceremony……

 


 

Jon Snow

The sun had set hours ago and the moon was high in the sky over Vaes Dothrak. Dany had told Jon the stallion eating ritual was very important to Dothraki culture, but he was still in awe at the sheer number of copper-skinned men and women who had gathered inside the hut of the Dosh Khaleen. He could not believe all of these people were there to witness the ceremony of his heir. The babe he and Dany had created. He could not remember a time in his life when he had felt so anxious, and all he had to do was sit there and observe, as his wife had to eat an entire, raw, stallion heart. The Khal took a deep breath as he took one more look around the Dothraki people, his people who were gathered in a circle, chanting, and staring at his wife in astonishment, even Ghost, Greywind and all six dragons could not take their eyes off her. When he met her gaze, he saw nothing but pure determination in her eyes as blood from the heart trickled down her chin, arms and down the front of her tan leather vest with each bite she tore off.

“This is unbelievable Jon,” Robb gruffly whispered into his ear from beside him. “It’s Barbaric. You have to put an end to this! She is going to be sick,”

“I cannot stop this Robb,” Jon answered softly, not removing his eyes from his wife. “It is a Dothraki tradition. If I stop this or if she does not finish the heart, they will think less of her. They will think she and the babe are weak and not worthy of following. Dany understands this – she has been through this before and feels she must prove her worth to our people.” 

“So,” Robb stated quietly after a few minutes of silence. “Did you and Dany have an opportunity to discuss traveling to Winterfell after the babe is born… So you can attend my wedding?”

“What?” Jon growled lowly. He could not believe Robb wanted to discuss future travel plans when the fate of their control of the Dothraki people rested on his wife’s shoulders. He took his eyes off his wife. When he looked at his brother, he could feel his facial features soften when he noticed Robb looked rather green. “Aye, I did,” he answered in a softer tone, and she agreed.”

“That is wonderful news,” his brother replied with a smile. “I know it might feel like a long time, but five moons will be here before we know it.”

“Aye, it will be. However, now is not the time to discuss…”

A gasp from the people caused the Khal to halt midsentence. He eyes quickly darted back to where he wife had been standing, only now to see her on his knees. He caught her gaze – she looked almost defeated. She was taking deep breaths, and Jon could tell she was trying not to vomit. He wanted to run over to her. He wanted comfort her. He wanted to tell her he had faith in her. That he believed in her. That she could do this. That she is the strongest person he knows. However, he knew that he could not do anything. If he moved from where he stood, the Dothraki would think of him as weak as well. Through his facial features, he hoped she would be able to tell what he was thinking.

He sighed in relief when she nodded her head, and took another deep breath before getting back to her feet. He could see the willpower and determination in her eyes as she took the last two bites of the horse heart and proclaimed, "Anha zin Daenerys Targaryen, Khaleesi ki vezhven Khal Aegon" (I am Daenerys Targaryen, Khaleesi of the great Khal Aegon.) She paused briefly when the Dothraki cheered in celebration. " Anha loshat the rizh ki the vezhven Khal Aegon, the Khal fin would mount the rhaesheser! Mae hake is Rhaegon!" (I carry the son of the great Khal Aegon, the Khal who would mount the world! His name is Rhaegon!)

“Rhaegon. Rhaegon. Rhaegon. Rhaegon.”

Jon could no longer stay where he stood. His heart was bursting with pride as he made his way to his wife. He picked her up and pressed a firm, passionate kiss to her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his hips.

“I am so proud of you, my dragon,” he murmured after he broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers.

"My wolf," she whispered and he could see the love pouring from her eyes into his soul.

“I love you so much, and you never stop proving to me how strong you are. I could never do what you just did.”

“I bet you are right,” she said with a chuckle. Jon was about to retort, but before he could, her lips were pressed to his once more.

When they had to break for air, he placed Daenerys on the ground, with his arm around protectively around her hips and his hand on her small bump. His wife leaned against his chest as the horde continued to chant “Rhaegon.”

"Qoy ki tih qoy! Yeri Khaleesi has proven the khalakka will be haj! Take ajjalan to celebrate - Eat, Drink, athfiezar! Kisha leave Qarth she atte shekhikh! Kisha will dothrakh hard ma eyak eth be hethkat ha athvilajerar kash kisha arrive! Kisha will get rid the vaes ki The senthi ma take anna she the hake ki khalakka Rhaegon!"  (Blood of my blood! The evening is young and now is the time to give thanks to the Horse God - your prince will be strong! Drink and make love as you please! However, remember we will leave for Qarth in first light! We will ride hard and everyone must be prepared for war when we arrive! We will get rid the city of the thirteen and take it in the name of Prince Rhaegon!)

The room erupted in a triumphant cheering and again they began to chant their son’s name.

“Rhaegon. Rhaegon. Rhaegon. Rhaegon.”

He looked down at wife, who had a beaming smile on her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before taking her hand and leading her from the tent.

As they made their way to their tent, Dany rested her hand against the swell of her abdomen and Jon’s smile began to fade. He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. 'Everything is going too smoothly. Should changing our fates be this easy? Something is coming and I can feel it. I just wish I knew what it is and how to stop it.’ He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard a raven screeching.

'Bran… what is it?" he knew that Bran had something he needed to see. Therefore, he closed his eyes and concentrated. Within moments, he received a flash of a vision. There was a man, sitting on a wooden throne, his face was foggy, but his purple eyes were clear as day. There was also a rust colored dragon, slightly bigger than Sarogon, sitting on the back of the Throne. ‘Who is that? There are no other Targaryen’s except Maester Aemon, Dany, and myself,’ Jon thought before another vision flashed before his eyes. In this vision, there was a different man – this one in trudging through the snow and when Jon looked at his face, again the face was blurred, however, the haunting icy blue eyes were clear.

Jon opened his eyes with a gasp, thankful that Dany was holding onto his arm. He also noticed they were now standing in front of their tent.

“Jon are you alright, my love? What are your brooding about my love?”

Jon knew he could not lie to her. “I am not exactly sure,” he answered honestly, as they stepped into their tent. “But I will tell you while I help you bathe.”

He then led her to the bath Doreah had prepared. He helped her remove the blood soaked clothes before she stepped into the tub. As he scrubbed her skin, he told her about the two visions Bran had shown him.

“Blue eyes and purple eyes,” she repeated.

“Yes love,” he confirmed. “A man with purple eyes and a dark orange dragon and a man with icy blue eyes in the snow.”

“Are you sure that it is not Viserys and the Night King?”

“The man with blue eyes could be the Night King… However, we already know about the Night King and the threat that he poses. And Viserys is dead so he is no longer a threat to us or Rhaegon.”

“True,” she confirmed.

“I fear they are new threats though because I don’t see why Bran would tell us about threats we already know.”

“So you believe they are both new threats we must face?”

“That is the only thing I can think of.”

“Jon, just remember. No matter the threats we face, we will face them together. We have time. We will figure this out.”

“Aye, together,” he stated as he helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a soft towel. He placed a kiss to her temple and said, “Come on love, let’s get you in bed. You need all the rest you can get, it is a long ride to Qarth.”

“Not so fast Jon Snow… I believe you promised me we would play tonight,” Dany stated seductively as she took his hand and led him towards their bed.

“As my Queen wishes,” he replied with the smile that only she could put on his face……

 


 

Aerys Targaryen 

The sounds tortured her. Screams, cries, groans of death. 

Daenerys clutched at Dark Sister’s hilt, desperate to leave the chamber. The doors were barred shut and her Dothraki guarding the outside would certainly not let her emerge even if she managed to push off the great beam that blocked off the exit. 

How many would die?

The truth nearly made her knees buckle, Daenerys knowing the answer to her question. All of them would die. Sansa, Arya, Grey Worm… all would become walkers like Missandei and…

Jon.

Her heart broke for him the most.

Hearing a whimper, she looked to her side to see Ghost. The white direwolf nuzzled her with his furry head, a gesture she reciprocated by petting him. One means of grounding herself, of rescuing her mind from madness.

A moment that would not last as the world fell apart around them.

She was shaken by a warm hand grabbing her by the shoulder. “Your Grace, we must hurry!” Melisandre cried as she all but hauled her towards a pool in the middle of the chamber. A former bathchamber built by Black Harren, it was quite large, especially when compared to Daenerys herself - legend had it that Harren the Black had it constructed to fit him and all twelve of his Salt Wives. She wouldn’t have disbelieved that. “In order for the spell to work, you must remove your clothes…” Daenerys blinked, raising her brow at Melisandre. “You must remove your clothes so you can enter the water the way you entered into this world.”

While it seemed ridiculous, as the entire great keep shook with the malevolent roar of the white walker Balerion, Daenerys nodded quickly as she removed her sword belt containing Dark Sister and placed it on the black tiles surrounding the bath. Gods, I hope this works. She then removed her tattered tan dress and breeches, living among the Dothraki killing any sense of modesty even with Tyrion and Brandon here with her.

Daenerys had more important things to think about. I'm coming for you, my love. I will save you. Bare just as the day she was born, Daenerys met the red woman’s gaze.

“Now enter the holy water.” Daenerys did so, taking the first steps inside. The water was heated to near boiling, perfect for her. “Then sit down, relax and clear your mind. It is then and only then will I be able to send you back to the beginning of your life.”

She sighed, lowering herself to the steps carved in the bath. Soothing was the water, finally a warmth that she could immerse herself in. Daenerys let the stresses of her flesh and pain in her joints be washed away, but her mind refused to calm. 

She was scared, terrified. Death surrounded all of them, so close to ultimate victory that only the desperate plan of Bran and Melisandre could save them. She wanted to take everything back and do it differently, but in this world all was at an end. Their losses had been too great. Missandei, Varys, Brienne, Podrick, Daario… now undoubtedly Sansa, Arya, Tyrion, Varys, all six of the dragons… Jon. 

Even in his death, she was not able to bring him peace… She could not prevent him from becoming a monster, of Missandei from becoming a monster. Was that the fate held in store for the others? Of Sansa and Arya? Monsters to serve the will of the Great One? 

Her chest constricted with pain and fear and guilt when she thought about what had become of her husband - Daenerys could barely breathe, but forced herself to feel calm. To let the warm water envelop her. Breathe. Just breathe. A surge of energy seemed to surround her, Daenerys opening her eyes to see the pool glowing a vibrant emerald, pulsing with strength. “Goodbrother?”

“It is all part of the ritual, goodsister,” Bran called back. “Just stay there, stay still and calm.” 

Dany closed her eyes, willing herself to obey. I was wrong… I must look back or I will become lost. The past, not a true past but the alternate world - only there could she save the fate of thousands of worlds and that of her love. I need to know all of this so it can be prevented. I will save them all. 

Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains. She failed everyone here, but wouldn’t again.

No one will suffer at the hands of the Great One. The Great Other. I promise you Jon, I will trust you from the start and we will destroy the Great Other and his army together. 

She closed her eyes and relaxed, doing her best to clear her mind when she heard a loud roar. Her eyes flew open, for it was far louder and closer than the others had been. The Great Other arrived, or was it Balerion at point blank range? 

It didn’t matter, for the reality was obvious. “He’s here,” Tyrion mused, trembling. 

The roof began to crumble and dust was falling from the ceiling of the bathchamber. The doors shot open and the dead entered, already battling the Dothraki who retreated ahead of them. The few Unsullied left to protect the others within surged forward, doing their best to prevent the dead from spoiling their plans. 

“Your Grace,” she heard Melisandre yell. She opened her eyes to see the red woman fighting off one of the dead with a torch. “The spell did not take. I need more time. There is great power here, but something else is pulling from it as well… I will need to try again. But, we need more time. I have sent prayers to the Lord of Light asking for help in our fight… They are coming, but it will take a few minutes.” Five men burst into the chamber at that moment with flaming swords. Members of the Fiery Hand coming to their aide.

"Bran, are you sure this will work?"

"Yes, Tyrion, it will work."

Daenerys could barely pay attention, the pain coursing through her mind too great. She felt as though she was being pulled by her head though a dark, narrow space. She screamed out as she opened her eyes, gasping for air. She then noticed the Fiery Hand still holding off the wights and Melisandre staring at her. “Why am I still here? I thought you were sending be back? The pain… The pull. I thought it worked.” She gritted out.

"There is something else pulling from my power. It is a strong force. It is also begging the Lord of Light for help but they have other magic.”

“You have to send me back now! I must save them all from his death and destruction! I must go back to bring the dawn!”

“I am trying my Queen. Please do not lose faith, however I am afraid.”

“Afraid,” she seethed as she looked into the defeated woman’s eyes. “Afraid of what? You swore to me this would work! It must work! I have been betrayed too many times. I took my faith away from myself and put my faith in you and your Lord of Light.” Her voice got smaller as she continued. “Please don’t betray me now,” she ended with barely a whisper.

“I will do as you command, my Queen,” Melisandre then took a deep breath. “However, I must warn you. My power is weakening and the spell... It might kill you. I am afraid I do not have enough power...”

“You must send me back now, Melisandre! I have faith in you! You said this was our last hope!”

“I will do as you command, but I fear you will not come back whole.”

“What do you mean?"

"I am afraid I will not be able to send you with all of your memories just..."

This is not what she wanted to hear. She shut her eyes, clenched her fists and took several deep breaths. "Will I remember Jon at least?" she pointedly asked the red witch.

"I'm… I'm not sure, your Grace. If we wait I might be able to ask my God for more power."

Suddenly, another group of wights entered, surrounding...

"I don’t care, Melisandre!” she called in panic. “Please, send me back before it is too late! I have to save him!"

The witch nodded in response, but she could see the fear in her eyes before she closed them and began to chant in an ancient form of Valyrian. "Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon."

Daenerys closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind from the battle around her. She felt a tingling in her core.

She heard a change in the Red Woman’s prayer. It was rushed. Fearful.

"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon."

She felt a cold breeze.

"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon."

Then a splash in the Water.

"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon."

The Queen knew it was him. He was here to take her. Jon…

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon," said the red priestess louder and louder.

Her heartbeat became faster and faster as she heard the gruff, lovely voice - one that made her calm even in spite of its new malevolence. "Now. Now. Now my love. Just where do you think you’re going? Did you really think I would not want to come with you?” He chuckled. “That I would not know you were planning something?"

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

She tried to scream out for Melisandre to stop. That performing the spell now would be too dangerous. However, she was unable to speak and the Red Woman no longer appeared to be under her own control – her eyes were wide open, glassy and unblinking and the red ruby around her neck was glowing.

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

She felt his cold hands stroke her hair. "Oh, does this bring back memories for me, just as I bet it does for you, my love. Just like when we bathed together in the Hot Springs in Winterfell."

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

She still could not speak. He had taken her voice from her. She was unable to move. She felt the tears streaming down her face. She failed. She failed them all. Jon, Jorah, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, Varys, Theon, Yara, Sam, Gilly, Greyworm, Missandei, the Free Folk, her Unsullied and Dothraki, all of Westeros. She failed them all.

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

"I could claim you mine right now,” he crooned as he ran his cold fingers across her shoulders. “Oh, I could claim you so easily and we could resume our life together. Our subjects would forever remain loyal to us. No one could betray us like they did before. We would have absolute power over all of Westeros.”

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

“However, what is the fun in that? You are right here and you are powerless against me… I much prefer to see what your plan is Azor Ahai. This will be exciting."

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

She was still unable to move, unable to scream and Melisandre continued to chant the spell. ‘A dragon is not a slave,’ she thought to herself, though she wished to scream at the icy embodiment of the man whom had always put the needs of others above his own. ‘This is not you! I do not know what happened to you! But I will put the dagger in your heart myself if I must!’

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

"Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson,"

“Ah so you’re going back to the past. You want a second chance,” he murmured as he pulled her helpless figure into his lap. “Let me tell you something Dany. You will never be able to escape me. You will never escape your past. Does it hurt knowing that everything you do will never bring him back? Jon Snow is gone forever. I am all that is left. You will be mine. It will be fun to travel to the past… wouldn’t you think so, Great One?”

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

A deeper chuckle made the ground tremble. “You are naive and foolish, young Daenerys, if you think you can stop the inevitable.” Opening her eyes for a moment, she saw the ceiling torn away, revealing… him. His grinning face. “Go ahead… try. But I am inevitable. I am death.” He relished it, relished her goal as if eager to destroy her all over again.

She shut her eyes again, but it was Jon that spoke. “I will see you soon, my love. We will meet again. No matter which life we go to, I will find you and we will be together for eternity. We will right all the wrongs and injustices we suffered. I promise you, Dany, together. You know you will never be able to escape me. Especially because you know the only way to save...”

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon."

“I will save you…” was her only response.

"What's wrong Dany? Are you at a loss of words? You know why Jon did what he did… That it was the only way to stop the Night King."

She was panicking. Her heart was pounding. Mayhaps she should just give into his power, pledge herself to the Great Other as he did. Would he find her? She kept screaming at Melisandre to stop that it was not worth it. She did not know what to do. She did not want to become his undead queen. She did not want to chain all the people of Westeros to become pawns in an undead army. She closed her eyes and begged that she would be able to remember what became of her love when he had foolishly tried to save them all. 

‘I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to remember,’ she screamed in her mind as Melisandre continued to chant, the water of the bath pulsing around her. Around them.

She heard a dragon scream out in pain and an extremely bright, blinding flash of light…

 

"And just like that I came into this world. All I could see is a flash. I screamed for my mother’s breast… But I was ripped out of her womb and given to Lord Conningtion, by brother’s best friend, so he could protect me. You see, the Maester’s did not realize my mother, the Queen, was carrying twins. My mother birthed my sister, held her in her arms and suckled her at her breast. When she went to pass the afterbirth, the Maester realized there was another. My birth was difficult. Ser Willem could not wait for my mother to birth me, so he left for Essos with only Viserys and Daenerys… He left without me." He stated as he stood up from the darkly stained wooden throne and walked down the marble stairs to look the traitor in the eyes. A smile curled on his lips when he saw fear, ‘Love comes from the eyes,’ his sister always used to believe, but he knew she was wrong, ‘It is fear that comes from the eyes sweet sister,’  he thought before he quickly cleared his mind and continued.

“Do you know why I'm telling you this Ser Harry?" he questioned as he looked down at the man being held down in a kneeling position by two members of the Golden Company.

"No… I'm afraid not, your Grace," the man whispered as he looked down at the marble tiled floor.

The young self-proclaimed king then bent over, placed his long finger under the man’s chin, and tilted his head until their eye met once again. “It is because of you. Because you decided to betray me.”

"I… I would never, your Grace! I have been loyal to you! Supported you! Protected you and kept you hidden for years! Because of my loyalty, the Usurper and his dogs. They believe that Aegon died by the hands of the Mountain in King’s Landing."

"Oh really,” Aerys stated with an evil chuckle. “You know what happens to lies and traitors, Ser Harry. So do not lie to me. I know you were writing a letter to Lord Varys."  

The man was visibly trembling as he shook his head and pleaded, "I would never do such a thing, your Grace! Why would you even think this?"

“Because you were caught. My sweet wife Alysanne saw you writing the letter.” Aerys watched as the man paled.

“Your Grace, I swear, I was not betraying you, I was merely trying to gather information that could be valuable. I heard that Magister Illyrio and Lord Varys were working with Daenerys and her husband, the pretender calling himself a Targaryen. I swear it to all the gods, my intentions were good!”

“And you just lied again,” the Valyrian featured man tsked. “You see, Alysanne was able to stop the rider and took possession of this letter… The rider confessed he was to take the letter to Magister Illyrio who would make sure it safely arrived to the hands of Lord Varys. I seem to be having trouble recalling what was said in this letter… Griff,” he called not taking his dark indigo eyes off the traitor.

“Yes, your Grace?” the blue haired man and answered.

“Please, refresh my memory of the contents of the letter that was commandeered… Wait, I believe you should read it aloud for all to hear.”

“It would be my pleasure, your Grace.”

Ayes watched the Golden Company Commander pale even further, when Jon Connington removed a folded parchment from the pocket of his tunic and began to read the letter to court: 

 

Lord Varys

I write you with information I believe you could find useful. About four years ago, I came across a man I believed had drank himself to death, Jon Connington. In his presence were other ghosts – a young man with silver hair and violet eyes, who looked just like a young Rhaegar, Lady Ashara Dayne and her daughter, Alysanne. I spent some time with them and Connington told me the young boy was Rhaegar’s son, Aegon – that with your help, he was able to smuggle the young Prince from King’s Landing just before the Lannisters sacked the city. I then learned King Aerys II sired Alysanne – Lady Ashara informed me, the Mad King believed Queen Rhaella would birth him another son and that he would make sure, his third son had a proper Targaryen match. Therefore, he convinced her to carry his child, with the promise he would legitimize said child and betroth her child to the child carried by the Queen. However, both the Queen and Ashara had daughters. After the Targaryens were overthrown, Ashara feared for her life and the life of her daughter, therefore, she faked her own death and fled to Essos for safety. When she arrived in Pentos, she met Jon Connington, who had a young Aegon. The two stayed together, deciding to keep these two Targaryens separated from Viserys and Daenerys. It was easy to see young Aegon and Alysanne were in love and they married about a year ago. I believed the two young Targaryen’s would be a wonderful King and Queen for Westeros when the time was right that we could return. However, shortly after his wedding, something changed within our King. He began to state he needed to find is sister - That he has to save her from her fate and the false Targaryen. He then left his bride and traveled to Valyria. When he returned six moons later, he came back with a sword, which he believes to be Blackfyre, a dragon hatchling and calling himself King Aerys III Targaryen, trueborn son of Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I have no clue as to why the change in his abrupt temperament change. I thought it was just some sort of ruse because of the news of Daenerys and Rhaegar’s supposed hidden son; that he was afraid someone was trying to usurp his claim. But it has been nearly a moon turn since his return and it is easy to see he is no longer the kind young man he was before he traveled to the ruins of Valyria. No longer is he the young man I felt would make a great king, the kind of king Westeros needs – He has become a reincarnation of the Mad King and is planning to bring Fire and Blood to King’s Landing. I just wanted to make sure Westeros was ready. I am willing to be your eyes and ears in his camp to prevent the second coming of the Mad King. I will send more information as I learn more. 

Ser Harry Strickland, Commander of the Golden Company

While Connington read the message, Aerys watched as the prisoner paled before him. The son of the Mad King was livid – all he saw was fire and the blood of his enemy. He had trusted this man to storm his army through the gates of King’s Landing, all the way to the Red Keep. He was going to name this man the general of the Targaryen Army once he claimed his throne. Now all he felt was the stinging feeling a betrayal. The screeching of his young rust colored dragon, Rhaelyx, momentarily calmed his fire. He scratched he dragon’s chin and smiled at the warm soothing purr.

“As you know,” he said with a smile, “I had a vision showing me my purpose in life. So, I followed the vision by heading to Valyria, taking the dragon egg that once belonged to Rhaegar. I burned to body of a weak man and walked into the flames with the egg… I walked out with my son. I also left the smoking ruins with my family’s sword, Blackfyre.” He added as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He then looked the chained man in the eyes once more and coldly stated, “So Ser Harry, you wanted to know why I called myself Aerys III Targaryen… It is because that is who I truly am. The story of being my brother’s son was a ruse because no one knew of my birth. I have always known who I truly was, but since the people of Westeros did not know, we thought it would be better for me to pretend to be my nephew. That would bring us the support of Dorne. But, then after my wedding I received a vision… I learned of how I came to be! I am my sister’s other half and my purpose in life is to protect her from her husband, Jon Snow… Or Aegon Targaryen, the son of my brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. That man truly knows nothing! You see, she has lived this life before and there was a great battle… He tried to save the people by doing what he thought was right, and he became the monster they feared. I will never allow that man to harm a hair on my twin sister’s head!”

“How… How do you know this,” the disgraced commander stuttered. “It could have just been a dream. Targaryens are known to have…”

"It was not dream!” Aerys snapped. He then took a deep breath, pushed his silver locks behind his ears and continued in a calm tone, “You see, my sweet sister feared what her dear, honorable, foolish husband had become. Therefore, she sought out the help of a Red Priestess in hopes that she would be able to send her back in time. She so desperately wanted to save the man she loves she gave up everything! However, the priestess did not have enough power, instead of sending her back in time intact, her life was splintered. You see, in her past I did not exist. My mother died giving birth to her, but now that honor was mine. You see, I am her other half. I have all the memories of her past and I must stop her from what that man will become."

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You wanted to know what happened to me, Ser Harry, so I am telling you! Do not interrupt me again!” he seethed. “After I was ripped from my mother’s womb, Jon Connington brought me to the safety of Pentos. We had just arrived when Ashara found us. She suckled me at her breast with my sister and showed me a mother’s love. And once I find my sweet twin sister, Daenerys, I will save her from her vile husband! I will kill the abomination in her belly. Then I will marry her as well and we each have our own dragon. I WILL BE THE NEXT AEGON THE CONQUEROR! WE WILL TAKE WESTEROS WITH MY TWO SISTER WIFES, WITH FIRE AND BLOOD! And the time to weed out any traitors is now. Guards, bring in the block.”

“Please your Grace, I beg you…”

“I do not listen to traitors!”

Once the wooden block was in place, the guards lowed the prisoner. Aerys removed Blackfyre from its scabbard. Ser Harry Strickland, I Aerys Targaryen, the third of my name, trueborn son of King Aerys the second and Queen Rhaella Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, the protector of the Realm and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you to die.”

"No! Please your grave! I beg you! I beg…”

The traitors pleas were silenced as Blackfyre easily removed his head in one swing. Aerys smiled as he felt the blood of the guilty splatter on his face and ooze onto the marble floor. He sheathed his sword before looking at the guards and giving them the command to clean up the blood and to give Rhaelyx the body. ‘I want my dragon to know the taste of a traitor’s blood,’ he thought with a wicked smile as he made his way out of the audience hall and continued to his chambers.

When he reached his chambers, he noticed Alysanne standing on the balcony overlooking the gardens as the sun was setting over the city of Norvos. He stood in the doorway for several minutes observing her and soaking in her appearance - the way her long wavy dark brown hair blew with the breeze, the soft tan skin of her exposed back, the slight curve where her back met her arse. His cock began to stir. ‘Gods what a beautiful creature to call mine,’ he thought as he walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and began nipping her neck. He then realized she was crying. He pulled back and turned her to face him, “Alysanne, stop crying! You are a dragon and my queen. Ser Harry was a traitor! We cannot show traitors mercy.”

“That is not why I am crying! I agree, he betrayed us and he got the death he deserved,” She gritted out as she wiped her tears.

“Then why are you crying,” he asked with a furrowed brow, clearly confused as to why his sister-wife was so distraught.

“My moon blood came,” she whispered as she looked down at the ground.

Aerys saw red. They had been fucking every day, sometimes multiple times a day, since his return from Valyria. He was sure she would be with child. “Look at me!” he bellowed as his open hand met her cheek. When her purple eyes met his he saw guilt, “You took moon tea, didn’t you?”

“How could you say such a thing? I would never…”

SMACK

“I will put a babe in your belly sweet sister. Then we will find Daenerys and I will put a babe in her belly as well. The daughter we create will marry the son I create with her…”

“Do you really want me to have your child?” She cut him off.

“Of course I do. I love you. You are my first wife.”

“Your first wife,” she chuckled dryly as she looked back towards the setting sun. “I swear, ever since you learned the truth of your birth, all you have talked about was getting your Nissa Nissa – That you will not be complete without your twin! Aerys you have changed! It is as if I am no longer good enough for you.”

“Aly, you know why I must do this,” he seethed. He then turned her face back towards his. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the dragon which was now awake, stared deeply into her iliac eyes and continued, “My love, you know that Daenerys is twin sister – we share an unbreakable bond and I have always wanted to find her and my brother. You also knew that we could not expose ourselves to them or we would also be running from the Usurper’s assassins… We were only safe because Robert did not know of our existence. Now, because of our nephew, the fact that there were more than two Targaryens has been exposed. The Usurper will start looking harder for anyone with Targaryen blood. It is also Jon Snow’s fault that Viserys is dead! If we are to survive, I must kill our nephew and take my other sweet sister as my second wife… And only then will I finally be whole. I have finally learned what was missing my whole life and now I know my purpose. The dragon must have three heads. Those heads are you, our sister, and me. Together we will create a new Targaryen dynasty in Westeros. We will rebuild the Targaryen name with fire and blood.”

His sweet wife then rested her head on his chest and softly inquired, “Are you sure about this? Don’t you think we should give our nephew a chance? Aerys, they have six dragons…”

“Our nephew is weak! He knows nothing! His father, Rhaegar was weak and because he choose love over duty our family nearly saw it’s end! Father was able to see just how weak Rhaegar was, so he disinherited him and name Viserys as his heir! When our sister killed our brother, I became the rightful heir! I will not allow Aegon to poison our sister’s mind any longer! We will save her!” When she nodded her head in understanding, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “My love, I promise you as soon as we save our sister, I will take us all home to Westeros and we will rain Fire and Blood upon those who took what is ours.”

“I hope you are right my love.”

“But, I need you to promise me.”

“Promise you what, Aerys?”

“No more moon tea.”

“Aerys, I swear, I never…”

“Shhh,” he cut her off and pressed another kiss to her soft chestnut locks, “I found the ingredients for moon tea in your handmaiden’s chambers. She confessed she had been brewing and serving it to you in small doses with you meals, without your knowledge. I had her executed. You made a poor choice in your handmaiden. I will forgive you this time. Nevertheless, from now on, I will be the one who chooses who serves you… You know what happens when you awaken the dragon.” ......

 

Notes:

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Ps. A storm is comming....

Chapter 24: The Ice King

Summary:

Section 1 - Myrcella: A big, unexpected bump in the long road to Casterly Rock.
Section 2 - Joffrey: He and his traveling party have woes of their own as they travel towards Castle Black.
Section 3 - Lysa: A decision is made regarding the Queen in the North's offer.
Section 4 - Ned: Their audience at a Wildling camp does not go as expected.

Notes:

cmyatt01: Some of this was a struggle for me to get through. I hope that I was able to paint the scenes clearly! Please Enjoy and let us know what you liked and did not like. Constructive criticisms are always welcome, but please be tasteful in telling us how we can improve.

Ruben8554: Hey Guys new chapter finally! LIsthen we made a few new decisions. We have decided to make the length of every chapter proximity of 10,000 words in order to decrease errors and increase Quality and Description. We have few comments comments saying that our story didn't have enough description so we are trying to fix that within our disposal but it will take some time to reach the right level. I would just like to announce that this book is not in its final form yet. It's still in progress before being completely finalist but anyway, your comments and constructive criticism, opinions, troubles, and others are always appreciated because please let us know what you guys think about the chapter😊 your support is always apprechaited! If you like the story, please subscribe in order to get the latest notifications of the next update but anyway like I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter! 😁

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

Myrcella Baratheon

The young princess watched as the sun was just beginning to dip behind the tree-covered mountains from the window of the wheelhouse. She had lost count of how long they had been traveling down the Gold Road. She had hoped they would stay to rest of the time at Deep Den for more than a night; however, that was not the case. She had pleaded with cousin Lancel to allow for a few days of rest and real food, but he had said it was not safe for them. That they would not be safe until they were securely behind the tall walls of Casterly Rock and if they rode hard, they would be there in just a few days’ time.

At first Myrcella believed the story of what  her mother had told her – that she and her brother were being sent to Casterly Rock for their protection, that it was safer for the Royal Family to be separated in case of a Targaryen invasion. However, she was not a stupid, naïve little princess because her mother had taught her always to pay attention to her surroundings. A week into their journey she began to hear the whispers of the Lannister soldiers when they thought she was sleeping or when they did not see her. She heard them call her and Tommen bastards; that her Uncle Jaime had sired her and her brothers while King Robert slept with whores. She had heard them say that the only reason they were not killed when the truth was disclosed was because her Grandfather, the Hand of the King, had struck a golden deal with the King; apparently a Lannister always pays their (or the crown’s) debts but what surprised her was that she could not bring herself to care. She had a hard time not feeling guilty because she held no love for her supposed Father and this felt wrong. The young girl had never wanted for any material object in her life; her Father ensured she had the finest dolls and dresses, and any gifts her heart desired. However, she could not recall one memory in her eleven name days of him spending time with her that was outside of duty. 'Even when we were at feasts he ignored me. He never once danced.'

She could not remember him coming to visit her when she was sick. He never asked her about her day, or told her she looked beautiful, 'I wonder if he even knows what I look like.'  She could not recall if he ever her a bedtime story, or gave her a kiss good night. She found herself wishing more and more that the rumors were true because if Uncle Jaime were in fact her Father, it would mean her Father actually loved her. ‘Uncle Jaime always loved me and he always would interact with me when it was his turn to guard me… I should have known it was more than the love of an uncle or the duty of a Kingsguard.’

In fact, she loved her ‘Father,’ especially if the other whispers she heard were true. The whispers that the King had fathered near twenty known bastards, ranging from the age of twenty to just a few months old, ‘no wonder Mother sought the arms of Uncle Jaime.’ It would also mean the man she called Father had ordered the fire that took Uncle Jaime… Her real Father’s life. The more she thought about his death, the more she wanted King Robert to have a slow and painful death. Suddenly she mentally cursed herself, not for her treasonous thoughts, but because then her new sibling would be without a father and no matter how much she hated the man, she did not want her new brother or sister to grow-up without a father. She prayed that he would be a father to this child. ‘If he had been a father to Joffrey maybe he would not have been so cruel, maybe Tommen would not have been so soft, maybe I would not feel so much loss.’

When the carriage she and Tommen were riding in jerked to a stop, her mind finally stopped racing. She sighed in relief, when Lancel opened the door.

“How was your day, Princess?” Lancel kindly inquired as he helped her and Tommen out of the wheelhouse and onto the soft green grass below.

“Good and the wheelhouse has been quite comfortable,” she lied with a perfected princess smile.

“I am glad to hear that.”

“Although, I long for a nice walk and the opportunity to stretch my legs.”

“Well it would be my honor to escort you on a walk while the men set up camp… If that pleases you, my princess.”

“I would love that,” she replied graciously as she looped her arm through her cousin’s outstretched elbow.

“Tommen, would you like to join us?” Lancel inquired with a smile as he looked at her younger brother.

“No, I am going to our tent so I can play with my new kitten father gifted me,” he replied happily

“I will see you at dinner little brother,” she replied with a forced smile ‘If you only knew the truth sweet brother.’

“Okay,” he called as he turned around and ran to catch up with the guard who carried the wooden cage with a small orange tabby cat.

Myrcella then turned her attention back toward Lancel. She allowed him to lead her thought the fields, filled with beautiful yellow and purple flowers. He told her stories he had heard about her mother, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion growing up in Casterly Rock. He also pointed out several of the places he used to play and ride and hunt and fish as a younger boy.

When the sun began to dip lower in the sky, they made their way back to the camp and washed up before making their way to the campfire for supper.

“I love rabbit stew!” She heard Tommen exclaim happily, as she sat down on the log next to him, bowl of stew in hand. “Look Myrcella, it even has peas and onions!”

“Peas and onions? Where did we get peas and onions?” Myrcella stated in disbelief as she ran her spoon through her own bowl of hearty thick stew.

“Uncle Kevan sent a party from Casterly Rock with provisions.” Her brother happily replied. He then looked around to make sure no one was listening to their conversation before he whispered, “And they brought some sweet summer wine. The cupbearer was giving everyone some wine but he told me that I'm not allowed to have any because I am a child… However, after he left, I snuck a cup – I have never tasted anything so sweet! It tasted like honey!”

“Tommen you are only eight name days old! Mother said we are not allowed to drink wine until we are ten and two! And even then we will only be allowed a few sips of watered wine at feasts!” She gritted out in a hushed tone.

“I know,” He conceded as he hung his head. “The cupbearer caught me when I tried to get a second cup… He seemed very upset that I drank the wine; he appeared panicked. He kept saying wine was not for children and his boss was going to be very angry. Even when I promised him I would not tell anyone he appeared sad. Please don’t tell anyone! If Uncle Kevan finds out, he might get into trouble. I really don’t want him to get into trouble. He seems like such a nice boy.”

Myrcella then looked around the camp, noticing that everyone appeared to be in good spirits; even cousin Lancel was laughing with a young man, probably no more than thirteen name days, with dark hair who refilled his golden cup with the red wine. “Fine,” she huffed as she looked back at her brother. “Just promise me you will not drink wine again without permission from Aunt Dorna or Uncle Kevan.”

“I swear.”

“Good, now let’s eat our stew before it gets cold.”

After her belly was full, Cousin Lancel escorted Tommen and Myrcella back to their tent. As they walked, the princess could not remember a time she felt more tired than she did at that moment. She did not even change out of her gown before she slid under her furs and was fast asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The princess was having sweet dreams. Her mind inserting her and Tommen into all the adventures cousin Lancel had told her about her parents growing up in Casterly Rock. When they were riding their horses through the woods between Casterly Rock and Lannisport, when she noticed Tommen was gone. She thought nothing of it. She heard meowing. She did not know why, but she needed to find the source of the soft meow. She looked everywhere and startled when she saw a dead lion under a tree; it had an antler of a stag in her gut. She kept hearing the meowing. She jumped down to find three cubs, two boys and a girl. The two boys were dead. The third, the girl, meowed again. Myrcella picked the cub and it began to purr loudly as it clung to her.

Her eyes snapped open to the sound of meowing. Her head was spinning. She felt as though she had drank wine the night before. She heard the meowing of Tommen’s kitten once again. ‘That is odd, his kitten has always been so quiet.’ “What is it Sunshine?” she inquired as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It was then she noticed the sunlight filtering in through the cracks in the flap. ‘That is odd. I thought we were leaving camp before the sun came up so we could be at Casterly Rock before sundown tomorrow. I guess the men drank too much wine last night. Mother will not be happy to hear of our delay.’

“Tommen, we need to get up,” Myrcella called as she got up from her cot and hurried to her chest to select a dress for the day.

After hastily dressing, she realized her brother was still on his cot. He had not moved. As  she walked over she took in the dusky, grey appearance of his skin. His hair was slick with sweat, “Tommen?”

He still did not answer.

“Tommen?” she asked again as she sat down on his cot. Then when she touched she shoulder she flinched. It was too cool. She looked at his chest. There was not movement.

“TOMMEN!” she screamed. She then ran out of the tent. Both guards outside of their tent were on the ground. She screamed again. Everywhere she looked, around the campfire, in the tents were the bodies of Lannister soldiers who were escorting them. Finally, she made her way to cousin Lancel’s tent. He was dead as well. ‘ Gods they are all dead! I am alone!’ She thought as she sank down to the dusty ground and began to cry.

“Princess, we must burn the bodies to make this appear as an attack.”

Her head snapped up to see the young dark haired cupbearer from last night. “What? What happened?”

“Princess we must hurry; there is not a lot of time.”

“NO! Tell me what happened! They are all dead!”

The boy sighed, “Your brother, he was not supposed to drink the wine.”

“The wine? You mean it was poisoned and you knew?”

The boy nodded his head. “Aye”

“Why? Why would you serve poisoned wine?” she inquired as her eyes filled with tears

“The King ordered you all to die…”

“Why would he do that?” Myrcella cried. “Tommen was innocent and sweet and good! He would never harm anyone!”

“I know princess, which is why I was supposed to prevent you and Tommen from drinking the wine. My boss asked me to take you and your brother to safety.”

“Your boss? Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“None of that is now important,” he answered. “What is important is that we hurry. We must take all the valuables and set fire to the camp.”

“What?” she breathed out in disbelief. “I cannot burn Tommen or Lancel. We must take their bodies to Casterly Rock. They deserve a proper burial.”

“Princess, we must make it appear as though you have died. If I take you to Casterly Rock, King Robert will know you survived. If he even thinks you survived, he will never stop looking for you.”

“I will be safe at Casterly Rock… Cousin Lancel said we would be safe at Casterly Rock. Uncle Kevan will keep me safe.”

“I am sorry princess. As I said, the King will send assassins after you.” He paused. “Please, princess, if you want to live, I need you to trust me.”

Myrcella’s mind was racing. She felt numb. The King tried to kill me. He killed Tommen. The King really is not my Father. Uncle Jaime, my real father is dead. I am being hunted. She then looked the boy in the eyes and whispered, “Where will you take me?”

“We need to get to Lannisport. There is a ship that will take us Seagard. Then I will get you to your Uncle in Winterfell. You will be safe in the North.

Myrcella nodded.

The two quickly gathered anything of value they could store in the saddlebags of two horses. However, before the boy set fire to the camp Myrcella went to the tent she shared with Tommen. She pressed a kiss to his brow and with tears in her eyes pulled the furs over his face. She grabbed the small wooden cage with the orange kitten and walked out of the tent.

She did not look back as the camp burned to the ground and with that she knew that Myrcella Baratheon is dead……

 


  

Joffrey Baratheon

The sun was beginning to fall behind the clouds when Yoren finally stopped their small group just off the path to make camp for the night. Joffrey sighed in relief. They had been riding since dawn and his ass was both throbbing and numb. His side where the hilt of his sword repeatedly poked into his hip as they rode. He dismounted from the chestnut colored mare, adjusted his sword belt and he pulled his new, stupid black cloak tighter around his shoulders, in an effort to block the relentless frigid winds from his neck and frozen face.

Even though the snow was not deep, it crunched under his boots as he took a few shaky steps to stretch his stiff, tired legs. Once he could feel his ass once again, he tacked his horse to a tree next to the supply cart that was carrying an array of requested supplies, which were requested by the commander at Castle Black. He then observed the members of their meager traveling party. The group consisted only of him, Yoren, one other brother of the Night’s Watch and few recruits - whose names Joffrey had not bothered to learn. ‘It is not fair that they made me take my vows as soon as I arrived at Eastwatch,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Even if I managed to escape, some Northern dog would find me and turn me into THEIR USUPER KING, who would either put my head on a spike outside of his castle or send it to Mother. I probably would not even get that decency – they would probably just send my head to the King in the North.’ Finally, his eyes landed on the mysterious man in the iron cage. The cage was on the back of a cart. ‘Well, they made him take his vows as well because he is a true criminal. I wonder what crime he committed that landed him in the black cells. He is so bad that they cannot even trust him on the supply cart.’ At the sight of the man, a shiver shot up the former prince’s spine. He quickly turned his head to prevent eye contact. The man scared the shit out of Joffrey after his veiled threat on the boat and he did his best to avoid him. ‘Maybe I should have given him some of the broth.’

Joffrey then noticed an old, abandoned castle along the Wall. “Yoren,” Joffrey called, getting the man’s attention. “Why are we staying in the trees and not in that castle? I would think we would be safer behind the walls instead of out in the open.”

“The Greenguard has been abandoned for many years,” his new brother stated with a chuckle. “It, as well as most of the other castles along the Wall are no longer habitable. That castle has not been occupied in over a hundred years. We are safer in the trees.”

‘I really should have paid more attention in my lessons. But I never thought I’d ever need to know anything about this fucking wasteland,’ Joffrey thought as he nodded at Yoren’s explanation.

“Now, if ya want to eat, make yourself useful. We all know ya cannot use a bow and arrow or a sword.” The man laughed, reminding Joffrey of the debacle in the training yard at Eastwatch a week ago. “Go with Lommy to gather some kindling and branches for the campfire.”

“But we have meat from our supplies!” he whined.

“Aye. But did your father or one of those fancy lords teach ya how to skin a rabbit?”

‘Why in the seven hells would I have ever had to skin a rabbit? I had the Hound to do that for me!’ “No.”

“Well, as I said. If ya want a warm meal, ya best gather some wood, or all you will have is some dried jerky.”

 “Fine,” Joffrey scoffed. “Which one is Lommy again?”

“That lad over there,” Yoren replied as he pointed at a wiry young man with should length wavy golden hair and hands that were stained green. His breeches had holes in the knees and his thin black cloak was stained with mud on the ends where it had dragged across the ground. ‘Gods how pathetic. He cannot even dress properly. I cannot believe this little shit is still alive.’

The Joffrey Baratheon did not take kindly at having orders barked at him. He wanted to snap at the older man in the black cloak and tell him to gather the fucking wood himself. He wished his loyal dog were here to cut down Yoren for his disrespect at calling him out over the mishap in the training yard. It was not his fault that the bow was not properly strung, causing the arrow to go astray and hit the so-called Master at Arms in the foot. It was not his fault his hand was sweaty and his sword slipped from his grasp when he went to block the other recruit’s strike. He is the Crown Prince. He should not have to do a servants task. They should all do what he told them to do. However, he was hungry and cold and a warm fire and a hot meal sounded perfect. “Useless, all of them,” Joffrey scoffed quietly as he made his towards the tree line.

“A man has thirst.”

The eerie voice stated as he walked past the locked barred cell on the back of a wagon, causing Joffrey to jump. “Fuck off your worthless peasant.” Joffrey spat, trying mask the unease he felt from the man as he walked away. ‘Ungrateful shit. He get to sit there in that cage, filled with furs while the rest of us work our asses of to provide him with a fucking meal.’

“You,” Joffrey called when he came upon Lommy, startling the boy and causing him to drop his sticks. “Why are your hands green?”

“I… I was a dyer's apprentice in King’s Landing,” the boy stuttered.

“If you had a job, why are you joining the Night’s Watch?”

“I was hungry... The man I was working for did not have enough to feed me. The Gold cloaks caught me stealing. They gave me a choice – I could join the Night’s Watch or they would take my hands.”

The Prince could tell the boy was afraid of him because it was frigid out and the boy was sweating. He decided to use this to his advantage. “Lommy,” Joffrey smirked, “I think you need to get back to gathering the wood. Bring it here to me when you do, and then I can take it to the camp.” When he boy looked like he was going to retort he continued, “You don’t want me to tell everyone at Castle Black you tried to steal from the Crown Prince while we were traveling. I am sure the Lord Commander will be happy to take your hands on my behalf… and what would my father say.”

“But… But I nevers took anything from ya! I swears to alls the gods!”

“Who do you think they will believe… the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms or a no name thief with green hands?” Joffrey asked slowly. When the boy cowered, a victorious, sadistic smirk spread across his lips. “That’s what I thought. Now you had better start gathering that wood.”

After Lommy had disappeared, Joffrey sat down on the ground, with his back against the massive trunk a large oak tree. Beside him was the man in the iron cage. He looked around and smiled, knowing the brush and was hiding his location from the others, as he opened his skin of water and took a long sip.

“A man has thirst. Give a man a drink and you will be rewarded.”

“I told you to fuck…”

However, before the he could finish his statement, he heard a scream. His head snapped towards to the sound only to see some monstrous fur-clad brute open Lommy’s throat with a dagger. He was frozen. His eyes stilled on Lommy. All he could do was stare as blood gushed the boy’s neck. When the light faded from the boys eyes, the savage man threw his body to the ground like a sack of flour. Thankfully, the mountain of a man continued closer to where Yoren and the others were skinning rabbits. He could not look. He heard the sounds of men screaming and swords clanking. It was too loud. He was going to die. He was going to die in a frozen wasteland and they would never find his body because these men would just eat him or leave him in the snow for the wolves to devour.

“A boy should give a man his sword.”

“What?” Joffrey breathed out as his head snapped towards the caged man.

“If a boy wants to survive, he should give a man his sword,” the man calmly stated.

The prince wanted to refuse. His mind was a jumble of emotions. He knew he was a shitty fighter. He had always had his loyal dog to fight his battles. ‘Gods I should have learned to swing a sword. I should have refused to travel here. I should have stayed in the Red Keep when Father traveled to the North to meet the Starks. I should have never listened to Mother when she told me to make that red-headed Stark bitch mine.’

“If a boy wants to survive he should give a man his sword,” the man in the cage repeated.

“How are you going to save me from inside that cage?”

“If a boy trusts a man he will be safely back at Eastwatch in a few days.”

“Fine,” Joffrey gritted out as he removed his sword belt and handed it to the man.

In the time it took Joffrey to blink, he heard the cage open. “How the fuck…” Suddenly everything went black.

***

When the Crown Prince woke, his head was throbbing. His body felt weak and contorted. His vision was clouded as the mud and snow covered ground moved below him. He was laying across something warm and chestnut colored. ‘Am I laying across the ass of a horse?’ Joffrey thought as he moaned him pain.

“A man is glad to see a boy is awake.” The strange man stated as the horse came to a stop. The man then helped Joffrey to his feet and he handed him a skin of water as they walked over to a nearby tree.

“What happened?” he inquired as he sat down on the cold ground. His head was still spinning. He put his head between him knees in hopes it would make his nausea go away.

“The camp was attacked. A boy saved a man by giving a man your sword.”

“Where are the others,” Joffrey asked in a tone that he could not identify. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me? Why should I care about the others?’

“A man saw them all die. A man was able to get a man and a boy to a horse and to safety.”

“Where are we?”

“If a boy looks up, a boy will see where we are.”

Joffrey looked up to see the blurry image of Wall in front of him. ‘Of course we are still near the fucking Wall,’ he thought as he continued to focus. As his vision began to clear, he saw the castle and heard the sounds of waves crashing. He slowly turned his head and saw the sea. “Eastwatch?”

“A boy is correct.”

The prince sighed in relief. Never in his life did he believe he would be happy to see the dilapidated old castle. However, all he could think about was a warn hearth and Hot Pie’s cooking. “Well, what are we waiting for! Let’s get our asses in there and out of the fucking snow!”

“A man does not belong here.”

“What are you talking about? You are a criminal. You are a brother of the Night’s Watch. They made the two of us take our vows before we left for Castle Black.”

“Jaqen H’ghar took vows to become a brother of the Nights Watch. A man is not Jaqen H’ghar,” the cryptic man stated. “A man is no one.”

“No one,” Joffrey gasped as the man’s face changed into the savage man he had seen slice Lommy’s throat. “You’re a faceless man?”

“All men must serve, faceless men most of all. Because you gave a man your sword, you stole a death from the Red God. We have to give it back. Speak a name and the man will do the rest.”

Joffrey was astonished, “I can give you anyone’s name and you will kill them?”

The faceless man nodded. “Give the man a name.”

The Prince’s mind was spinning. He had one name. He could have one person removed from this world. He could use this as a way to get back to where he belonged. To get his throne back. He needed to make it right. ‘I could kill off the fucking Stark King or one of his whore daughters. But, Father liked the fucking Northerner and if anything happened to them, he would probably go to war to defend the family of a man he considered a brother. I could take out my traitorous Uncle Tyrion for speaking out against his own blood… I could kill Father,’ Joffrey mused with a smirk. ‘Tommen is too young and to be King. Mother and Grandfather would have no choice but to pardon me from my fucking vows. What the fuck am I thinking, that would never work. Grandfather could control Tommen. Tommen would do whatever Grandfather bid him to do… I bet they sent me to the Wall because they thought I was a threat to their power. I need to make a better choice. A choice that will prove I am the best choice to rule Westeros.’ Suddenly he remembered what had had his Father so fired up, ‘The Targaryens.’

“Has a boy decided on a name?”

“Daenerys Targaryen.”

 


 

 

Lysa Arryn

‘How dare Petyr agree with my cunt of a perfect sister!’ the Lady Regent of the Vale screamed to herself, hoping she was able to mask her emotions as she looked down at the scroll in her trembling hand once more. ‘You are a clever man I thought you would have had a solution!’

 

 

 

My Lady Lysa,

I know the Starks have not yet accept the request of a betrothal between Robyn and Arya, but I still feel it would be in our best interests to have young Robyn be foster in Winterfell. This can be used as a perfect to gain their trust and will allow the children to get to know one another. I am confident after getting to know the boy they will accept the betrothal request. Politically, this is an excellent opportunity to expand the ties of the North. By accepting this request, if war were to ever breakout, the North would have alliances with of the Vale, Dorne, the Reach and the Riverlands. I suggest sending Yohn Royce as an escort and personal guard for Robyn. He is he heir to the Vale of Arryn and must be protected by a knight of the Vale during his entire stay in the North.

Yours, Petyr

She then reread the scroll the Queen in the North had sent nearly a fortnight before:

 

 

 

Dear Sister,

I appreciate your support. As much as I would love to help you to destroy the Lannisters for what you feel was their part in your Lord Husband’s death, without proof I know my Ned will not call banners. We cannot fight under the guise of the former Prince Joffrey’s attempts to dishonor my daughters because, their debt to the North was paid when Robert Baratheon declared the North Independent. In the future, we may be willing to entertain a betrothal between your son Robyn and Arya, but at this time, they are still too young to accept and make a contract. I know that you were unhappy when you first learned of your betrothal to Jon Arryn, and we both know the marriage was strictly political. Ned and I refuse to use our children as political pawns because of what happened to you. Ned and I also wish to meet any of our children’s suitors prior to accepting any betrothals. I can think of no better way to get to know my nephew and his character than to foster him at Winterfell, and teach him to become an honorable man, just the way your late husband taught my Ned. I will ready a room for your son in the family tower immediately if you choose to accept this proposal. I wish you good fortune my sister. Winter is Coming, and we must all stand together.

Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North

Rationally she knew sending Robyn to Winterfell would be a good thing. There are people in all seven kingdoms who believe Eddard Stark is the most honorable man that has ever lived. ‘I still do not understand why people say he is so honorable because he brought home his damn bastard. He forced my sister to raise his black blooded, baseborn child alongside his trueborn heirs.’ Therefore, it would only benefit the future King of the Southern Six Kingdoms to learn from the King in the North.

And Petyr did have a good idea of send the Lord of Runestone with the heir to the Vale. ‘I have never trusted that old knight. It would be best to get him out of the Vale. His son Andar will be much easier to deal with without his father hovering.’

However, the part of Catelyn’s letter that unsettled her was that fact that she knew she was unhappy about marrying Jon Arryn. Lysa did not recall ever telling her sister that she wished to marry someone young and noble… She wanted to marry her Petyr. And even when her sister’s betrothal to Brandon fell through, ‘because the idiot went and got himself killed,’ she still received a handsome young lord. A lord that is now a King. She was stuck with an old man. Her husband and always been dutiful and kind towards her, but she knew he did not love her. There was no warmth or happiness in her marriage to Jon Arryn, he just wanted a young, fertile wife for an heir, ‘and he was too dumb to realize Robyn was not his. I would have been able to marry my Petyr and if the stupid-wolf hadn’t have gotten himself killed. My plan was working so well… I knew Petyr was in love with Cat, but she only had eyes for her wolf. I knew if I encouraged Petyr he would challenge Brandon for Cat’s hand… Then, when he lost, I was there to pick up the pieces of his heart and we became one. Then Brandon went and got himself killed. Father forced Moontea down my throat… ’

“My Lady,” the Maester called softly, pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you alright? Your hand is shaking.”

“Yes Maester,” Lysa replied with a forced smile. “I have yet to break my fast. I am only in need of food.”

“Of course, my Lady. I will have the servants bring food to your chambers straight away.”

“Thank you.” Lysa replied as she took a sip from the glass of wine in front of her, hoping it would help to calm her anxiety. Knowing that she would have to send a response to her sister.

“Do you have need of anything else my Lady?”

“Yes,” she stated sharply. “I need for you to send a raven to Runestone, summonsing Lord Yohn Royce to the Eryie.”

“Is there anything in particular I need to mention?”

“No, I will inform him of his task when he arrives,” She replied. “However, before you send the raven. I will have a letter for you to send to my sister as well.”

“Have you made a decision on your sister’s offer to foster Lord Robyn?”

“I have. I will allow him to be fostered in Winterfell. King Eddard was raised in the Vale. It will be an honor to have my son learn from a man my dear late husband considered to be a son.”

“I believe this is a very wise decision my Lady,” The Maester replied before leaving the room.

Once the door had clicked shut, she let out a long, loud deep breath as she stood up and walked to her desk. She had to write a raven to perfect Cat. She did not want to let her baby go, but Petyr says it is for the best. ‘He must have a plan. He just could not inform me through raven. Hopefully he will send a messenger soon or maybe he will come to visit himself.’

The Lady Regent of the Vale of Arryn laid a clean strip of parchment across her Oak desk. She dipped her quill on the inkwell and began to write a letter to her sister……

 


 

Eddard Stark

The sun was beginning to rise as they continued to march towards the peak of the snowcapped mountain. The reflection of the sun off the snow on the ground and trees shimmered like thousands of tiny crystals. It was near blinding, but also truly beautiful and breath-taking sight. The air was crisp and pure like nothing the King in the North had ever experienced. The only problem was his hands were bound behind his back with rope, and another rope was tethering him to the redheaded man, ‘One of Jon’s best friends in his last life.’ Theon was tethered to the other redhead, Ygritte, ‘She was in love with Jon and was heartbroken when he choose duty over love.’ The ropes of the rest of his traveling companions, Benjen, Jory, Hallis, Harwin and Grenn, were secured to the giant, Wun-Wun, ‘They will all be dead in seconds if they attempt to fight We are their prisoners. We are at their mercy.’

It had been nearly a week since the group of Free Folk had captured Eddard and his men. The King was having a hard time believing Jon had lived with these same men in his last life. They were relentless. Always moving. Rarely stopping to rest. ‘How in the seven hells did Jon live this life for over a year?’

“Come on King in da North, ya need to walk faster if ya don’t want to freeze to death,” Tormund bellowed as he jerked the rope that had been secured around his waist. “Ya know there are only three things ya can do to not freeze to death.”

“And what would those be?” The King in the North questioned.

“Moving is good. Fighting is even better. But fucking is best.”

Eddard sighed at the crassness of the tall ginger and continued to wordlessly follow the man as he led him deeper into the unknown lands north of the Wall. The crunching sound of the snow with each footstep echoed in the valley below. He looked up from the ground when a cold breeze blew through his hair and across his face. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. Finally, after what felt like days of climbing, even though it had probably only been a few hours, they reached the summit of the tall hill, ‘or is this a small mountain? I wonder how much longer we will be walking.’

"We’re almost there ya bastards," Tormund announced, pulling him from his thoughts. “And if ya walk like a normal person instead of some fancy Lord or King, we’s can be down this hill and at camp in a couple of hours.”

Ned took the opportunity to look down into the valley below. At first, he saw nothing. Then after his eyes adjusted from the blinding snow, he saw several tents and smoke rising into the sky from what he guessed must be a campfire. Luckily, the path down did not look too bad. It would however, be easier if his hands were not bound behind his back. "Tormund, is it really necessary to have our hands bound? I would be easier for us to make it down the mountain with our hands free.” When the Wildling whipped around and glared at him, he continued to plead his case, “None of us know where we are and you have taken our weapons, so if we tried to run we are as good as dead.”

“I don’t trust ya and I enjoy killing. So if I decide you need to be dead, I will be the one to kill ya.”

“As I told you before, I have no quarrel with the Free Folk,” Eddard stated trying to keep his tone calm. “I am only here to meet with your king and make him an offer."

The ginger-haired man continued to stare daggers at him. Fear gripped in the pit of his stomach as the large man stomped towards him. He did not say anything for several long seconds, just continued his sinister glare. Finally, he reached around him, placing his hands over the ropes that bound the King’s hands together. The man continued to stare. After what felt like minutes, he spat, “I don’t trust ya,” and proceeded to tighten the ropes.

“Fuck,” Eddard hissed as pain shot through his wrists and up his arms.

"Don't worry Wolf King, they ain’t tight enough to make yer hands fall off," Tormund barked with a gruff laugh. “Now, if ya don’t have anything else to say, I suggest we keep movin’ Southerner," he added as he turned and continued their decent down the mountain.

Ned, and the rest of the group, decided to remain silent as they continued down the mountain. He watched his steps, struggling to keep his balance as Tormund pulled him along. As they walked, he noticed that with each step he took, the snow seemed to get deeper, making the trek more difficult. ‘Why did we not bring the horses? This journey would have been so much quicker and easier,’ he thought with a sigh as he recalled Ygritte releasing the horses into the woods a few days ago. He thought nothing of it at the time – he figured the trail up the mountain was probably too steep for the animals. However, the trail was wide and the slope was not too steep; the horses could have made their journey much quicker. He wanted to ask Tormund why the horses had been released, but he feared the man would not take kindly to the question and he very much wanted to keep his hands and his life. ‘The last think I need is to piss off this man any more than I already have. I need him to trust me. Gods I wish Jon was here to help.’

"Why the fuck did we leave our horses behind?" Theon groaned, nearly shouting, breaking the silence that had descended over the group.

"Shut up cunt!” Ygritte hissed. Ned turn just in time to see the spearwife shove his ward face first into the snow. “Do ya want the White Walkers ta know where we are? This valley will carry the echo for miles!”

“Sorry, Princess.” Theon drew out sarcastically. “But we could have been to camp by now if you hadn’t released the horses. I don’t know what make you think hiking through the snow is the best way to travel.”

“So you think that just because you were taught by fancy Maesters in a fancy castle, you know the best way to travel in the true North?” However, before Theon could answer, she pulled him back to his feet, and smirked, “You know nothing, Theon Greyjoy.”

By the tone of her voice, Eddard did not know whether the Wildling woman wanted to fight or fuck his ward. ‘Shit! Theon is going to get us all killed!’

“And just tell me what it is that I don’t know… Last night you were telling me that I know several things,” Theon retorted cockily with a smirk.

"You might know yourself around a woman’s body, but you know nothing about the dangers in the North!"

“Shut the fuck up. Both of ya! I don’t care what the fuck y’all doin’ in yer tent, but y’all ain’t gonna fuck right now!” Tormund stated to both of them as he stalked over to where the two were arguing, pulling Ned along with him. When he reached the pair, he locked eyes with Theon and continued, “If ya must know, ya fancy southerner, we don’t use horses because of the fucking ice spiders.”

Ned could not recall Jon ever mentioning ice spiders. He had mentioned dead horses and bears and mammoths, but never an ice spider. This was like one of the elaborate bedtime stories Old Nan used to tell him as a child. For all he knew, the wildlings would next tell him that grumpkins and snarks are also not a thing of legend.

“Ice spiders?” one of his men inquired, breaking his train of thought.

"Aye, ice spiders.”

“What the fuck is an ice spider? I ain’t never heard of an ice spider,” Theon chanced speaking again.

The question caused a growl to escape Tormund’s throat. He pulled a dagger from his belt abd pressed it to Theon’s throat. “They are large and furious fuckers that were rumored to live in the Lands of Always Winter.” Tormund replied with wild eyes. “I always thought they were some made up story until I saw them with my own eyes a few moons ago. We have been running from them ever since… and they always would find us faster when we had horses, so we have stopped using them. I think they track the smell of horse piss and shit. Any other questions, Southerner?” When Theon shook his head, the ginger man continued, “Good. Now I suggest you shut the fuck up otherwise I will cut your throat and leave you for the undead bears.”

After that display, the King in the North shot a look at each of his men, silently telling them to keep their mouths shut. No one said another word the as they continued the journey down the mountain.

The sun was starting to lower behind the snow-covered mountains, announcing evening was approaching when the group arrived the camp. As they were led through the camp, King Eddard had his first opportunity to completely survey his surroundings. The timber walled settlement was very small - he counted ten small, dark brown tents. He knew, from listening to Tormund speak, they were made of mammoth leathers because they kept the snow and wind out, and also made it harder to hear the people in the tent next to you fuckin’. In the center of the camp, there was a large, rounded tent, which also appeared to be made of the mammoth skins.

As they made their way towards the round tent, he saw several small groups of wildlings sitting around a few small campfires roasting rabbits or squirrels; even though they were from separate groups, they were all working together to prepare the meal. When his stomach let out an unruly growl, several people looked up, giving him and his men weary glares. ‘They do not trust me. They could kill us at any moment because they believe we are the enemy. We are all at their mercy.’

“Don’t worry Wolf King, you’re our prisoners. They ain’t allowed to kill the prisoners unless Rattleshirt gives the command… Although he might just kill you out of spite to add yer bones to his collection,” Tormund grunted.

“My bones?”

“They ain’t callin him The Lord of Bones for nothing.”

This did little to calm the King in the North’s anxiety.

When they reached the tent, Wun-Wun, held the flap up, and the group entered as well as couple of the Wildlings who were standing at the campfires.

When the entered, Ned gasped. Sitting at the front of the tent was a man wearing a large skull over his face and his armor appeared to have been made out of bones sitting in front of a small fire, drinking a horn of foul smelling white liquid. ‘No wonder they call him the Lord of Bones.’

“Lord of Bones, we caught us some southerners and some crows in a cave,” Tormund announced as he, Benjen, Theon, Hallis, Harwin and Grenn were pushed towards the center of the room. “Theys are demandin’ to meet with Mance Rayder.”

“And just why should we take them to Mance? I don’t know why you didn’t just kill them when you found them.” The man in the mask questioned as he stood up from his stump and walked towards him and the other prisoners. Even though the Lord of Bones face was hidden behind a skull mask, Eddard could feel the other man’s eyes raking over them, evaluating them as if he were appraising the quality of livestock.

“This one,” Tormund stated as he gestured toward Ned, “States he’s da King in da North, Eddard Stark. The crow next to him clams to be his brother, Benjen Stark. The younger one next to the crow claims to be a Greyjoy. The one calling himself King, says he wants to meet with Mance to make an alliance”

"An alliance?” one of the Free Folk who entered tent when they did questioned.

“What are you fucking mumbling about Tormund?” the other Wildling he did not know inquired. “Those southerners don’t seek an alliance with us! They don’t want to help us! They want to kill us!"

‘I have to do something before they get into a fight or before they decide kill us all before we get to Mance!’ Ned thought before he finally spoke, “As Tormund said, I traveled North of the Wall to offer the Free Folk safety on the south side of the wall.”

“And for all I know, you are just trying to lure us south so you and your crow friends can kill us once and for all,” the Lord of Bones spat.

"We cannot be fighting a war against each other when we all know what is out there which is why I have come to grant the Free Folk asylum on the south side of the Wall!" The King in the North then took a deep breath to calm himself before he continued. "I have discussed this proposition with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and he agrees we need to stop killing each other. If we want to live to see spring, we must stand together. Then and only then might we be able to destroy the Night King, the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead."

"Who the fuck is the Night King?" Ygritte queried with a look of sheer confusion on her face.

"The Night King? Is that not what you all call leader of the Army of the Dead?"

The crackling of twigs in the fire was the only sound that could be heard as silence settled over the room. All five wildlings were staring at his as if he had suddenly had grown a second head.

"Aye, we know of a leader who rules over all of the army of the dead,” Tormund finally stated. “But we’s never heard him called the Night King before.”

“What?” Ned whispered aloud, clearly shocked. ‘This doesn’t make sense.’

“We’s have heard him called many things, by those who have seen him and lived to whisper the tale. They call him the Dead Man, The Man with Blue eyes, The Ice-Haired Man, the King of Beasts, but the most common name that’s whispered is the Ice King." Ygritte stated to him like he was a young child.

"The Ice King," he whispered

“Aye,” he heard one of the Wildlings confirm.

"This doesn’t make any sense,” Ned whispered aloud in confusion. “Jon told me..."

"Enough of this!” It doesn’t matter what the fuck you call the fucker,” The Lord of Bones roared. “What I want to know why we should believe that you… A self-called southern King, wants to help us Free Folk?”

“Because I know that the Free Folk alone and the Northmen alone cannot defeat our common enemy. If we do not work together, we will all just me more soldiers in the Army of the Dead. So that is why I need to meet with you King. I would like to make an alliance that will allow the Free Folk south of the Wall. Then when the time come we will work together to defeat the dead.”

“The Free Folk don’t kneel,” The Lord of Bones pressed.

“I am aware of this.”

“And why should we trust you?”

However, before the King in the North could answer, ear piercing, blood-curdling screaming could be heard from just outside of the tent.

“Fuck!” One of the Wildlings exclaimed.

“They found us!” another yelled.

“Everyone, get to your posts! Light the fires if you must!” The Lord of Bones commanded as he and the other two wildlings ran from the tent.

Tormund, Ygritte and Wun-Wun began to rush towards the now open tent flap. Ned and his men were frozen in place. Ned unaware of what was going on around him. The stillness of him and his men halted the wildlings they were still attached to at the waist. “Come on you kneelers! I sure as shit don’t want to go down without a fight!” Tormund exclaimed.

It was then the King saw what scared the Free Folk so badly. Coming towards the front gate of the camp was a the darkness of an approaching snowstorm. Under the clouds and swirling flakes was a group of corpses and enormous spider with an icy figure that had glowing blue eyes on it’s back. The monstrous beast had four blue legs on each side of its thorax with what appeared to be icy blue hairs growing out of them. It’s cephalothorax was dark, almost black and raised up in the air and it had four large icy blue circles. It’s head was the size of a great bear head. It’s chelicerae were the size of a man’s arm, each with ice fangs. But the thing that scared the King the most were it’s eyes. The beast had eight glowing blue eyes. The same eyes as it’s rider.

 “What is it?” Eddard asked, even though he knew the answer. ‘My gods! Everything Jon has said about the Army of the Dead is true! The White Walkers the undead soldiers. How in the hells are we going to defeat these monsters?’

“They found us and they has one of the fucking Giant Ice Spiders!” Ygritte gasped.

The whole party was now unmoving. That was until the beast screeched. Ned tried to break his hands free from their bindings to cover his ears, but the effort was in vain.

‘I am going to die. I have failed everyone.’  “Tormund, please. Release me and my men. Let us fight alongside of you. We will only slow you down as is.”

Tormund glared out him for a moment. The beast screeched once more. All of their heads snapped back toward the beast near the front of the camp, in time to see it grab one of the guards and snap his body in half with it’s fangs.

The ginger wildling appeared conflicted before he inquired, “Can I trust that you will not kill us the moment we sent you free?”

“Aye, I swear it to the Old Gods,” Ned replied with a nod.

“Release them and give them their weapons,” Tormund stated to Ygritte and Wun-Wun.

He and his men were quickly cut free from their bindings. Eddard took just a few moments to rub his wrists where they had been rubbed raw from the ropes. Tormund then shoved Frost into his hands and threatened, “If you try and kill us, we will kill you first,” Tormund threatened. Ned nodded in response.

The ginger Wildling barked commands as Eddard tied his sword belt around his waist. Apparently, since this was a smaller rank of the undead army – only one Walker, Ice Spider, and about twenty wights, Tormund stated it would be best for them to split up, get out of the camp and meet at the rendezvous point. He was to go with Tormund, Theon and Hallis with Ygritte, and Benjen, Grenn, Jory and Harwin with Wun-Wun. They were also informed to take torches to burn as many of the undead fuckers they could, and to burn any of the fallen living.

Ned quickly drew his blade as he followed Tormund out of the tent. They went to the left while Ygritte’s group took the right, and Wun-Wun led his group out the backside of the pavilion. He and Tormund had only gone about fifteen feet when he heard screams coming from behind him. ‘That is the direction Theon and Jory went with Ygritte,’ Ned thought as he turned around to face the sounds. All he saw was death. Wights crawling over top of men and women dressed in various furs. They were screaming as they fought. Screaming as the undead monstrosities repeatedly stabbed them. Ned began to run towards them, ‘They are being slaughtered like animals! I cannot stand here and do nothing. I must help them.’

“Ya can’t save ‘em Wolf King!” Tormund hollered over the shrieking and sounds of battle around them. He grabbed Ned’s arm and continued, “They are already dead. And we need to get out of her before the camp goes up in flames.”

Eddard sighed and nodded as he began to follow once again. He had wanted to protest, however he knew the man was right. ‘Jon told me we would not be able to save them all. Gods I hope my people are safe.’  

They weaved their way through the camp, trying to avoid the wights as they made their towards the back gate. When they were about ten feet from the gate, one of the undead foot soldiers attacked them from behind. ‘I cannot believe the bits are still moving! How are we going to survive this?’ Ned thought as Tormund hacked an arm off the wight. The wight then proceeded to come after the King in the North. He was able to bring Frost up to parry the swing of the one-armed wight. ‘How can something with only one arm, and dead, have so much strength?’ Ned pondered as his arms began to shake under the pressure to keep the wight’s blade off him.

“URRUGHHHH” Tormund cried as he sliced the wight in half, giving Ned the opportunity to plunge frost into the chest of the undead fucker. It’s monstrous scream lasted less than a second before it’s glowing blue eyes closed.

Tormund appeared stunned with the wight stopped moving. Ned was about to tell him that Valyrian steel could kill wights and White Walkers when the ginger’s eyes widened in fear. Ned heard the roar of the Ice Spider behind him. He glanced a look over his shoulder. His eyes met the eight glowing blue eyes of the beast and the two luminescent blue eyes of the White Walker on top of the beast.

“RUN!” Tormund bellowed as he and Ned took off toward the gate. “Light the walls! LIGHT THE WALLS!”

The Ice spider gave another larger roar as it quickly scampered towards them, causing both me to rush in the direction of the exit of the small encampment.

Just as they made out the exit, the doors were closed and the timber surrounding the camp went up like in the largest bonfire Eddard had ever seen. ‘Dead gods, anyone let in there is going to be roasted alive!’

“Come on Wolf King!” Tormund shouted, bringing Ned back to the present. “We gotta get out of here before they find us!”

“I cannot leave my men!”

Tormund then walked over and grabbed the King in the North by his jerkin, looked him square in the eyes and spat, “If your men ain’t out here they are already dead! And if we left the camp without burning it down they would just be more soldiers in the Ice King’s Army!”

“Aye,” Ned agreed with a nod. Again, not happy with the situation, but knowing the Wildling was correct.

The two men walked in silence for what felt like hours, back up the snow covered cliffs they had traveled down earlier that day. The sun was again beginning to rise when the approached the summit. Ned looked down where the camp had once stood and was able to finally see the devastation that had occurred the night before. All he could see was clouds of thick black smoke.

“TORMUND! I knew you were too stubborn to die!” Ned heard Ygritte yelled from atop the hill.

Ned looked where he heard her voice to see the Wildling spear wife and Wun-Wun making their way over to where they were. Ned then looked under the large mountain hemlock and released a breath he did not know he was holding when he saw his brother, Theon and Jory, bloody, but alive.

He and his brother met half way and embraced.

“Gods I’m happy to see you! I thought we had lost our King!” Benjen exclaimed when they broke their embrace.

“Aye, I thought I’d lost you.” Ned then looked back under the tree and noticed a few of his men were not there. “Where are Hallis, Harwin and Grenn? I thought they were with you all.” He knew the answer as soon as the question left his mouth.

“Hallis threw himself in front of a wight to stop it from stabbing me in the back,” Theon answered solemnly.

Ned had to blink away the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Grenn and Harwin were separated from us just before the walls went up in flames. We could not wait for them before Wun-Wun lit the walls.” Jory answered sadly, as he hung his head. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I failed you.”

“No! It was not your fault...”

“The Wolf King is right,” Tormund interrupted with venom in his tone. “It ain’t no one’s fault but the Ice King! I lost good men as well but we cannot sit around and feel sorry for ourselves. We need to get to Mance and let him know what happened. Are y’all coming? Or are you tucking tail and going back to yer fancy southern castle?”

Ned was overcome with emotions. He had already lost five men. Was this expedition worth it? He wanted to go home to the warm walls of Winterfell. He wanted to hug his wife and children. He needed to know they were safe and alive. However, he could not abandon the mission now that he had seen and fought the enemy, ‘and this was just a tiny portion of the army. Jon said when they faced them in Winterfell there were over 100,000 dead men.’ He looked at Tormund, Ygritte and Wun-Wun, “Take me to your King. I will not allow innocent men, women and children to be added to that creature’s army.”

“Just so you know, the Free Folk will never kneel.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Ned stated.

Tormund smiled. “Well, follow me, Wolf King. I believe it is time I take you directly to the King Beyond the Wall.” ……

 

 

 


 

 

Notes:

Pls, let us know what you guys think about the chapter within the comments below. Your support, Opinions and other is always appreciated😁

Chapter 25: Assassins

Summary:

Section One: Catelyn - Cat receives letters from Robb and Lysa
Section Two: Varys - The Small Council learns of Tommen and Myrcella's deaths. Baelish makes a surprise announcement. Pycelle is looking for ways to defeat dragons.
Section Three: A threat is discovered in the Dothraki camp. Ghost and Greywind are good boys. The requested smut.

Notes:

Cmyatt01: I apologize for the formatting in section 3. AO3 is not being kind when I copy and pasted from my email. I will fix it on Monday - I know that y’all wanted the update before then. Thank you so much for everyone’s support - Your Kudos and comments keep us motivated! And constructive criticism is always welcome - we are always looking on ways to improve our story telling! :)

7/1/19 - I have fixed the formatting in Section 3 of this chapter, and fixed a couple of the funny sentences! I hope this help :)

Hey guys new chapter like you all have been looking for! This chapter is a lot shorter as expected since I've told you all in the previous chapter that we will be making the chapters a lot shorter but anyway let us know what you all think! We hope you enjoy it :) oh and a couple of you asked for smut so we provided it within the chapter so enjoy! Like I always say sit back relax and enjoy the chapter!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


  

Catelyn Tully Stark

The Queen in the North sighed in relief when she walked out on the battlements overlooking Winterfell’s training yard and felt the warm sun on her cheeks. The pine-scented air was still cool, but the sunshine had turned the summer snows to slush and mud and it reminded her that they still had time before winter arrived. Her mind raced as she thought about all that needed to be done before winter arrived, ‘We need to make sure we have food – I need to remember to ask Maester Luwin to find the plans for glass gardens so each keep in the North can have at least one… If he cannot find them, maybe we should ask Samwell Tarly. I hope that Robb and Margaery will wed and we can count on the Reach to help supply food for all the troops that happen to be in the North. We need weapons to fight the dead – Stannis currently holds Dragonstone, so the Dragonglass there will not be of use until Jon and Daenerys come to Westeros… I will also have to check with the Maester to see if he knows of anywhere else in the North that might have stores of Dragonglass so we can begin preparing our defenses now. Maybe Maester Luwin or Samwell Tarly can find the secret to forging Valyrian Steel.’ The applauding of her younger brother, Edmure, broke her thoughts. She began to walk over to where he was watching her children practicing their Water Dancing with Master Syrio.

“Excellent work Arya!” he exclaimed with a smile as he continued to clap proudly. “I cannot believe how fast you are on your feet!”

Catelyn looked down and saw Gendry walking over to pick up his small Braavosi practice blade from the mud, a good ten feet away from where he was standing. She had to agree with Edmure’s statement. Her youngest daughter moved as though she were born with a sword in her hand. It was easy to see with more practice, she would be able to give even Robb a proper spar. She also knew as much as she hated seeing her with a sword, it brought her peace to know she would be able to protect herself if she had to fight against the Army of the Dead.

“Thank you Uncle,” her Arya called and she took an exaggerated bow. “Perhaps you would like to come join us for our lesson,” she added as she adjusted her dark brown leather jerkin.

‘Gods she looks so much like Ned and Jon – Like a Stark,’ Catelyn thought at the sight of her youngest daughter, ‘I wonder if she really does look and act like Lyanna?’

“I believe I am better with a normal sized sword,” he chuckled. “But the gods know I could use a few lessons on my archery skills. I am still licking my wounds from yesterday. You and Sansa have perfect aim!”

Catelyn looked to her auburn-haired daughter and saw a blush rising up her cheeks at Edmure’s complement. She knew her oldest daughter hated training with a sword and learning to shoot a bow and arrow. That Sansa hated doing any behaviors she always were told was unbefitting of a lady, a princess, but she did so without question because she knew she needed to know how to protect herself.

Edmure then looked at her youngest child and continued, “Why I think young Rickon hit the target more often than I did!”

It warmed Catelyn’s heart that her brother took a moment to complement the three of her children.

“Please Uncle Edmure,” Rickon then called. “Come down and practice Water Dancing with us! Sansa beats me every time… Maybe if I practiced against you I might win.” Catelyn smiled at the sight of her sweet five year old. His clear blue eyes pleading and visible smudges of dirt where he had attempted to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“You know what,” Edmure chuckled. “I will join your Water Dancing lessons when your mother does. I would feel better about training with someone closer to my age.”

“Edmure!” Catelyn loudly whispered. “I don’t have time to train right now. There is too much to get done to prepare for winter.”

“Cat, I have been asking you for weeks. You need to be able to defend yourself as well,” he replied softly. A gentleness in his eyes that told her he was genuinely concerned for her safety.

“Perhaps I will begin training again once Ned returns home.”

“Aye, I know that there is a lot to be done, but we still have nearly eight years to prepare. But I can tell there is more on your mind than preparing for winter. So tell me. What is really weighing on your mind?”

“Aye, I am also worried about Lysa,” The Queen confessed quietly after making sure there were no prying ears. “It has been close to a moon turn since I sent the raven and we have yet to hear anything. What if she see through our plan? What if the raven was lost or shot down or intercepted into the wrong hands? I just wish that Ned were home. I fear that I am going to do something wrong and all this work, this second chance will be for naught.”

“Sister, you are worrying too much,” Edmure replied as he put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “If Lysa is already half as paranoid and delusional as she was in the past, she probably feels we are out to take her child from her… Which we are, and nothing we do or say will be able to help her. Also, we both know that she will most likely consult with Lord Baelish before she makes any decisions. Ned being here or not being here would not change anything Lysa and Petyr have planned.”

The sounds of cheering pulled their attention back to the children in the training yard below. Catelyn smiled as Syrio congratulated young Rickon for disarming Sansa.

“Mother! Did you see! I did it!” Rickon happily exclaimed.

“I did my sweetling! I am so proud of you. You will be a fine warrior some day!” Catelyn called in response. Her smile so big that her cheeks began to ache.

The Queen in the North and her brother watched the children spar until Maester Luwin came to let her know a couple of correspondences, one from Essos and one from the Eyrie, had arrived. She could excitement, anxiety and fear in the pit of her stomach as she, Edmure and the Maester made their way to her solar to review the messages in privacy.  

Once they were seated at the table, she requested Robb’s message first:

 

Mother,

I have wonderful news. By the time you receive this letter, Daenerys will be in her sixth moon of pregnancy and the healers state that the child appears to be very healthy. Dany stuns me at every turn; not once has she let this pregnancy slow her down – she continues to travel on her own horse, she practices swordplay with the Khalasar and even completed the Dothraki ritual of eating an entire, raw horse heart (that Jon had to procure) without getting ill. Because of this feat, she and the child have received the blessing of the Dosh Khaleen. Jon and Dany believe their child will be a son and have decided to name him Prince Rhaegon of House Targaryen, in memory of the child they lost. 

In other news, Jon has convinced me to return to home after the birth of Rhaegon. He made me realize it would be best, politically, for me to be present when the Tyrells arrive in Winterfell. I was going to refuse, because I feel Jon needs me by his side, but then I thought this could be used as an opportunity for Father to meet his grandson and good-daughter and Dany wants to meet her Grand-Uncle Aemon who serves as Maester at the Wall. Mother, I know you only tolerated Jon’s presence in Winterfell and you could not be the mother he always desired growing up, but maybe you could use this as an opportunity to make amends with my brother. Jon is a very forgiving person who just wants his family and the people of Essos and Westeros to be happy, healthy, and stand together when the Great War is upon us.

We have not yet decided on the logistics of our travel, but at the rate Sarogon and Arogon are growing (they are both the size of ponies), they should be large enough to accept riders by the time we travel. It would make travel much faster – if we travel by boat it could take at least one moon turn and by dragonback just a matter of a few days. I know you may fear what the Northerners will say about the dragons, so we cannot land near Winterfell – if you could, please ask Maester Luwin to see if he knows of any caves large enough and away from farm and keeps were the Dragons will be safe. Also, we prefer the cave also to be close to the Kingsroad because we are hoping to meet up with Father as he returns to Winterfell from his trip beyond the Wall and so Rhaegon is not exposed to the cold for too long. We will also have to hide Dany’s identity. We plan to say Jon fell in love with a Wildling girl beyond the Wall – That her mother was a Wildling and her father a sailor from Lys to explain her purple eyes. She plans to stain her hair to hide it’s true color. We will take every precaution so people will not know her true identity.

We are leaving Vaes Dothrak for Qarth on the morrow and it will most likely take us close to two moons of riding. I will write again, when I am able. I love you and look forward to seeing you all again soon.

Your son,

Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell, Prince of the North

 

Catelyn smiled. “Robb plans to return to Winterfell to meet with the Tyrells.”

“That is wonderful news,” Maester Luwin replied, “I feel that it would make a better impression for Prince Robb to be present when the Tyrell host arrives. Do you know when he will be arriving?”

“After Daenerys gives birth, so in about three to four moons.”

“Cat, that was an awful long letter. What else does it say,” Edmure pressed.

“Jon, Daenerys and their babe, whom they believe to be a boy, will be traveling to Winterfell as well,” Catelyn answered. She felt her smile falter as she worried how Jon would receive her after the way she had treated him for his entire life, ‘What type of woman cannot love a motherless child. Gods I pray he will at least tolerate me and not burn me on sight. I deserve his wrath.’  “And when they come home, they are hoping to do so on dragonback,” She added quietly.

“Did you just say they were going to ride on the backs of dragons!” Edmure exclaimed incredulously. “That makes no sense! The dragons are mere hatchlings and cannot be more than that the size of a dog.”

“Robb stated Sarogon and Arogon are already the size of ponies. That they would be able to make it to the North in days verses more than a moon turn by boat.”

“Your Grace, I cannot argue that travel will be much quicker by dragonback,” Maester Luwin agreed, “However, where will the dragons reside? I do not believe it would be wise for them to land in the fields behind Winterfell.”

“Aye, Robb asked if you would be able to find a cave, large enough for them that is close to the Kingsroad.”

“Of course, your Grace. I will check with Ser Rodrik. He has hunted in the woods for years and might know if a spot. If not, I will check the maps.”

“Thank you, Maester,” she replied with a nod before requesting the correspondence from her sister. She read the scroll aloud:

My Dear Sister, the Queen in the North,

I have received your request to foster my Sweet Robyn at Winterfell, so you can see if he will be a suitable husband for your dear Arya. After receiving council, I have decided to accept your generous offer. My late husband taught your Ned to become a proper lord and honorable man, and I am sure my Jon would love to see Ned mentoring the heir to House Arryn. Because my son is the heir to the Vale, I have also decided to send the noble Yohn Royce to serve as Lord Robyn’s personal guard. He will remain with my son for his duration in the North and will send me reports of my son’s progress. Lord Royce was honored when he learned of his task and is looking forward to seeing your husband, the King in the North once again. Lord Royce should be arriving at the Eyrie any day and will depart for Winterfell the next day. Thank you again for this opportunity to strengthen the bonds of the Vale and the North.

Your Sister, Lysa Arryn, Lady of The Eyrie, Lady Regent of the Vale 

“Looks like everything is going according to plan,” Edmure stated as he grabbed her hand and smiled.

She sighed. “According to whose plan Ed?” Catelyn retorted as she met her brother’s gaze. “I still do not know if fostering Robyn is the right plan! I should have consulted Ned – This all would have been so much easier if I knew Ned’s intentions!” She shivered and took a deep breath to calm herself before whispering her next words, “I still do not know if Ned is safe Ed. It has been months and the only message I have received from the Wall was from Tyrion, a moon turn ago, requesting men to escort him back to Winterfell so he can leave before Joffrey arrives.”

“Cat, it has not yet been two moon turns. Give him time.” Edmure murmured as he pulled her in for a comforting embrace. He stoked her hair as he continued, “He did warn you that his journey beyond the Wall could take several moon turns because he was not exactly sure where to find the Wildlings, right?”

“He did,” the Queen relented breaking the embrace, but still unable to meet her brother’s gaze. “But that still does not stop me from worrying about him, Benjen, Theon and the others.”

“You do not need to worry yourself sick sister. Everything will work out. It always has and always will. Do you know why?”

“Why?” she asked as she finally met his gaze. Confused why her bother would be telling her not to worry.

“Because Jon has somehow given us a second chance to save our sorry asses. He could have kept all this information to himself and let us suffer from our own stupidity. But he didn’t. He shared his knowledge and we won’t let him down. We won’t fuck it up this time!” this earned a chuckle from the Queen. “So the best thing we can do now, is keep the heir to the Vale safe and the people of the North safe. We must do what we are able to prepare for the Great War be it training with weapons, making weapons or making sure there is plenty of food in the cellars.”

“You are right Edmure. We do have a second chance. And this time I will do right. I have learned I cannot be the petty woman I was in the past. I need to be better.” Catelyn then look to the older man in the room, her mind racing from all of her thoughts earlier in the day, “Maester Luwin, we have much to discuss. Today, we will begin our preparations to make sure the North is ready for winter and we need to prepare the King’s chambers for use.”  

“The King’s Chambers, your Grace?”

“Aye,” She replied with a smile. “We have four moons to prepare the castle for the arrival of the rightful King and Queen. And while we cannot give them a proper welcome, we can at least make sure they and their heir are comfortable.”

“I will see it done, your Grace,” Maester replied with a kind smile.

 


 

 

Varys

Varys was about to leave his solar to head to the small council meeting when he heard a low whistle coming from behind the obscene tapestry depicting Robert’s victory at the Trident that hung on his wall. He quickly bolted his door before pulling back to tapestry revealing one of his little birds in the secret passage. The young child was covered in dirt, his clothes were torn and tattered and he smelled as if he had not bathed in weeks. ‘When the King and Queen arrive he will have a better life.’  “Do you have a song for me Markas?” he asked the young boy with a forced smile.

The young boy nodded as he handed the spymaster a couple of small scrolls. Varys thanked the child and rewarded him with two candied plums.

After the tapestry had fallen back into place, he made his way over to his rich mahogany desk, pulled the chair out and sat down. He opened the first scroll and quickly read the message:

The young falcon will fly for and extended stay in Winterfell with the Bronze one. The Mockingbird and the Fish hope this will lead to a marriage.

This news did not surprise the Spider. He has been watching Baelish for years, even closer since his King told him how the man had been the one to orchestrate so much chaos in his previous life – that Littlefinger had been the one who set into motion the war of the Five Kings, how he had been the one to supply the Tears of Lys. He knew the man was ambitious, that he wanted to make a name for himself. He had known for years that Littlefinger felt the need to prove himself worthy, and he knew why. His little birds told him the tale, many years ago, that Petyr Baelish had asked Hoster Tully for Catelyn’s hand in marriage, prior to the announcement of her betrothal to Brandon Stark. Vary’s laughed to himself when he recalled what the scroll had said, ‘Some no name son of a minor lord from the Fingers would never good enough for the prized daughter of the Riverlands. He would never even be good enough for a second daughter. If he wanted to marry into the Riverlands, he suggested Walder Frey would have a daughter or two to spare.’ 

‘At least young Robyn might grow to become a true man in this life with Eddard Stark and Yohn Royce to guide him in this life,’ Varys thought as he placed the correspondence on his desk. He then picked up the other message his little bird had delivered. The messaged appeared to have had been hastily scribbled on a scrap of parchment and he prayed to any gods listening this brought him the news he was hoping for:

The plan was not as successful as hoped. The smallest cub could not be saved. The middle cub has left the golden hills and heads to the Northern Lion. The camp was looted and burned per your orders.

Varys sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had hoped to save both of the Lannister children and eventually reunite them with their father, Ser Jaime. Tommen and Myrcella were both sweet children, innocents who were not responsible for the crimes of their parents. However, he had failed to accomplish this. ‘At least Myrcella is safe. I will need to send a message to Queen Catelyn after the small council meeting so she is prepared for the girl’s arrival.’ He held the message to the flame of the white wax candle on his desk, knowing this message was not safe for others eyes. Once the message was lit, he placed it in the small iron box and placed the other scroll in there as well. When the messages were fully engulfed, he put the lid on the box before he made his way out of his room and to the small council chambers.

Before Varys even opened the door to the small council chambers, he could smell wine. ‘The King has been present at every small council meeting since he returned from the North,’ he thought as he took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door. When he walked though, he noticed everyone was already seated around the rectangular table.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace, my lords,” Varys addressed the room as he took his seat, “but I just received urgent from the Westerlands,” he added as he made eye contact with King Robert.

“And what news would this be?” Tywin asked coldly.

“It appears the caravan carrying the….”

“Father!” Cersei screeched as the door to the room burst open. One hand resting on the swell of her abdomen the other clutching a letter. Ser Ilyn Payne following in step behind her.

“Seven hells Cersei! What are you doing here? You know you were not invited to this meeting! You are supposed to be in your rooms resting and growing my Heir!” Robert bellowed, clearly upset by his wife’s intrusion.

“They are dead!” she screamed at her husband. “And it is all your fault!”

“What are you talking about? Who are dead?” Tywin inquired.

Cersei’s head then snapped towards her father. “I hold you responsible as well! Because of the two of you my sweet Tommen and Myrcella are dead!”

“Cersei, what are your talking about? Tommen and Myrcella are on their way to Casterly Rock for their safety in case of a Targaryen invasion,” Tywin smoothly answered.

“NO FATHER! They are dead! Uncle Kevan sent a letter,” She cried as she forced the letter into the hands of the Hand of the King. “He got worried when they did not arrive when he thought they would, so he sent out riders to search for them… He said it appeared the camp was ambushed and robbed! He said the bodies were so badly burned they could not be identified, but that he found Tommen and Myrcella bones together, clutching each other! Trying to find strength in each other as they died!”

Varys watched Tywin’s face turn ashen as he read the letter.

The King was hiding a smirk as he took a sip of wine.

Lord Renly and Lord Baelish looked stunned and remained silent.

“Your Grace, I am so sorry for your losses,” Grand Maester Pycelle wheezed. “But you must keep yourself calm. All this stress is not good for the child in your womb. Especially now that he will be the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Cersei’s head snapped towards her husband once more, “YOU did….”

“Ser Ilyn,” Robert interrupted the Queen. “I believe that my wife is distraught over this horrible news and over the recent death of her beloved twin brother. Please escort her back to her chambers and double her guard. She is not to leave her chambers unless I send for her.”

The Kingsguard nodded, and hauled a screaming red-faced Queen from the room.

Once her screams could no longer be heard, King Robert met the eyes of the Maester, “Grand Maester, please tend to my growing heir and make sure my wife is eating properly and remains healthy. All meals should be delivered to her room. A tester must be assigned – all of her meals must be tasted prior to her eating them and I will not allow my heir to me poisoned while still growing in his mother’s womb. Someone has killed two of children, I will not allow anything to happen to my rightful heir.”  

“Of course your Grace,” the old Maester answered.

“Lord Varys, did you know about this?” The King of the Southern Six Kingdoms inquired gruffly. The Master of Whispers hoped the others could see through the King’s farce – Although the King’s tone was sharp and angered, the absence of crimson flush to his face told another story.

“I was just about to inform the council of this new when the Queen entered the room.”

“Do you have any information? Have your little birds sang any songs as to whom would harm the late prince and princess?”

“My little birds tell me the camp received provisions – food, wine and fresh soldiers – from Casterly Rock the day of the attack.”

“Yes,” Tywin nodded. “My brother felt the children were probably tired of camp rations, so he sent fresh vegetables as well as wine for the men.”

“My little birds also stated that after eating and drinking everyone, even the guards seemed to fall asleep… Almost as if, they had too much wine… It was said they did not fight when the bandits attacked the camp.”

“Do they know who these bandits were or where they went?” The Master of Coin asked.

Varys shook his head. He pondered stating the thieves were sellswords from Essos or men from the Vale, but he decided to keep it vague for the moment. “The men were not wearing any sigils that my little birds could see.”

“Tell your little birds to keep searching for the men who murdered Tommen and Myrcella and I will have troops from both Casterly Rock and Lannisport scour the area for any clues,” the Hand of the King stated. Varys nodded. “Is there any other information that needs to be discussed?”

“I have received a song from the Eyrie,” Varys answered. From the corner of his eye, he could see he had Lord Baelish’s attention. “It appears Lysa Arryn is hoping for a marriage alliance with the North and has agreed to have her son fostered in Winterfell.”

“What? The Starks have agreed to a betrothal with one of their daughters and Jon Arryn’s sickly whelp?” The King asked incredulously.

“No your Grace. They have declined the betrothal, for now, stating the children are too young and also that their children will have a say in whom they wed,” Varys replied dismissively.

“Any news about the Targaryens in Essos or new from my good for nothing brother, Stannis?” King Robert asked.

“The last I heard about the Targaryens was that they were to the far east of the Dothraki Sea, in the holy city of Vaes Dothrak. As for your brother, the last I heard was he had stopped in in Tyrosh to resupply,” Varys answered nonchalantly.

“Good, so we are safe for now,” The King replied with a sharp nod of his head.

“Your Grace,” The Master of Coin interjected.

“Yes Baelish. Is there something you wish to add.”

He nodded, “Your Grace, I did want to inform you, I hired two men to infiltrate the Targaryen Dothraki Khalasar.”

“I was unaware that we hired anyone to infiltrate the camp,” Lord Renly spoke with a furrowed brow. “I thought we had decided to save coin and send Stannis to eliminate the threat.”

“I took a chance… One of my whores had a regular client, a sellsword, with deep hatred of the Dothraki. They made an offer I could not refuse.”

“How low?” The Hand of the King grumbled.

“I paid them 500 gold dragons, each and promised them each 1500 more when they deliver the heads of the dragonwhore and her pretender husband, in person, to King’s Landing.”

“That’s a very fine price,” the King roar in delight as he refilled his wine glass. “In fact, I am sure we could even find them some lands and brides if they decide to stay in Westeros! I am sure the Lords will be throwing their daughters at their feet as a way to show their thanks for ridding the world of the Dragonspawns!”

The Master of Whispers suddenly felt dread in the pit of his stomach. “Lord Baelish,” Varys stated as calmly as he could. “I have seen sellswords in Essos. They like to show off their spoils. How will they be able to hide within a Dothraki Khalasar?”

Littlefinger’s face twisted into a victorious smirk. “You see the men are half Dothraki… their mothers are both daughters Lhazareen sheepherders and the Dothraki often raided their villages and their women were raped. Both men were born because of this. Therefore their hatred of the Dothraki is deep.”

“That is a fine idea, Lord Baelish,” Varys replied smoothly before turning his head towards the whoremonger king and his Hand and continuing, “However, have any plans been made if the Targaryens are able to get past Stannis and the assassins?” ‘I need any information at all. I need to let them know whatever threats they might face.’

“That reminds me, Grand Maester, have you had any luck finding the plans for the device that brought down that dragon in Dorne?” The Hand of the King asked.

“Not yet, my Lord Hand. I have my apprentices searching the library and I have sent a message to Archmaester Conclave on Old Town to request they look for anything that could be useful.”

The council went on to discuss plan for a tourney in honor of Tywin being named The Hand of the King, that the bells would be rung to honor the memory of Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, as well as a few other meaningless topics before the meeting was adjourned.

Varys breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally back in his chambers. He needed to write letter a to The Queen in the North to and to his King and Queen in Essos to let them know of all these developments…..

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

The burning orange sun had not yet set when Jon had decided to make camp for the night. The Khalasar just south of Lhazareen city of Kosrak, the last real town before the entered the Red Waste. When she had questioned why they had stopped before sunset, Jon had assured her it was because this would be the last real opportunity for everyone to bathe and for them to gather plenty of food, supplies and fresh water for their journey into the desert. She knew he was stopping to make camp earlier in the day so she could rest longer; she knew he felt as though she was putting too much stress on her body, but he would never admit it aloud.

Daenerys smiled and her hand absentmindedly went to the swell of her womb when she heard the children were laughing splashing around in the stream as their mothers washed the dirt and sticky sweat from their bodies. The scent of wildflowers and grass filled the warm air. She felt Rhaegon twisting below her hand, demanding her attention. “Just a few more moon turns my sweetling. Then you will be able to play with the other children,” she cooed softly as she continued to caress her nearly six moon turns bump.

“I need you to grow my little dragon,” she continued. Over the last few weeks, the long days of riding had begun to take their toll on the Khalessi, although she would never admit it. She felt as though the swell in her womb was bigger when comparing this pregnancy to Rhaego’s. The Dothraki midwives assured her Rhaegon was strong and growing at a normal rate. She still could not remember much of her pregnancy with Rhaegar, but she knew her belly had not swelled, as it should have because she refused to take extra rations from their people.

"I need you to remain safe,” She added just as quietly. She knew Jon was worried for her safety and the safety of their son while she was atop her mount. He feared she was pushing herself too hard when there was no need. He had pleaded with her multiple times to ride in a wheelhouse, but she refused. “The Dothraki will see me as weak if I do not ride along side of them. They will not follow us if they see your chosen Khalessi as weak,” she recalled telling him, on more than one occasion. “I rode every day when I was pregnant with Rhaego. Pregnancy is not seen as weakness to the Dothraki. Women must prove their strength when they are with child.”

Her mind continued wander and recall more of her last pregnancy in Essos. She remembered the fear of having been chased by Robert’s assassins and the terror of waking up to find out her son had been taken from her womb. She had been around her sixth moon when she lost Rhaego. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head, ‘Rhaegon is safe. Mirri Maz Duur is not and never has been my enemy. There were no murderous wine merchants in Vaes Dothrak. Varys would warn us if immediately Robert hired assassins.’

This was ultimately, how she had been able to win the wheelhouse argument with her husband. “I will be able to see any threats sooner if I am out in the open verses locked in a wheelhouse. It took losing Rhaego for me to learn swordplay. I am strong and I will not be chained in a wheelhouse! A dragon is not a slave, Jon! You know this! So why would you chain me into a wheelhouse where I will not be able to protect myself or our son!”  Reluctantly he had agreed to let her continue to ride astride her Silver, as long as she kept Dark Sister and at least two guards with her at all times.

Dany forced the thoughts from her mind. She spent some time speaking with the women and splashing the children at the stream before the smell of meats roasting caused a loud, unqueenly-like growl from her stomach. The women she was speaking with chided her for not feeding the Khalakka and sent her in search of her supper.

The smells of horsemeat roasting filled the air as she meandered through the rows of tents and made her way towards the cook fires. Jorah and Rakharo were following close behind. Suddenly, as they approached the fires, the scent of something divine wafted in the breeze. “Rabbit,” she gasped before she felt Rhaegon flip in her stomach in approval. “Let us find this rabbit, my little dragon.” Her mouth began to water as she allowed her nose to guide her as she searched for the source of the savory aroma. She found the source a short distance from the main cook fires; two younger Dothraki men with short braids were roasting four large rabbits next to a steaming kettle. ‘Carrots and peas and potatoes,’ she smiled as she inhaled the steam.

“Khaleesi,” one of the men stated, shock on his face as he stood. “Please, let me and my brother share your meal with you and the Khalakka,” The man continued in the common tongue.

“I would be honored to share your roasted rabbit,” She answered graciously with a smile, sitting down in the middle a log next to the fire. Jorah sat to her right and Rakharo to her left, “It has been moon-turns since I have had anything besides horse meat. Rhaegon has been fluttering ever since we smelled your meal. Are you making a stew?”

“Yes Khaleesi… If that pleases you and the Khalakka,” the man replied in the common tongue. “It will not take long – we just need to add the meat pot. There will be more than enough for you and your bloodrider and the Andel. I… I just need to get some more bowls from our tent.” He then shot a glance at his brother before adding, “I will be back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys stated with a nod of her head. After the man left to go to his tent, she looked to the other man, who had begun to pull the rabbit meat from the bones, adding it to the pot of boiling stew. “I am sorry, I have not seen your or your brother around the camp before and I do not know your names.”

“My name is Annitho and my brother is Zhowakko,” the man answered in perfect common tongue. Dany could tell he appeared to be a bit uneasy, as if he were hiding something. He even had a few drops of sweat dripping from his brow. “We joined your Khalasar when you left Vaes Dothrak – the Dothraki follow power and strength. You and Khal Aegon are powerful. We chose to follow you now.” The man then continued to remove the rabbit flesh from the bones and added it to the cast iron kettle.

She sensed something was wrong. Something was off with this man and his brother. She did not know how they both spoke the common tongue perfectly. Their names were also quite different as well, Annitho was a derivative of Annithat, meaning to cause pain and Zhowakko roughly translated to dangerous. They looked Dothraki, but their braids were short, almost as they had just begun to grown their hair. Something about their mannerisms that was off as well, it as if they were trying to act Dothraki.

“You speak the common tongue well,” Ser Jorah stated, as if he could read her mind.

“Uh… my brother and I spent much of our time in Vaes Dothrak. We learned the common tongue to communicate with the merchants.”

Dany could tell the man was nervous. He was hiding something.

“Finne did yeri get ki neak tawak?” (Where did you get that sword?), Rakharo inquired. His tone cold. She could tell he also did not trust these two men.

It was then that Dany noticed the man had a long sword and dagger around his waist instead if an Arakh and a whip.

The man seemed to be processing what her bloodrider had said, as if he were trying to translate the words in his head. “An dozgo,” (an enemy) he answered simply after a several moments.

‘These men are not our men. Who are they? Who sent them? Why are they here?’

“Ah… who is ready to eat,” Zhowakko stated as he returned to the campfire with a stack of wooden bowls and spoons. When everyone nodded, he sat down next to his brother. He took the top bowl, placed a healthy ladle of stew into the bowl and handed it to the Khaleesi.

Daenerys was smelled the stew. She could make out a tantalizing mixture of Essoi spices she had not had since they left Illyrio’s manse. Her mouth began to water. Nothing smells off. How do I know the stew is safe? I should wait until everyone has begun to eat.

“Khalessi, are you not going to eat your stew?” Annitho nervously inquired.

“I will eat once everyone has a bowl. I would not be fair to eat while the rest are still waiting for a bowl.”

The two brothers then quickly dished up bowls for Jorah and Rakharo as well as themselves. “For the Khalakka. That he grows strong,” Zhowakko toasted as soon as they all had a bowl.

Daenerys waited until the two brothers and her guards had each taken a spoonful of their own bowls of stew before she felt safe to eat. The heat from the wooden bowl felt good on the palm of her hand. She stirred her bowl, searching for a chunk of the rabbit meat she was craving. Her mouth was watering and just as she was about to put the spoonful in her mouth, something warm and wet nudged her elbow. The force caused the stew to spill from her spoon and on to the ground.

“Ghost,” she smiled as she turned around. “If you want some all you had to do was...” her words died in her throat when the growling began. She was surprised to see Greywind was with Ghost. Ghost then knocked the bowl from her hands. She kept her eyes on the ‘brothers’ as it spilled to the ground. ‘So my stew was poisoned.’ She saw fear on the two men’s faces as the wolves began to circle their prey.  They appeared to be petrified. She, Ser Jorah and Rakharo quickly stood from the log and pulled their weapons.

“WHO ARE YOU? WHO SENT YOU?” Daenerys roared as she pointed her sword at the men. Zhowakko spat at her feet (which earned a deeper snarl from Ghost) while Annitho remained stone-faced. However before she could continue her questioning, she heard Jon and Robb franticly calling for her. She quickly ordered Jorah and Rakharo restrain the men, before moving out to the path and motioning for them.

“Dany, what’s going on here?” Jon asked from beside her once he and Robb reached the cookfire. Dany could tell he was trying to mask his fear. Her husband’s eyes were glued to the two men being restrained by her loyal guards and the two snarling direwolves.

“I am fine, thanks to Ghost and Greywind. But it appears someone has sent assassins after me and our son and possibly you as well.”  

“Dany what are you saying?” Jon whispered with a furrowed brow.

“I had a feeling something was off with these two men,” Dany stated as she began to walk towards the two men, Dark Sister still in her hands. “Firstly, their braids are very short. Their Common Tongue is flawless. They cook with Essosi spices I haven’t had since Pentos.” She sighed, as she looked the two men in the face, “I almost believed the meal was safe to eat, after everyone else had begun to consume their portion. Thankfully, Ghost was here to knock the food from my hands. I saw the look of dread and failure on your faces as the bowl fell… Let me guess, only my bowl contained poison – You did not need to go back to your tent for more bowls, there are plenty here we could have borrowed – you had to go back to your tent to get the poison.”

“And it would have worked if it had not have been for those fucking wolves!” Zhowakko bellowed.

“Direwolves are intelligent creatures. They can sense if someone is trying to harm their pack. They share a special bond with companions. I knew the moment he took off that something was wrong. Much like dragons.” Jon stated slowly, his gruff northern accent punctuating every syllable. 

She then heard a loud roar. Sarogon was circling above, his deep grey scales shimmering like a torch on dragonglass as the golden sun reflected off them. The Red Comet still hanging low in the sky towards the east. She used her mental tether to reach out to Arogon. She could sense he was close and that he and his brothers, Ragnar, Rhaegal, Viserion and Jogon were close behind. They screeched letting everyone know of their impending arrival. She smiled victoriously when she saw the assassins shaking, sweat dripping from their brows.

“Did you really think that our children would not come to their mother’s aide? That they would allow anything to happen to her?” Jon seethed.

Dany glanced over and noticed his eyes were a deep shade of orange, his hand has wrapped around the hilt of Winters Wolf. The Dothraki had begun to gather around where they stood. Many of the men with their arakhs drawn. She placed her hand on his forearm, knowing that she needed to calm his rage before he killed them. “Jon, we need to question them,” she whispered softly so no one else could hear. When his gaze met hers she continued, “We need to know who sent them before they die… by my hand. As you taught me before the one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. I am passing the sentence. They are mine.”

“Aye,” he replied. His eyes softening and returning to his normal shade of grey.

When all six dragons were circling above, she removed her hand from her husband’s arm and walked towards the men. ‘Arogon, my son, come here.’ When the miniature horse sized crimson dragon landed next to her she caressed the scales of his snout. ‘Thank you my son,’ she thought before turning her attention back to the brothers, her queenly façade in place. “I will ask you again. Who sent you?”

“Why the fuck should we tell you who hired us! Fuck you Dragon Whore!” Annitho spat.

Robb had to physically restrain Jon to prevent him from pouncing on the man. “Jon, let Dany handle this. She is safe. Your son is safe. We are here. Ghost, Greywind, all six dragons and a horde of Dothraki are all here. No harm will come to her now,” She heard her good-brother state.

“Was it the Usurper, Robert Baratheon?” ‘Surely Varys would have informed us if Robert hired assassins. In his last correspondence, he stated Robert was sending Stannis.’ When the men remained silent she continued, “I know that someone hired you or offered you a reward for my head. I believe it would be in your best interest to tell me who it is, so they will also receive the justice they deserve.” Again, she was met with silence. “You are guilty of treason. The punishment for treason is death. However, I will give you a choice… Either I can take your head with my sword, and feed you to the wolves and our dragons, or you can die by dragonfire… The choice is yours.”

“Don’t you mean you will have that pretty, mummer dragon of husband take our heads?” the man calling himself Zhowakko laughed.

“I was the one who passed the sentence, so I must pass the sword,” She answered evenly. She then took the man’s chin and lifted his face so eyes met hers and continued, “And for that little statement, I will allow you to watch as I take your brother’s head with Dark Sister. She is thirsty for blood.”

Dany then commanded Rakharo to bring Annitho to the log where they were sitting and had Jorah bring his brother to stand in front of the makeshift block.

“Do you have any last words?” she asked, as she looked him in the eyes. The man just glared at her. “Very well.” She nodded to Rakharo and he pushed the man to his knees, bent him over so his head over the log with his neck exposed to her. “I Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea, and the Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms sentences you to die,” She proclaimed as raised Dark Sister. With one firm, steady swing of her sword Annitho’s head fell from his body, landing at Zhowakko’s feet. She then placed her hand on Arogon’s shoulder, “Dracarys.” The dead man’s body was quickly charred. ‘Wait to eat it my love… Let’s see how his brother would like to die.’

“Zhowakko,” She stated as she turned to face the other traitor. “Now that you have seen what I am capable of, which way would you prefer to die? The sword or fire? Or if you’d like, I am sure my husband’s direwolf would love to rip your throat out.” Ghost let out a threatening snarl as he stalked toward the man who smelled as though he had just shit his pants. “It might be nice to see you die, choking on your own blood.”

“I… I… I’ll take the sword,” He stuttered nervously.

“Very well.”

“Do you have any last words?” she inquired once Ser Jorah had the man in position over the make-shift block.

“The Mockingbird will rise above the flames while the Dragons are busy burning the Stags and Lions.”

After Daenerys took his head, she told Ghost and the winged children to feast on their enemy. Jon escorted her back to their tent when both men were nothing but charred bones.

“Dany, are you alright?” Jon asked once they were both seated at the table inside their tent. He pushed a loose silver curl behind her ear.

“I am,” Dany replied after she took a long sip of the water he had poured for her. “Jon?”

“Yes love?”

“What do you think the assassin meant when he said the Mockingbird would rise? I know that they Stags and Lions are the Baratheons and the Lannisters, but who is the Mockingbird? Do you think it is Littlefinger?”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed. “He was the mastermind behind the War of the Five Kings. He is trying to start some sort of conflict so he can try and get what he wants.” He sighed deeply, “He was also the mastermind behind Robert’s Rebellion.”

“What?”

“In my past life, Bran had informed me that my Mother left a letter in her room at Riverrun – where all the Starks and Tully’s were gathered to celebrate the forthcoming nuptials between my Uncle Brandon and Catelyn Tully. In the letter, she explained she would never to marry Robert Baratheon, and that her father could not force her to do so. She stated she was following her heart and was going to become Prince Rhaegar’s second wife. Petyr Baelish saw my mother sneaking out of Riverrun and followed her. Apparently, he saw her meeting with the Kingsguards, who were dressed as commoners – they were the ones who helped her to escape. He then returned to the castle and searched her rooms, finding the letter she had left. After reading the letter, instead of taking it to my grandfather, he burned it. He then proceeded to tell my Uncle Brandon that men in Targaryen armor had kidnapped her when she had gone out for an evening horseback ride… That one of the men was Ser Arthur Dayne and another was Prince Rhaegar – That he was unable to fight the men because he was still recovering from the injuries he had received in the dual.” Jon paused to take a sip of water. “If he had never taken that letter, there would have been no spark for Robert’s Rebellion.”

Dany was furious; she could feel her nostrils flaring as she tried to contain her rage. Petyr Baelish was the man who ruined her life. He was the spark that caused the Rebellion to overthrow their house. Rhaegar could have been successful in overthrowing their father. She could have grown up in the Red Keep or at Dragonstone not worrying about where she would be getting her next meal. Viserys would have stayed good. She would have known and loved Jon her entire life. Aegon and Rhaenys would be alive. Petyr Baelish took her family. He robbed her and Jon from the lives they could have had. She took her husband’s calloused hand and looked him in the eyes, knowing he would see the determination they held. “Jon we need to kill him!” She conveyed, strength and determination clear in her tone. “He sent assassins after me. After our son without anyone knowing! We have no idea what he is planning, or what he wants. He is dangerous!”

“Dany I want him dead just as much as you do, but we cannot fly to Westeros and execute to man… It will make him a martyr. It will make him appear to be the hero and us the enemy. We would be giving him exactly what he wants… chaos,” Jon sighed. She could tell he was struggling to contain his own rage. “But what he wanted was for you and our son to die, so that I would arrive in Westeros before we had an army and allies. He wanted Westeros to see him as the man who saved them from the mad dragons.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Dany processed what he had said. She had never met Petyr in her past life. Jon had killed him for treason, that he had played a part in the death of Ned Stark, sparking the war between the Starks and the Lannisters. He had also killed Lysa Arryn to gain control of the Eryie. He sold Sansa to the Bolton’s … He had not done any of those things in this life and they had no proof that he was the one who supplied Lysa Arryn with the poison that killed her husband. Jon was right. If they killed him now, without any proof of crimes, he would be a martyr. The silence was broken when her stomach rumbled, loudly.

“Are you hungry?” Jon asked with a chuckle, pulling the hand he was holding to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Maybe a little,” she answered as her stomach growled once more. “I will go find Doreah to see if she can bring us something to eat… something besides horsemeat,” she stated as she put her hands on the arms of her chair to push herself up.

“No, I’ll go. You need to sit and rest… Besides, I want to know exactly where your meal is coming from. If I am not satisfied or feel the food is compromised in anyway, I will hunt every day for fresh meat with Ghost and then I will prepare your meals myself.”

“You,” she chuckled. “You are going to cook! I don’t recall you ever cooking before, Jon Snow.”

“I am a good cook,” he scoffed, bringing his hand to his bare chest over his heart, feigning injury to his pride. “I spent years camping and hunting with Robb and Theon in the Wolfswood. I also cooked during my time with the Nights Watch and when I lived beyond the Wall.”

‘When you lived with Ygritte,’ she thought bitterly, deep down knowing she had nothing to fear from the redheaded wildling spear wife. She felt another twist from Rhaegon in her belly. She smiled, and placed Jon’s hand where their son was moving. When he smiled, she knew he could feel the life they created moving under his palm.

“I believe that you can cook, Jon. However, as you can tell, right now your son is hungry. So, please find us something suitable to eat before he claws his way out of my womb to get to my breasts.”

“Aye,” He snickered, “I’ll be right back.” He then bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to the swell of her abdomen and then to her lips before he made his way out of the tent.

Within minutes, her husband returned with a plate of hard breads, cheeses and orange slices. After he put the platter down on the table, he refilled their glasses of water. “I sent Ghost to hunt. All I could find was horse and I know that you really wanted rabbit. I will roast it for you when he returns.”

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured as she pressed a tender kiss to his lips before she began to eat.

Ghost brought Jon two large rabbits a short time later. He laid the hares on top of one of the braziers in their tent; however, instead of lighting it, it closed his eyes. “What are you doing?” she questioned.

“You’ll see,” he teased with a smirk.

Seconds later the pony sized Sarogon made his way into the tent and walked towards his father. Jon smiled at the grey dragon. Placed his forehead between the horns on the dragon’s head and began to rub his chin. She head Jon whispering that he was a good boy and that he was proud of him and his brothers for helping their mother that day. Sarogon chirped in appreciation. She laughed a few moments later, when Jon removed his head and planted a kiss on the tip of his grey dragon’s nose.

“Ya wanna help me cook your Mama some dinner?” he asked the dragon. When Sarogon happily replied with a chip he murmured, “You know what to do boy.”

The dragon then turned to the rabbits on the brazier. Jon whispered, “Dracarys.”

“Thank you boy,” Jon whispered once the coals of the fire were lit. The smell of rabbit roasting filled the tent. “Now go on and play with your brothers while I take care of Mama and make sure all her needs are met.”

As the dragon made his way out of the tent, Daenerys swore the dragon winked at her. She turned back towards her husband and noticed he was already removing the meat from the coals.

“Food cooks quicker with dragon fire,” he smiled when she met his gaze. He then pulled it from the bones and put it onto a metal plate. She stared at her husband as he worked. The muscles in his forearms and chest flexed. A curl fell loose from his leather tie. She felt the familiar coil in the pit of her stomach; her mouth began to water for more than just roasted rabbit.

"And why are you eyeing me like you want to eat me?" Jon teased.

Her smile widened, she stood up from her chair and began to walk towards him. "Because maybe I’m suddenly hungry for something other than roasted rabbit... I think I would like to taste my husband instead," she replied seductively.

"Can you repeat that?" he questioned with a quirked brow.

“You heard me Jon Snow, I am no longer hungry for rabbit,” she stated as placed her hand on his chest and pressed a soft kiss to his pouty pink lips. “I think I would like my husband’s cock fill me first.”

Jon chuckled loudly.

She pulled back and looked him in the eyes, “What? Is it a crime that I want my pretty husband’s thick, juicy cock inside of me?”

"No, but what if I don't want to put my thick, juicy cock inside of you?" He teased in a low gruff tone.

‘Oh so he wants to play games.’ She thought with a smirk as one of her hands traveled down his bare chest and to his crotch. She could feel his cock hardening in his breeches under her warm hand. “Hmm. I am a dragon and dragons take what they want… And besides, your cock feels as though it will be more than willing to give me what it is that I crave.”

Jon removed her hand and pressed a kiss to her nose. “I will be willing to give you exactly what you crave,” Jon paused and smiled. The next thing she knew, a chunk of roasted rabbit meat was shoved into her mouth, “After you have eaten all your rabbit. Our son need more than just bread and cheese… and he certainly cannot grow from what my cock will give to you. Now sit down and eat.”

Daenerys huffed like a petulant child as she sat back down in her chair. Jon smirked as he placed her plate in front of her and she had not choice to chew the food he had forced into her mouth moments before. As she chewed, her anger and frustration diminished. The meat was perfectly roasted. It was juicy and divine. It did not take her long to start licking the grease from her fingers after finishing the entire plate. She wanted to like the plate like Ghost, but was to restrain her impulses and maintain her dignity.

“Gods you are sexy,” Jon murmured, taking her hand from her mouth.

Her head snapped up from her plate. She was about to retort, but the next thing she knew, Jon was suckling on the fingers she had just had in her mouth. She smiled. “I believe you promised to give me what I truly craved after I finished feeding our son.”

“Aye, I did. And I am a man of my word,” Jon stated as he removed her fingers from his mouth, took both of her hands in his and her from her chair. He stood in front of her. She could see the hunger, lust and love in his eyes. He walked forward, forcing her to step back. When she felt to pillows of their bed on the back of her thighs, he pressed a kiss to her lips and rasped into her ear, “How might I be of service, my queen?”

It took her a moment to clear he mind. He had not yet touched her and she felt the slickness forming between her thighs. The tone in his voice, his scent, his breath on her ear. He was intoxicating. “I believe I said I needed your cock to fill my cunt.” She stated, hoping her voice was not as small as it sounded to her own ears.

Their lips met in a hungry heated kiss. Her hands made quick work of the leather surrounding his waste before reaching down to loosen the ties of his leather riding breeches. At times like this she was thankful he had begun to wear typical dress of a Dothraki Khal, ‘less layers to remove.’ She could feel the already noticeable budge of his erection. She had to press her thighs together to ease some of her arousal. While she worked to free his cock, he had already loosened the ties to her leather halter-top, her leather skirt was on the ground and was he was now beginning to work on the ties of her riding pants.

He broke their kiss and gently laid her down on the pillows of their bed, her feet dangling over the side. He stared at her with hungry eyes while he pushed his trousers to the floor, allowing his swollen member to spring free from its leather prison. She had to wipe the drool from the corners of her mouth.

She watched as he toed out of his boots before he stalked over to her and finished removing her halter-top. His hands ghosted down her naked chest, “Gods your breasts have gotten so big,” he murmured as he cupped one of them in his hand. “And they will only be bigger once they are filled with milk.”

She was panting.

His hands continued their slow journey as he stood over her, next settling on the swell of her womb. He knelt down on the ground and pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach. “I am so thankful that we have plenty of food; your stomach is growing larger every day. I love seeing you swollen with my child.”

As much as she treasured hearing his proclamations of love, she needed him. Her core was already throbbing with anticipation. From where he was kneeling, she was sure he could smell her arousal through her riding leathers. “Jon. Please,” she whimpered.

He smirked as he pressed one more kiss to her navel before he too slowly removed her boots and then her pants. Once her pants were discarded, he began placing feather light kisses to her thighs. She was panting, her cunt pulsating. She cried out when his lips finally peppered a kiss to her swollen, sensitive clit. She could feel her orgasm approaching and he had barely touched her.

“Gods Dany, you are so wet. I need a taste,” Jon muttered against her cunt before his tongue leisurely swiped down her slit, parting her lips. She felt him drinking in her nectar. “You taste so fucking good.” He whispered, licking her again before he began to suck on her swollen nub.

“Please… Please Jon, don’t stop,” she cried out when she felt him place two fingers inside her cunt, pumping, and twisting his fingers, hitting the spot he knew made her come undone. Within moments, she felt burning waves of pleasure as her orgasm washed through her.

Jon then met her eyes as he stood from where he had been kneeling on the ground. He wiped her juices from his beard. “You really do want my cock inside of you, don’t you?”

She was still coming down from her climax and could not form words, so she nodded and hummed, “AHH HMM.”

Dany watched her husband through hooded eyes as pulled her back to the edge of the bed. He used his knee to push her thigh apart and settled between her legs. She felt the blunt head of his engorged member slip through her folds. Teasing her. One. Two. Three times. Both of the moaning in pleasure when he slid his thick erect member fully into her warm, slick, tingling, cunt. He stilled for a moment, allowing her to adjust to the fullness in her channel.

“Gods Dany, you feel so fucking good,” he murmured as he moved his hands to her hips and slowly started pumping. “Gods your pussy feels even better when you’re with child.”

She was in ecstasy. She could feel the heat slowly building back in her core. However, he was not giving her enough. His pace was too slow. She needed more. “Fuck me, Jon. Faster,” she demanded. “I’m close. I need you to give me more. Please.”

Without a word, his pace picked up. Drips of sweat fell from his brow and down his chest. She could see the muscles in his chest and arms rippling with exertion. ‘Gods he is so fucking sexy,’ She thought just he before began to apply pressure to her bundle of nerves with his thumb. She wailed in pleasure. Her body shuttering as her second orgasm burned through her body. The walls of her pussy clamped around his member.

“Don’t move or I’m gonna come,” Jon begged.

She could not stop. Every nerve ending in her body was singing to her as she was trying to ride out her pleasure. Her body convulsing below him.

“Fuck me,” Jon grunted as her orgasm sent him over the edge as well.

"That was quick," she teased as he pulled out and collapsed on the bed beside her, their legs dangling off the side of the bed.

"Aye,” he chuckled. “I'm afraid I'm not able to uphold my stamina when you’re showing. I can't seem to be able to control myself... You’re just too fucking gorgeous.”

“Jon Snow,” she chastised with a smiled as she playfully slapped his chest. “So you don’t enjoy fucking me when I’m not already full of your child?”

“I never said that! It’s just that when you are full of my child your whole body glows and is so responsive to my touches... I cannot get enough,” he explained.

"Oh really?” She inquired with a quirked brow.

“Aye,” he affirmed. “Just the thought of your tits bouncing as you ride me like you do your Silver... Thinking of breastmilk filling my stomach as I suckle your teats like our babe will do makes my cock stand firmly at attention.”

“Jon, you are not going to suckle my breastmilk! That will be for our son only!”

“Well he is just going to have to share,” Jon replied nonchalantly.

Dany chuckled. “We will just have to see about that after my milk comes in.” She then turned to her husband. “Is what you said true, or are you only saying that in order to get me to ride you… So that see my breast bounce in front of your face?" She questioned as she felt heat again between her thighs.

“What do you think?” He asked as he took her hand and placed it on his already hardening dick.

“Well, I guess it is my turn to get to work, Jon Snow.”

After another round of passionate love making they quickly fell asleep, knowing they needed their rest because at dawn they would enter the Red Waste and continue until they reached the city of Qarth......

 

 


 

Notes:

Let us know what you all think in the chapter below! Your opinions and ideas are always appreciated! 😊

Chapter 26: Departure, Visions and an Escape

Summary:

Section 1, Tyrion: Maester Aemon shares news with Tyrion prior to his departure from Castle Black.
Section 2, Bran: Bran shares confusing visions of the past with Jojen.
Section 3, Ashara: After speaking with Aerys, Ashara knows that there is no saving the boy she raised as her own and she fears for her and Alysanne's safety.

Notes:

cmyatt01: Happy Wednesday everyone - Here is a shorter than normal update, but this just felt like the best place to end the chapter. Jon and Dany are currently traveling through the Red Waste, so there is not much story to tell there at the moment.

As always, please leave a comment and let us know what you thought of the chapter. Questions, constructive criticisms and suggestions are always appreciated!

PS - I have started a new Modern AU Jonerys story, Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned - if you have time, I'd love for you to check it out and let me know what you think of it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

 

Tyrion Lannister

It had been nearly two moon turns since his King had left for his mission beyond the Wall and they had yet to receive any news from the traveling party. ‘Not that they would. It is not as if they took ravens with them or even enough people to send a runner back to Castle Black if they found trouble. For all I know my King is dead and no one will ever find his body. What in the bloody seven hells was he thinking? He should have sent his men in his place and then met for a parley with the King Beyond the Wall.’ Tyrion sighed, trying to take his mind off the worst-case scenarios his King could be facing and refocus at the task at hand. Packing.

The men Queen Catelyn had sent to escort him back to Winterfell had arrived at Castle Black a week ago, tired and sore from the long trip, so when he suggested they stay and rest for a days, he knew they had been thankful. But now he could tell they were ready to head home. They were ready to get back to their friends and families. The Hand of the King in the North smiled when he thought about the Stark children, the little prince and princesses – he was looking forward to seeing them again and knew they would be excited to hear all about his time at the Wall. ‘Tommen and Myrcella would also love to hear about my adventures at the Wall… even though I just stayed in the library, reading and researching. Maybe one day their mother or father will allow them to come and visit or maybe I will be able to visit them at Casterly Rock… Wishful thinking, maybe once they were grown they would come visit him in the North.’

Tyrion was putting the last of his belongs into his trunk when he heard a knock at the door. “Maester Aemon,” he stated as he opened the door. He could tell something was bothering the old man. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit… I have been at Castle Black for two moon turns and I do believe this is the first time you have come to visit me in my rooms. I honestly did not know you knew where my chambers were located. And I cannot believe you were able to find them on your own,” Tyrion stated wittedly, trying to lighten the Maester’s mood.

Maester Aemon’s lips twitched before going back to his solemn expression. “I did not come alone, young Pyp brought me. I had him drop me off before heading down to the kitchen to get a meal for you.”

“I am not hungry…”

“You did not break your fast this morning, Lord Tyrion,” the old blind Maester cut in. “And you will need your strength for the journey.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Tyrion smiled. However, he knew the Maester was hiding something. “Please come in and sit by the fire while we wait for your steward to return.”

When the Maester nodded, Tyrion reached up, took him by the hand and led him to an old, worn-out upholstered chair next to the hearth. The chair was red crushed velvet and probably was once fitting for royalty, but just as everything else at Castle Black, the chair was in a sorry state as well.

As Tyrion sat down in the matching chair across from him, Pyp entered the room with a horn of ale and a bowl of warm porridge. Both men thanked the young steward as he left the room. While Tyrion ate, the Maester presented him with several more books he felt might be useful, and told him that Joffrey would be arriving at Castle Black in a few days. After he finished his meal, he put the old books into his trunk and the Stark bannermen came and took his trunk down to the cart. However, instead of leaving, he told then men he would be down shortly. He knew something was wrong.

“Maester, I have known you for a while now, and I can tell there is something on your mind,” The Imp stated after he closed the door and returned to his seat. “The last time I saw you with this look was when you told me Joffrey was almost killed by Wildlings on his way to Castle Black, so you know that I don’t give two shits about his impending arrival… I honestly cannot believe you thought I’d be upset that that little shit almost died,” Tyrion added with a chuckle. “So please, just state whatever is it that you are having a hard time telling me. I am sure that it truly is nothing to be concerned about.”

“Lord Tyrion,” the blind man stated. “I know you will not like the news from Kings Landing I have to share?”

“And why is that?” The Hand of the Northern King snickered. “I can assure you I have no love for my father, sister or her fat husband. I will most likely be pleased if you bring me news that my father died while taking a shit or a building collapsed onto my dear sister or that a bore gored the whoremonger. So, please my friend – just tell me.”

Tyrion a bit taken aback when he saw the seriousness in the old Maester’s unseeing eyes. Then, when he reached out his old wrinkled hands towards him, the half-man gripped them and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“My Lord, I am afraid I have just received word that your niece, Myrcella and nephew, Tommen have passed…”

Tyrion felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Of all the news the Maester could have told him, never in a thousand years did he think those words would come from his mouth. The smile fell from his face. Maester Aemon’s words kept repeating in his head. Your niece, Myrcella and nephew, Tommen have passed. Your niece and nephew have passed. Tommen and Myrcella have passed. He felt as though he were in a dream. He could hear the Maester continued to speak, but he could not make out any of the words. “No! It cannot be! You told me last week they were being sent to Casterly Rock for their safety. So the Royal family would be separated in case of a Targaryen invasion.”

“Lord Tyrion, I am so sorry. I know how much the children meant to you. I know how much you loved them.”

“What… Do you what happened to them?” Tyrion asked trying to keep his voice from cracking as he wiped the tears from his eyes before they fell. He felt as if someone had stabbed him in the chest.

A troubled look spread across the old man’s face. “There were not many details given in the correspondence. The message only stated that their bandits robbed the camp and before burning it to the ground. That they were about a two days ride from Casterly Rock. There were no survivors.”

“But you have heard more?”

“I have heard several theories. Some say that you were the one to order the hit on behalf of your new King – As a way to prove your loyalty to the Starks.”

“We both know that it not true,” Tyrion snorted. “I loved Tommen and Myrcella. I would never harm them! There is no way I could have even done this! I have been away from Winterfell for over three moon turns… Moreover, no ravens leave your rookery without your knowledge. I loved Tommen and Myrcella,” He repeated. “I was happy to learn they were going to be at Casterly Rock. I would have been able to communicate with them because I know people there. People who could have safely and privately delivered messaged to them for me.”

The Maester smiled sadly.

“What other rumors have your heard,” Tyrion inquired, wiping away the annoying tears that continued to fall.

“Others state that the King and Queen of the North sent assassins after the prince and princess. Some say it was a Wildling attack.”

“The Starks would never kill Tommen and Myrcella – The North is independent, they would have jeopardized their independence or started an unnecessary war… Besides, everyone knows the King Eddard is north of the Wall, trying to find his bastard and his heir... And the Wildlings have never traveled that far south,” Tyrion scoffed.

“I agree. As to most others.” Aemon sighed. “What I fear is people will believe the last rumor I have heard to be true.”

“And what is that?”

“Others believe it was the Targaryens. That they hired assassins, sellswords, to kill the Royal children of their enemy,” The Maester spat before paused.

Tyrion had never heard the old man so worked up, and he did not know if his friend stopped talking in and attempt to calm temper or if he waiting for him to respond to the theory the Targaryens were to blame for Tommen and Myrcella’s demise. ‘What do you say to a man, who just learned that he is not alone in the world, that those family he just learned he had could be killers? Not that I believe that, especially if Eddard Stark himself raised one of them.’

Apparently, he took too long contemplating what to say, because when he said nothing Maester Aemon continued, calmer. “I do not believe it was my niece and nephew. If what King Eddard told me about them is true, I believe they are kind and noble – a true king and queen who only want what is best for their people. He told me they do not place the blame children for the sins of their parents.”

“I agree with you my friend. I do not think Jon and Daenerys are responsible for what happened to my niece and nephew,” Tyrion confirmed. He took a shaky breath, hoping to keep his shattered heart in one piece and continued, “Also, there is no way the Targaryens would have known where to send assassins. They are currently in the Great Dothraki Sea. It would take at least a moon turn for that information to reach them – there is no way they would have had time to order an attack on the children. So, that leaves us with the question, did someone target Tommen and Myrcella or was it really just a random gang of thieves?”

Tyrion was furious. He wanted to find whoever was responsible for the deaths of his niece and nephew and make them pay for what had happened. Even though he was in the North, he wanted to find out whoever killed then and given them a slow painful death. He wanted them to suffer by his bare hands.

“I do not know who killed the innocent children, my Lord Hand. I do not know if it was an accident or if they were killed on purpose.” Maester Aemon then squeezed his hand. “I know how it feels to be helpless when your family is killed. As you know, I have been serving the Wall for years – I actually chose to take to black at the age of five and thirty because I was tired of the politics – I did not want people to use me as a pawn to dethrone my younger brother, Aegon V.” The old man sighed. Tyrion could tell it was hard for him to discuss the downfall of his family. “I have served the Wall for sixty-five years many people have forgotten who I am, that I am a Targaryen. When I heard about the tragedy at Summerhall, I was stuck here at the Wall, but I knew my family would live on through my brother’s son and his family. Then, when the ravens brought the news from the south about the ruin of my house. The death of my entire family – Aerys, Rhaegar, Elia, and the children… Even the little children. My vows were tested that days. But, there was nothing I could do. I was already an old man, helpless, blind, and frail. And even if I had still been a young, able bodied man, what difference could I have made. I am only one person. All I would have done was brought about my own death at least here at the Wall I have a purpose. So, what I am asking you, my Lord, is do you want to ride south, to a certain death? Or, do you want to serve your King and help him and my family find a way to defeat the great evil that is coming for us? Would you not want to do something that would have made your niece and nephew proud?”

“Gods how do you always know what to say,” Tyrion choked as he wiped his tears. “And I do hope you have the chance to meet your family someday.”

Before the Maester could respond, there was a knock at the door and Pyp entered the room.

“Lord Tyrion. The Stark men wanted me to inform you, your trunk has been secured and your horse is saddled. They are ready to depart.” The Maester’s steward stated as he helped he old man from his seat. “They are waiting for you in the courtyard.”

“Thank you Pyp.” Tyrion replied before turning his gazed towards his friend. "Well Maester Aemon, I do believe this is good-bye.”

“I hope to see you again in the future,” the Maester replied with a kind smile.  

Tyrion was walking then to the door when the Maester paused and reached into his pocket. “Oh, I do have one last thing for you before you go.” He handed Tyrion a small scroll. “I arrived for you just before I came to visit.”

“Thank you Maester,” Tyrion stated as he took the message.

When the door closed, he inspected the scroll. His brow furrowed in confusion. The message was sealed with a simple dollop of black wax. He cracked the seal:

I tried to save Tommen and Myrcella from Robert after he learned the truth. My King and Queen would not condone the deaths of innocent children. I was unable to save Tommen. Myrcella is heading to Winterfell for her safety. She must assume a new identity when she arrives. – Varys (Burn this letter)

Tyrion walked over to the hearth and threw the letter into the flames. His heart clinched and tears once again made their way down is face. ‘Varys saved Myrcella. Myrcella is coming to me. I need to get to Winterfell before she gets there. I must be there to protect her.’

The Hand of the King in the North quickly grabbed his cloak and secured it before making his way to the courtyard. He now had reason to quit stalling at the Wall and return to Winterfell……

 

 


 

Brandon Stark 

 

It was early evening and Bran was was sitting with his hand pressed against the smooth white bark of the Heart Tree in the Godswood of Greywater Watch, warging. Visions were flooding his mind quicker than he could process what he was seeing. When the visions finally ended, he gasped. As his vision returned, he saw the rays from the setting sun, shimmering across the leaves of the many trees in the thick forest.

"Bran, what did you see? What were the visions about?" Jojen asked as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

The young greenseer’s head was throbbing. He shook his head trying to recall all that he had seen. “I’m not sure,” Bran answered as he began to rub his temples. “It was so blurry. It made no sense. It was almost as it was a vision of another past.”

“Another past?” Jojen question. “Was it Jon’s past or Daenerys’ past?”

“It was of one I haven’t seen before. One where the Night King was killed...”

“You saw how to defeat the Night King!” Jojen exclaimed “That is excellent!”

“NO! It was horrible!” Bran protested. “It made no sense! It was almost as if someone just made up a fantasy story, and got tired of writing so the made up a senseless ending.” 

“What? What happened? What if it is the true way to defeat the Great Other?”

“There is no way! It would never be that easy. In my vision a Valyrian Steel dagger to the heart shattered the Night King into thousands of icy shards... A dagger that was wielded by my little sister, Arya.”

“You are right. It could never be that easy. What would have been the point of the Lord of Light bringing Jon back from the dead. Jon was brought back from the dead for a purpose,” Jojen agreed.

“But that’s not all,” Bran continued. “In this vision, Daenerys lost everything and in her grief turned her into the Mad Queen. She used her Dragon to burn the people King’s Landing to ash and the buildings to the ground after the Lannister army had surrendered. Then Jon was used a pawn by others in the Game of Thrones! They convinced Jon to stab his true love in the heart for her crimes! And then... And then I was named Bran the Broken, King of the Southern SIx Kingdoms and Sansa was named Queen in the North!”

Bran was surprised when he heard Jojen’s laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Bran exclaimed. “In this vision I had seen what was going to happen! I knew Euron was going to met Daenerys at Dragonstone and slay Rhaegal! I knew that Sansa was going to to tell Lord Tyrion about Jon’s heritage. I knew Lord Varys and Lord Tyrion were going to on their queen! I knew Jon would choose duty over love and be exiled to live a life beyond the Wall with the Free Folk. I knew and I did nothing to stop it because I thought I would be a better King!”

“What? You are jesting,” Jojen choked out though his bout of laughter.

“I would never jest about something as serious as this!”

“That makes it even funnier!” His greenseer friend breathed out as he continued to laugh. After a few deep breaths, he composed himself and continued, “Jon is smarter than that! He would never be manipulated by others! And everything I have seen of Daenerys she could never become a Mad Queen! She always worked to prove to others that she was not her father. She refused to lay siege to King’s Landing to prevent the starvation of the innocents. She refused to use her dragons on the city because she had no desire to become queen of the ashes. There is no way that would ever become a reality.”

Bran sighed as he ran his hand though his shoulder length auburn hair, “Perhaps I misinterpreted the vision.”

“Or perhaps you only fell asleep and had a crazy dream. You have a very sensitive and active mind. What you just described to me sounds like a poorly written tale. One that built up all the characters to do amazing things and just decided to try and shock the readers with such as ludicrous, unbelievable series of events that make absolutely no sense,” Jojen suggested.

"I know it sounds absurd, but what if this was a possible ending to a different past life? A past life that neither Jon nor Daenerys experienced.” When Jojen quirked his brow in confusion Bran continued. “What if there is more to these past lives than meets the eye. More than what we can see.”

“What do you mean? We both know that Jon and Daenerys were sent back by the Lord of Light to end the threat.”

“Perhaps,” Bran agreed. “Or perhaps it has something to do with Aerys Targaryen.”

“Aerys Targaryen? What could this possibly have to do with the Mad King?” the other greenseer inquired.

"Aerys is a mad king, but he is not the Mad King. And he is a real and current threat to Jon and Daenerys’ throne. He is a man who was born as a consequence of time travel.” 

"Bran please stop with these riddles!” Jojen stated as he raked his hands across his face in frustration. “Please, just tell me what you're going on about?" 

Bran sighed and looked at the crying face on the Heart Tree. “The Aerys Targaryen I have seen is a real and current threat. Apparently, when Daenerys was sent back something went wrong... I believe her soul was split into two, each one side of the coin. Daenerys is good and Aerys the madness. I say this because I saw Melisandre struggling with the spell when Daenerys was sent back. Then when I witnessed her birth in this life it was different. She was born and Rhaella survived. Nursed her at her breast. Then the pains began again. At first the Maester believe it was the afterbirth... but it was a second babe. The Queen knew she would not survive the birth, so she entrusted her newborn daughter and Viserys to Ser Willem Darry to take her children to safety in Braavos. Shortly after they left, she birthed a son. She named him Aerys after his father. As she was dying, Jon Connington, one of Rhaegar’s best friends arrived. She entrusted him with her son. And she requested he take the infant to Essos, but that they not follow Ser Willem to Braavos because she knew her children would be hunted – she knew it was safer to separate them. Therefore, Lord Connington made his way to Pentos.”

“That is impossible! There was no Aerys or twin sibling in either of their past lives! This makes no sense.”

“I know, but there is more,” Bran deadpanned.

“More?”

“Aye,” Bran nodded. “When Jon Connington and the babe arrived in Pentos, they ran into Ashara Dayne and her bastard daughter.”

“That is impossible! I have seen Ashara die – I saw her jump from the Palestone Sword Tower at Starfall! I saw her daughter die a few days after her birth! I saw it in both Jon and Daenerys’ pasts.”

“I promise you, Ashara and her daughter, Alysanne are alive. They are with Aerys in Norvos... And Aerys is married to his bastard sister,” Bran stated.

“His sister?”

“Ashara’s daughter, Alysanne is the Mad King’s bastard daughter. When Aerys learned Rhaella was with child, he wanted another child. He believed Rhaella would birth him another son, therefore, he needed a daughter. The Dayne’s have some Valyrian blood, so he convinced Ashara to have his child. That her daughter would be legitimized and marry the King. He told her he was going to name his youngest child as his heir because Rhaegar was too soft and Viserys was too weak... If she refused, he said he would kill Elia and her children. She agreed.”

"This is madness,” Jojen whispered in disbelief.

“Therefore, Aerys believes he is the true heir.”

“Did Aerys disinherit Rhaegar and Viserys?”

“No,” Bran shook his head. “He died before any of the children were born. Rhaegar had also perished, so he no longer saw his line as a threat... After Rhaegar’s death, he signed a proclamation at Princess Elia’s request that her children would give up their claim to the throne and they would e allowed to live out the remainder of their days in Dorne. They were preparing to leave when the sacking of King’s Landing occurred.”

Bran remained silent after that. He could tell his friend was trying to process the information he was given. After several minutes, he responded. "So you're saying that Daenerys was split into two people when she returned to this life? She received her heart and soul and the other half, her twin brother, Aerys, received the Targaryen hatred, rage and madness?”

"I am not certain. But, that is what I believe. I could be wrong about her soul being split, but all I know is that Aerys is in Norvos.” 

Jojen sighed. “Have you seen any more about this Aerys? Do you know what his motives are? What drives him? What does he want?"  

Bran stood up from the ground and began to pace. He ran his hand down his face, trying to recall all he had seen in his vision. “In our Daenerys’ past life she and Jon both were taken over with the spirit of Azor Ahai... I think Aerys believe that half of Azor Ahai’s spirit lives within him as well. Therefore, he believes in order to complete the soul of the Bringer of the Dawn, he must bind with Daenerys... That he must wed her and father children on her. He believes that Jon is dangerous to Daenerys. That he will kill her to bring forth the Lightbringers...”

Jojen burst out of laughter once more. “We have both seen the love that Jon and Daenerys share for one another! Jon could never kill her, which was why that vision you saw of Jon stabbing his true love in the heart was so ridiculous.”

Bran did not know how to take his friend’s reaction. Everything Jojen was saying was true, but his friend normally was so stoic. Occasionally Bran would see a hint of a smile turn up on his lips, but never anything like this. And definitely not two bouts or roaring laughter in the span of minutes. 

“Is there anything you have seen? Any other threats?” Jojen inquired once his laughter was spent.

 “Aye,” Bran stated with a nod of his head as he met Jojen’s mossy gaze once more. “There is a new threat growing Beyond the Wall.” 

"What is the threat? We both know The Night King is real and that he is coming for us."

"No. There is no Night King. The Free Folk now call the Great Other the Ice King.”

“The Ice King? Is it just a different name for the same threat,” Jojen inquired.

"No, it is a new and more dangerous threat that followed Daenerys to this world from her last,” Bran stated. Before Jojen could reply, he continued. “It appears the Jon from Daenerys past life tried to kill the Night King without bringing forth the Lightbringers... By doing this, he gave up his own life and fused his corpse and his soul with the Night King. The Ice King knows everything about the Daenerys that has come to our world. But I do believe I know his motive. He also wants Daenerys, to have her as his wife once more and he will kill everything in her path to get to her."

"Then it might be time we sent word to Daenerys and Jon?" 

"And how do you propose I do that?" Brandon scoffed. “It would take at least two moons for the message to reach them!”

His friend smiled and placed a firm hand on his shoulder, “Bran, remember what you are. You are one of the most powerful wargs and greenseers that has ever lived. I know you will come up with a way to warn them.”

Bran sighed. He it felt as if the fate of Westeros and Essos was sitting firmly on his shoulders. He had to figure out how to get word to Daenerys and Jon as quickly as possible...... 

 


 

Ashara Dayne

Ashara quietly walked through the dark, damp servant passages of the Norvoshi manse trying to make it to her daughter’s chambers. She paused every few steps to listen for the footsteps of anyone that could be tailing her. It would be easier if she had lit some of the candles on the sconces or brought a torch, but that was too risky. She could not allow herself to be followed; if she was to be followed she would likely be dead before the next sunset. ‘No one is following you, Ashara, you must hurry and get to Alys. You must convenience her that we have to leave. That we need to get on that boat and get as far away from Aerys as possible.’

This was one of the most painful decisions of her life. She loved Aerys as if her were her own son. But she also knew his coin had flipped. He was no longer the sweet babe who suckled at her teats. Gone was the soft little boy who would bring her wild flowers or come crying to her if he skinned his knees. He was no longer the kind young man who would do anything possible to make her or Alysanne smile. He was no longer the man she allowed her daughter to marry. He was no longer a man whom would be a good King for the Seven Kingdoms.

Ever since Aerys had, what he called his awakening, he had become more like his father. He had become an unrecognizable monster. He was paranoid. He saw threats around every corner. He kept saying the voices were telling him he had to join with his sister Daenerys to become whole again and to let nothing, not even the ones he loved, stand in his way of completing this mission. Every day she woke up in fear for Alys’ life and for her own – She knew that he loved them both, but if he saw them as a threat, she knew he would kill them. On more than one occasion, she had heard her daughter’s cries of pain as Aerys forced himself upon her, demanding she give him a son. She wept she saw the bruises on her daughter face she tried to hide with powder and the bruises on her arms she tried to hide with sleeved gowns. Every day she would silently pray, to any of the gods that might be listening, that it would not the day Aerys finally kill her or her sweet Alys.

When she reached to door that would lead to Alysanne's chambers she took a deep breath. She was about to knock but hesitated. She did not want to alert anyone. She knew that Aerys was not in the company of her daughter, she had mixed a pinch of sweetsleep into his honeyed wine, and he was sleeping peacefully and would be until morning. However, she did not know if Alysanne was in the company of her ladies or handmaidens at the moment, so she listened. When she heard no sounds coming from the other side of the door, she took a deep breath and turned the knob.

The door from the servant passage entered into her daughter’s bedchamber and there was just enough light moon filtered through the glass balcony door, illuminating her daughter’s naked form in the middle of the large bed. Alysanne was tossing and turning in a restless sleep. The silk bedsheet had been kicked to the floor. It was then Ashara saw the true extent of the injuries Aerys had inflicted on her daughter. Various stages of bruising covered her arms and thighs. There were scratches on her back and bite marks on her breasts and collarbones. ‘Aerys look what you have done to my daughter!’ She took slow, careful steps towards to bed and sat down. When she did, her daughter gasped softly as her eyes opened wide.

“Shhh, sweetling, it is only me,” Ashara cooed softly as she tendered swept her daughters soft brown hair from her face.

“Mother? What time is it? Why are you here?” Alysanne inquired as she sat up in the bed. Her hand searching for and failing to find the sheet to cover her battered body.

‘What should I say? I know she loves Aerys and thinks he will come back to her, but I know he is lost. I have seen this before. I watched her Father go down this same path. It will only get worse. There is no saving him,’ Ashara thought as she felt a tear fall down her cheek. Her eyes still fixated on her daughter’s wounds.

“Mother, I’m fine,” Alysanne stated softly as she pulled her into a warm embrace. “It’s just… It’s just Aerys does not realize how strong he is. I know he did not hurt me on purpose.”

“Alys, we are leaving. Tonight,” Ashara whispered firmly into her daughter’s ear. “It is no longer safe here.”

Alysanne pulled out of the embrace and looked her in the eyes. Ashara could see the fear etched on the delicate features of her face. “Did… Did Ser Harry get a letter to Westeros? Did King Robert find us?”

“No.”

“Mother, I don’t understand? Why must we leave if there is not a…”

“Alys,” Ashara interrupted, her hands gripping her daughter’s shoulders. “You know who the threat is. Look at you. He is taking all of his frustrations out on you and it is only a matter of time before he goes too far… Before he takes you from me!”

“Mother, Aerys could never truly hurt me. He loves me. He will come back to me… to us,” her daughter weakly argued.

"Aerys is lost!” Ashara snapped, though mindful of keeping her voice low. “I should have talked him out of visiting Valyria. I should have told him to wait. Alys, you don’t understand – He has become the reincarnation of his father and it is only a matter of time before the madness completely overtakes him. I was there when he would beat and rape Queen Rhaella. I was there when he began to burn anyone he did not like. You were there earlier today, when he burned the young soldier because he did not have his armor secured correctly.”

“He will come back to us. I am sure of it. I know he will… Alysanne trailed off. Ashara then noticed the tears filling in the corners of her daughter’s eyes and her hand was resting on her flat stomach. “He would never abandon or harm me or his child…”

“No. It can’t be,” Ashara gasped. “It is impossible. You should have been getting moon tea with every meal… I made sure of it.”

Alysanne wiped her tears as she shook her head. “Aerys found the ingredients in Taenela’s chambers. She confessed that she had been giving serving it to me in small does with my meals, without my knowledge or consent.”

“We must get her… She must come with us. It is not safe for her here.”

“She cannot. Aerys burned her alive in the middle of the night… over a moon turn ago because she betrayed us.”

'He killed Taenela. Taelena is dead and it is my fault. I should have found a way to serve Alys the tea myself,' Ashara thought as she soon stood up from her daughter’s bed and began to pace. ‘He is already further gone than I feared. What are we going to do?’ “Does Aer know about the child?”

“No. My moonblood is only a few days late, I was going to have the midwife confirm my suspension in the morning… But, I know it is true Mother. I know that I am with child.”

"Alysanne, we have to go,” Ashara plead, sitting back down on her daughters bed and taking her hand. “I know you want your babe to know his or her father, but your babe will be better without him… I don’t know what happened to Aerys in Valyria, but he is acting just like his father… your father, did after he returned from Dunkensdale. I thought I would be able to bring him back to us, but he is unreachable. If we do not get away from his paranoia and his wrath, I fear we will be dead before your child even takes it’s first breath.”

She could see the mixture of emotions on her daughter’s face. She knew that her daughter loved her brother, her husband and that she already loved the child growing in her womb. Ashara also knew that Alysanne always dreamed of knowing her father, even though she knew that her father was an evil man.

“How are we supposed to escape?” Alysanne finally asked. Ashara sighed in relief. “Aerys has guards at all the gates. We are trapped.”

“I have taken care of all guards outside.” When her daughter furrowed her brow she explained, “I put sweetsleep in the wine. All of the gate guards are asleep at their posts.”

“What about the guards in the hall? The guards outside my door?”

Ashara then pointed to the open servant door, “This hallway has an exit that leads straight to the East Gate. We will not disturb your guards.”

“After we escape the manse, where will we go?”

"We are going to the docks. There is a ship leaving for Volanis at dawn. From Volantis we will be heading to Qarth.”

“Mother why would we be going to Qarth?”

“I intercepted a letter meant for Aerys. I stated that your sister, Daenerys and her husband, Aegon just entered the Red Waste with their Dothraki Horde and are heading towards Qarth.”

"You plan to meet with my sister and nephew?” Alysanne nearly choked, “Mother, they do not even know that I or Aerys exist! They will think we are pretenders!”

“That is a chance we must be willing to take. I do not know if they believe us, but if what Aerys said of her past life is true, she was a good and just queen who longed for a family. I have to hope that we can come up with a way to make her see we are her family and not a threat to her. We also must warn them about Aerys.”

“Okay mother.”

Ashara quickly helped her daughter get dressed. They packed a small bag with a change of clothes and each of them secured their coin purses on their thigh, next to their concealed dagger. The two women then made their way through the servants’ passages, to the docks, and onto the ship unnoticed.

Ashara stood on the deck, with her daughter safely in her arms, watching the sun rise as the ship sailed south towards the free city of Volantis……

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Here is a mini synopsis of where are players are currently:

Essos: (East to West)
1. Jon, Dany, Robb and their Dothraki are riding through the Red Waste to get to Qarth. Jon is not sure why they need to go there, but he is going off his spidy sences. Dany is about 6.5 months along.
2. Ashara and Alysanne are heading to Volantis to escape Aerys, Dany's psycho twin brother. They are planning to meet Jon and Dany in Qarth (Alysanne is Dany's 'bastard' sister)
3. Aerys is in Norvos with the Golden Company and his dragon. Jon Connington is also with him - Harry Strickland has already lost his head.
4. The Sandsnakes as well as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan, are searching for the Targaryens.
5. Stannis, his wife and daughter, Davos, and Melisandre are stopping in the free cities, they are heading to Qarth so Stannis can kill Jon.
7. Illyrio is chilling at his manse in Pentos.

Westeros (North to South)
1. Ned, Benjen, Theon and Jory are Beyond the Wall, traveling with Tormund, Ygritte and Wun-Wun to parlay with Mance.
2. Tyrion is heading back to Winterfell after visiting the Wall.
3. Catelyn, Edmure, Sansa, Arya, Rickon and Gendry are at Winterfell, preparing for the arrival of Yohn Royce, Robyn Arryn (and Myrcella). Maester Luwin is searching for somewhere for the Dragons to hid if Jon and Company decide to ride to Westeros on Dragon back and is also searching the north for possible Dragonglass deposits.
4. Bran is with the Reeds in Greywater Watch, working on his skills as a greenseer/warg.
5. Yohn Royce and Robyn Arryn are heading to Winterfell. Lysa thinks that by fostering Robyn in Winterfell, she can form a marriage alliance.
6. Cersei is about 6.5 months pregnant with Robert's child. Baelish is scheming. Robert wants the Targaryens dead. Varys is watching everything. Renly and Loras have their torid love affair going strong.
7. Sam is chilling in Oldtown at the Citadel, seaching for anything that might help them stop the long night.
8. They Tyrells and Martells are preparing for their journey to Winterfell. (I'm sure Oberyn and Ellaira are having fun in brothels all over Dorne)

Chapter 27: Faces of Ghosts

Summary:

Section One: Dany - The Khalasar arrives in Vaes Tolorro. Dany meets a familiar face in the gardens and Jon finds some interesting spoils.
Section Two: Ser Barristan finds a ghost in Volantis

Notes:

Cmyatt01- I hope you all enjoy the chapter. Sorry for the delay, but real life is busy and these sections were much harder to write than I anticipated (I had to research the cities and that turned into an adventure for me 😂🤣). As always, please let us know what you think in the comments - comments and kudos and bookmarks keep us motivated.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

Dany had forgotten just how relentless the summer sun was in the Red Waste and after nearly a moon turn of traveling she was in dire need of rest. She recalled an oasis she had stumbled upon in her past life, and was overjoyed when the large white walls came into view. In her past life, she had named the abandoned city she named Vaes Tolorro. Since it was barely past midday when they stumbled upon the once great city, Jon had wanted to continue to follow the comet southeast towards Qarth. However, once she informed him there was fresh, cold water in the wells, fruit trees in the gardens and some vegetation for the horses, he agreed to stop for the night, if the city was indeed safe.

After Bako and Rakharo declared the city to be uninhabited and no dangers were found, Dany, Jon and Robb lead the Khalasar through the broken city gates. The city was a maze of winding, narrow, red stone streets and alleyways, surrounded by chalky white, closely built, windowless buildings.  Many of the buildings were in various states of ruin - some appeared to have been damaged by a great fire while others seemed to have simply crumbled because years of exposure to the harsh desert climate - while others appeared in near pristine condition.

“Gods Dany, this place is amazing,” Robb mumbled softly, clearly in awe of his surroundings. “How did you know this was here?”

“I stayed here in the past, with the few members of the Khalasar that remained loyal to me. There were maybe 100 of us. Mostly the elderly,” she replied softly.

“I thought your Khalasar was over 100,000 warrior strong?” her good brother questioned as they rode past an empty marble plinth and towards the large palace at the end of the street.

“After the deaths Drogo and Rhaego, most of the Khalasar left with Drogo’s blood riders… they abandoned me.  I believe many thought that I had committed suicide when I walked into the flames of his funeral pyre.” Dany sighed deeply as she recalled the dark, long buried memories of her life with the Dothraki Mirri Maz Duur had returned to her. She could not believe how naïve she had been in her past life – when she looked back she realized she was nothing more than a young girl who had been chained to the Khal – she was exotic and different, she was his property, she was his personal slave. While Drogo was alive, she had no true power; he just made her think she had some power to appease her, to keep her happy because she was growing his son. “The few members of Drogo’s horde, the ones who remained until the flames were extinguished, became loyal to me. They believed I was sent from the Great Stallion because they saw me walk from the smothering ashes, covered in soot, but unburnt with three baby dragons.”

“Dany, I don’t understand why you just did not head back to the Dothraki Sea? Get back to Vaes Dothrak?” Her husband inquired.

“That is what I was supposed to do,” she admitted. “After the death of a Khal, his widowed Khaleesi is supposed to live out the remainder of her days with the Dosh Khaleen. However, I knew that was not my destiny – I was the mother of dragons and I was not born to live my days chained to the council of crones. Therefore, we wandered south, through the Red Waste. Looking for anywhere that would be safe. It was during this time that we found this ancient city.”

When they reached the palace at the end of the street, Jon informed the Khalasar spread out within the city and make camp for the night. Her husband then helped her to dismount her Silver, they tacked their horses to one of the stone columns in front of the structure and made their way inside. Dany led them to one of the wells and was thankful as the cool, crisp water slid down her parched throat as well as the temporary reprieve the shelter provided from the harsh environment of the Red Waste.

After they had washed up and rested, Dany decided to wonder the gardens with Ghost (who refused to leave her side), Doreah, Ser Jorah and Rakharo. Dark Sister on her back. Jon decided to explore the city for any hidden treasures that could be used to trade with Robb, Grey Wind and Bako. The Dragons had flown away to hunt.

“Khaleesi,” Doreah stated as she plucked some red grapes from a vine that was growing on a low, white stonewall. “This city is amazing. I wonder who built it and why it has been abandoned.”

”I believe this city was one of the city-states established by the people of Qarth. However, why it was abandoned, I do not know,” Daenerys answered honestly. “Although, because of the half-burnt buildings, I can presume the city was attacked by enemies who crossed the Red Waste in the ancient days.”

“Khalessi, it okay I go talk to friend?” her blood rider asked in broken common tongue. “I still watch for enemy and you have wolf and Andel.”

Dany nodded, not seeing reason to object to his request.

“I have not seen you and Rakharo spending much time together as of late,” Dany stated after her blood rider was out of earshot.

“I am no longer with him… I have a new lover, Khaleesi,” Doreah replied absentmindedly with a smirk on the corners of her lips, as she continued to pick grapes from the vine.

“Did Rakharo hurt you?” Daenerys was confused. Before they had left Vaes Dothrak, her handmaiden and faithful blood rider had spent nearly all their free time together. “If he hurt you, I will hurt him,” she affirmed as stopped, resting one hand on her seven moon-turns bump and the fingers of the other hand intertwining with the soft fur atop Ghost’s large head.

“Oh, no Khaleesi, Rakharo do not hurt me. He lost his braid when he lost battle with you. I found new man. A strong, brave man with long braid. It is known,” Doreah answered, setting her mind at ease.

They spent the next hour wondering through the large garden, chatting about her new lover, a warrior name Qhoko, while they picked grapes from the vines, and figs, oranges and lemons from the many trees. As they rounded a corner, searching for the grove of peach trees she recalled, she was surprised to see Rakharo in a compromising position with a young dark haired, tan-skinned woman. Her blood rider had the woman pushed up against one of the peach trees, and was working to remove her horse skinned halter-top.

“Qoy ki tih qoy, fin is yeri okeo?” (Blood of my blood, who is your friend) Dany inquired coolly, causing her blood rider’s head to snap towards her voice.

“Khaleesi…” Rakharo started.

However, Daenerys then got a look at the young woman’s face. She gasped, shocked to see the young Dornish woman in Essos. “Tyene?”

The girl’s eyes widen before she quickly schooled her features into a mask of indifference, “Fin is Tyene, Khaleesi?” (Who is Tyene?)

“Khaleesi, jinak is Tiki,” Rakharo stated. (Khaleesi, this is Tiki)

“Vo, qoy ki tih qoy, jinak is Tyene Sand, a westeroi ha dorne.” (No, blood of my blood, this is Tyene Sand, a Westeroi, from Dorne).

Dany felt Ser Jorah move to her right, she glance at him and noticed his hand on the pummel of his sword. Ghost silent on her left, but ready to strike if her life were to be threatened.

Rakharo quickly wrapped his arms around the girl’s arms and waist, preventing her from running or fighting. “Is anna an dozgo?” (is she an enemy?)

Dany was unsure how to answer his question, “Loshat mae ha ajjin.” (Contain her for now). She did not know why the Dornish woman was in Essos. Therefore, she looked towards the girl. “I know you are Tyene Sand. You are the daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand,” Daenerys stated firmly. ‘I know this is one of the Sand Snakes. I remember them vividly from when I arrived on Dragonstone. They were my allies. Why is she here? Is she alone?’

The girl’s eyes widened; shock and disbelief clearly dancing across the soft features of her rounded face. She opened then closed her mouth several times to speak before she finally whispered, “How… How do you know who I am?”

“I know many things,” the Khaleesi replied as she continued to peer into the woman’s brown eyes. ‘I cannot yet tell her I know her from my past life. She will think I am mad.’ “I am going to ask you questions and you will be honest with me. Do you understand?” When the girl nodded, Dany continued. “I want to know what you are doing in Essos?”

“I was sent by my Uncle, Prince Doran,” she admitted flatly.

Daenerys looked her in the eyes as she answered. She saw no trace of a lie. “I do not believe he would send you alone. Where are your sisters, Obara and Nymeria?”

“They are here as well. They are most likely with lovers of their own.”

Again, Daenerys could see the awe and disbelief on the young Sand Snake’s face, but had yet to see any signs of deceit. The Khaleesi nodded before continuing her questioning. “Did your uncle send you to harm us? To harm our child?” She asked pointedly, her hand moving to rest protectively on the swell of her abdomen.

“No, Khaleesi, we are not here to harm you, your husband or your babe.”

Daenerys released a breath she was not aware she was holding, and felt the tension in her shoulders release slightly at Tyene’s answer. “Then why are you traveling with my and my husband’s Khalasar?” She inquired, her brow furrowing and the tone of her not quite as sharp.

“Uncle Doran sent us to observe you and your husband’s characters. He wanted to know if Dorne should support the Targaryen’s when they choose to return to Westeros. So, my sisters and I have been observing you and the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark… The man Westeros always knew as Jon Snow since just before you departed Vaes Dothrak.”

It was her turn to be shocked. “How? How did you know?” ‘The Sand Snakes and Ellaria did not know about Jon’s heritage in my past. If they knew, surly they would have informed me of his heritage. They would have thought him as a threat to me. Why would they want to support him now? Do they not think that Rhaegar dishonored Elia? I know Dorne has a different view on bastards, do they think he is baseborn? Will they still support us if they know Rhaegar had his marriage to Elia annulled?’

“My Uncle Doran told us a great many things about Elia, Rhaegar and Lyanna,” Tyene smirked. “We are aware that Rhaegar and Elia respected each other tremendously and would do anything to protect one another… However, we know that they were not in love – Elia and Uncle Doran were supportive of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage, especially because Rhaegar did not want his child with Lyanna to be born a bastard...”

“Prince Doran knew,” Dany gasped.

Tyene nodded, “Elia, Rhaegar and a pregnant Lyanna visited Sunspear in secret. My Aunt was so happy to see Rhaegar in love, and wanted to annul her marriage so the child would be trueborn and because she wished to live her life with her lover in the Water Gardens. My Uncle Doran was there when the annulment was signed and he and my Aunt Elia were witnesses to Rhaegar and Lyanna’s wedding.”

‘This is nothing like what I remember from my past life.’ “Why now? If Prince Doran knew of Jon’s existence since birth, why did he never say anything? When did he never reach out to Lord Stark?”

“When my Uncle learned of Lyanna’s death, be believed the child died with her, therefore he did not see a point in revealing the truth to the realm…”

“Why did he never question that he return North with his dead sister’s body and a bastard? How did he not believe the child could have been Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son?”

“He believed that Jon Snow was Lady Ashara Dayne’s bastard,” Tyene stated.

“Why would he believe that?” Dany questioned with a quirked brow.

“It is know that Lady Ashara was sent away from King’s Landing because she was unmarried and with child. It was rumored the Father of her child was Eddard Stark because everyone believed a betrothal between the two would be announced after Lord Stark’s brother married Lady Catelyn Tully. A betrothal that never came to be because the Rebellion. My Uncle believed that Lady Ashara gave Lord Stark the babe because she was so distraught. Distraught that the man she loved, the father of her child, had not only married another woman because of duty, but he also killed her brother, Arthur. Just minutes after Lord Stark’s departure, it is said Lady Ashara threw herself to her death from one of the towers at Starfall.”

“So all this time, Prince Doran believed Jon to be the Lord Stark’s baseborn son,” Dany stated as she exhaled. “Why does he believe differently now? What changed?”

“My Uncle received word from Pentos, that you had wed a dark haired man, who called himself Aegon Targaryen, and that this man had hatched a dragon. In the letter, it also stated he wished to pay respects to his fallen half-siblings upon his return to Westeros. This left no doubt in my Uncle’s mind that your husband is Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna’s son.”

‘I remember Jon asking Illyrio to write to the Martells.’ “And what have you reported to your Uncle? Do you believe my husband and I will be worthy of the Iron Throne?”

“Khaleesi, when we reach Qarth, we plan to write a letter to our Uncle telling him we believe Dorne should support you and your husband’s claim to the throne. My sisters and I have been observing you for several months now. We believe you and your husband will rule Westeros justly and honorably.”

“Thank you Lady Tyene,” Dany replied sincerely.

“Khalessi, I believe it would be beneficial if my sisters and I were able to speak with you and your husband together.”

“I believe you are correct. It appears we have much to discuss,” Daenerys agreed. She then turned to her blood rider and smiled, “Rakharo, please stay with our guest. Entertain her and bring her and her sisters to the palace after dinner. Treat her well, her father is a prince. If you treat her with disrespect, I will not stop her if she guts you.”

“Yes, Khaleesi,” her blood rider replied, a smile on his lips before leaving, arm in arm with the young Dornish beauty. Daenerys could tell one of the things that attracted Rakharo to Tyene was that she was a warrior and could handle herself.

After gathering a basket of peaches to go with the several other baskets of fruit they had gathered, Doreah left to spend time with Qhoko in the camp, while Ser Jorah and Ghost escorted her back to the palace.

Daenerys was eating on a white sand stone bench, overlooking the palace gardens, eating a peach when her husband returned.

“Hello, love,” Jon stated as he sat down next to her, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple and then another to the swell of her womb. “I see that your trip to the garden was successful.”

“It was,” she replied happily, as she held her peach to his mouth and offered him a bite. He greedily accepted. “Were you able to find any spoils of your own?”

“Aye,” he answered as he wiped juice from the peach off his chin with his hand. “We found some old bronze coins, stone flagons, a few bracelets, some old scrolls...”

“What did the scrolls say?” Dany interrupted.

“I am not sure,” Jon admitted. “They are worn with age and written in a language I am not able read. I was hoping maybe one day Missandei will be able to translate what is still legible.”

Daenerys smiled at the thought of her dear old friend, confidant and advisor. “I hope she can.”

“We found something else that I find interesting.”

Jon them placed a shiny shard of stone in her hands. The texture of the stone felt familiar but she could not place it. At first, she thought it was black, before realizing it was a dark shade of purple. “What is this? It feels similar to something, but I cannot remember what.”

“Aye, it is the same texture as Dragonglass… the only difference is the color. There is a whole mound of this under the palace.”

“Do you think this could have the same effect on the army of the dead as obsidian?”

“I’m not sure, but I think we should leave some men behind to gather it.”

“I agree,” Dany replied. “If this is a form of Dragonglass, we can go on and sent it to Winterfell and have Gendry begin to forge weapons.”

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, eating peaches as they watched the sun sink behind the red mountains in the distance. The silence was broken when Jon asked where Doreah and Rakharo were.

“Doreah is spending time with Qhoko and,” Dany paused and took a deep breath, “and Rakharo is entertaining Tyene Sand.”

Jon nearly choked on his peach. “Tyene Sand? As in Prince Oberyn’s daughter?”

“Yes,” Daenerys confirmed with a nod. “It appears that after receiving Magister Illyrio’s letter, Prince Doran knew you were the trueborn son of Elia and Rhaegar.” Daenerys went on to tell Jon how Dorne had supported the marriage of Rhaegar and Lyanna…… 

 


 

 

Ser Barristan Selmy

The sun was blazing high overhead as Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime made their way across the Long Bridge connecting the two halves of Volantis across the Rhoyne River, back towards the docks, hoping their ship would be ready to sail. The two former Kingsguard had arrived in the city a sennight before, aboard one of Magister Illyrio’s merchant vessels heading East – The Chessemonger did not know exactly where the Targaryens were heading, so he filled a ship full of various items to trade, and instructed them to inquire about their whereabouts at each port. So for the past few moons, the two men had scoured city after city in hopes of finding any information that would lead them to the Last Targaryens they vowed to serve.

“Were you able to find out any more information about where the Targaryens went after they left Vaes Dothrak?” Ser Jaime inquired as he wiped the sweat from him brow.

“No,” Ser Barristan sighed. “One would think since you can buy anything imaginable at these shops, there would be some information. If you are asking me, I suppose your efforts were fruitless as well.”

The blond haired knight nodded as they headed toward the black stone gateway of the bridge. “I guess we should head to the docks, speak with the captain to see if he is prepared to sail so we can head to the next port.”

“Aye, I suppose we should.” The former Commander of the Kingsguard agreed as he turned down an alley that would lead them to the docks near Fishermonger’s Square where their boat was anchored.

He took a deep breath as they maneuvered through the crowds of the busting square and regretted it instantly – The air was thick, heavy and smelled of elephant excrement. However, when they reached docks, the old knight was thankful as he felt the crisp winds from the Summer Sea wash over his sweat-drenched tunic. “The breeze feels nice,” he murmured softly.

“It does,” Ser Jaime confirmed. A smirk then spread across the man’s face as he added, “Although, the breeze does nothing to rid the air of the old whore stench and shit… It smells as though I am standing guard outside of Robert’s chambers in the Red Keep.”

“Aye, that would be an accurate description,” Ser Barristan chuckled before they continued down the dock towards the Lady Serra in a comfortable silence.

When they approached their floating home, he was surprised to see the captain of the vessel standing on the dock speaking with two hooded travelers. As they made their way up the gangplank, the sound of the traveler’s panicked voice caused him to pause.

“Please Captain, my daughter are in desperate need of passage. We heard you are heading east… We must get to Qarth. If we don’t get there soon, I fear we will die…”

He knew that voice. A voice he had not heard in nearly twenty years. It was the voice of a ghost. It was the voice of a woman whom had died nearly nineteen years ago. The voice of a woman, whom had been dishonored, then sent away from court in shame. A woman whose fate could have been different if he was not off fighting his King’s war. His head quickly turned towards the voice, and even though he only saw the woman’s profile, he could see he corners of her purple eyes. ‘My gods it’s truly her. She is alive.’

“I am sorry lady…”

“Ashara,” he breathed out, interrupting the captain. Barristan felt his heart stop as the women turned to face him. He felt if feet falter before he felt the steady at his back.

“Ashara?” Jaime questioned in a whisper. “Do you know her?”

Barristan ignored his companion’s question. “Ashara… My gods… It is really you…”

“Barristan Selmy?” she whispered in astonishment, a myriad of emotions spreading across her flawless tan face.

‘Gods even after twenty years she is still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. But, what has happened to her? This woman was always feisty… a free spirt. She looks as though she has been traveling for weeks. She looks hungry. She looks scared. She looks defeated.’

The young woman she had told the Captain was her daughter, gripped her hand. “Mama, is this your old friend from King’s Landing?” he heard the young woman murmur softly. Ashara nodded. “Do you think he will help us?”

The Kingsguard had a million questions swirling around in his mind that he needed answered. However, the second the Dornish woman looked at him with pleading purple eyes he knew he could not leave them behind. “Captain, this is a very dear friend of mine. They will accompany us on our journey.”

The captain looked at him in shock but nodded, “Ser, I don’t know where they will sleep… There are no more cabins available and I cannot ensure their safety.”

“My companion and I will share a cabin. The Lady and her daughter will take my cabin,” Ser Barristan informed the Captain. He felt Ser Jaime tense behind him, but he continued before his companion could protest, “We will personally guard the ladies at all times and ensure no harm comes to them.”

He could see tears forming in the corners of his friend’s purple eyes. “Thank you Ser Barristan,” Ashara whispered. “I do not know how we will ever repay you.”

The old knight then offered his arm, “My Lady, you look famished. Please let me escort the two of you to the mess hall.” He then turn his gaze to his companion, “My friend, will stay with you while I move my belongings to his cabin.”

“I would me my honor,” Ser Jaime replied with a forced smile. “Although, I am sorry, my friend has not properly introduced us.”

Ashara exhaled in awe, as she realized who his traveling companion was. Barristan saw a look of fear spread across the beautiful woman’s face.

‘Gods, what has happened? Why does she feels as though we would harm her?’ “Ser Jaime,” Barristan intervened, “I believe we have much to discuss. I have many questions as well, that I expect to be answered honestly. However, I feel this is not an appropriate conversation to be had the docks. Let’s get on the ship then after the ladies have had a meal, we will have this discussion.”

A short time later, Barristan had moved his meager belongings into Jaime’s room and made his way back towards the mess hall. When he entered, he met Ser Jaime’s gaze. The man just shrugged as his eyes gestured towards the two women sitting in front of him. The sight caused the older knight’s heart to painfully constict. Ashara was sitting next to the young woman, embracing her and smoothing her hair in comfort, ‘just as a mother would to calm her child.

“Mama, I’m so scared,” he heard the young woman whisper, her voice quivering. “What if he finds us?”

“Shhhh, my sweet, Alys. It will be okay,” Ashara murmured.

‘Who are they running from? Ashara was never one to run from her problems. Why did she run all those years ago? Who is she running from now?’

When he sat down on the wooden bench next to Ser Jaime, the two women wiped their tears. It was then he saw the younger woman’s face. He was expecting to see Northern features, however he was met with another ghost. The girl was definitely Ashara’s daughter, but the shade of her eyes, the softness of brow, and the shape of her nose reminded him of a young Queen Rhaella. Barristan found himself speechless as he tried to figure out the possibilities in his head.

“What are two members of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguard doing on this side of the Narrow Sea?” Ashara inquired sharply, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the table. “Did they send you to kill the Targaryens?”

‘What? Why would she think we are here to kill the Targaryens? Why would she even care if we were?’

“Gods news travels slowly on this side of the sea,” Ser Jaime barked out a laugh.

Ashara’s piercing glare quickly silenced the cocky knight.

“Robert believes us to be dead,” Ser Barristan, answered quickly.

“Why would you fake your deaths? This sounds nothing like the man I once knew. You once told me your vows were for life… That only death would end your vows.”

“King Robert ordered our deaths after he released me from my Kingsguard vows because of a – a difference of opinion and because he learned... Uh…” The former Commander of the Kingsguard looked at his companion, unsure if he wanted this information shared.

“He learned all three of the Royal Children were actually my bastards,” Ser Jaime answer honestly. “Therefore, he planned to poison Ser Barristan and he torched my room in the White Sword Tower. We would both be dead if Varys hadn’t have intervened.”

“I have never trusted the Spider. He could have saved Elia and the children by getting them out of the Capital, but he did not. So, why would he help the two of you?”

‘Can I trust her? I do not know what to think. Should I tell her the truth?’ “Lord Varys said my services have been requested here in Essos. I am heading to meet the couple, to see if they are… people I would like to serve.” Barristan decided.

“The Spider sent me be fulfill a vow I made to a friend many years ago,” Jaime shrugged.

“And who is it you are seeking to serve?” Ashara inquired with a quirked brow.

‘Does she know about the Targaryens?’ Barristan decided not to answer the question. “What about you Ashara? All of Westeros believes you killed yourself nearly nineteen years ago, after the loss of your baby and the death of your brother at the hands of your lover… The man who dishonored you by marrying another woman and leaving you with a bastard,” Barristan stated a bit more passionately that he would have liked. He took a breath to calm himself.

“Eddard Stark! You think Alysanne’s father is Ned Stark,” Ashara laughed. “Ned never dishonored me - He is the most honorable fool I have ever met. Ned saved me. He helped me to escape with my daughter. He knew Robert would have killed us, just as he would have killed his… any other Targaryens if he ever found out.”

‘Dear gods! Her daughter is a Targaryen bastard! Her father could not be Viserys; he was far too young to sire a child at the time. Rhaegar? Could Rhaegar have sired a child on her? Why would he do that? Elia was one of her best friends. She would never dishonor her friend in that way.’ “Why would Robert kill you and your daughter? Who is her father?” Barristan finally whispered, his gut clenching and bile rising in his throat, fearful of the answer he would receive.

“There is much you do not know,” Ashara sighed. “I need to know that I can trust you. That you will not tell anyone this information.” She only continued after both Kingsguard nodded and swore to the old gods and the new.

Ashara then told them. “After the tourney of Harrenhal, Aerys decided he must have more children, he needed a daughter to wed Viserys. After moons of forcing himself upon Queen Rhaella, he became fearful she was too old to bear him any more heirs. He turned his attentions to me because the Dayne’s have some Valyrian descendants. He said he would legitimize any fruits I bore him. I was able to reject him many times… As my heart belong to another.” At those words, she gave him a watery smile before continuing. “Then one night, shortly after the death of Rickard and Brandon Stark, Elia came to me. She was terrified of Aerys – she feared for her life and the lives of Rhaenys and Aegon. She wanted to go home, to Sunspear. She said she had to ask Doran for his blessing…”

“Blessing? What blessing?” Ser Jaime inquired.

“Elia was in love. Not with her husband, but with a hedge knight. Rhaegar had also found love with his Lady Lyanna and Elia was so happy for him… She wanted Doran to agree to the annulment of her marriage to the Prince. Elia never wanted to be Queen. She just wanted to live in the Water Gardens with her children and her lover. Aegon would still be heir to the Throne, and Rhaegar and Lyanna’s children would marry Rhaenys and Aegon to prevent any future Dance of Dragons,” Ashara sighed deeply before she continued. “So she asked if I could distract King Aerys while she escaped with the children, she wanted to get them to Dragonstone before she headed south. I agreed and distracted him the only way I knew how.”

“Ash… Alysanne is Aerys daughter?” Barristan whispered.

“Yes,” Ashara nodded. “But just as I discovered his seed had taken root, the Maester confirmed Queen Rhaella was with child. Therefore, he sent me away. He said that he ‘no longer had need of my half breed child.’

“Ashara, I’m so sorry,” Barristan stated, gripping her hand from across the table. Tear freely flowing down his cheeks.

“Don’t,” she stated as she squeezed his hand. “This is not your fault.”

“I should have been there to protect you.”

“What could you have done? Elia was my best friend, I did what I thought was right to ensure her happiness. And I was given my beautiful Alysanne. I will never regret my decision.”

“Did Robert find out about Alysanne?” Ser Jaime inquired. “Is this why you are running now?”

“No,” Alysanne spoke for the first time. “We are running from my brother… my husband,” she added softly. Tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Sweetheart, Viserys is dead. He cannot hurt you,” Barristan calmly, trying to calm the young girl.

“Not Viserys… Aerys.”

Barristan glanced over at Ser Jaime, who appeared just as confused as he was.

“Aerys is Daenerys’ twin brother,” Ashara spoke softly. “When Ned stopped at Starfall, with Lyanna and Rhaegar’s child he was beyond himself with grief, as was I. We then came up with the plan he would raise the Prince in Winterfell as his bastard, while I went to Essos for my safety… Alys looks too much like a Tarygaryen to hide her features.”

“She looks like a young Queen Rhaella,” Ser Jaime whispered.

“Yes, she does favor her grandmother,” Ashara proudly answered before getting back to the story. “When I arrived in Pentos, I met with Jon Connington, who had the queen’s newborn son.”

“Queen Rhaella bore twins? Why were they separated?” Ser Jaime asked softy. Awe of the story clear on his face.

“Lord Connington stopped at Dragonstone to see the Queen after King Aerys had him exiled. Apparently, his birth was difficult, and the Queen had already sent Viserys and Daenerys with Ser Willem Darry because she was unsure she would deliver the babe before the Baratheon forces reached the island. With her dying breaths, she placed her son in Connington’s arm and begged him to protect him… So for the last eighteen years, I raised young Aerys alongside my sweet Alys… He was such a sweet lad,” Ashara stated wistfully.

“If he’s good why are you running?” Barristan queried.

“About nine moon ago, just after Alys and Aerys wed, something changed. He became wicked. Mad. He stated he knew the future and he had to stop it. He went to the ruins of Valyria. While there he found a sword he believes to be Blackfyre and sacrificed innocents to hatch his dragon.”

“He has a dragon as well! Aegon and Daenerys have six dragons… That means there are seven dragons in the world,” Jaime blurted out.  

“Yes, but the worst part was he became obsessed with finding his sister. He started saying he would never be complete without his twin sister. That he had to save her.”

“Save her from whom?”

“Our nephew… The son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,” Alysanne offered. “He believes that my sister was sent back in time. That in her past life, he did not exist which is why she failed to destroy the Great Other… He believes that the love they shared was their downfall. That he made a stupid mistake that cost them everything… That caused him to become the true enemy. Aerys believes that he will only be able to save Westeros if they are united.”

Barristan’s mind was spinning. He recalled from the letter Varys had given him from Daenerys ‘As you told me in my last life, you were not able to save Rhaegar, and you regretted kneeling to Robert.’ “Dear gods, Aegon and Daenerys do not know about him!”

“That is not the worst part,” Ashara softly stated. “Aerys has the support of the Golden Company.”

 “Seven hells!” Jaime exclaimed. “We need to find them before Aerys does!”

“I know where Aegon and Daenerys are heading…”

“Where?” Ser Barristan inquired.

“I will tell you if you swear to take us to them. We have nowhere to go. I am sure Aerys is looking for us and if he finds us, he will kill us both.”

“I swear it, Ash… And I swear I will protect you and Alysanne.”

Ashara wiped tears from the corners of her eyes again and took a deep breath. “Just before Alys and I escaped, I intercepted a letter meant for Aerys. It stated Khal Aegon announce in Vaes Dothrak that he was taking his Khalasar through the Red Waste to Qarth.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Barristan, I swear to the old gods and the new.”

After escorting Ashara and Alysanne to their cabin, Ser Barristan met with the captain and informed him Qarth would be their next destination.

 


 

 

 

 

Notes:

Up next - Ned will meet with Mance, Checking in with Samwell... Maybe Stannis? Aerys?

Chapter 28: Alliance

Summary:

Section 1 - Samwell receives word from the North.
Section 2 - Eddard: The King of the North meets with the King Beyond the Wall

Notes:

cmyatt01 - Sorry for the delay but real life has been super busy for my co-writer, so collaborating is taking a little longer than normal. I hope this chapter was worth the wait

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Samwell Tarly

When Samwell Tarly was a child, he always dreamed of being a wizard. He remembered his mother trying to comfort him as he cried inconsolably when the other children at Horn Hill teased him for this and told him magic was not real. Therefore, becoming a Maester was the next best thing. Maesters were educated and respected. Their council was invaluable to the Lords and Ladies they served. They cured the sick and tended to the wounded. When Jon Snow saved him from spending the rest of his life fighting Wildlings he had been overjoyed. It was his second dream come true – Now he wishes he could find a way to become a wizard after all.

The Citadel was not at all, what he had envisioned. He spent his mornings, empting and scrubbing chamber pots and bedpans. His afternoons were filled with cleaning the instruments used by the Maesters when they dissected bodies. He felt useless and unimportant. He felt as though the Archmaesters did not care the King in the North to sent him to the Citadel to learn. They did not respect him… they were mocking him. They treated him as though he were just a fat piggy his father sent away because he was an embarrassment. Whenever he made a suggestion to improve something, they laughed at him as though he were a jester in a mummer’s production. Whenever he asked a question, they would only half answer, if they even answered at all. ‘Jon Snow and Eddard Stark have faith in me. I cannot let them down. I must learn as much as I can about arts of healing and providing proper council and how to defeat the Army of the Dead.’ Therefore, every day he kept quiet and made his own list of questions he wanted or needed to find the answers to, he would complete the tasks and chores assigned to him as quickly as possible so he could make his way down to the Citadel’s vast library. While in the library, he could to continue his research and he could seek the council of his only friends in Oldtown.

“Samwell Tarly,” a familiar kind voice called pulling him out of the book he had been studying. “Would you care from some company?”

“Of-of course, Archmaester Marwyn, Acolyte Alleras. Please have a seat,” Sam replied with a small smile as he gestured towards the empty chairs around the table.

“Thank you Samwell,” The Archmaester replied as he took the seat next to Sam. Alleras sat across from the two men and began to thumb through one of the old books Sam had sprawled across the large wooden table.

Archmaester Marwyn was an older man, short and squat, with white hair sprouting from his nose and ears, and hands that were too big for his body. Acolyte Alleras was the Archmaester’s Acolyte. He a comely younger man from Dorne, he had curly black hair, teak colored skin, a soft smile and he had an almost feminine quality to his delicate facial features. The two men had also Sam’s closest friends in Oldtown. The Archmaester had also secretly provided Sam with access to the restricted section of the library after the other Archmaesters laughed at his request.

“So what is it you are researching today young Acolyte Tarly,” The Archmaester inquired as he peered at the book Sam was reading.

“I am continuing to read the Legends of the Long Night. I am hoping to find something that the King in the North might find helpful.” Unlike the other Archmaesters, whom had laughed when he brought the messaged stating the King in the North had wished for his Maester’s Apprentice to learn all he could about the Great Other, Marwyn had taken a great interest in Sam’s quest for knowledge, as did Alleras. It was a common occurrence for the three of them to be found together in the library, at all hours of the night, thumbing through mite infested old books and scrolls.

“Find anything of interest?” Alleras asked softly as he placed the small leather-bound book back down on the table

“I’m not sure – but I did find this drawing of a dagger,” Sam answered as he flipped back a few pages and showed his friends the illustration. “It states that the blade itself is made of Valyrian Steel and the hilt is constructed of Dragon bone. However, there is not much written about it. But these lines, here, make me believe this weapon somehow allowed the Others to be pushed back long enough to allow Bran the Builder to construct the Wall.” ‘Grand Maester Luwin stated the Lannister’s sent cutthroats with a Valyrian Steel Dagger. I wonder if this is the same dagger. If so, I hope they were able to secure it. It might come in useful when we fight the Army of the Dead.’

“So, it is believed this weapon will be helpful, if the legends of the Great Others happen to be true. However, it will not the weapon that can be used to defeat them one and for all,” Marwyn summarized.

“Aye, that is how I understood the passage,” Sam stated, as he closed the heavy tome. “As of right now, we have learned fire and weapons made of Dragonglass or Valyrian Steel are the only things that can defeat White Walkers and the foot soldiers. However, we still no closer to knowing what can destroy their leader or what he even wants!”

“It will be alright, Samwell,” Marwyn stated reassuringly. “Perhaps we should send this book to Maester Luwin. Maybe he will find something that we missed.”

“I would also like to send that High Valyrian book you found in the restricted section to Winterfell. It appears to be part of series and I don’t know why, but I feel like it belongs there.”

“Very well.”

“Samwell, perhaps you send the maps we found, showing there could possibly be deposits of Dragonglass on the islands south of the Stony Shore.”

“Oh, you are right! Thank Alleras!” Sam replied excitedly with a smile. “I cannot believe I nearly forgot!”

“Well my friend, you have had much on your mind,” the young Dornish Acolyte replied kindly. “I have always dreamed of seeing the North one day, so it helps to learn as much as I can about these lands.”

“I will prepare those two books, High Septon Maynard Diary, which Maester Luwin has requested for some odd reason. Quite a boring read I might add – the man actually recorded how many bowl movements he had each day.” The man stated with a chuckle “I will leave the two of you continue your research and Samwell, I suggest you write a letter to accompany this package.” Marwyn added as he stood from his chair and turned to leave. However, after just a couple steps, he stopped and came back, “Oh, I nearly forgot, I came to the library to bring a raven scroll for you. It just arrived from Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Archmaester,” Samwell replied as took the scroll from the older man’s large hand.

“I will come back shortly to collect the letter for Maester Luwin.”

After the Archmaester left, Sam opened the seal on the scroll and began to read: 

 

Samwell – I hope that all is well and that you are learning as much as you can. We have received word that Winterfell might house some visitors from Essos in the near future. They might be staying for a couple of moon turns to enjoy some of the possible wedding festivities. While they are here conducting business with King Eddard and Queen Catelyn, it was mentioned they were interested in exploring large caves in the North, especially those close to Winterfell or near the Kings Road. If you come across any detailed maps of the Northern caves, please send a copy. I was also wondering how your research on the tails of the Long Night is progressing. If you find anything of interest, please send the books or copies of the documents to and send them to Winterfell so I can review them. Thank you – Grand Maester Luwin on behalf of Eddard Stark, the King in the North.

 

Sam knew there was a deeper meaning to the message, and after reading it a second time, it hit him. ‘Seven Hells! Jon and Daenerys are coming to Westeros! They must be planning on flying Sarogon and need a place for the Dragon to stay!’

“Anything you need for me to help to research,” Alleras inquired. “You look as if you were just given quite the task.”

“Aye,” Sam stated with a smile. “The King in the North wants a map of the cave systems in the North.”

“Why?”

Sam had been honest with the Archmaester and Acolyte about the Army of the Dead; however, he did not feel it was his place to tell them about the King in the North’s connection to the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. So, he handed Alleras the scroll to read for himself, “It appears the King is having visitors from Essos whom are interested in the caves of the North. The message does not say exactly why. Perhaps the visitors just enjoy looking at Stalagmites and Stalactites,” Sam stated nonchalantly as the other Acolyte read the message.

“Well, who are we to question the orders from the Grand Maester of the King in the North,” Alleras replied as he stood up from the table and gestured down one of the many hallways in the Citadel’s grand library. “I believe the detailed maps are down this way.”

Sam then stood up and followed his young friend, hopeful they would be able to find a comprehensive map of the North’s cave system.

 


 

 

 

Eddard Stark

The lands north of the Wall were breathtakingly beautiful and nature appeared to be completely undisturbed. The leaves of the trees and the ground were blanketed with freshly fallen snow. The air was fresh, crisp and clean, ‘it smells like pine needles and Weirwood sap.’ However, the King in the North had never been so cold or so sore in all of his life. He could see his breath each time he exhaled and his fingers were numb despite the fur-lined gloves Catelyn packed for him. He was also aware he would likely be missing the tips of, if not all of, his fingers without them, ‘I really need to kiss her for having the foresight to pack these gloves.’ His legs were numb yet on fire at the same time from the weeks of trudging through the Frostfangs, making him long for a long relaxing soak in the hot springs of Winterfell.

Ned was grateful for his Wildling guides, Tormund, Ygritte and Wun-Wun because without them, he would not know where to go; he would most likely be dead or aimlessly wandering through the Frostfangs. He could not believe how they all seemed unfazed by the harsh weather and they set quick and grueling pace through the wide-open expanse of the true north. They acted as though this was nothing more than a daily stroll through the woods. They were relentless, only stopping when it was time for midday meals and when it was time to make camp for the night.

Out of Ned’s men, Benjen seemed to be faring far better than himself, Jory and Theon. He could only assume it was because his younger brother had spent the past eighteen years trudging through these lands as a Ranger in the Nights Watch. Ned was also surprised by Theon’s behavior; the boy had long stopped whining and complaining about the weather, he was really doing his best to learn when Ygritte and the other two Free Folk explained how to stay alive on this side of the Wall. At first, he figured it had quite a bit to do with how his foster son was staying warm at Night, but as the weeks have gone on, Ned could tell the boy was beginning to develop true feelings for the redheaded spear wife. ‘If Theon keeps this up, I might have another goddaughter and grandchild joining the family sooner than I thought.’

“We're here Southerners,” Ygritte announced as they reached the top of a large hill overlooking the snowy combe.

Eddard was pulled out of his musings and gazed in the direction the Wildling female pointed. He was astonished at the size of the settlement – he had expected they would arrive another small camp, like the last one they had visited. However, this encampment was more like an actual village; there was a sturdy wooden wall and it was nearly the size of Wintertown. There were children chasing each other through the paths between tents and wooden buildings. There were a multitude of campfires wafting the scent of roasted meat into the air, and it looked as if there was even a makeshift market set up, where people were trading goods such as furs and spices.

“Come now, follow me,” Ygritte continued. “I promise I won’t let ‘em bite ya.”

As Eddard and his companions followed the wildling woman down a well-worn path, he felt uneasy. Unlike the last time, he and his men were not prisoners and they were not restrained. They were not being forced to be here. They could have left at any time. And Ned had been tempted several times, however, he knew the sooner the Free Folk were south of the Wall the better. With each day they stayed North, the Others added more soldiers were added to the Army of the Dead.

When they walked through the wooden gate, the King of the North could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on him as the people began to line the path. He could hear their murmurs – some were whispers while others were not so soft – all were none too happy about the arrival of outsiders. His anxiety was rising and instinctively, his hand went to rest on the hilt of this Valyrian Steel blade.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were ya King South of da Wall. Ya need to be steady and not look like ya want to kill ‘em.” Tormund advised. “Let me speak for ya until we get to Mance. We’ll vouch fer ya and as long as ya don’t hurt no one, we won’t let ‘em kill ya.”

“Aye,” Ned nodded, accepting the Wildling’s advice and removing his hand from the hilt of his sword. “I am not here to make enemies.” ‘Although I know I cannot let my guard down,’ he thought as the group continued down the muddy path, towards the great white tent in the center of the town. ‘I am guessing that must be Mance’s dwelling or the meeting hall.’

“Mance’s tent is made from the pelt of snow bears,” Tormund informed him as neared the building. “And the antlers on top are from a giant elk.”

However, before Ned could respond, a bulky bearded man approached them. The crowds surround then and blocked the path towards the main hut.

“Tormund,” the large wildling spat, “Why are these southerners and the crow not restrained? Why have ya brought them here?”

“They ain’t restrained ‘cause they ain’t my prisoners, Doramyr,” Tormund replied gruffly. “And they’re here ‘cause he wants to speak with Mance,” the ginger wildling finished as he gestured towards the King in the North.

“Why would you bring some Southerners here, who ain’t prisoners, to speak with Mance?” the man, Doramyr, pressed.

‘Because you stubborn fools I want to save your asses!’ Eddard wanted to scream, but held his tongue as Tormund advised.

“They’re here ‘cause they know what coming. They’s seen it and fought it with us,” Tormund proclaimed. “And this man here claims he can get us safe passage South of the Wall. So unless you want to all die here, I suggest you let us through so he can speak with Mance!”

After Tormund’s proclamation, the crowd’s displeasure quieted and the murmurs were no longer hostile, but curious.

“Fine,” Doramyr stated, stepping out of the path as he eyed the King in the North, Jory, Benjen and Theon skeptically. “But if he or any of his friends cause any trouble, I’ll not only kill them… I’ll kill you and your companions as well.”

The crowd then parted and Tormund Eddard by his fur-lined cloak, and pulled him towards the hut as he grumbled, “Come on, let’s get to Mance before that fooker starts trouble… Fooken Thenns think they are better than the rest of us.” He added under his breath.

When they reached the structure, Tormund suggested only he and Eddard meet with Mance’s. Therefore,  Benjen, Theon and Jory stayed with Ygritte and Wun-Wun as he and the ginger headed wildling entered to structure. Once inside, Eddard took a deep breath and looked around the dwelling. The room was filled with a glowing orange light for a fire in the center of the room. Around the fire were several tree stumps. To the left of the fire was a wooden table with horns and pitchers of what he guessed was ale and to the right there was a small bed with a messy pile of furs on top.

“King Eddard Stark,” a voice called from behind him. He quickly spun around and was met with a slender man of average height with greying brown hair standing in the opening of the tent. He was dressed in wool and leather and had a black and red cloak draped over his shoulders.

“Aye,” Ned replied. “I take it you are Mance Rayder, your Grace.”

“I am.” The King Beyond the Wall confirmed. “But, we do not use fancy titles on this side of the Wall. Call me Mance, my men do.”

“Mance,” Ned tested the name before he added, “Then I insist you call me Ned.”

After Mance nodded, the King in the North continued. “I understand how you would know my name, however, I do not understand how you know who I am, and that I have been named King in the North considering we have never met before.”  

“That is where you are wrong. I met you once, about fifteen years ago. I was with then Lord Commander Qorgyle when he traveled to Winterfell,” Mance stated. “And I saw you recently when I was in Winterfell… I was there the night you were named the King in the North.”

The King of the North vaguely recalled the old Lord Commander bringing a steward with him when he visited Winterfell all those years ago, but what stunned Ned was the fact that Mance had been at Winterfell during King Robert’s feast. “You were at Winterfell? How? Why?” He stuttered in disbelief.

“I wanted to see King Robert Baratheon.” Mance stated as he took a seat on a tree stump near the fire and gestured for Ned to sit as well. Once both men were sitting he continued, “I wanted to see if he might be willing to listen, to what was happening North of the Wall. So, I scaled the Wall, traveled to Winterfell and dressed as a bard to perform at the feast. However, all I saw was a drunken fool.”

‘Mance was at Winterfell? Did Jon know? Did he know I was coming?’

“I was about to leave, when I heard the commotion in the training yard. I saw the crown prince running back into the Great Hall, so I followed. I watched as you were named King in the North. I stayed because I thought I might be able to speak with you about the dangers the Free Folk face,” The King Beyond the Wall continued.

“Why did you not say anything?” Ned questioned, still perplexed that Mance Rayder had been at Winterfell. ‘If I had known he was there, we could have spoken then and we never would have had to come on this damn journey. My men and the brothers of the Nights Watch would not have died.’

“Because, the next day, you announced you were going beyond the Wall to search for you heir and your bastard, who had gone missing while investigating disturbances. I had to return to make sure my men had not taken your sons as prisoners and if they had, I needed to make sure they were not injured. I was planning to use them as a bargaining chip…”

“A bargaining chip for what?” The King in the North asked incredulously.

“Safe passage for my people, south of the Wall. However, I have been unable to locate your boys,” Mance stated with a sigh. He then looked Ned in the eyes and continued, “None of the Free Folk have ever seen them or traces of unknown camps… It’s as if they were never here.”

“Because they never made it North of the Wall,” Ned admitted, knowing there was no use lying to the King Beyond the Wall.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because the threat…”

“No,” Mance interrupted. “I mean, if your sons are not lost beyond the Wall, why did you travel all this way? Why did you not just send your men to investigate the disturbing reports?”

“Because I heard about the dark magic and the Army of the Dead from a ranger who deserted the Nights Watch. I wanted to see the threat for myself… I wanted to meet with you to form an alliance.”

“I don’t understand. I have been trying to get help for years and have been met with nothing but silence and attacks from the Nights Watch. Why would you want to form an alliance with the Free Folk?”

“We both know what is coming for us, Mance. I fought alongside Tormund, Ygritte and Wun-Wun when we were attacked by a White Walker with and ice spider and a group of wights at a small camp in the Frostfangs,” Eddard replied, trying to keep his tone even and calm. ‘It was the scariest thing I have ever seen or fought against in my life.’ “We both know if the Free Folk don’t make it safely south of the Wall, they will all become more soldiers in the Army of the Dead.”

“Alright, let’s discuss this proposed alliance,” Mance stated as he stood from his stool, walked over to a table and poured two horns of ale before returning to his seat.

‘This is a good sign, he is offering me guest rights,’ Eddard thought as he took the horn from the other man’s outstretched hand. The cold liquid burned as is went down his throat and his hand involuntarily went to his throat; he was not able to stop the coughing. ‘This must be the sour goat’s milk Jon warned me about.’

“That there is a proper northern drink,” Mance laughed as Ned continued to cough.

When Ned recovered from his drink, he outlined his proposal to Mance – That he would allow the Free Folk south of the Wall, allowing them to settle and farm in the Gift. In exchange, they would have to refrain from raping and pillaging, help to restore some of the crumbling castles along the Wall, provide the Night’s Watch with part of their harvest and fight together when the Great War arrives.

“In exchange, I suppose you want us to bend the knee to you?” Mance inquired once Ned had outlined his proposal.

“I do not wish for you, or the Free Folk, to bend the knee to me,” The King in the North answered. “I do expect the laws of the North to be respected. I do not want the Free Folk to steal Northerners as their brides. If they choose to marry if must be mutual. Also, if they choose to continue to live south of the Wall after the Great War has ended, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms might request they bend the knee.”

“The rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms? The North is independent. Are you planning to usurp King Robert?”

“No,” Ned sighed. “However, when the rightful king returns, he plans to unite to seven kingdoms. I will join my kingdom with the other six at that time because he has vowed to do everything in his power to destroy the Great Other and the Army of the Dead.”

“What is so special about this king? How do we know we can trust him? How do I know he will not kill my people because they refuse to bend the knee?”

‘How much do I tell him? I need to be truthful, but maybe not the full truth, but I cannot lie.’ “I trust him because I raised him as my own son, Jon Snow.”

“Jon Snow? Your bastard?”

“He has never been a bastard. He is my sister, Lyanna’s trueborn son,” Ned admitted, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “She named him Aegon Targaryen and asked me to protect him with her dying breaths. In order to keep him safe from Robert, I claimed he was a bastard I sired during the Rebellion.”

“The honorable Ned Stark, lied to the King to protect your family,” Mance laughed. “I can respect that. So, if your nephew is not here, beyond the Wall, where is he?”

“He and his wife, Daenerys, are currently in Essos with my heir, Robb. They are working to secure an army before they return to Westeros… They already have over 100,000 Dothraki warriors and six dragons. The dragons will be one of the greatest weapons because we both know that fire kills wights.”

“You seem to know much about the Army of the Dead…”

“I have an acolyte, at the Citadel, Samwell Tarly, who researching the history of the Long Night,” Ned quickly stated, not yet wanting to inform the King Beyond the Wall that Jon was from a past life. “He has informed me wights can be killed by fire, Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass, while the Others can only be destroyed by Valyrian Steel and Dragonglass.”

“There are not very many Valyrian Steel weapons in existence,” Mance mused as he rubbed his bearded chin.

“Aye. Which is why I also have Samwell searching maps for Dragonglass deposits in the North. My hope is that every man, woman and child in all of Westeros has access to at least one Dragonglass weapon.”

“I still feel as though there is something you are hiding.”

‘Godsdamnit,’ Ned thought. ‘I suppose I will have to tell him the full truth. Nevertheless, how do I know he will believe me? I just admitted to him I have been lying to everyone for over eighteen years.’ “Mance, what I am about to tell you will sound unbelievable.”

“More unbelievable then walking dead men? I have a feeling that you would not be here, talking to me on your own doing if you did not believe what you’re about to tell me?”

‘Gods Jon, I trust you. You told me to be completely honest with Mance and I will. I pray to the old gods and the new this will be enough for him to get all these people to safety,’ Ned thought before he took a deep breath and told Mance the truth of Jon’s past life.

“Do you believe me?” Ned asked after a few minutes of silence past.

“I do,” Mance finally stated. “However, if I agree to your terms of alliance, how will my people safely pass through the Wall? I doubt the Nights Watch will agree to open the gate at Castle Black and if they did, how do know the Crows won’t kill us? I do we even know the Old Bear Crow would even allow for the gates to be opened?”

“You are right, which is why we will not be going to Castle Black. We will pass at the Nightfort,” Ned replied. “As you know, there is the magical Black Gate that can be opened by brothers of the Nights Watch. My brother, Benjen will open the gate, and allow the Free Folk safe passage.”

Mance seemed to be in contemplation as he continued to sip on his horn of proper northern drink. Ned did not know what else he could say to convince the King Beyond the Wall that his intentions were honest. That all he wanted was for the Free Folk not to be added to the Army of the Dead and to fight on the side of the living when the time came.

"Ned, there is a time to believe in a man and also a time to doubt a man. One must be sure he can know which is which.” The King Beyond the Wall started.

‘Fuck… He doesn’t believe me. He is going to kill me.’ The King in the North silently thought before me looked Mance in the eyes and stated, “I promise you. I swear to the old gods and the new, everything I have told you is the truth. And I swear as long as your people abide by the laws of the North and do not harm any of my people, you are welcome to stay, without bending the knee, until after we have defeated the Army of the Dead… So will you join me?"

“Aye,” Mance finally said firmly. “But, I will not force my people to come. I will let them know your terms and give them the choice. They will choose if they come south and live or stay beyond the wall and become part of the Ice King’s Army.”

The King in the North nodded and released a breath he was not aware he had been holding. Once his heartrate slowed a bit, he looked at Mance and inquired, “I wish to leave as soon as possible, when will your people be ready to travel?”

“Ned,” Mance stated as he stood, “My people can be ready to move without notice. However, you look as though you could use a good night’s rest. I will speak with the clan elders tonight and let them know of your offer and let them know we leave on the morrow, after we break our fast.”

The King in the North agreed. After finishing his horn of northern drink, Tormund led him and his traveling companions to a tent on the edge of camp where they would be staying. After their Wildling friend left, Ned informed his brother, Jory and Theon of his meeting with Mance and that they would be leaving on the morrow with any Free Folk that wished to travel south……

 


 

 

Notes:

Please let us know what you thought of this chapter in the comments.

Comments, Suggestions, Kudos, Bookmarks, and Constructive Criticisms are always welcome ❤️😁

Chapter 29: On the Trail

Notes:

Hello - I just wanted to let you know this will be the last chapter I co-write with Ruben. He is very tied up with school, and has not had the opportunity to write lately. And to honest, after season 8, my motivation has been lacking as well.

I am continuing to write and I will soon be publishing a Sleeping Beauty Jonerys story, which I hope you will enjoy.

I wish Ruben the best if he decides to continue this story. His AN can be viewed on Wattpad (https://my.w.tt/WVLcCG2m00)

I know y’all have been waiting forever for any update, so I will go on and post what we have written.

I hope you all have a great day and thank you for all of your support over the last year and a half ❤️ - cmyatt01

Chapter Text

Oberyn Martell

The blood orange trees provided some shade from the blazing midafternoon sun as the Red Viper made his way down the pale pink marble paved path of the courtyard, towards his brother’s rooms in the Water Gardens. The two letters tightly clenched in his hand as he walked - It had been several moon turns since he had heard from any of his daughters and he was thankful he had finally received a messages from his girls. Now, he had to share the contents of the letters with his older brother. He was not even sure if Doran was aware one of his daughters was studying at Oldtown, and he was excited to share what his insatiably curious daughter had learned as well as the fact that Obara, Nymeria and Tyene were all safe.

As he walked up to Doran’s private chamber, there were two guards, in their orange and gold tunics, standing sentinel outside the door. When Oberyn requested entrance men moved their golden spears to the side, and as the heavy wooden door was opened, one of the men muttered Prince Doran was on his balcony with his son, Trystane.

As Oberyn walked through the room, the sound of his steps echoed off the white and black marble floor. He made his way past the white lattice covered widows, towards the balcony, where Aero Hotah, the head of his brother’s household guard, stood watch. When the Red Viper approached, Aero met his eyes and stepped to the side to reveal his brother and nephew, sitting behind a table on the patio overlooking one of the pools, reviewing a book.

“Doran. Trystane. I hope that I am not interrupting,” he stated, announcing his presence as he walked onto the tiled balcony.

“Oberyn, it is good to see you. I did not realize you and Ellaria had returned from your trip.” Doran replied as he closed the book.

“We returned to Sunspear last night,” The Red Viper of Dorne responded as he grabbed a blood orange from the basket on the table and sat down next to his brother.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have had Trystane wait to tell me what he has learned from the Maester in his lessons about the history of the North… To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“When Ellaria and I returned home, there were a couple of letters from my daughters waiting for me. I thought you would be interested to know what that said,” Oberyn replied as he sat the letters down on the table and began to peal the orange.

“So, you have heard from my cousins? Have they made it safely to the Dothraki Sea?” Trystane inquired as he pushed his loose black hair behind his ear. “Have they sent word about the last Targaryens?”

“I did hear from Obara, Tyene and Nymeria. The Maester stated their letter arrived about a fortnight ago,” Oberyn answered as he took a bite of his orange. “Would you like to read the letter?”

“No, just tell me what information were they able to share?” Doran queried.

“The letter stated they had safely arrived in Vaes Dothrak just in time for Daenerys to eat the raw heart of stallion…”

“Why would she eat that?” Trystane interrupted, clearly distraught at the thought of someone consuming a raw horse heart.

“It is a ceremony of the Dosh Khaleen to bless the Khalakka… The Khaleesi’s unborn child,” Doran informed his son.

“So this means the Targaryens are already expecting an heir?”

“Yes Trystane,” Oberyn confirmed. After his nephew nodded in understanding, Oberyn continued. “At the conclusion of the ceremony, Khal Aegon announced the Targaryen Khalasar would be leaving the next day. Obara wrote the letter in haste to prepare for their departure. At the time she wrote it, they had not yet had the opportunity to meet with Aegon and Daenerys.”

“Leave? Where were they going?”

“She stated the Khalasar was heading to Qarth, but did not know why,” Oberyn answered his older brother’s inquiry.

“What did they say about the boy? Do they believe he is the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark?”

Oberyn nodded, “My daughters stated they are positive he is a Northerner and that he is the boy King Eddard Stark claimed as his bastard.”

“How?” Doran breathed out. “If they had not yet had the chance to spend time with the boy, how do they know he is really Rhaegar’s son? That he was raised in Winterfell?”

“They said they boy looks just like a Northerner… That he is about eighteen name days old, has dark hair, and dark eyes… And that not only does this Khal Aegon have a grey dragon, which at the time the letter was written was nearly the size of a horse, he also has a white direwolf.”

“What? The Maester informed me that the Starks of old used to keep Direwolves as companions. Nevertheless, he also told me there have been no Direwolves south of the Wall for hundreds of years! There is no way there would be a direwolf in Essos,” Trystane exclaimed.

“I agree with my son, a direwolf in Essos is unheard of! But still – even if the boy does have a direwolf, it does not mean he is the son of Lyanna Stark.”

Oberyn raised his hand to silence them so he could continue, “First of all, I believe my daughters. They would never tell me something that was not true. Secondly, they reported they know this is the boy Ned Stark claimed as he bastard because, Robb Stark, the heir to the North is traveling with the Khalasar… and he is also traveling with his direwolf companion.”

The Prince of Dorne and his son were silent for several seconds as they digested the information provided to them by Oberyn. Finally Doran spoke, “So the information we received… That the King in the North told his bannermen his two oldest sons were lost beyond the Wall, was in fact, not true.”

Oberyn then looked down at the two letter on the table, and picked up one of the scrolls. “That is correct, brother. This letter from Sarella confirms the King in the North was dishonest with his men because she has proof Robb Stark and Jon Snow did not travel North… but ”

“Sarella?” Trystane interrupted. “How would Sarella know the King in the North’s heir and supposed bastard did not travel beyond the Wall?”

“Yes brother, how would Sarella know they did not travel North?”

“Because,” Oberyn started as he placed the scroll in his brother’s outstretched hand, “Sarella has been studying at the Citadel for almost a year now.”

“How?” Doran asked as hand the scroll to Trystane without looking at it.

“She is resourceful.”

Trystane then unfurled the scroll his father handing him and began to read the message aloud:

 

 

Father,

All is well here in Oldtown and after learning Trystane could soon be betrothed to Princess Sansa, I have been keeping my eyes and ears open for any information you might find useful. I believe that I might have found some interesting information.

I have recently forged the third link of my Maester’s Chain – A link of copper, for my expertise in History. I earned this link with Acolyte Samwell, a fellow student who hails from the Reach. Samwell is an intriguing young man, who arrived at the Citadel almost six moon turns ago. I did not think much of him at first – Sam is a very knowledgeable young man, yet he is also very portly and clumsy… Therefore, I figured he was a second son, sent by his family to become a Maester because his family could not find him a proper bride. However, after getting to know the young man, I learned he is actually the first-born son of Randyll Tarly. He had and renounced his claim to Horn Hill in favor of his younger brother, Dickon… but not by choice. Apparently, Lord Tarly, was so embarrassed by Sam’s lack of physique and skill with a weapon, that he threatened to kill him, his own son, in a hunting ‘accident’ if he did not relinquish his claim to Horn Hill and join the Nights Watch. However, during Samwell’s journey to the Wall, he told me that he met the King in the North’s oldest sons in White Harbor, while they were waiting on a ship to take them to Pentos. After this meeting, Eddard Stark wrote to Lord Tarly and requested his son train to become a Maester for Winterfell. I found this story odd, because I have over heard the Archmaesters stating the King in the North’s heir and bastard are lost beyond the Wall. 

As I said, I have taken time and become close with Samwell and Archmaester Marwyn and I have been helping him with research the North’s Grand Maester has requested on behalf of his King. The King in the North has requested any possible information concerning the Long Night, White Walkers, and the Army of the Dead. Also, they have requested he research stories about Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa, and where deposits of Dragon Glass might be located throughout Westeros, specifically in the North. From the research we have found, apparently soldiers of the undead army of legend could be killed with Dragon Glass, fire and Valyrian Steel… In your last letter, you told me you would be traveling to Winterfell once King Eddard returned from investigating ‘disturbing reports from the Wall.’ This makes me think that the King in the North believes these old nursemaid tales to be true and he is preparing for war against this army of reanimated corpses.

Finally, in the last letter Sam received from Winterfell – It is stated they would be welcoming visitors from Essos for a possible wedding and that these visitors want to know of large caves close to the King’s Road. I am not sure what to make of this and am uncertain why anyone would want to explore caves in the North? Do you believe the North could have some sort of hidden mines Essosi would like to explore?

I will stay at the Citadel as long as you feel I am of use here. Give Ellaria and my sisters my love.

Love, Sarella

“Your girls never cease to amaze me brother,” Doran chuckled. “And it appears that when you all travel to Winterfell, you will be attending a wedding.”

“Father, what do you mean?” Trystane asked with a furrowed brow as he rerolled the letter and handed it to the Prince of Dorne.

“Son, we know that Robb Stark is to be betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. We also know the Tyrells are very ambitious; they will want a wedding between their Golden Rose and the Heir to the North to take place a quickly as possible.”

“Why would that be father? Prince Robb and Lady Margaery have yet to meet. I thought the Starks would want to get to know their possible good daughter and future queen before agreeing to a wedding. I would think they would want to judge her character.”

“Son, what are the words of House Stark?” Doran replied.

“Winter is Coming,” Trystane answered without missing a beat, but the confusion was till clear in his nephew’s tone.

“Precisely,” Doran nodded. “And when winter comes, the North will be reliant on the other Kingdoms for survival.”

“What your father is saying. Is the North is going to need help to feed it’s people come winter…”

“And the Reach is Westeros’ most fertile region,” Trystane interrupted, a look of realization washed across his face. “A marriage between the Starks and the Tyrells will guarantee the North has a way to feed it’s people when winter does arrive.”

“Also, Mace Tyrell will want his daughter wedded and bedded to the heir of the North as soon as possible to ensure she will become the next Queen of the North… We have also just learned Robb Stark is in Essos with the Targaryens and the North is expecting guests from Essos for a wedding… It appears the two of you might just be meeting the rightful King and Queen of Westeros”

“You believe that Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen are the guest from Essos,” Trystane stated. “But why would they be looking for caves?”

“Brother, do you think the Targaryens and Robb Stark are planning to come to Winterfell via dragon back?”

“If so, it would explain why they need a cave,” Doran replied. “Also, if they are heading toward Qarth, it would take at least four or five moon turns to travel from Qarth to Winterfell via ship and Queen Daenerys is with child… I am sure they will not travel until the babe is born, as she has to be nearing the end of her pregnancy. Therefore, it would only make since they would travel by dragon back, especially if they want to make it to Winterfell before the Tyrells arrive.” Doran then paused and took a sip of his Dornish red before continuing, “Which brings us to the mention of the Long Night in this letter. Do you think the King in the North believes in this old legend?”

Oberyn had been thinking about that himself since he had first read Sarella’s letter. From the correspondences they had received with the King in the North, they knew he was traveling to and beyond the Wall to investigate what he had called Disturbing Reports. “Brother, I am not sure what to believe. I like to think of myself as a learned man. I enjoy traveling and throughout my travels, I have heard stories similar to those we were told as children… However, there is no proof this ever occurred. It has always just been a myth… a scary story told by nursemaids to make children behave. Nevertheless, I do feels Eddard Stark believes there is something occurring North of the Wall… So sort of threat that has him risking his own life to the Wildlings to investigate.”

“Rhaegar believed in the Great Others as well,” Doran stated softly.

“What?” both Oberyn and Trystane exclaimed in disbelief.

Doran nodded, “Yes, our good brother believed the Army of the Dead was soon going to rise. Elia would send letters that Rhaegar would spend much of his time researching everything possible about the Long Night. That he must have read everything in Dragonstone’s library at least ten times and that he had requested other books from the Citadel. She would say that she and the children would often go days at a time without seeing him because he was so lost in his research… She also stated Rhaegar believed his children were the three heads of the dragon – that his Son would be Azor Ahai reborn and together they would be the ones to end the Long Night.”

“I have heard stories about the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead, but who is Azor Ahai?” Trystane asked.

It was times like this Oberyn forgot his nephew had yet to see his fourteenth name day. He was still on the cusp of manhood. He then told his nephew how Azor Ahai had push back the Great Other during the first Long Night with his flaming sword, Lightbringer, he had forged by plunging it though his beloved wife’s heart.

“Rhaegar thought that Aegon would kill Rhaenys to form some mythical sword!” Trystane scoffed. “That is unbelievable! That would be Kinslaying and Rhaegar was not a kinslayer! If he was, he would have overthrown his father, and ascended to the Throne himself! He would have rid the world of the Mad King and my Aunt and cousins would still be alive!”

“That is very true. I know that Rhaegar loved Aegon and Rhaenys and would do anything in his power to keep them safe, which is why Elia believe he spent so much time researching the legends and prophecies – he wanted to find another way,” Doran agreed. “Now, Trystane, what else did your learn from this letter?”

“I… I am not sure Father. The only other thing mentioned in the letter was how the Army of the Dead can be defeated… With Fire, Dragonglass and Valyrian Steel”

“Exactly,” Doran replied.

“What are you getting at, brother,” Oberyn inquired.

“A host gift,” Doran stated as his smile widened. “I believe that during your world travels you have managed to obtain several pieces of Valyrian Steel…”

“Brother, I have quite a few pieces of Valyrian Steel, but I have no weapons to offer them. I have some buttons and broaches and pieces of small jewelry, as well as a couple of candlestick holders.”

“That is true. However, I heard there is a young blacksmith in Winterfell who recently reforged the Stark ancestral greatsword, Ice, into two longswords… If we give the Starks the Valyrian Steel trinkets as a gift, I believe you will be able to secure a marriage contract.”

Oberyn had been thinking of finding a smith that would be able to reforge his Valyrian Steel trinkets for years. He had always dreamed of being able to gift each of his daughters and Ellaria with a Valyrian Stiletto. Although, in his travels, he was sure he would be able to come across more small pieces of Valyrian Steel. “Alright, I will offer my Valyrian Steel as a gift, although, after I travel North, I will need to go to Essos to search for more.”

“Thank you brother,” Doran replied sincerely. “We also have two other things, in our vaults that might be a bargaining chip for this alliance,” he added.

“And what would that be Father?” Trystane inquired.

“We have the crowns of Aegon the First and Queen Rhaella.”

Oberyn had always heard rumors Aegon’s crown was in their possession and he knew that they had Rhaella’s crown, because he was the one who had bought it from a merchant in Braavos over ten years ago……

 


 

 

Jon Connington

The disguised merchant vessel swayed gently as it sailed down the Rhoyne River towards it’s next destination; that morning, the Captain of the Fair Maiden had informed the former and rightful Lord of Griffin’s Roost they would make port in Volantis just after midday. Therefore, after his lunch, he made his way to the deck of the ship, to await their arrival hoping that the sight of land and the fresh sea air would help to ease the ball of knots that had been present in his gut for the last fortnight.

It did not.

Within a few minutes, sweat began to drip down his brow as the blazing Essosi sun beat down upon him as he waited for the ship to arrive at the docks. However, he could not vanquish or even ease the fear in his core. He began to pace pacing up and down the deck, deep in thought and ran his hand through his blue hair, knowing how important this mission was and that his life could very well be over if he return to his King empty handed...

“Where are they, Griff?! Where is my wife and her whore mother?!” Aerys thundered as he threw a glass against the wall of Alysanne’s chamber, shattering the crystal into thousands of shimmering shards. His dragon, Rhaelyx, roared; clearly feeding off the dragonlord’s energy through the emotional bond they shared.

“I am not sure, your Grace,” Jon admitted softly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” the young king seethed as he turned to face him. His normally pale face filled with red blotchy spots and his violet eyes appeared hard and cold. “It is the job of your men to keep my family safe! It is your job to know where they are at all times.”

“I am sorry my men failed you… I failed you, your Grace,” he answered softly, feeling nauseated because of the fear of the unpredictability of his King’s recent behavior. Jon took a deep breath, swallowed down the bile that had risen to the back of his throat before answering. “I did not know they were missing until this morning, when her Grace’s chambermaid came to chambers and woke me. She informed me that both Queen Alysanne and Lady Ashara’s quarters were empty… and that there appeared to be no sign of a struggle.”

“How could you not know they were gone? How did your men not see them leave or see if they were taken or if they left on their own?”

Jon Connington was scared. Aerys had a look in his eyes that he was all too familiar with… It was the look his birth father had on his face when he believed someone was plotting against him… The look he had before he used wildfire. Except this Aerys was more dangerous because instead of wildfire, he had Rhaelyx, a real dragon to rain fire upon his perceived enemies. He fearful that his king would end his life or the lives of his men right then because he was sure ‘the dragon’ had been a woken. He knew if he did not intervene, there was a good possibility he would rain fire upon the manse, especially when he told him that it appears his wife and mother were not forcibly taken against their will. He also knew he could not withhold this truth. Therefore, he took a deep breath and as calmly as he could he spoke, “I am sure this was a planned escape, your Grace. It appears as though the women left upon own accord because all my men and the household guards are accounted for. I can also assure you, those on duty last night had nothing to do with the Queen and her Lady Mother’s disappearance because they were poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Aerys asked as his face twisted in confusion and disbelief.

“Yes, your Grace,” Jon Connington confirmed, as he released a breath he was not aware he was holding, thankful that Aerys had not ordered Rhaelyx to burn him to ash. “After the chambermaid informed me their rooms were empty, I decided to look in the gardens… Sometimes they enjoy breaking their fast there, and one the way, I discovered the guards at the entrance of the garden on the ground. I rushed over to them to find them unconscious but breathing with no signs of injury. I then checked the east and west gates…”  

“And?”

“And I discovered those guards unconscious as well,” the Commander of the Golden Company and Hand to King Aerys softly confirmed.

Aerys released an ear-shattering scream into the tense air, falling to his knees, and pulling the black leather tie from his shoulder length silver hair. “Why? Why would she leave me?” He choked out in agony. “I gave her everything! She was my sister! My Queen! We were going to take back our birthright with fire and blood… We were going to be Aegon and his sister wives come again.”

Jon could not believe there were tears streaming down the young man’s face. This was the first time he had seen true emotion from the man since before his ‘awakening.’ The Commander of the Golden Company did not know if they was a good thing or a bad thing. He also knew there were no words he could say that would help to console the King’s pain. So, he waited patiently for the young man to calm himself.

After a few minutes, the young king stood. He wiped his face and his grief was replaced with cold rage. “I don’t know how… But I know my nephew was behind this. He is stealing my wife. I know he wants her for himself. I want you to take a dozen men and find my Alysanne. I want you to kill her whore of a mother in front of her. Then I want you to find my nephew and my other sweet sister, and bring them to me so I can tell her what type of man she is married to… After she learns, I am sure she will feed him to Drogon.”

"Yes, your Grace.”

"You better find them Jon… Otherwise you will face the consequences of fire and blood"

The screeching of a seagull pulled Connington back to the present. His heart was racing and he shook his head in an attempt to vanquish the sight soulless eyes he had seen on his King just before he departed on his mission. ‘Dear gods, please let me be successful,’ he prayed as he wiped the stream of sweat off his brow. ‘Please don’t make me suffer the fate so many suffered under his father. Why has be become so like his father… This is not the king I raised. Gods what should I do?’ he thought as he placed his hands of the railings as the ship continued towards the harbor. ‘How can I make him see that he should not judge his nephew before he meets with him. Maybe I can convince him to make peace with his nephew. Whatever happened in Daenerys other life has not yet come to pass. There is time to change that future. How can I make him see this?’

“Commander Connington.”

Jon turned towards the sound of this name being called, to find the twelve been whom had accompanied him on the deck – all of them were donned in their steel and gold armor, signifying they were members of the Golden Company.

“We will be making landfall soon and are ready to receive your orders,” the young soldier continued.

“Why are you all in your armor?”

The twelve men appeared puzzled. “Commander, why would we not be in our armor?” one of them questioned

The commander was livid, ‘Why the fuck did Aerys send green boys with me on this mission!’  “Because, we do not want to draw attention to ourselves!” Connington gritted out. “Wearing your Golden Company armor will signify who we are! The other Targaryens might have spies anywhere and it they learn men of the Golden Company are looking for people, they might get suspicions! When we reach the docks, I want everyone to split up and we will return to the ship at dusk. Is that understood?”

"Yes, commander.” The men stated in unison.

“Good! Now go change into normal clothing!”

The men uttered another round of ‘yes, commander’ before scurrying below the deck to change into appropriate attire. ‘FUCKING GREEN BOYS!’ Jon thought as he turned to watch the harbor of Volantis quickly come into view.

A short time later, Jon and his men disembarked from the vessel and he began to wonder though the market close to the docks. The air was heavy and smelled of fish and his clothes were already clinging to his body, but he found the city breathtaking. Volantis was a grand city and in different circumstances, he would have loved to truly explore the Western side of the city as well as Long Bridge. Everywhere he looked, he saw men and women of different cultures. There were slaves, foreigners, freedmen and whores all working alongside of one another in the market, selling armor and food and fabrics. ‘In the future, I could spend a night or two with a Lysene whore with the likeness of the man I loved… Maybe that is why I am afraid of abandoning Aerys. He looks so much like Rhaegar… and he used to act like him as well.’ Jon pushed the thoughts out of his mind and continued on his mission.

After giving Ashara and Alysanne’s descriptions to several of the vendors, he got the feeling someone was watching him. When he looked behind, he saw a young boy take off running into the crowded market. ‘One of Varys’ little birds!’ he thought, as he took off after the child. 

The child was quick and Jon was proud of himself for keeping up with the boy as they ran down the winding alleys and paths between inns and brothels. Several times, Jon had to push market goers out of his way. Just as he was about to give up the chase, the boy was grabbed by Noro, one of young recruits of the Golden Company that Aerys had sent went him, and pulled into a bear hug.

Connington was thankful and slowed his pace in an attempt to catch his breath. However, his efforts were in vane because when he reached Noro and the young boy he was still gasping for air. “Why. Were. You. Running. Little. Boy?” he managed to breath out as he took in the child’s appearance. The child’s face was covered in smudges of dirt, his clothes were tattered and torn, and he smelled as though he had not bathed in days. ‘Definitely one of Varys’ little spies.’

“I'm not telling you nothin’!” the boy spat as he struggled to free himself from Noro’s hold.

“How do you know I wanted to ask you something?” He inquired with a quirked brow. When the boy remained silent, Jon Connington drew his dagger from the scabbard on his belt, held the knife to the boy’s throat and continued, “If you wish to live, you will tell me what you know.” ‘Please tell me this boy knows something. Gods help us all if he does not know where Alysanne and Ashara went.’

“Please don’t hurt me,” the boy pleaded with tears streaming down his face.

“I swear to the old gods and the new, I will allow you to live if you tell me the women I am searching for went!" Connington stated as he pushed the dagger deeper into the boys throat, piercing the skin and causing a trickle of blood to drip down this throat. “You don't want to die do you?” He added when he noticed that the child had pissed on himself. ‘Good he is scared. Children talk when they are scared.’

“No! Please! I'll tell you everything!”

"Good… Now tell me what it is I need to know. Tell me where they have gone?" 

“They were going to Qarth!” the boy cried out as he clamped his eyes shut.

“Qarth?” Connington stated in disbelief. The boy still had his eyes closed and he was shaking. ‘He knows more.’ “Why are they going to Qarth?”

“All I know is they were on the docks asking for passage to Qarth,” The boy answered as he opened his eyes and look at him. “I don’t know why they wanted to go there. I swear. I don’t know.”

Jon Connington believed the boy was being honest that he did not know why they were traveling to Qarth. Still felt as though he knew more, so he pressed for more information. “Who were they traveling with?”

“The older woman meet two men on the docks… They seemed to know each other. One man was old… he had wrinkles around his eyes and grey hair and the other man was young and had golden hair,” the boy stated with tears streaming down his face.

‘He has to know more… This is one of Varys’ birds. It is his job to know,’ Jon thought as he took in what the child had stated. “Tell me what else you know about the two men. Where were they from? Why were they going to Qarth?”

“Theys were Westerosi and they had nice swords… and,” The boy then looked down at his feet and quietly stated, “I know that prior to meeting the two women, they had been asking for information on the whereabouts of the Dragon King and Queen.”

‘The Dragon King and Queen? Aerys is the Dragon King and Alysanne is his queen.’

The boy then continued, “They were wanting to know where the Last Targaryens and their Khalasar are heading.”

‘Shit! Ashara is hoping to find refuge with Alysanne’s sister and her husband,’ Jon thought as he removed the dagger from the boy’s throat and returned it to its scabbard before running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “What is your name, boy?” Connington questioned as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

“A..A..Aran,” the boy stuttered.

“Have you ever been on a boat, Aran?” The boy shook his head and Jon continued, “Well today is your lucky day… You’re coming with us.”

“But my mother… My sister…”

Jon knew that he could not let the boy go free because he would inform Varys of this information. Harry Strickland hand tried to contact Varys about Aerys. If this child had heard anything from his men about Aerys or his dragon it would only be a matter of time before the spider heard. However, he had promised the child he would not kill him. “If you want to live, you will be coming with us.”

The child stopped protesting and the three made their way back to the docks and boarded the Fair Maiden. Upon their arrival, Jon informed the Captain of the Vessel they were to sail to Qarth with haste at first light. Tonight, however, he had to send a letter to his King and he wanted to visit a nice brothel and celebrate his victory; it had been far too long since he had laid with a man and he needed release...…

Chapter 30: Rising Sun

Notes:

Longclaw: Well hello everybody! I'm Longclaw1-6, and you may know me as the author of Empire of Ice and Fire and other stories (if you haven't read them, please do :D ). After Reuben and Cymatt were unable to continue this story I was glad to step in and keep the torch alive. Got a whole boat of fresh ideas of my own as well as their amazing outline, so expect some big stuff coming up :D

I hope you enjoy the ride!

CastleColin: Hello readers! I'm CastleColin and a new author in the GOT fandom. This is my first collaboration and first work set in GRRM's fantastical world. I am honored to have been handpicked by Longclaw1-6, whose stories I've read title-to-title, for this take on the Song of Ice and Fire. I welcome any feedback to improve my writing so that you can be engaged ever more by this story. Thanks again to Longclaw for this partnership and happy readings!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Davos Seaworth

The sun was shining very brightly over the Summer Sea, and a gusty eastward wind had been strong for the past fortnight. Stannis’s flagship, the mighty triple-decked war galley Fury, plowed through the water with all three hundred oars dipping, spraying Davos Seaworth with the sea spray. On its starboard side, Black Betha kept in pace with Davos’s son Matthos tacking the ship’s onion-emblazoned black sail to take advantage of the wind. On Fury’s port side, Dale helmed the Wraith to mirror the tack of his more experienced older brother. 

Gods, he was proud of his sons.

After stopping in Tyrosh, Stannis’s small fleet had sailed through the Stepstones, making port at Volantis for supplies and maintenance before sailing forth toward Qarth. By dead reckoning, Davos figured that they were now just two days from reaching the Jade Gates since favorable winds picked up when they passed New Ghis.

Surprisingly, the voyage had been relatively smooth and uneventful. No pirates or storms threatened them and even when sailing around the smoking sea of Valyria, no volcanic activity had been sighted. However, Davos was still uneasy and on edge. For if nature was not their foe, the gods were, or rather, one particular god and his servant was whispering in the ear of his lord.

As much as he wanted to deny it, Stannis had gotten worse as the voyage progressed. He spent all day in his chambers staring unblinking into the flames, only coming out for some air in the evening and early morning. A sort of hypnotic zeal had possessed him, complemented in intensity only by the stifling heat and humidity of southern Essos. He was utterly convinced in the destiny the Red Woman said was his, and it was the only thing he would speak of whenever Davos managed to get a word out of him. The slaying of Aegon Targaryen was only the first step in becoming this so-called Prince Who was Promised, and he would stop at nothing to sink his steel into the flesh of the Last Dragon’s last son. Yet Stannis had neglected to train with a blade ever since he’d done… whatever it was he did to make a son with Melisandre. He said that it was unnecessary to prepare for a duel with his victory predetermined by the Lord of Light. For a battle-hardened man to suddenly discard the value of practice so casually was all the more proof Davos had that the Red Woman had truly corrupted him.

Davos sighed heavily and put his head in his hands as he leaned on the railing of Fury’s starboard side. What has Stannis become, and what will he turn into if that witch has her way with him any longer? He debated with himself whether or not to toss Melisandre overboard when no one was looking, but decided against it. Stannis’s wife Selyse would undoubtedly suspect him first as her fervent devotion to the Lord of Light gave her an unabashed disdain for unbelievers, such as himself. He had made little secret of his disapproval of Melisandre to Stannis, and Selyse was not one to forget his heresy. If he sent the Red Woman down to the Drowned God, Stannis would send him the other way to the Red God. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice. “Ser Davos,” Shireen inquired. “Are you feeling alright? You have not come down with seasickness, I hope?”

Davos turned to his left to see Stannis’s daughter approach him with a smile on her face and a flask in her hands. He smiled back and straightened his posture. “No, milady. I’m quite alright. It’s just the heat of the day that’s bothering me. Old men like me need to stay in the shade when the sun is high.”

Shireen nodded and handed him the flask she held. “Well drink then. Heat sickness will take you otherwise.”

“Thank you milady,” beamed Davos as he gratefully accepted the drink. He popped the cork and took a welcome swig of the light ale - welcome simplicity from the fancy wines drunk at Dragonstone. He looked over at Shireen, who was unusually quiet and subdued, staring out over the water. This is odd. Shireen had always been a talkative soul with an energy that betrayed the greyscale that had afflicted her as a babe.

“Lady Shireen,” he said, regaining her attention. “Is something pressing on your mind? You have been considerably less… active for the past few days. Apart from our reading lessons, which I enjoy most immensely, you rarely speak to anyone.”

The young girl pursed her lips and cleared her throat. “My apologies if my behavior has been off-putting lately, Ser Davos. I am just concerned for my mother. Her health has declined precipitously and she is currently bed-ridden. The voyage appears to not have been kind to her, and I fear that… the Stranger may come for her soon.”

Shireen tried to put on a brave face but her emotions betrayed her efforts. She was clearly trying to hold back tears. Davos felt a wave of sympathy wash over him, and he reached out to pull her into a comforting embrace. He too had noticed that Lady Selyse had been confined to her chambers, Stannis largely ignoring her condition.

Davos’s patience with Stannis was stretched to its limit. Now that his lord was neglecting his lady wife in her illness, he wanted more than ever for Melisandre to be gone. He had suggested to Shireen that she ride aboard Black Betha , both to keep young Steffon company and to keep her away from the Red Priestess, but Shireen had insisted that she stay with her parents. Davos admired her commitment to her family, but feared that it would ultimately lead to pain for her.

Shireen drew in a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Thank you, Ser Davos. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go check in on my mother. Will we be having your reading lessons this afternoon as usual?”

“Yes milady. I would like that very much.”

The young lady Baratheon bowed her head and turned to leave. As she took the stairs down below deck, Davos felt a sinking feeling in his gut. Whatever the Red Woman had in store for Stannis, his daughter would definitely be the first to suffer the consequences. The Onion Knight was very fond of his lord’s daughter, who he had come to see as one of his own. He was not going to let her become a pawn in whatever nonsense Stannis had bought into.

After swigging the rest of his ale, Davos walked briskly below deck towards Stannis’s chambers, mind racing as to how to prevent Stannis from doing something foolish. Wanting to confront Stannis upfront about his distrust of Melisandre. If that failed to sway Stannis’s resolve, Davos didn’t know what would.

When he reached the door to Stannis’s study, he reached for the door handle only to find it locked tight. Behind the door, he could hear his lord deep in conversation with the Red Woman. The latter was clearly agitated while the former was calm.

“Your pregnancy appears to be progressing well, Melisandre. You are growing a son in your womb, I presume?” Stannis inquired in an uncharacteristically offhand tone.

“Indeed I am, my lord,” replied the Red Woman. “But that is not important in the immediate future. Your impending duel with Aegon Targaryen is what should be your focus. May I remind you that you still have not decided upon the chosen sacrifice. The Lord of Light will not grant your victory if you fail to carry out his will.”

Davos held his breath as he waited for Stannis’s response. There was a long pause before Stannis spoke. “Fine. If the Lord of Light wills that I give up my kin to beat back the night’s terrors, then that is what I shall do.” Pressing his ear to the door, Davos continued to listen to their conversation. Heart beating from fear.

“Selyse or Shireen will do for the needed sacrifice of someone dear to you. You are free to pick whoever you deem appropriate for such an offering worthy of my destiny as the Promised Prince.”

Davos nearly fell over. His fear that the young, innocent Shireen would end up on a pyre was coming into fruition, and he felt powerless to stop it. So consumed with his thoughts about how to thwart her fate, he barely paid attention to the words of the Red Woman.

“Why my daughter, Melisandre? She is but a child.” said Stannis.

“Your wife has king’s blood only by virtue of her marriage to you, my lord. As your daughter is your flesh and blood, her life truly carries the essence of kings,” Melisandre paused, before concluding. “The Lord of Light’s blessings to his chosen reciprocate what his chosen offer him. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the victory.”

On the other side of the door, Stannis exhaled loudly and agreed. “If I must give up my only heir to save the world from the coming darkness, then I can not back away from what duty demands of me.” The smuggler-turned-knight nearly threw up at hearing those words. “My daughter will be sacrificed to the Lord of Light upon our arrival in Qarth.”

“Spoken wisely, my prince. The songs will sing your praises for all the nights to come.”

Ser Davos Seaworth turned away from the door and ran down the hallway toward Selyse’s chambers. At this point there was no chance to turn Stannis away from Melisandre. Seven Hells, he’s further gone than her. But by the old gods and the new, this upjumped knight was not letting an innocent soul like Shireen perish in the flames. 

If he had to pull her from the burning pyre with his own bare hands, so be it.


 


 

 

Petyr Baelish 

Petyr sat alone in his usual plush armchair in his office, pondering the various crises of both his plans and the plans of the King he ‘served.’ Through the walls of his brothel beneath Aegon’s Hill wafted the sounds of frantic lovemaking. He needed time alone to think and clear his head, and the background of his whores plying their trade was helpful. Tommen and Myrcella were dead and apparently not Robert's children. Varys had let him know when he requested that the king was in need of Tears of Lys. He had an inkling suspicion what the poison was meant for. His suspicion was confirmed. From Cersei's hysterics at the small council meeting, he could've sworn that she would've clawed out her husband's eyes if Ser Illyn had not restrained her.

A better punishment would be castration. That way, Robert could never have his way with whores ever again. Only problem would be my lost business. Thinking back to Robert's reaction to the deaths of his wife's bastards, the king did a poor job of concealing his satisfaction at their demise. It was just as well that Tommen and Myrcella found their way to endless sleep. The Faith preached against the baseborn, deeming them innately greedy subhumans that schemed to usurp the rights of the trueborn. Since Cersei had passed off her bastards as such, the High Septon would surely view that as vindication of the wisdom of the Seven.

No matter. The Master of Coin leaned back into his chair and reached over for a flagon of summerwine. It would only add tinder to the fire he would eventually have to light between the Baratheons and the Lannisters.

He poured himself a glass of wine and took a slow, thoughtful swallow. Tywin was unlikely to rebel against Robert over Cersei's loss of her children, but he was willing to bet that Robert now saw the Lannisters as a potential threat to his throne. However, setting the Lion and the Stag at each other's throats would have to wait until the Dragon was slain. Climbing too many rungs on his ladder was only a recipe for falling to one’s death.

That left only the Wolf, the Rose, the Falcon…

Baelish heard someone knocking on his office door, shattering his thoughts. "Milord, I have an urgent message from Essos,” a voice called from the other side. “I believe it concerns the sellswords you hired to deal with the Targaryens." 

It was Oliver, by the sound of that soft voice.

"Come in, Oliver," called Petyr. "I hope for your sake that you brought good news, considering you can’t proclaim my private information to the whole damn brothel," he added with a hiss, placing his glass down on the table as the scared Oliver opened the door. His servant walked inside and pulled a scroll sealed with wax out of his traveling bag to hand to the Master of Coin. 

“Forgive me, milord.” The young boy bowed low, trembling.

Baelish accepted the scroll from the man before breaking the seal and skimming through the words. His eyes widened briefly before regaining composure. "Thank you, Oliver. This is… intriguing news indeed," he remarked in a far more generous tone. "Will there be anything that you need on your way out?"

"No, milord," Oliver said, bowing his head before heading back out the door.

Petyr walked back to his armchair and settled into his seat. He refilled his glass of wine and reread the scroll that had been delivered to him.

 

 

 

 

Lord Baelish,

I infiltrated the Targaryens' khalasar as requested with my usual sellsword clients. I am unhappy to report that the assasination failed. Their dragons appeared to have detected the poison that was used in their food. Both Daenerys and this Aegon Targaryen survived the attempted assassination and beheaded my clients. However, I noticed something else in their khalasar that seemed out of place. I believe to have saw a direwolf. Two, in fact. One white and the other grey.

I risked a closer look and saw what appeared to be their handler. A young man with auburn hair that appears to not be much older than his eighteenth nameday. I have no clue whether this man is Aegon Targaryen, but his presence among the Dothraki was curious.

At this time, I am heading back to Pentos. After seeing what happened to the Targaryens' would-be killers, I am not keen on getting caught and facing the same fate. 

Reading the message - repeating three times for good measure - he slowly put it down on the table. Picking up his glass, he took another long, slow sip of the sweet summerwine. Musing silently. A young man with direwolves and wearing direwolves on his clothes. Direwolves, as far as he knew, were only found in the North and had not been seen south of the Wall for hundreds of years. Yet, there were two apparently in Essos. The only way he could imagine them there was if someone transported them across the Narrow Sea from the North…

Ned Stark's sons. The realization rippled through Littlefinger’s mind. The direwolf was the sigil of House Stark and the description of the direwolves' handler matched what his Catelyn told him of her eldest son… Robb. He paced back and forth on the lush Myrish rug, trying to make sense of what he thought to be true. Varys told him that Ned's heir and bastard went beyond the Wall to investigate the reports of the Night's Watch... yet I receive a message that says that someone who has to be Robb Stark is out on the Dothraki Sea. It would be the height of madness for him to just travel there, a khalasar with two Targaryen pretenders that would surely feed him to their dragons if they knew of his presence.

I can’t assume he’s insane or brash like his uncle Brandon. Baelish slowed to a stop and sat back down, exhaling loudly as he did. The question, when putting aside stupidity, still remained: why would the Stark heir journey to a part of Essos so close to the Targaryens? And why would Ned Stark lie about where his heir was? Unless…  

Petyr's eyes widened as a possibility came into his mind. If what he read was true, then Robb had potentially been with the khalasar for the last several moons. More than enough time for the Targaryens to learn of his presence even if disguised. Yet, his spy implied that Robb was conducting himself openly. So, perhaps he had already been caught. But if he had, why wasn't he killed? By the old gods and the new, I know why Ned Stark's heir is with the Targaryens and why Ned lied about where he is. Ned sent Robb to treat with the Targaryens. That's why he told everyone his heir was going beyond the Wall. The Seven Kingdoms and the king himself would have been in uproar at hearing the truth.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Petyr pondered his realization. Robb being alive and not burnt to a crisp indicated that he must've reached an agreement with Daenerys and Aegon. But what could the North offer to a pair that had 100,000 Dothraki and six dragons? Renewed oaths of fealty in exchange for being spared punishment for the Rebellion? He scoffed at that. No, the Starks would have to give up far more than just their newfound independence and do more than just pledge their allegiance for the Targaryens not to rain fire and blood upon them.

Reaching for his glass of wine, he drained its contents and gingerly set it back down on the table. Grimacing as the only conclusion rose to the surface. Ned has probably pledged his banners to assist the Targaryens in retaking the Iron Throne, and his heir is probably being kept as a hostage to hold him to his word. Not good, not good at all. A two front war for Robert’s crown, one against the North and one against the Targaryens. Dorne would leap at the opportunity for vengeance against the Lannisters, and the Reach would be bound by marriage. And given Catelyn's marriage to Ned, the Riverlands would assist.

He straightened up and adjusted his plans. As much as he preferred that the Targaryens were eliminated before Westeros fell into civil war, he had to prevent them from already gaining a foothold on the continent before their actual invasion started. But he couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. I will have my Cat back sooner. Littlefinger could almost visualize her husband's execution for treason, and Catelyn running into his arms once Robert granted her a pardon for Ned's crimes at his urging. Together, they would then ascend the ladder to the Iron Throne!


 


  

Daenerys Targaryen

Hands digging into the mattress, Daenerys gasped. Fisting the soft satin sheets of the great manse - such a good feeling after months on the march after the coarse furs and skins the Dothraki used as bedding… but it wasn’t the sheets that the rightful Queen of Westeros cared about at that moment. “Fuck Jon!” Her head threw back in a desperate moan, legs wrapping around her husband’s hips as he pounded deep inside her. “Oh gods… fuck me harder!”

Mouth attached to her neck, Jon feverishly sucked and licked, marking his beautiful wife. Growling into her creamy skin. Every time with Jon felt like their first time, both in this life and in her last, cock driving hard into her. “I love you, Dany,” he groaned, grabbing her leg and pulling it higher on him. Exposing more of her sopping wet flower to his plundering.

“I love… you too… oh yes!” Dany let go of the sheets - her nails having cut a few holes from how hard Jon was fucking her - digging into his back. Scraping hard down his skin, coaxing a snarl from him. She screamed as Jon pulled fully out of her only to slam back in. He’s so damn good at this… 

Jon hissed when Dany bit down on his shoulder, marking him every bit as viciously as he had her. “Shit, Dany… shit.” She pulled back, grinning, only to shudder at Jon’s darkened grey eyes. Determined to teach her a lesson.

Suddenly, he pulled out. Leaving Dany painfully empty and alone. “Nooo…” the Queen groaned. “Don’t leave me like this, Jon!” She felt him nuzzle her breasts, flicking her nipples with his nose - tickling and teasing. “Stop… I need you inside me again. Please, please, please…” The mighty Mother of Dragons did not beg to anyone except her beloved husband and King. Only in the bedroom, knowing he would never hurt her. 

She then yelped, Jon frantically flipping her over using her legs. “Get on all fours,” he said darkly, his voice low and fierce. Dany felt a fresh gush of wetness coat her core, her heat and desire growing to new heights when he smacked her ass. Hard. “Now, Daenerys.”

“Oh fuck, Jon.” Dany complied almost immediately. Wiggling her ass at him. “Finish me off, my King… oh yes!” Hands gripping her hips, he had thrust inside her with one stroke. “You’re so deep… fuck me!” She knew he loved her dirty talk - his prim and powerful co-ruler moaning and swearing like a wanton whore. “Your Queen wants to be fucked!” 

He thrust and slapped her ass at the same time, causing Dany to buck. “You’re mine, Dany. My wife. My lover.” A hand slipped from her hips to caress her belly, swollen with their son. “Mother of my children!”

“Yes… only yours!” Dany’s head sunk into the pillow, screaming into it. She loved this position, feeling him rock so deep inside her - the witch had blocked all memories of Drogo, but Daenerys remembered how scared she had been, remembered it was because of the Dothraki Khal. How she once elbowed Daario in the face for even playacting while they were fully clothed. But with Jon… she was safe. He loved her desperately, barely able to handle this position until she begged him. Only him… only with him… 

As his head crashed against a particularly sensitive spot, Dany shattered. Dragonfire beneath her lids as she came undone. Mouth tilting open in a silent scream. Her walls contracting rhythmically, Dany swore she climaxed again when Jon shuddered, emptying rope after rope of his sticky cum into her channel. He would have most certainly quickened inside her if Rhaegon wasn’t already nestled in her womb.

Easing out of her, Dany whimpering at the loss of contact, Jon collapsed onto the bed. Daenerys following soon after, atop him, tangled together in a heap of limbs and sweaty skin. Soft, gentle fingers caressed his chest where the scar had once been in both their past lives, a loving habit Dany hadn’t lost even when she didn’t remember her past. Daenerys’ heart clenched with love for him, feeling Jon kiss the crown of her head with all the affection in the world.

A pleased sigh left Dany’s mouth. “You are the… finest lover that has ever lived.”

Hearing his chuckle, she felt Jon pulling her closer to him. Both deciding to forgo sleepwear as he yanked the sheet and light blanket atop them to ward off the nighttime winds. “I don’t know how you could possibly say that,” he teased. “Considering you’ve only had three lovers.”

Looking up at him, Daenerys frowned. Smacking him lightly on the chest. “I don’t think you should bring them up while we’re in bed, Jon Snow.” Dany only brought up his old name when she was irritated with him… or teasing. 

“My apologies.” Leaning forward, he kissed her sweetly on the neck, making her purr. “Tell me, how do I compare with these other lovers?” They played this game before - all the time in her past life from the foggy memories she had, and by his grin in his as well. 

“Mmmmm, the best.” Shifting, finding the most comfortable position for her pregnant belly, Dany sighed happily when she settled by his side. Head on his pec and arm and leg tossed across him. “I actually don’t remember any of them, but from what I do remember thinking of them and you… you have them beat by leagues.”

Raising an eyebrow at her, Jon looked confused. “What?”

She smiled. “Mirri Maz Duur, when she gave me my memories, I… I asked her not to give me those of men other than you, my love.” Dany kissed his skin. “I am yours, Jon. Yours completely and utterly.” 

“Same for me, ñuha jorrāelagon .” Her violet eyes sparkled at their mother tongue on his lips, only to narrow in worry when Jon hung his head. “If only I had the same.”

Pulling his face to her, Dany kissed him sweetly. “Oh Jon… Do not feel bad, my love. Your wildling spearwife… Ygritte?” He nodded. “She was a part of your past, part of the journey that made you the great man you are - at least she was a happy experience for you, not rape or an idle distraction…” She squeezed him tight. “I only want you, blood of my blood.”

He returned the embrace, filling her heart with love. “And I only want you, my dragon.” 

Daenerys never felt this happy. Never felt this at peace - not even back in Pentos, when Jon arrived at Illyrio’s manse to save her from her vile brother, marrying her the next day. A powerful and kind queen, majestic and loving King by her side. Their child growing inside her, free from the Ice Monsters… their enemies would be circling to take the happiness away from them, so she planned to enjoy it as much as possible.

Qarth had been easy to enter. The city at edge from some kind of disaster, the council of merchants that ran the city were quick to give entry and lodging to the leaders of the massive khalasar and six dragons that appeared on the outskirts. Xaro Xhoan Daxos was there, and had offered his manse to them and Robb just as in their past lives, but the warlocks were notably absent - Jon seemed to not be perturbed by it, and Dany felt he knew more than he let on. “So, Jon. What are we going to do about our esteemed host?”

Shrugging, grey eyes gazed at her. “Not sure. He betrayed and stole your dragons before, Dany. I defer to you on this.”

Few kings would defer to their Queens on major decisions. Aegon the Conqueror did for Visenya and Rhaenys. Jaehaerys did it for Alysanne. Prince Daemon did it for Rhaenyra. And Jon did it for her. He really was the perfect man in her eyes. “I say we let him be King of Qarth.” Jon blinked at her, slightly surprised. “He has no power over us, and if we support him we’ll own his compliance. Win win for both parties.”

“You are a seasoned politician already, Daenerys Targaryen.”

“A Queen needs to be useful for her King,” she giggled. Hand inching lower on his chest. “Now, I think you’re keeping something from your Queen.”

“Dany?” His breath hitched as she traced his hip.

She looked at him with an innocent look. “Something wrong, my love?” Smirking inwardly, the hand drifted further south. “You knew the Warlocks wouldn’t be here. Why is that, Jon?”

His lips pursed in a line, hips bucking as her hands encircled his member. Stroking it back to hardness. “Dead… they’re dead… or scared.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Dany pumped him, slowly sliding down his body - enjoying this immensely. “Tell me Jon, why were the crafty and cunning warlocks scared of us enough to flee?”

“Comet…” He gasped, hips bucking hard. Daenerys loved at how she could reduce the mighty Aegon Targaryen into a whimpering mess. “The comet slammed into the House of the Undying…” She stopped, staring at him. “Please, continue,” he begged.

“Not yet, this is serious.” Climbing on him, Dany met his gaze. “The disaster that unsettled them was the comet? How do you know this?”

Exhaling, Jon nodded. “It was a dream I had, telling me to come here. That the comet would fall, and within I would have what I need to forge my sword.”

“You have a sword.”

“Yes, but…” He sighed. “Dawn is not mine. It belongs to House Dayne. Blackfyre is lost and Dark Sister is yours, so I need to forge my own blades to fight the Night King when the time comes. The dream… it told me that it would be held within the comet. I was planning for you and I to visit the site tomorrow.”

Mollified, Dany smiled sweetly at him, mischief returning to her expression. “You are a very good husband, Jon Targaryen. I think you need to be rewarded.” His gasp was worth it as she took his length in her mouth, going to work on him without hesitation.



 

 

 

Notes:

Longclaw: Mostly setup for now, but I intend to accelerate the story into some action quite soon.

Couldn't help but add some smut at the end. we all deserve it!

Of course Baelish has something up his sleeve. You can't expect the foes to stay stupid and ignorant all the time, so Ned and co are in for a pretty wild ride ;)

Credit to Cymatt for the Moodboards

If we can get 40 comments, we'll update the next chapter on Saturday :D

Enjoy!

Chapter 31: Secrets Revealed

Summary:

1. Jon and Dany run into a familiar face from the past while visiting the House of the Undying with their guards.
2. Melisandre sees visions in the flames, informs Stannis and makes a decision regarding the future.
3. Littlefinger provides Tywin with information. The Hand of the King makes moves.
4. Stannis faces his destiny.
5. Dany and Jon hope to secure allies from the past.

Notes:

CastleColin: Alright folks, we’re picking up steam! The Targaryens will no longer have the luxury of their alliances being covert. But that should make it all the more fun to see the villains we love so much step up their game.

Longclaw: Thank you for all your support. We want to do justice with the story and It's heartening that y'all seem to enjoy it.

Cmyatt01: I just want to say that I am blown away with Longclaw and Colin have done with this story! I apologize for formatting issues - I am not sure what AO3 did, but I had to copy and past from an HTML5 editor to insert the moodboards. I hope that you all enjoy and please leave these two love in the comments!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

Jon Targaryen

 

“Well,” the Queen began, arms folded beneath her breasts as she gazed upon the once imposing House of the Undying. “I will say it did have a certain simplistic majesty about it, but I prefer this design.”

 

Jon fought back a laugh. “My love, it’s a pile of smoldering rubble and a large crater.”

 

The shit-eating grin on Dany’s face only made him want to laugh harder. “Exactly the point, dear husband of mine.”

 

Never having been to Qarth, or Essos rather except for his ill-fated escape to Pentos during the failure of his past life, Jon couldn’t be the one to judge the architectural aesthetics of the House of the Undying. However, considering what Dany told him the warlocks had done to her and her dragons, the giant impact crater was an improvement. Just the thought of one of those mystics chaining Sarogon or Rhaegal made Jon’s blood boil.

 

“Spread out!” ordered Tyene Sand in ragged but decent Dothraki, daggers sheathed on her belt but ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. “Stop bunching together and form a perimeter!” 

 

“Fuck you,” Nymeria said, her voice dripping a syrupy sweetness. Obara grinned next to her when Tyene responded with a gesture telling her sister what she could anatomically do to herself.

 

Robb, watching with a half grimace, approached his brother and goodsister. “Did you really have to appoint them as your acting Kingsuard?” Being the first Dany had discovered and the lover of their lead bloodrider, Tyene claimed the mantle as interim Lady Commander, much to her older sisters’ chagrin. “They scare me.”

 

Jon slapped him on the back. “Three beautiful girls scare you? I’m surprised at you, Robb Stark.” Truth was, they slightly scared him too, but Dany trusted them as loyal allies from the past/future, so he backed off his concerns. “They are good fighters, and you want your nephew to be protected by the best, right?” With a sigh, Robb nodded. 

 

His attention was drawn back to the remnants of the great comet in the center of the crater. “That’s what I saw,” he told his brother and wife. “In my dream.”

 

“Dream?” asked Robb, Jon quickly filling him in. “We should get a team of horses, drag it back to the manse.”

 

“I only wish Gendry were here instead of in Winterfell.” Resting his hand on the small of her back, Jon listened to Dany’s animation. The happiness of the woman he knew so intimately and spared the life of degradation and abuse she had led in both their pasts. Blossoming into a beautiful she-dragon, fierce yet passionate. Strong yet devoted. Vicious yet loving. The person she had to have been in the House with the Red Door emerging in full. “As such, we’ll need to get enough ore to transport on Arogon and Sarogon for Gendry to forge with. The Qarthi should be able to have a smith that can at least mine enough from the crater for two swords, right Jon? Jon? Jon!”

 

He barely heard her increasingly louder cries for his attention. Gaze torn from anything but the ghost that stood barely ten yards across the hilly scrubland. No, it can’t be. Not here. Huffing, likely turning, a breath left Dany’s lips before she saw her too, jaw dropping slightly at who had just arrived.

 

Ghost and Greywind starting to growl, Robb approached. “Jon, Daenerys? What is it?”

 

Shock changing to a guarded anger, Jon narrowed his eyes. Staring directly at the confident and striking face of the Lady Melisandre of Asshai. Surrounded by guards, hands on the hilts of their swords and two heart stag banners fluttering in the light wind. If she’s here… Stannis… and Davos. A mixed bag, but overall not good.

 

Obara and Nymeria stepped forward, brandishing their weapons while Tyene hung back with their bloodriders. “State your business, woman,” the eldest Sand Snake hissed. The woman was unknown to most, but the sigil was instantly recognizable. Jon could literally feel the hostility in their guards’ postures. Itching for a fight against the confirmed enemy. 

 

“Relax, Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen, I bring only a message.” Dismounting her horse, she stepped several paces away from her retinue. “I serve Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone, Azor Ahai and the Prince who was Promised. Born of Salt and Smoke…”

 

“What does that make him, a ham?” Tyene barked out, causing her sisters and Robb to chuckle. Quick translation into Dothraki had the entire assemblage guffawing at the jape.

 

Neither Jon nor Dany laughed. This Melisandre was not tempered by the humility and goodness that had claimed her during her journeys after exile from Winterfell. That served them faithfully through the Long Night. No, this is the same one who burned many innocents. Who slaughtered Renly Baratheon through black magic. Who burned Shireen. They would have to tread carefully.

 

Even laughed at, she remained calm. “Jape all you want, Tyene Sand.” The Sand Snakes petered out, eyes narrowing as their hostile suspicion returned. “Lord Stannis is the promised prince, and he will display this before the fields of Qarth on the morrow.”

 

“And how does he plan to do that?” Jon asked, speaking to her for the first time since he made his journey in the pool in Pentos. 

 

“Lord Stannis challenges you to a blood duel. One to the death, each man with the weapon of his choice.”

 

Daenerys quickly pulled him down, mouth in his ear. “Jon, don’t do this. You’re falling into her trap.”

 

“No,” Jon whispered to her. “We need her, Dany. And Davos.” His mind clicked. “Trust me.” Leaving her side, Jon walked towards Melisandre. Steps slow but forceful. Winter’s Wolf and his other blade clattering against his leg as he walked. Closer and closer, a tiny smirk forming on his face as the smug confidence adorning Melisandre’s face began to falter.

 

They were so close that their faces were only inches apart, but it held no intimacy. Not the heat that Jon shared with Daenerys in the same circumstances. Instead, the air crackled with ice - he King glaring intimidatingly down at the Red Witch with the same contempt he felt when learning she had burned Shireen.  If she is to become the woman she was when I left, then this must be done. All the malevolence and brutality that caused her exile from the North would need to be forced out.

 

Normally filled with confidence, Melisandre’s red eyes flickered with a sudden fear. Though with a sparkle of wonder. “Who… who are you?”

 

“I am Aegon Targaryen, Melisandre of Asshai.” Her eyes widened further, jaw dropping. “Yes, I know who you are. I know that you are a Priestess of R'hllor that you see visions in your flames and hold an amulet that shrouds your aged and wrinkled body.” Honestly, the darkness within him enjoyed the slight fear that he could see was welling within her.

 

“How do you know these things?” Melisandre breathed in a low whisper. She trembled as he continued to glare down at her, greys turning to a muted orange - boring deep into her soul.

 

Hearing soft steps beside him, Jon wordlessly reached out his hand. Finding Dany’s hand without even looking. “The answer is simple, Melisandre of Asshai.” Her voice was low, the Dragon Queen’s voice that in other circumstances could set him alight with desire. “We are the Song of Ice and Fire. The union of the stormborn and the child of salt and smoke, brought from the failures of the future to protect the past from the dark and terrifying night. From the everlasting winter.”

 

Each word seemed to increase her wonder. “Have you seen this in the flames?”

 

“We know it would come, because we’ve seen them.” Jon thought back long in the past - or future. Remembering the visions Melisandre spoke of to him. “A great battle to be fought in the snow, one man with a flaming blade against the darkness. Facing the Night King to bring the Dawn.” His eyes shifting from orange to a dark blue. Calm but representing the darkness within him. “You have chosen wrong, Lady Melisandre.”

 

Overhead, the dragons screeched. Flying by in a wide bank. Sarogon and Arogon letting loose sprays of ice - showing off for their parents. Driving the point home for the visitor, only here to deliver a message but in effect discovering the destiny she - twice over in two past lives - had set into motion. “Lord Stannis is the promised prince…”

 

“Go, Melisandre of Asshai,” Jon nearly growled. “Go back to your ship. Stare into the fires you worship, and see what your Lord truly wants.” Hand still clasped tightly to Dany’s, he pulled her back to their guards. Leaving the Red Witch to stand unmoving in the sandy soil.

 

Dany suddenly stopped, motioning to Jon with an insistent look. “Oh, and one more thing.” Her violets had turned a bright orange, anger rising furiously to the surface. “If you burn any innocents alive, if you even try to use your shadow babe on my husband, I will feed you to my dragons. That is a promise.” 

 

The last glimpse of Melisandre they saw before the Sand Snakes and bloodriders surrounded them was a hesitant nod. Good. Yet another injustice righted in this brave new world.

 


Melisandre of Asshai

 

The flames flickered and danced. Red-orange tendrils snaked upward through the air out of the brazier that embraced them. Fire. That divine phenomena that brought life and death, both in equal measure, was the way that the Lord of Light communed with his servants and revealed to them his secrets. For a lifelong devotee of the Red God, being able to interpret the visions sent by fire was expected and required of her.

 

Stannis’s fleet had reached Qarth the previous day and he had instructed her to seek out Aegon and present him with the challenged duel. It was not hard to find him. The Targaryens had made quite a splash in the three-walled oasis city. Everyone knew where they were housed - in the manse of one called Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Although he was not there when she went to present him with Stannis’s challenge, his benefactor informed her that he was at the House of the Undying. In front of the ruined Warlock temple, she found the Targaryen prince and to her surprise, he was not Dornish but Northman.

 

Upon meeting the young man who claimed to be the fallen Prince’s last son, she knew immediately that he was no ordinary royal. Aegon carried himself with all the dignity and poise of a highborn, yet with a humility and quiet confidence of a lowborn. He possessed the typical rugged Northman features of a Stark with the only clue about his Targaryen heritage being his temper and fiery gaze when aroused. Melisandre had no pretensions about Stannis, but now that she had seen Aegon in the flesh, her faith in the Stag was broken.

 

There was no doubt in her mind that it was Aegon who was the true Prince Who was Promised. In their tense meeting when she had presented Stannis’s challenge of a duel to him, he revealed his dual heritage as a Stark and Targaryen... Starks were associated with ice as much as the Targaryens were with fire. On top of that, he had shown her his dragon Sarogon and Queen Daenerys’ dragon Arogon - hybrids that could breathe both flames and icy blasts. Melisandre had only heard of such wonders in legends of Old Valyria that senior Red Priests would share with their acolytes.

 

Now, staring ever deeper into the flickering fire, she prayed that the Lord of Light would show her the true outcome of the impending duel between Aegon and Stannis.

 

Between the tongues of flame that licked the air, a faint picture came into focus… 

 

Stannis and Aegon danced to a fast and furious tune. The black shadow of the stag bucked and kicked as the red fire of the dragon’s claws swiped and jaws gnashed. Neither beast gave an inch. Each beast landed a blow that would have otherwise killed a mortal man instantly.

 

The stag charged headlong at the dragon’s flank, its antlers aiming for the flesh below the neck. The dragon chomped its fangs down upon the charging stag’s antlers, grinding it to a halt. The stag pushed forward with all its strength but was caught in the dragon’s maw. Unable to shake off its rival, the dragon shook its head back and forth.

 

Unbeknownst to either beast, a great grey wolf was creeping up on them from the side. Growling, it watched the deadly dance reach its climax. Upon the trapping of the stag in the jaws of the dragon, the wolf let out a howl and bounded forward.

 

Eyes wide at the sudden intrusion, the stag was helpless as the wolf launched itself at its exposed neck with large canines bared… 

 

Melisandre blinked and rubbed her eyes. The vision had become so intense that it had overwhelmed her. Murmuring an incantation to refresh the magic, she peered back into the brazier… 

 

The human form of Stannis Baratheon lay broken and bleeding upon sandy ground, waves breaking in the distance. A gruesome slash was present across his throat. Above him stood the figure of Aegon Targaryen, thunderous and resolute. Twin blades held in his hands, one of them dripping blood… 

 

The vision suddenly shifted and the duel’s end faded from view.

 

Aegon stood next to a woman who could only be his wife for she possessed the classic Valyrian features of silver hair and amethyst eyes. Between them was a young girl with dark hair and blue eyes. The girl’s face was marked with scars and faded patches of skin… 

 

The little girl she had seen was definitely Shireen. But why she was present next to the Targaryens was something Melisandre couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever the reason, she realized that Stannis’s daughter should not be sacrificed as the Lord of Light had some other purpose for her.

 

Melisandre murmured another incantation to conclude the vision, but just before it sprung alight in a final burst. Flames roaring higher than ever before, hotter than the brightest sun…

 

Two monarchs, Aegon and his wife, Daenerys. Their positions the same, figures blurred together. Knelt in a pool of water, fear and determination written on their faces. Standing above them was… her! Melisandre staring at a version of herself, murmuring the darkest of incantations. Of blood magic so ancient that no Red Priest since the days of the Age of Heroes had ever even attempted. A deep, malevolent cold overtook the vision even through the flames but the figure of Melisandre continued, heat and light building, welling until…

 

She stepped back, breathing heavily as the fire roared, exploding in a supernova of light before returning to its normal form. As if nothing had ever happened. “By the Lord himself…” Her hand dropped to her pregnant stomach, where the secret weapon resided that would take out Aegon...

 

Ice and Fire. The Prophecy of Azor Ahai. Aegon was a Stark and Targaryen, his dragon was a hybrid, and the red-and-blue comet had coincided with his reveal to the world. Aegon was Azor Ahai - Azor Ahai was Aegon, joined by his fierce dragon-wife Daenerys Targaryen. The old Valyrian prophecy... She turned away from the brazier, embers crackling, and contemplated what the Lord of Light had just shed light upon.

 

Her mind swirling with the revelation she had had, Melisandre made her way up to the main deck of Fury , where Stannis was currently sparring. Turning the last corner around the quarterdeck, she saw Stannis in a furious melee with one of his bannerman. The Stag Lord hacked and slashed with the fury of a man possessed, steel clanging against steel. His opponent’s guard would’ve been broken if he had not noticed the Red Priestess watching him.

 

Abruptly, Stannis broke off from the duel. “Nathan. Thank you for sparring with me. That will be all for the day, I have other business to attend to.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” his sworn sword replied, bowing deeply before heading off.

 

Melisandre gritted her teeth tightly as Stannis sheathed his blade and walked over to her. He was not going to like what she was about to tell him. Not. One. Bit. All through the voyage she had fed his belief that he was Azor Ahai, and to find out now that he wasn’t… She drew a deep breath and proceeded anyway.

 

“My lord,” she started, hesitating. “I have just had a new vision in the flames regarding your upcoming duel with the Targaryen prince.”

 

False prince,” Stannis corrected. “I am the true Prince Who was Promised. I presume the fire showed you the full visage of my preordained triumph?”

 

“No, my lord,” Melisandre said. “I saw, in fact, that if you face Aegon on the morrow, you will be defeated… and die.” She kept her head down so as not to see his reaction. After a short pause, Stannis let out a laugh.

 

“Melisandre, in all my years with you by my side, you have never given me reason to doubt your abilities,” he said, chuckling mightily. His expression turned serious. “Go back to the flames and look again. I believe that you have merely misinterpreted the signs of the Lord of Light.”

 

“I have never been more convinced in anything the Red God has shown me before,” Melisandre retorted. “You will die if you go through with this duel. I implore you. Sail back to Westeros and live to fight another day. Perhaps your destiny lies elsewhere, if only you are willing to wait for it to come to you.”

 

Stannis’s mood darkened and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Suddenly, Melisandre was pressed against the main mast of the ship, Stannis’ hand wrapped around her neck. He glowered at her, a shiver of terror running down her spine. “My destiny is here and now. Regardless of your misguided misgivings, I will slay the Targaryen pretender. Have Shireen ready for the sacrifice at first light. The Lord of Light shall not be denied.”

 

The Lord of Dragonstone turned on his heels and marched away, leaving Melisandre resigned to accept his coming fate. She could, however, save his daughter if she acted quickly. I must find Ser Davos. The former smuggler was almost a second father to the young Baratheon. He would not hesitate to protect her, even from her own father.

 

She looked around and saw the Onion Knight walking next to the ship’s port railing, staring out at the busy docks of Qarth. “Ser Davos,” she said, walking quickly up to him. “I request a favor of you, urgently.”

 

The grizzled former smuggler looked at her suspiciously before speaking. “If it has to do with sacrifices, I will have no part.”

 

“I need you to take Shireen off the ship and hide her in the city.” Davos’s eyes bugged out and his breathing hitched. “I now know that Stannis is not the Prince Who was Promised. He will meet his fate at tomorrow’s duel, so sacrificing his daughter would be for naught.”

 

Composing himself, he slowly nodded his assent. “Aye. I will take Shireen with me when I go ashore for fresh water in the evening. Where will I take her?”

 

“The Targaryens are staying with a merchant prince called Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Ask for him when you go ashore. You and Shireen will be safe at his manse.”

 

Davos gazed again at the hustle and bustle of loading and unloading of cargo on and off the various vessels that were at anchor. “I have to ask, why your sudden change? You were so certain of who Stannis was and… what had to be done for him to become who he was meant to be.”

 

“I made a mistake, Ser Davos. A terrible mistake. However, the Lord of Light gave me a chance to prevent myself from unknowingly causing a horrible tragedy.” Melisandre stared deeply into Davos’s eyes with one last warning to give him. “Do not come back to the ship after you’ve brought Shireen to safety. Stay with her until the duel is finished. Only then will you be safe from what punishment Stannis will undoubtedly have for you if you return without his daughter.”

 


 

Tywin Lannister

 

“You didn’t tell anyone else of this?” 

 

“No, just you, Lord Hand.”

 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tywin Lannister prayed to the gods he didn’t really care to believe in that it wouldn’t be another pulsing migraine. “And your source, can… she still be relied on?”

 

Littlefinger gave a slight pout. “Unfortunately, the situation grew too dangerous for her to stay. I’m lucky that I got the report.”

 

“I told you that damn assassination idea wouldn’t work.” To tell the truth, Tywin couldn’t remember. Too busy dealing with his inconsolable pregnant slut of a daughter and trying to drag his whoring oaf of a goodson out of the muck he had whored the Realm into, it was cathartic to yell at someone. “And we’re too poor to afford the Faceless Men.”

 

“Perhaps Stannis will kill the dragonspawn for us?” There was silence for a moment until both men chuckled. “What will you tell the full council?”

 

Tywin sighed, pounding in his head starting up despite his prayers. “I can’t trust anyone. Not even you, Lord Baelish - the only reason I’m not slitting your throat is that I know both our interests are served by standing against the Starks.” Ned will murder you if he knows you killed Jon Arryn… or he’ll let the Royces do it for him. Tywin knew, for it was just simple deduction. He certainly hadn’t done it and Cersei was too stupid to do the deed.

 

If Littlefinger had any inkling that he knew Tywin knew, he didn’t let it on. “You flatter me, Lord Hand. Now if you’ll excuse me… I must bid you goodnight.”

 

Gunting a reply, the Hand of the King waited until the door closed before his head collapsed on the desk. “Fuck you, Ned Stark. Fucking Targaryens.” To suspect the North was working against the Crown was one thing, but to have the proof… And now they’ve looped House Tyrell and House Martell into their scheme… “Robert should have sent Joffrey to the fucking Wall and been done with it.” If the King had not let the North go, Ned wouldn’t have had the audacity to even entertain such treason. Yet another mess to clean up… no, the debts were a mess. Cersei’s infidelities were a mess. This is an uncontrolled fire.

 

But if anyone could put out a nationwide fire, it was Tywin. And it needed some quick thinking.

 

“I cannot trust anyone but myself and my men,” he thought out loud. Someone would undoubtedly leak it to the Starks or Targaryens. Maybe someone tipped them off about Littlefinger’s assassins? Varys was most likely, the duplicitous eunuch jumping ship yet again - he had been in Pentos at the same time as the Targaryens. Could have been Littlefinger, but unlikely even though he did work only for himself. Renly? A false flag attempt to put himself on the Iron Throne? Pycelle was his toady, the worm without an original thought to his name. Hells, Tywin couldn’t put it past Robert for blabbing to some whore.

 

Nope, the majority of what he did would have to be kept close to the chest - at least the parts that needed to be hidden. Ravens sent personally by him, with Gregor Clegane or Amory Lorch serving as his couriers. 

 

Already he began scribbling furiously, composing dispatch orders as his mind ached from thinking. The Targaryens won’t show up for years. Best ignore them. The dragons are still small and Dothraki won’t cross the Narrow Sea. Going on mad adventures in Essos while the Realm burned wasn’t a good idea. They could wait until the Seven Kingdoms were secured once more. That was one headache set aside for the time being.

 

Tywin counted each of the seven kingdoms in flux. The Westerlands and Stormlands were secure behind their liege Lords. The Vale could go several ways: They could easily side with the crown because of Lysa’s infatuation with Baelish - I will have to keep eyes on the wheasel. Or with the North because she is the sister of Catelyn Tully - she has allowed her sickly son to foster in Winterfell with Yohn Royce as his sworn shield. Or they could stay neutral, keep their armies intact and side with the victor. For the Crownlands, most were likely secret Targaryen loyalists but they were skittish enough to stay with whomever controlled the capitol. That left the Reach, Riverlands, Dorne, and the North. Each were helmed by Houses that had every reason to hate Robert and himself - Olenna Tyrell was a snake who wanted more power, Ned Stark’s half-Tully children were nearly raped and killed by Joffrey, and Dorne… well, Tywin didn’t really need to recite the obvious. All were firmly against the crown.

 

But they aren’t the only houses in each of their Kingdoms. He wrote down a list of names, and several ideas so he could visualize it. Quill striking inkmarks through several before he was down to a concise group. Lords and organizations he knew would jump at the chance for money, land, and influence to betray their liege lords.

 

Setting upon his first letter, Tywin was unable to help the wicked smirk that formed on his face. He hadn’t felt this alive since the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion, one in which the Gold Lion completely outfoxed the Red Lion’s attempt to hit his dolt of a father by surprise. It had been Tywin’s greatest triumph, but when this war was over, the Rains of Castamere would be forgotten as a new golden age would dawn for him. 

 

He could just taste the victory.

 


 

Stannis Baratheon

 

Several hundred people were gathered in a circle, hushed murmurs competing with the waves crashing against the coastline just west of Qarth. Waiting for what some were calling the duel of a lifetime. Others just there to enjoy a show, confident of their leader’s victory on this day. Each side segregated themselves quite well, sailors from Dragonstone on the seaside while the Dothraki congregated on the landward side. Both jeering and cursing at each other with the curious wealthy residents of Qarth sandwiched in the middle of the two camps. Honeyed wine and mare’s milk handed out liberally as the late morning sun sizzled high in the sky.

 

Men parting as he stepped into the ring, Stannis Baratheon peered through the glaring sun. Dressed for battle with his special armor plate - in the Stormlands style with flexible joints and the heart stag sigil emblazoned over his chest - he was sweltering but in good spirits. “Where is he? Where is the pretender Aegon Targaryen?!”

 

“Right here!” The Baratheon men zeroed in on a slight man in North-style leathers. Robb Stark. So what Melisandre said was true. Oh Ned, you traitorous bastard. He’d grant him mercy when he returned to Westeros, for they’d need his men. “Presenting,” said the Stark heir. “Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, and Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name. Rightful King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Surrounded by burly Dothraki bloodriders and three rather fierce armed women - Dornish by the look of them - were the pretenders themselves.

 

Daenerys Targaryen looked exactly as Stannis expected. Beautiful, almost perfectly so. Shimmering silver hair, petite stature, vibrant amethyst eyes - she was everything a Targaryen was supposed to be. Aegon, on the other hand, was almost the opposite of her. Unlike the great warrior that Rhaegar had been, the son was rather… ordinary. Comely yes, but his curly raven hair and ragged beard weren’t the same ethereal Valyrian features of the great Targaryens. He looked more like the Prince of Dragonflies, or - ironically - Ned Stark. “Stannis of House Baratheon. You have demanded a duel?”

 

“Aye,” Stannis called out, stepping further into the circle. Proud and unafraid. “By the ancient laws of the Seven and the Old Gods, I challenge you to a blood duel.”

 

The answer was decisive. “I accept.” All the chatter from the crowd fell silent, and for a moment Stannis felt a slight sense of fear - especially over what had happened the night before.

 

“Where is she?!” he thundered, shaking with anger. “How could she have disappeared?!”

 

Melisandre stood in the chambers Stannis had once shared with Selyse, her face grim. “Davos must have escaped with her. I cannot foreclose that he did not hear our conversations - he was always attached to that girl.”

 

His fists clenched, almost pure white. “I gave him mercy and this is what he does. This is how he repays me! I shall see him hung.” Only hours separated his great duel with the Targaryen pretender, and he was still without his sacrifice. “We can continue without her. Leeches…”

 

“No, leeches are not enough. Not for the ritual we seek to perform.” Face knotted in determination, hands folded over her pregnant belly, the Red Woman - the one who had brought Stannis out of his brooding and his melancholy years before into a new destiny, higher and greater than either of his unworthy brothers - pressed two hands against his chest. “It must be a blood sacrifice. One with the highest offering to the Lord of Light. The offering of a soul.”

 

Stannis knotted his brows. “Kidnap the Targaryen bitch… or the Stark boy. They have King's blood…”

 

“My husband.” All eyes turned to a rasping Selyse, sitting upright in bed. Face hollow and sunken, barely skin and bones from fever and malnutrition. Yet her eyes sparkled with a mad zeal, dagger clutched in her hands. “It must be me. I cannot stand in the way of your victory any longer.”

 

“Wife, wait…” Before Stannis could say anything further, Selyse buried the knife into her stomach. Screaming as she ripped it open horizontally. Blood and entrails spilling onto the sheets, body pitching back as the life seeped out of her. Pupils blowing and pain etched on her sunken face. Grimacing, Stannis looked away. “Will that satisfy the Lord of Light?”

 

Melisandre nodded. “If we burn the body, yes.”

 

Meeting her red eyes as she stepped into the middle of the ragged circle, Stannis couldn’t help but feel a surge of confidence. Regardless of the night before, his fate was preordained. The Prince that was Promised. The flaming sword in the darkness. He would vanquish this nonentity, depose Robert, and unite the Realm to face the greater threat. Hand resting on the pommel of his trusty blade, Stannis watched as the beautiful - and quite pregnant - Targaryen princess kiss her husband deeply, bading him good fortune in the duel to come. Selyse dead, Shireen and Davos gone, the stag prince didn’t have the same… I don’t need them. Every great King needs to sacrifice that in which he cares about for the greater good. Justice sometimes meant breaking a few eggs, and destiny even more so.

 

Aegon Targaryen left his wife to step across from Stannis. Dressed in simple black leathers, a staple of Northmen. Is that where he has been hiding? All questions for a later day, the two staring at each other. “Honored disciples,” began Melisandre, her voice deep and purposeful. “We are gathered under the life-giving sun to witness the emergence of the Lord’s chosen. The Prince that was Promised to lead the living in the glorious battle against the night. May those that seek his mantle, Stannis of House Baratheon and Aegon of House Targaryen dance in glorious battle - two great champions out of which only one may emerge.” She looked at each of them, beautiful face giving nothing away. “The Night is dark and full of terrors, so may the light honor each of you.”

 

Drawing his sword from its scabbard, Stannis gripped it with both hands. “When the songs are written, they will say this here was the beginning of my Destiny.”

 

In response, Aegon only smirked. “The only people who speak like that…” Both blades of his were out and leveled. “Are arrogant cunts that end up losing.” Twirling both blades in his wrist just like Ser Arthur Dayne, at the ready for the duel to begin.

 

Frowning, anger swelling inside him, Stannis lunged forward. Taking the initiative for himself as he slashed hard at Aegon’s chest. Both of the pretender’s dual blades clashing against Stannis’, shoving them back. Spinning them in his arms while Stannis rallied and thrust hard at his chest. Frantically attacking Aegon’s center mass, but unable to break through. Pretender forcing him to back away. Spinning his sword in one hand, darting forward to slash at his side.

 

In spite of the lack of training, Stannis still bore the strength and skill of a proper stag - sword an extension of his arm, thrusting and slicing with the ferocity of the Baratheon house words. Unlike Robert, he hadn’t lost his nimble, toned body and it worked to his advantage, each attack graceful with the perfect amount of strength. Light on his feet, Stannis leapt back, allowing Aegon’s swing to slice by only inches from his chest. Immediately thrusting forward, causing the Targaryen to jump back. Pressing his advantage but meeting the same result as his opponent’s attack, Aegon spinning on his feet to escape Stannis’ assault.

 

The two regarded each other, circling each other like lions. Stannis sucked in deep breaths of the humid tropical air, quickly brushing away a sheen of sweat from his brow. Aegon simply twirled his swords, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing him. Calculating any weakness. The rumors were true, he was the second coming of Arthur Dayne. No matter. I am the Prince who was Promised. “You fight well,” He said evenly. “Like your father, before my brother killed him.”

 

Face once inscrutable, suddenly a flash of pure rage crossed his eyes. Grey orbs burning like dragonfire. “Do not speak of him.”

 

“Touched a nerve, dragonspawn?” Stannis readied his blade, preparing his attack. “Today shall see the first victory of my destiny.” The beginning of what the songs would proclaim for generations to come.

 

“Lord of Light!” chanted Melisandre from the sidelines. “Grant your promised the power to defeat the usurper stag on this day.”

 

Eyes suddenly widening, Stannis flickered his gaze in shock to the Red Woman - hers staring directly at him in the mocking, knowing look she had normally reserved for his enemies. She betrayed me?

 

The moment’s hesitation was all that was needed for his carefully thought out attack to evaporate, drowned out in Aegon’s furious battle cry as he charged forward. One sword raised to strike, the other held parallel to his arm in reserve. Mouth tightening, Stannis just barely parried the swing. Arm jerking wildly to block the side swipe by Aegon’s reserve blade, muscles straining and breaths quick pants. He ducked as Aegon swung high, only for the reserve sword to twirl into position - forcing him back.

 

Stannis was strong. Stannis was skilled - but this boy was far better. Stance perfect, thrusts fluid, but with the same practical experience as a powerful fighter. A seasoned warrior. It’s not possible. But it certainly was, a boy ten and six already the greatest swordsman Stannis had ever seen. Breaths measured and precise on both the attack and defense, the Stag Prince’s arms already straining as he struggled to match Aegon blow for blow. Flicking his wrist back and forth, catching each attempted thrust or parry. With a fury of his own, Stannis charged. One last aggressive attack to catch the Targaryen pretender off balance. Thrusting only to redouble an upward slash, narrowly missing his enemy’s throat. On the sidelines the Mad King’s daughter gasped in fear, surging confidence through him. He kicked forward, knocking Aegon off balance. My time is here! My reign begins now! Snarling, Stannis drew back and lunged straight for Aegon Targaryen’s heart...

 

Clang.

 

In a split second, Stannis saw it. Sword tip just above Aegon’s heart, both locked in suspended animation as his hilt lay trapped against crossed swords. The pretender’s lips locked in a tight grimace - one of rage, of determination. Realization dawned on his face just as a jerk of Aegon’s wrists sent the blade clattering to the dirt. Stannis defenseless as Aegon spun on one foot, blade twirling till it thrust right through the armor plate into his gut. Knocking the wind out of him, as if a charging bull had slammed into his abdomen. Unable to stand, Stannis staggered back several paces before falling backwards. Back slamming against a tree trunk and ass scraping against the loose soil and rocks littering the ground.

 

Foe collapsed against the trunk of a large acacia tree, Aegon Targaryen didn’t seem to wear the triumph on his face that Robert would have. Nor was the anger from just moments before twisting his face into something out of a nightmare. Just a wary stare, the one of a man that had seen the greatest death and carnage - a look normally worn by hardened veterans.

 

Slowly came the realization that he had underestimated this man from the beginning - physically, mentally, and spiritually. Stannis wanted to laugh, though even a chuckle brought a wave of pain.

 

Desperately sucking in gasps of air, Stannis weakly tried to grab the hilt of the sword in his belly. To pull it out and continue the fight. But the slightest movement sent agony ripping through him. His arms and willpower not strong enough to fight through it. It is done. He sighed, frothy pink blood splattering onto his lips.

 

“You fought honorably, Lord Stannis. Unlike last time.” Stannis blinked - what did the Targaryen mean by that? “Be lucky that Davos and Melisandre kept you from doing the unforgivable.”

 

It dawned on him. “So you know… about that…” he coughed. “Is she…?”

 

Aegon nodded. “She’s safe. My distant cousin, and I shall protect her.”

 

“Thank you.” Stannis could think clearly for the first time in a long while. In a sense, he welcomed it, welcomed what was about to come. “Finish it. Let me rest.” He had been wrong, she had been wrong. It was this boy who was promised, while he was the man who had raised such an amazing daughter. “Be quick about it.”

 

The last thing Stannis Baratheon saw before he closed his eyes was Aegon Targaryen raise his weapon for one final blow. A momentary bite against his neck before the darkness consumed him.


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Uncovering her mouth, Daenerys let out a huge sigh of relief as Jon stepped away from the unmoving form of Stannis Baratheon, spread-eagled across the sand. “He won…”

 

“That he did.” Nymeria licked her lips. “Gods, if only he wasn’t wed.” The Sand Snakes had all sparred with Jon - all at once as a matter of fact. They all respected him greatly, and had grown utterly devoted to their cause. As such, Dany forgave the occasional lewd comment. Especially now where she was singularly focused on her husband.

 

Her heart had nearly stopped when Stannis drove his blade toward Jon’s heart, only to thankfully keep beating when her husband caught the Stag’s steel in the cross of his own swords. Now, seeing Jon victorious and Stannis dead and defeated, she couldn’t help but feel pity for the fallen Baratheon lord. Stannis may have sought to kill her beloved, but he did so out of a sense of duty, not malice, which reminded her keenly of why Jon too fought, bled, and killed.

 

“Behold!” Melisandre called out, shaking her back to the present. “The Lord of Light reveals his chosen - Aegon Targaryen, scion of the First Men and Old Valyria. He is Azor Ahai, born of salt and smoke, the one to bring forth the lightbringer. May his victory today be a sign of fortune against the night dark and full of terrors!”

 

The crowd may not have understood what the Red Woman had proclaimed, but they cheered at her words nonetheless. Daenerys joined in as well, partly in exuberation and partly out of relief at Jon’s close brush with death. As the cheers died down, she noticed many pocketing coin from their winning bets with the losers cursing their misfortune.

 

“Hey love,” Jon said as he wrapped her in a tight, warm embrace. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled. “I can assure you, I am very much alive and breathing.”

 

Smacking his chest with her palm, her hands curled into fists as she weakly pounded against him. Less to hurt and more to convey her displeasure. “Don’t scare me like that again, Jon Targaryen. I can’t bear to lose you… our baby…” Gods, her emotions were getting out of control again, Arogon shrieking in the sky at his mother and future rider’s displeasure.

 

Feeling her husband kiss her brow, with a grunt she was hoisted into Jon’s arms. “Let’s get you home, my dragon. We both need a hot bath.” Dany tucked her head into his chest, letting herself drop the queenly mask to be the loving, pregnant wife she was underneath the titles and duties. Guards and bloodriders closing ranks around them as they headed for their horses.

 

Hours later, she woke up from a rather needed nap. Mind foggy from the last tendrils of sleep, ones she tried to blink away. Resting on his side next to her was Jon, dead to the world with a trickle of drool down the corner of his mouth. It was so adorable. A thumb caressed his cheek. Oh Jon, I love you so. Eyes flickering to Ghost sleeping at the foot of the bed and the dragons resting in their ‘lair’ on the balcony, Daenerys knew she shouldn’t be worried for their safety but did so anyway. They will not take him from me. Never, I shan't allow it! She kissed his cheek, as if willing it true.

 

The doors opened. “Your Grace…” Doreah, carrying a tray of fresh bread, cheese, and chilled water, stopped when seeing the sleeping King and the Queen with a finger to her lips. “Forgive me.”

 

Dany giggled. “It’s alright, Doreah,” she whispered. “Just set the tray by the bedside and I’ll make sure his Grace wakes.”

 

Gingerly avoiding the white direwolf who - while not at full size - was still plenty intimidating, Doreah did as bid. “Ser Davos has been summoned to the dining room, your Grace - accepting the invitation after putting Lady Shireen to bed. Your bloodriders are escorting the Lady Melisandre there as well.” She seemed skittish at the last - perhaps a bad run in with the followers of the Lord of Light. 

 

“Thank you,” Dany answered. “I’ll wake his Grace and we shall take care of it. You’re dismissed.” The servant curtseyed and left the room. Turning back to Jon, Daenerys leaned forward and kissed his lips. Hard. “Sīmonagon, ñuha jorrāelagon.” He didn’t budge. Frowning, she leaned in to his neck and sucked it harshly, leaving a nice little mark. 

 

That did the trick. “Ah… Dany…” He ended up bolting upright, causing Daenerys to laugh. “Why’d you do that?”

 

He looked so confused and frazzled. Dany couldn’t keep her laughter at bay. “Finally, back in the land of the living.” The jape hit a bit too close to home, but neither wanted the fears to loom over their most intimate, loving moments. “How was your nap.”

 

Jon stretched his arms, exposing the delicious, muscular torso. Daenerys vowed to worship his body after their duties were done for the day. “I really needed it.” He sighed. “Stannis… I think if things were different, he’d have been a loyal bannerman of ours. But he had to die.”

 

“I know.” Dany kissed his cheek. “Shireen has been given quarters in the manse and Ser Davos is waiting for us.”

 

The smile that formed on Jon’s face brightened up the whole room, even as the sun began to set low in the sky. “Shireen was a sweet girl at Castle Black, and Davos… I missed his counsel. It would break my heart if he wasn’t on our side in this.”

 

Gulping down a cup of water, letting it soothe her parched throat, Dany nodded. “He joined you before because he believed in you - just as Grey Worm and Missandei believed in me. I have no doubt he’ll do it again.” 

 

“Should we tell them? The truth about everything?” Dany closed her eyes, thinking. It was a major decision. “I fully trust their council and we told Varys, but… what if they aren’t as loyal?”

 

Dany nodded, shifting in the bed. “I think we should. Melisandre is the reason we’re both here and Davos was and should be your Hand of the King.” Breaking a loaf of bread in half, she smeared cheese onto both chunks. “Here, eat up. And then we’ll go see them.” She smirked when the King of Westeros followed her instructions.

 

Bloodriders bowing as they approached the dining room half an hour later, Dany pressed a quick kiss to Jon’s lips before they entered. Finding Melisandre staring at the fireplace and Ser Davos sitting, part uncomfortable and part board. He immediately stood respectfully upon seeing them. “Your Graces.” The Onion Knight bowed to both of them. “Thank you. I am in your debt for agreeing to shelter the Lady Shireen despite her being the niece of your enemy.”

 

Daenerys smiled at Jon - even while in Stannis’ service, Davos Seaworth wasn’t ever indirect. A trait he shared with her husband. Seemingly unable to contain the emotion at seeing his old friend again, Jon suddenly crossed the distance and embraced the Onion Knight. “No, my friend. Thank you for all you have done for me. For us.”

 

Blinking and brow furrowing in confusion, Davos looked like he had no idea what to do. “Um… your Grace? I’m not sure we’ve met before.”

 

“You haven’t.” Three pairs of eyes shifted to Melisandre, who continued to stare at the flames. A small smile on her face. “At least not in this life.”

 

Davos’ confusion only grew, while Daenerys sighed. “You saw us in the flames, didn’t you? In one of your visions.” That didn’t help the former smuggler understand anything better, while Jon pursed his lips in understanding.

 

Looking up, red eyes shimmering, Melisandre looked as if she had found not just a purpose - but the purpose she had been chasing for centuries. “Two worlds colliding, both ending in failure. In destruction and death, but one champion emerging from the ashes into the new world. United out of love, guarded by their blood protectors and warriors of dawn, they will forge the lightbringers and end the evil that threatens all life upon this earth.” Her smile was wide, triumphant and congratulatory. “In all my years, I never imagined my destiny to be the same as the great Harkroon. Forgive me if I am a bit… starstruck for lack of a better term.”

 

Jon furrowed his brows. “I thought Hyrkoon was another name used for Azor Ahai… by the southern First Men kingdoms?” Daenerys understood, the terrible times after Jon was turned being spent either fighting or learning whatever could be done about prophecy and the first Long Night. The Citadel had plenty of information before Oldtown fell to… him. Seemed that Jon did something similar.

 

“Common misperception. They were two different people - Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa the lightbringers and Hyrkoon the first ever Red Priest. This same legend happened before during the darkest night, and now right before me the legends repeat themselves…”

 

“Excuse me.” Davos held out his hands, mouth opening several times before he found the words. “Not to be rude, Your Graces, but what the fook is going on here?!”

 

Giggling at Davos’ cluelessness, Daenerys drew an exasperated look from her old friend. “I’m sorry, Ser Davos…” She forced herself to reclaim composure, gesturing for the Onion Knight to find a seat -  which they all ended up doing. “I know it will be difficult to believe, Ser Davos. Frankly, if I did not live it then I wouldn’t believe it myself.” Taking Jon’s hand in hers under the table, feeling his comforting squeeze, she began. “It starts with the supposed children’s tale of the White Walkers…”

 

And so Davos sat there as they explained everything. The Long Night, Night King, the countless defeats at the hands of the Army of the Dead, each of their return from their past lives to this one… He took it pretty well, all things considered. “I think I want to throw up.” It wasn’t a completely shocking reaction - had it not been for the giddiness of having Jon by her side... inside me... once again, Daenerys likely would have done something similar. Holding his fist to his mouth, Davos fought to control his physical emotions. “And… what was my role in this? In both your timelines?”

 

“You were my friend and advisor,” Jon says warmly, Dany remembering that Ser Davos had been one of the few links to Jon’s past life as a bastard that he enjoyed being with. “And by the end, my Hand.”

 

The Onion Knight wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, leaning back in the chair. “Well shit… Hand of the King to a Targaryen monarch in two pasts.” He started laughing. “Marya won’t believe it lest she sees it.”

 

“The Lord of Light provides a destiny for all our lives. We serve a purpose in this time of sorrow and darkness, all in the service of reclaiming the Dawn and forging a better tomorrow.” Melisandre looked to be reinvigorated. “You served Stannis well, my dear Davos, but there is no doubt in what you must do. Who you must serve, lest the Lord punish you for your defiance.”

 

“My Lady.” Jon’s grey eyes blazed, turning orange. “Remember what we discussed. Only the guilty.” Sighing, the Red Witch nodded. Summarily chastised. “Ser Davos, you are free to choose whichever path you wish to follow. In my past, your faithful service to Stannis endured the deaths of three of your sons and I could not force you to risk that again.”

 

Eyes misting over, Davos looked to be barely holding it together. Daenerys reached out and placed a hand over his, smiling comfortingly. “There was no greater ally to us than you. You’ve earned a life of peace a thousand times over.”

 

Taking in a deep breath, Davos looked at both of them. “As a young smuggler, I took many chances with my life. One cost me my fingers.” He raised his hand, wiggling the truncated digits. “My sons, they joined Stannis’ fleet knowing the same might happen to them. I don’t begrudge them that life, but if I could I would fight to make sure they live as any father would… but with what you have told me about the threat growing north of the Wall, I would be remiss if I didn’t do my part.”

 

“As I said, Ser Davos,” Dany continued, knowing the right thing to do in spite of feeling giddy at the prospect of adding another familiar face to her and Jon’s growing council. “We won’t be upset if you choose to return home to Cape Wrath.”

 

He raised his hand again, stilling her. “I’ve always said to Marya, the Realm deserves a just woman and an honorable man, and my past life threw my lot with both of you for a reason.” Davos smiled. “Count me in.”

 

Dany beamed while Jon reached out to clasp his hand. “The honor is mine, Ser Davos.”

 

“One last thing. Since the Stormlands will still be loyal to Robert, mind if Mayra and my children find lodging in White Harbor? It’s the only northern port and they’ll need protection.”

 

Laughing happily, Dany wove her hand in Jon’s. “Done.” With the Onion Knight back in the fold, all that was left were Grey Worm and Missandei.

 

Slaver’s Bay will bow before the Mother of Dragons once again. Much as she didn’t take delight in delivering fire and blood, the prospect of it did but a smile on Daenerys’ face.

Notes:

Longclaw: And Stannis has been defeated. One major plot device reaches a conclusion, and now Jon and Dany have Davos back.

One can't imagine Tywin and the Crown to stay stupid forever. Even though Jon, Varys, and Ned are deceiving them, they will fight back. Tywin's counterattack will be epic 😉

Chapter 32: Siblings

Summary:

1) Jon and Davos journey into the ruins of Old Valyria
2) Daenerys spends quality time with her cousin Shireen
3) The wayward travellers finally find the Dragon Queen
4) Tywin divulges part of his plan to the small council

Notes:

Hi all. New update for you and things are heating up. After such a long wait without updates before, thought a few quick ones would make up for it :D

I know the world of Last Hope is massive and there are many interconnecting parts. Both CastleColin and I are determined to finish Cymatt and Reuben's vision, but sometimes we have to pick and choose what we cover and cut out some of the gristle.

Enjoy and please comment :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon Targaryen

 

“Are you sure you set the correct heading, Ser Davos?” Jon asked, looking over the map of the Valyrian Peninsula he found amongst the charts aboard Fury .

 

“Positive, Your Grace,” Davos replied confidently, standing alongside him. “We’re heading north - northeast at a moderate tack to the wind. Currently sailing at about fifteen knots. At this speed we should arrive at our destination this afternoon.”

 

Looking up from his map, Jon saw the bulge of a landmass peak over the horizon. “Judging by that, I think we’ll arrive at Old Valyria sooner than your estimate.”

 

Standing aboard Fury , Jon and Davos gazed at the foreboding land dead ahead of them. Since departing Qarth nearly a moonturn ago, the former squadron of the fallen Stag had dutifully followed the command of their new lord and king. Davos was not very enthusiastic to find out where Jon intended to sail, but his sons Matthos and Dale were excited to visit the ancestral homeland of the Targaryens. Black Betha and Wraith sailed ahead of Fury - an open show of the sons of Seaworth’s adventurism.

 

Jon and Daenerys had agreed to split up to tackle their next courses of action. While Jon and Davos would sail to Valyria in search of what Jon had dreamt of to forge his new sword, Daenerys would travel overland with the khalasar to Astapor to free the Unsullied. Robb had elected to go with his pregnant good sister and care for Ghost and Grey Wind. Jon agreed - sailing never really rubbed off on their wolves.

 

“I wish Shireen had come with us,” Davos said. “She was always an inquisitive soul, and the Targaryen histories were one of her favorite topics.”

 

Jon had the decency to look down. Despite having to kill Stannis, he still felt guilty for taking Shireen’s father from her. I know all too well what it’s like to lose your family. The young Baratheon had taken the news hard, even more so when also learning of her mother’s suicide. That was why she had stayed with Daenerys - the memory was just too raw to go near her father’s former flagship.

 

“Don’t let yourself be the victim of some misplaced guilt, Your Grace,” Davos spoke, noticing Jon’s forlorn look. “I explained the situation to her. She understands why what happened was her father’s fault.” He paused and put a comforting hand on Jon’s shoulder. “She also objected to her father’s decision to kill you and your wife. She does not believe that you two should be judged solely by the Mad King’s actions.”

 

“That’s reassuring to hear,” Jon smiled wanly. “By the way, call me Jon. I could less men referring to me as royalty.”

 

“Fewer,” Davos corrected.

 

Jon laughed inwardly, remembering that same moment from his last life. He looked out again over the water and to his shock, the coastline was but a few leagues off. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. That’s not possible. Just a few minutes ago, the land was on the horizon and now they were close to shore.

 

“Ser Davos?” Jon started. “Do you see that we’re close to shore after just seeing it on the horizon?”

 

“Aye,” Davos responded. “Don’t know how, but Valyria is said to be a place of dark magic. Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s pulling us in.” He turned to his sons captaining their other vessels and shouted for them to prepare to drop anchor.

 

The three ships approached the forbidden, haunted coast of Old Valyria. Overhead, Sarogon and Rhaegal flew toward the rocky shores. Jon had brought only those two dragons because of his bond with them in this life and his past life. The grey and green beasts - Rhaegal sticking close to his far larger brother, the former the size of a pony while the latter’s wingspan stretched the width of the Fury - disappeared into the mist shrouding the oncoming beach. He wasn’t too concerned for their safety. After all, dragons lived in Valyria millennia before Valyrian shepherds tamed the first of them.

 

“Drop anchor!” Matthos called off Fury’s starboard side. Black Betha and Wraith let their iron deadweights plunge down into the depths as they turned for their starboard sides to face the shore. Fury’s three hundred oars reversed rowing to bring the war galley to a standstill. The clink of a chain rattled through Jon’s ears as Fury’s own enormous anchor was released.

 

“Matthos, Dale!” Davos called. “Stay with the ships. Jon and I will be going ashore.”

 

“Father!” they both complained. “We want to see the wonders of Valyria like you.”

 

“We aren’t her to explore for our own enjoyment, boys,” Davos said firmly. “His Grace made it clear that this is an errand for something he needs for the wars to come. I won’t have my sons needlessly risk their lives.” 

 

Jon smirked, glad that Davos wouldn’t have to bury his sons at sea as in his last life.

 

Matthos and Dale groaned and grudgingly agreed to stay behind. Davos turned back to Jon, who had returned from below deck with a large travel bag over his shoulder. “Shall we go ashore. Jon? Your buried treasure awaits.”

 

Jon chuckled. “A smuggler turned knight turned pirate. You really know how to get around Ser Davos.”

 

Disembarking the ship, Jon stepped onto the sandy shore of the cursed land of Old Valyria. A shiver involuntarily ran up his spine. He had a strange feeling that he didn’t belong here, that the very air he breathed rejected him. He shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. No time to get caught up in superstitions.

 

“This way Davos,” he said to the old knight, who had just come down the gangplank after quickly retrieving his own small leather bag.

 

The two men trudged off down the beach. They were currently in a sheltered cove with high cliffs surrounding them save for one side. Spotting what looked like a stone path on the unblocked side of the cove, Jon headed for it with Davos close behind.

 

The stone trail wound its way around the cliffs and cut a straight line inland. Following it, Jon and Davos hiked up and down various hills until they summited a tall one to gaze at the valley below. Both pairs of eyes popping out of their sockets at the sight. Below them was the ancient ruins of the lost Valyrian Freehold - Old Valyria itself.

 

For all the grandeur, the legends said that the capital of the dragonlords was, the city was smaller than Jon expected. He imagined it would at least match King’s Landing, but Davos observed it to be closer in size to Lannisport. How ironic.  

 

In the distance, twin shrieks pierced the still air. Sarogon and Rhaegal were circling the ruins, as if beckoning their father to follow them. Jon’s expression brightened at the sight of his children. He resumed his steady pace, walking downhill toward the grey stone buildings scattered about the bowl of the valley.

 

“Always on the move,” muttered Davos, having to run a bit to keep up.

 

As they reached the bottom of the hill and entered the ruined city, a cracking sound was heard, followed by loud moans. Jon narrowed his eyes and reached for his sword strapped to his waist. Davos grasped the hilt of his own worn and chipped blade. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for their foes to show themselves.

 

“Stone men, Ser Davos,” Jon warned. “Don’t let them touch you.”

 

“Aye, I know very much about greyscale.”

 

Shambling out from the shadows, seven grey decaying bodies of those unlucky enough to be exiled to Valyria rasped and groaned as they stumbled toward their next victims. Bold souls too cocky to understand the true danger of braving the long-forsaken lands of the dragonlords. The stone mens’ arms swiped out and grasped wildly to tear Jon and Davos limb from limb.

 

Next to Jon, Davos began to sweat. He had only ever heard of the final stage of greyscale before it killed the afflicted. But seeing its effects in the flesh made his skin crawl. Tightening his grip on his old sailor’s sword - a cutlass - he prepared to face down this nightmare.

 

Jon shouted a challenge and leapt forward. Winter’s Wolf was swept across in a great arc, cutting through three stone men at once. Moaning louder, two of them lurched toward him while the other two grabbed for the Onion Knight.

 

Bringing his blade up to block a grabbing hand, Jon countered with a hack that took off the stone man’s right arm. Before he could finish it off, the other one reached for his neck, forcing him to jump back. Jon kicked out and knocked the offending grey beast over. He turned back to the one-armed stone man and slashed to take off its head.

 

As the kicked stone man struggled to its feet, Jon leveled his longsword with its neck and chopped down. The decapitated head bounced down toward Davos, who impaled the final stone man through the chest.

 

Taking a moment to recover from their exertions, Jon listened carefully for any more signs of stone men hidden among the ruins. Only hearing silence, he gestured to Davos to continue forward, quietly.

 

Heading deeper into Old Valyria, Jon looked overhead again for his dragons. He could still see them circling a structure reminiscent of a temple. He forged ahead. The temple was on the outskirts of the city and he reached its gates in a few moments. But as he moved to open them, he noticed a curious corpse propped against the temple wall.

 

“Jon?” asked Davos, panting a little from having to run again to keep up. “Something caught your eye?” He grinned. “A pot of gold, perhaps?”

 

“No, Davos,” responded Jon. “That corpse over there against the wall.”

 

Pointing at what he said, Jon directed Davos’s gaze to the dead body dressed in a faded red. The corpse’s dress stood in stark contrast to the dull grey rags the stone men wore. Oddly enough, its dress was that of a Westerosi knight. More curious, however, was the huge sword that was in its hands. It looked like the man had died with it.

 

Going over to inspect it, Jon carefully pulled the sword out of the dead man’s hands. He held up the blade to the light and turned the sword over to reflect it. The blade was a greatsword - its size and weight requiring two hands to properly hold it. Looking at the wave patterns on the blade, Jon knew it was Valyrian steel. Yet the most telling feature about the sword was its hilt - it was inlaid with gold and had a gold lion head pommel.

 

“Ser Davos,” Jon gasped. “What do you know of Gerion Lannister?”

 

The Onion Knight blinked. “Ummm… he was the brother of Lord Tywin, Your Grace. Famously sailed off into the Smoking Sea, never to return. Why?”

 

“Well, I think this poor bastard is him.” He hefted the sword, letting it glint in the sun. “And I am pretty sure that we’ve found Brightroar - the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Lannister.”


 

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Arms crossed over her swollen breasts - undoubtedly preparing to feed her son - Daenerys watched with a pleasant amusement as shy little Shireen eased a hunk of meat towards the chirping Jogon. Sweat tumbled down her forehead, one bead cascading down her scarred cheek. “Are you sure he won’t burn me?”

 

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh merrily. “I told him in High Valyrian to be extra nice to you, cousin.” Given that her great grandmother was one Rhaelle Targaryen, daughter of King Aegon V, Shireen was her blood. Daenerys would have been obligated to care for her even if she didn’t want to - which she did. The girl was both sweet and intelligent. “Go on, don’t be shy.”

 

Lips pressed together, as if she were willing herself to be calm, Shireen brought the little slab of meat right by Jogon’s head. The dragon, about the size of how Drogon had been at Astapor in her last life, cocked his head. Peering curiously at Shireen before darting forward. Snatching the meat and tossing it in the air. He bathed it in fire, eating with gusto. The Baratheon girl relaxed, approaching him. “You’re not so scary.” A gentle pet of Jogon’s head had the dragon chirping.

 

Smiling widely, Daenerys walked beside her. “They can be very fearsome, especially when grown. But dragons are very misunderstood and maligned creatures… reviled as monsters by many, but to those with the blood of the dragon like us,” Daenerys said, remembering how alone she had felt in her past life. Alone even with her brother, a feeling that she’d never endure with Jon in her life. The joy within her only grew, wistfully rubbing her growing womb. “We can see the intelligent, passionate creatures they really are.”

 

“We?”

 

“That’s right, your great-grandmother was a Targaryen. While I don’t think it’s enough to bond with one.” Dany saw a momentary hopeful glint in her eyes flicker out. “You’ll be able to be closer to them than any other.”

 

Without warning, Shireen shot forward and threw her arms around Daenerys’ waist. Taken aback for a moment, she reciprocated. “Thank you, for everything… your Grace.”

 

“We’re family, call me Daenerys.” It was clear why Davos had so much affection for this little girl. In a family of hardened zealots and drunken reprobates, she was a breath of fresh air.

 

“So Daenerys,” Shireen asked, looking up. “We’re heading out of here soon?”

 

The Queen nodded. “Aye, to Astapor. There are sixteen thousand soldiers there called the Unsullied, elite forces we will need in the restoration of House Targaryen.”

 

If the Lady Baratheon had any compunctions against the house that fought against her uncle, the Usurper, she had disabused herself of that notion long ago - Daenerys had learned that she hadn’t even met Robert Baratheon in her life. “I heard about them from Ser Davos - elite slave soldiers.” Her eyebrow rose. “I thought you were determined to end slavery, Daenerys?”

 

A grin formed on the Queen’s face. “You’ll be in for a bit of a surprise, dear cousin.” The plan was all in place, Dothraki ready to move out on the morrow - a squadron of trade ships loaded with supplies, gifts from Xaro Xhoan Daxos to commemorate their support for him to become the King of Qarth. Her unease at dealing with someone who had betrayed her was drowned out by the sense of anticipation at seeing Missandei and Grey Worm once more. Their counsel had sorely been missed. “My only hope is that Jon returns from Valyria before we arrive.”

 

“You miss him, don’t you?” Shireen smiled when Daenerys nodded. “My mother and father were never close, but I met Davos’ wife once. She and he… very much in love. I see the same with you and his Grace.”

 

The nights without him, without his hands feeling their son kicking and moving inside her womb, they brought Daenerys nothing but sadness and heartache - only having their dragons close by was able to calm her. “My love for him… it’s overwhelming sometimes.”

 

“I hope to have that one day.”

 

“Trust me, you will.” Dany hugged her cousin.

 

At that moment the doors opened, revealing Ser Jorah and the Sand Snakes. “My Queen,” said the Bear Knight. “You need to come with us.” He seemed concerned, while the Dornish warriors all had sour scowls on their lips.

 

Sensing their seriousness, Daenerys allowed her Queenly mask to cover her face. “Shireen, do you mind watching Jogon?” The girl nodded, allowing Daenerys to leave the chambers with her sworn swords.

 

Walking down the corridors of the manse, passing Dothraki and Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ servants carrying massive crates of gold and their belongings towards the waiting carts and wagons to take them to the docks. Daenerys, hand on her stomach protectively as she tried to keep up with the brisk pace of the Sand Snakes. “Easy ladies. The Queen is in a delicate condition,” Ser Jorah chided.

 

“Shut it… I have eyes, Mormont,” Obara shot back. Her voice dripped the same acid as was worn on Nymeria and Tyene’s faces.

 

Dany frowned. “What’s got you riled up, Obara?” It had to be serious.

 

At the direct question from her Queen. Obara’s face softened slightly. “You’ll see soon enough, your Grace.” Daenerys accepted the answer, the rest of the walk contemplated in silence. “Brace yourself,” she finally said once they reached the doors to the solar, Bako and Khovaro standing guard. Each of the Sand Snakes narrowed their eyes, gripping their weapons tightly. “You’re not going to be happy.”

 

Eyes narrowing as well, Dany motioned for the two to open the doors. As the scene in the solar was revealed, the Queen was forced to hide a gasp. “Jaime Lannister.”


 

 

Barristan Selmy

 

She looks exactly like her mother. To tell the truth, Ser Barristan the Bold didn’t know what to expect when given the chance to reclaim his lost honor by Varys. Of what Daenerys Targaryen would be like. Rhaegar had fought and been killed long before Daenerys was even born. By the time she emerged from her mother’s womb during the great storm in Blackwater Bay, he had long since been sworn to Robert Baratheon - much to his regret.

 

Now, sitting across from Rhaella’s daughter, he did not see the wild, mad purple eyes of her father but the kind, welcoming indigo of the late Queen, serene in her very late stage pregnancy. The inner steel of Prince Rhaegar. Even with the barely contained hostility of the Dothraki and Sand Snakes - the fact Oberyn Martell had his tentacles in this - surprising but not shocking him - Ser Jorah Mormont bore a friendly face, and that of Robb Stark was also welcoming if guarded.

 

“Lord Varys informed us of your impending arrival, Ser Barristan,” she began, voice intelligent and serene. “My husband and I knew even the smallest flicker of dissent against the Usurper would result in a dismissal at the very least, but I did not expect…” The Dragon Queen looked the golden-haired Lion of Lannister up and down. Surprisingly, there was no hate, just a curt appraisal. “The Kingslayer to be joining you until Varys said so in his communication.”

 

Jaime snorted. “So is Varys working for you or are you working for him?” Barristan wanted to roll his eyes - even now, Jaime apparently couldn’t help himself.

 

But it was Daenerys that truly surprised. “He knows that if he crosses me that I’d burn him alive, which is ironically what he framed you for doing to yourself. What happened, Ser Jaime? Did they discover the true father of the royal children?”

 

Eyes widening, Jaime stared slack jawed. “I… I…” Barristan stared too. How could she know about that?

 

“How I figured it out, it doesn’t matter,” she replied, as if reading Barristan’s thoughts. “There is no need to rehash the incestual birth of Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, nor the truth about you stabbing my mad father in the back for threatening to burn down all of King’s Landing.” Daenerys continued to surprise and mystify them. “I know many things, as does His Grace, King Aegon…”

 

“So it is true then… he’s the son of Rhaegar.” The old knight didn’t know why his friend hadn’t told him the truth, that he had twin sons by Elia… but then Varys was working for them, so perhaps his information was a lie.

 

This time it was Robb Stark who answered. “He is Rhaegar’s son, Ser Barristan.” Even addressing him, Robb’s eyes were either staring daggers at Jaime or flickering to the two other guests in the room. “But Rhaegar’s son by Lyanna Stark. The true heir to the Seven Kingdoms alongside his wife, the Queen.” In one swoop he confirmed exactly what Ashara and Alysanne had said about the King and Queen - one Barristan accepted while Jaime found skeptical.

 

Suddenly, Jaime burst into laughter. “Ned Stark… raising the true prince as a bastard…” Murderous glares were sent his way… “No disrespect, but I just wish Cersei could see it now. Her beloved Rhaegar, having children by the same woman that stole Robert from her… priceless.” While it was amusing to think about, Barristan didn’t allow himself to chuckle till the Dragon Queen’s lips curved upward.

 

“Entertaining as that would be, I am not shocked by any of this. I expected your arrival, but what I did not expect is that you would be travelling with two Westerosi highborns.” Her violet eyes settled on Ashara and Alysanne, both of whom had been utterly silent for the whole time. “There are guesses I can make as to who you are, but it would be easier for you to tell me.”

 

Meeting eyes with Ser Barristan, Ashara sighed. “I am Ashara Dayne, your Grace.”

 

A cocked eyebrow. “I thought Ashara Dayne killed herself by leaping out of the tower at Starfall after a stillbirth?”

 

She shook her head. “No, my child is very much alive.” An arm wrapped around Alysanne, holding the pregnant runaway wife close. “This is Alysanne Sand, my beloved daughter… and your half-sister by your father.” One could hear a pin drop in the room. “And she is bearing the child of your twin brother Aerys Targaryen.” Did Barristan think pin… rather a speck of dust.

 

To her credit, the Queen wore a mask… but the eyes told everything. A slight widening - Barristan knowing enough about her dear mother to read the signs. Priding herself on being one step ahead of everyone else, it was clear that Ashara knocked her for a loop. “Start from the beginning of your story, Lady Dayne,” the Queen ground out rather evenly. “Leave nothing out, and I will reserve judgement till the end.”

 

Glancing down at her silent daughter, kissing her tenderly on her forehead that made Barristan’s heart ache, Ashara took a deep breath. “Listen to me very carefully…” And so it continued. The Lady Ashara of House Dayne followed Daenerys’ command and spared no detail. The Mad King, his delusions and thus seeking out any woman with Valyrian blood, Alysanne’s birth, their flight with the help of Ned Stark, finding Aerys and the happy marriage until he returned from Valyria with madness and a dragon, his plans for Daenerys, the Golden Company - all were divulged in extraneous detail. Barristan and Jaime cutting in several times to clarify but Alysanne saying nothing. Only seeming to shrink further into herself as the discussion drifted to her husband. The father of her unborn child.

 

As Ashara finished her tale, the room was completely silent. All eyes on Daenerys, who stared at Alysanne - eyes searching, scrutinizing every single detail. She had gone white, but the eyes remained sharp and focused. “That is impossible. I only had two brothers and both are dead.”

 

“You wouldn’t know of your twin, your Grace,” Ashara continued in a low, soft voice. “Your mother was delayed in childbirth and Stannis’ men were on their way to Dragonstone, so she left you and Viserys with Ser William Derry - Jon Connington took Aerys hours later in a separate skiff, the only two left after the great storm.”

 

Daenerys shook her head in disbelief. “No, it cannot be true.” Adamant, a fist slammed against the table. “I will not believe it. I am my mother’s last child.” To Barristan, it seemed she was more opposed to that fact than anything about Alysanne.

 

“Your Grace, allow me to speak,” Ser Jorah interjected. “I do not believe Ser Barristan the Bold would lie, but you are a great Queen and Khaleesi. Mummers and charlatans will try to graft themselves to you - when I served in the Golden Company, there was a man with blue hair who called himself the Khal’s older half-brother. We found out he was an imposter and killed him, but it could have been far different… you need to be cautious just in case these are mummers.”

 

Scoffing, Ashara leveled an accusatory finger at Jorah. “I am the sister of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning - the daughter of the Lord of Starfall and the line of the fallen star. My word is my bond and what my daughter and I have said is the absolute truth.” Her attention shifted to Daenerys. “Please, your Grace… Aerys was once a sweet boy but he has gone mad with ambition and power. He plots how he will kill your husband and take you for himself…”

 

Standing out of his seat, hand on his sword, Robb glared at the four guests. “You are nothing but liars. Her Grace does not have a twin! If you lie about this, you are clearly lying about your identity!” 

 

Ashara bristled, forehead breaking in a sheen of sweat as Alysanne shrunk away from the yelling heir to Winterfell. Apparently her months of abuse and torture at Aerys’ hands had sapped all her strength. “These are not lies, Robb Stark. Your King and Queen are in grave danger from her brother.”

 

“Stop these lies!”

 

Barristan had enough, launching out of his seat, only for one of the Sand Snakes to slam her palm vertically upon his shoulder. Making him wince in pain. “On my honor…” he still managed to grind out. “...as a Kingsguard and Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. This is Ashara Dayne and her daughter, the bastard daughter of your father.”

 

“Everything we say is true, your Grace,” Alysanne piped up, until now too scared to speak. “I carry your niece or nephew inside me… please give us shelter… if Aerys finds me then Mama will die and I may too.” A tear came down her cheek, breaking Barristan’s heart.

 

If Robb Stark was moved, he didn’t show it. “My brother and goodsister have been beaten down, abused, hunted like dogs their whole life, and you come here with such perverse mummer’s speeches that degrade them and the memory of their family?” he spat. “Your oaths mean nothing, Ser Barristan. Simply traveling with the Kingslayer proves it.”

 

The aforementioned former kingsguard rolled his eyes. “This one’s clearly Ned Stark’s son… all that self-righteous indignation and judgement. Congratulations, your momma didn’t sleep around.”

 

“Enough, Jaime,” Barristan hissed.

 

The Stark heir firmly gripped his sword. “Perhaps removing a hand would teach you respect.”

 

“I’d like to see you try, young whelp.”

 

“Enough.” The words were soft, but with an inner steel so sharp that Barristan felt as if he moved a fraction of an inch, a Valyrian steel sword placed by his neck would slit his throat open. He took quick stock of the blade strapped to the Dragon Queen’s waist just to make sure - the ruby pommel clearly marked it as the legendary Dark Sister. The gleaming stone as piercing as the dark violet of Daenerys Targaryen’s eyes. Oh Varys, what have you gotten me into? “House Dayne is known for its purple eyes. If that is the only evidence that you are a Targaryen bastard, my lady, then you are quite lacking.”

 

“It is the truth, your Grace,” Alysanne said softly. The poor girl had gone through so much at the hands of her husband from what Ashara had told him. In the face of yet another powerful Targaryen trueborn, her submissive nature was coming out. “I don’t know what else could prove myself to you.”

 

The Dragon Queen remained silent for an interminable length of time, finally breaking the silence with a strange, guttural language - likely Dothraki. Suddenly, Barristan found himself and Jaime dragged out of their chairs, curved blades brought to their necks by the bloodriders. Ashara screamed beside him, only for her and Alysanne to be restrained a bit more gently by the Sand Snakes. “Forgive me for the displeasure, my dear Lady Dayne,” Daenerys stated calmly. “But given I spent my life running from assassins and cutthroats sent by that fat pig Robert Baratheon, one can’t be too careful.”

 

“Do what you want to me, your Grace,” Barristan rasped, “But don’t hurt the two ladies… they’ve done nothing to you.”

 

“Not yet, Ser Barristan.” Her eyes flashed something dark before turning to Alysanne. She was slightly older than Daenerys, but the latter held a maturity beyond her years. Barristan had seen less wary, troubled eyes in forty nameday old amputees. “I cannot determine the validity of your story, but there is someone who can. Bring them to the inner courtyard.” With that the Bloodriders and Sand Snakes marched them forward, Daenerys ahead of them with Ser Jorah.

 

The gardens of the Qarthi King’s manse were lush with vegetation - the finest flowers and fruit trees, fed with an intricate terrace system of water pipes. Something the inner poet of the old knight would stop to admire if a Dothraki screamer wasn’t holding an arakh to his neck. “Well, this isn’t how I expected to die,” Jaime quipped beside him.

 

“Shut it, Lannister,” Barristan hissed, though Jaime wasn’t wrong.

 

In a more open space of the garden, he could hear Robb Stark speaking with Daenerys. “Are you sure about this, Daenerys?”

 

She nodded, as firm as ever. Her gauzy dress wafted in the gentle sea breeze, pregnant belly not hiding the majesty and grace the Queen gave away. It was not lost on Barristan why both Aerys and this Aegon wanted her for themselves. “I am sure, brother.” She turned to the party and motioned Tyene to bring Alysanne forth.

 

“Don't hurt her!” begged Ashara, only for Nymeria to bark an order keeping her quiet.

 

“You are beautiful, Alysanne. Features that can pass off as Valyrian, but none so remarkable.” To her credit, the girl did not break down in tears. Not even when a piercing screech from above. “I would like you to meet someone.” Sure enough, a blue dragon swept into the courtyard, circling around twice and hooting up a storm before settling down on the ground beside Daenerys. Barristan gaped, beginning to tremble despite himself. The… the rumors are true. Beside him, Jaime wore a similar expression, while Ashara’s never wavered. She must have seen one… she spoke true about her goodson. “This is my child, Ragnar.”

 

The blue dragon, the size of a small horse and scales shimmering in the sun, extended its neck to allow Daenerys to pet him. Something close to mad, yet amazing at the same time. The rebirth of the dragonlord. Accepting his mother’s affection, Ragnar then noticed the trembling newcomer. 

 

Taking notice of the girl’s fear, Daenerys peered at her with an innocent smile. “Don’t be afraid, Lady Sand. My child will not harm the blood of the dragon.” She spoke to Ragnar then in Valyrian, earning an enraged screech.

 

“Stay away from that beast!” Jaime yelled, only for a bloodrider to hit him in his side. Barristan wanted to say the same thing, but it was futile. 

 

“I know you wish for your daughter’s safety, Lady Dayne,” she addressed Ashara directly, Hand drifting to her heavily pregnant belly. “But I must protect my children first. And if you are a plot against us…” There need not be a conclusion to that sentence. To anyone who lived through the Mad King’s reign as Barristan did, the punishment for traitors was obvious.

 

Alysanne audibly gulped. “I am not afraid.” Slowly, softly, she approached Ragnar. Amber eyes fraught with hostility and an innate fear of strangers. Gradually extending her hand. Gradually raising her hand till it almost ghosted the side of Ragnar’s face, causing the eyes to blink before the dragon let out an angry shriek, as if a warning. Barristan could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart. Eyes shutting to not witness what would undoubtedly come next...

 

But nothing happened. The seconds passed by and there was barely a sound, nothing like the tortured screams and crackling flames that so characterized the Mad King’s reign. Eyes opening, Barristan’s jaw dropped at the sight before him… an expression he was sure Jaime and Ashara… seven hells, all present wore. Alysanne’s palm was pressed firmly to the dragon’s snout. Caressing the shiny, simmering scales while the dragon… literally cooed in response. Eyes closed and nuzzling the offered hand.

 

It was over in an instant, however. Ragnar pulling away and letting out a keening cry before taking to the skies - flapping out of the courtyard on its growing wings. Disappearing as a blue blur. Far from trembling… Alysanne seemed calm. As if the beast had awoken something deep inside her long dormant. To Barristan’s side, Ashara let out a relieved sigh, danger averted.

 

Barristan turned from his vigil over the mother and daughter and found the queen just watching Alysanne, her face pale. Shock still as the scene began to register itself - whether over the truth of the girl’s dragonblood or the revelation that she had a twin brother out there, the old knight wasn’t certain. Wordlessly, he shared a glance with Jaime, who shrugged. He is a far calmer man than I. 

 

Coming out of her trance, Daenerys called out to her guards - this time in the Common Tongue. “Take our guests to suitable quarters. They are to be treated as befitting highborns of an honored station.” As the Sand Snakes and bloodriders began leading them all away, Barristan could hear Daenerys speak to Robb Stark. “We leave at daybreak… I need to process this.”

 

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Dany… Jon never told me…”

 

“Neither did I…”


 

 

Robert Baratheon

 

“Lord Kitty better have a good fuckin’ reason for waking me from my nap,” grumbled the King, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the pounding headache. Never mix rum and Arbor gold. And by nap, he meant passing out for half an hour with his head in the lap of a serving girl while a dark-skinned whore from Baelish’s brothel tended to his cock. He expected Littlefinger to pay them both for their trouble.

 

Beside him walked his youngest brother, still in possession of his wits and good looks. “It has to be something important, given how he acted like a boy about to deflower a maiden when summoning us to the small council chamber.”

 

Robert quirked up an eyebrow. “How in seven hells would you know anything about what that’s like, Renly?” The King burst out in laughter, Renly’s red flush of embarrassment and anger easily soothing his hangover. He slapped his brother hard on the back, adding to the amusement.

 

Behind, the three Kingsguards snickered. The deaths of Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime - good riddance to traitors and incestuous traitors - required three positions to fill and Robert approved of the choices Tywin made. Ser Meryn Trant as Lord Commander and his own bastard Ser Edric Storm - completely loyal men from the Stormlands, while Ser Hugh of the Vale would serve to bind more Vale Houses to the crown. Besides, they all took orders and didn’t talk back.

 

Household guards opening the door to the small council chambers, Robert staggered in, falling into his chair at the head of the table without even greeting anyone. Lifting his head, he finally saw the councilmen as they took their seats. Tywin gazed directly at him from the other end of the table, sour and stone-faced as usual. The gold nugget he shat out must have been bigger than usual. The King chuckled at his own jape. Pycelle looked like he’d keel over at any moment, while Littlefinger was the same as always… smile so sweet as if he’d bleed poison. Varys was silent in a corner seat next to Renly, while another bald man… “Who the fuck is this?” Robert asked, pointing to the stranger.

 

“Your Grace, this is Ser Janos Slynt, Lord Commander of the City Watch of King’s Landing,” Tywin answered, the rather arrogant figure standing straight and preening at the King’s attention. “Given his loyal service to the Crown, I’ve invited him to this meeting.” Robert waved it off, allowing it. Truth was he didn’t care beyond a mild curiosity. “Alright, with the King’s arrival, we can come to order. Lord Varys, you may begin.”

 

Clearing his throat, Varys looked each man in the eye before he began. “Your Grace, my Lords, my little birds sing requiems today. It appears as if Lord Stannis has met his end in Qarth. He found Aegon Targaryen and engaged him in a duel - Aegon won.”

 

Some gasped. Renly looked to be on the verge of tears. “Your Grace,” babbled Pycelle, his words almost unintelligible. “Please accept my deepest condolences for the death of your brother.” 

 

Rather than feel any grief for his estranged brother, Robert was merely bored. “I knew that fool would get himself killed. Blinded by that red bitch mistress of his.” No one around him chose to inform the King of how he had been gung ho on Stannis’ idea when it had been broached to him. “So what the fuck happened to his fleet?”

 

“Lord Stannis’ daughter and retinue have sworn their allegiance to the Targaryen King and Queen.”

 

Slamming his palm on the table, Robert felt an anger surge through him… until the pain of the hangover settled in. “If they set foot in Westeros…”

 

“Yes, yes,” Tywin stated. “Sentenced to death. But we all knew Stannis’ plan was a longshot.” He stood to address the council, though Robert didn’t even look at him. Momentary anger washing away and his boredom returning. There’s a reason I never fuckin’ attended these. I should be huntin’. “Littlefinger’s spies in the Targaryen camp reported something interesting to me. It seems that a major Westerosi House has sent their heir to treat with them.”

 

“Who?” asked Renly.

 

“Ned Stark.”

 

That got Robert’s attention. Hangover forgotten as he stared at Tywin, jaws dropped. “No… you’re fuckin’ lying!”

 

“I wish I was lying, your Grace,” Littlefinger cut in, defending his spy. “I’m not sure why Varys’ birds didn’t pick up on it, but a man with a direwolf was spotted in the Targaryen camp.” 

 

Direwolf… Ned’s little brats had direwolves… Baelish hadn’t lied to him yet, and neither had his good-father - Cersei and Jaime deceived him as well. His outrage turned to a pale nausea. “No… Ned is my friend… If Rhaegar hadn’t kidnapped Lyanna, we were to be good-brothers…”

 

“It seems Ned has tricked us all,” Renly breathed, in disbelief as well.

 

It was Pycelle that spoke next. “This is an outrage!” he chortled. “We must send a party to Winterfell and demand Ned Stark’s head on a spike!”

 

A groan came from Tywin. “You doddering old fool. The North is independent because the King failed to send my idiot grandson to the Wall for almost raping Sansa Stark!” Robert didn’t reply to the obvious insult on him, too shocked at Ned’s betrayal. Even if he was a king, they were practically family. How could you Ned…? How dare you, Ned…? How dare you?! “We have to treat this as an act of war against the Realm.”

 

“Call the banners,” suggested Slynt. “I can have fifty thousand gutter rats from Flea Bottom marching in the Household guard.” Remembering something about how the corrupt Slynt had connections and favors all over the city, Robert didn’t doubt he could do it. Perhaps such was why Slynt was brought for the meeting.

 

“Ser Janos!” All eyes turned to the King, who was enraged once again. “If you get me those men, you get Dragonstone.” Slynt was taken aback, but the gasp soon devolved into the widest of triumphant smiles. He bowed his head with a mumbled show of support. “Renly, call the banners of the Stormlands. Baelish, get Jon Arryn’s widow to call the Knights of the Vale, and Lord Tywin, call the Westerlands to action. Together, we’ll invade the North!”

 

“That poses a problem.” Tywin stole the floor from Robert, leaning forward in his chair with the stern expression that the King despised. “The North has the support of the Riverlands through Queen Catelyn.”

 

Robert huffed. “So? We’ll blast through them too.”

 

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “You are also forgetting the King in the North is set to marry his children off to Margaery Tyrell and Trystane Martell, binding the Reach and Dorne.” Plopping back in his chair, Robert paled. He had forgotten. “However, I have a plan. One that will secure the south while we marshal against the North.” Renly, Slynt, and Pycelle watched intently, while Littlefinger smirked and Varys sat expressionless. 

 

“Tell us the damn plan, Lord Lion, before I piss mi’self,” Robert belched out, impatient.

 

The sour expression curved up into a knowing smirk. “Reports have come from Oldtown that a certain man has been preaching to the flock. They call him the ‘High Sparrow,’ and he has drawn the ire of the Most Devout for his campaign to ‘cleanse the impurity’ from the Faith.”

 

“And? We’re not here for religious psychobabble, Lord Tywin,” spat Renly. It was obvious why he wasn’t the most devout follower of the Seven.

 

“It’s simple, Lord Renly. His Grace appoints this man the High Septon, and grants him leave thereafter to reconstitute the Faith Militant.”

 

One could hear a pin drop in the small council chamber. “Are you mad?” Renly blurted out.

 

“The Faith Militant hasn’t been around since the time of Jaehaerys the Conciliator,” Varys said. Robert didn’t much care for history, so he’d take his word for it. “It might prove… problematic.”

 

Tywin waved it off. “We’ll deal with the long-term fallout once the Realm is secure from the Targaryens.” Seemed reasonable to the King, clouded as he was by the anger at his now former friend. “Hedge knights and smallfolk that wouldn’t support our cause would flock to the rainbow banner of the Faith Militant. The High Septon will proclaim Robert as Defender of the Faith, and his forces will wreak havoc on the Tyrells and Martells while we finish up the campaign in the North.”

 

Not really needing to hear more, Robert smacked his hands together. “Good show, good-father. With the Faith on our side, Ned will not stand a chance at crushing us.” Standing, ruddy eyes burning with a fire and determination not felt since the splatter of rubies hit the surface of the Trident, Robert turned to the Kingsguard on duty that day. “Ser Meryn!”

 

Eyes widening underneath his helmet, Meryn Trant bowed. “Yes, your Grace?” The King treated his Kingsguards like furniture, and it appeared that the new Lord Commander preferred it that way. Not expecting the King to actually treat with him.

 

“You are coming with me.” Storming out of the small council chamber, he heard the clink of metal plate as Ser Meryn followed him. “My new warhammer is ready, and I haven’t trained in years. You’re going to help me get back in shape so I can kill the motherfucking Targaryen cunts and the traitorous Starks personally!” Perhaps Ned would properly bend the knee, but thinking about this whelp usurper Aegon Targaryen with his chest caved in like his rapist father… Oh Lyanna, I will avenge you all over again.

 

The very thought pleased Robert Baratheon more than all the wine and whores in the world.

Notes:

I doubt y'all expected Brightroar. Apparently Gerion Lannister did find it. Jaime's sacrifices in his past lives now gets to be rewarded ;)

Shireen is Dany's family and she'll be treated as such. We've planned a far better end for her.

Regarding Barristan and Alysanne, we didn't want to cover the same tale that Ashara had told the two Kingsguards before - the purpose of the scene revolved mostly around the test of Alysanne's dragonblood. Her integration and the dealing with Aerys will be covered in a later chapter.

Does anyone think Tywin would divulge all of his plans? Nah, he's too smart to risk it leaking. The parts about war with the north and the Faith Militant are too big to keep secret. With Robert training with Meryn Trant (LMFAO), Tywin has free reign basically.

Kudos to CastleColin for writing this with me and to Cymatt for the moodboards :D

Next up, the first parts of Tywin's plan starts to go into effect ;)

Chapter 33: Fortunes Emergent

Summary:

1) Domeric is informed on an interesting offer to his house.
2) Sansa practices Water Dancing and reunites Tyrion with his niece.
3) Theon gets intimate with Ygritte on the trek back across the Wall.
4) Connington learns the whereabouts of the Targaryens.
5) Davos and Jon uncover Old Valyria’s long-lost treasures.

Notes:

Hi all.

While Dany reels from her revelation we mostly go back to Westeros to see what's going on in the North.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Domeric Bolton

Torches flickering against the dark, foreboding walls, the lack of fresh air really started to take a toll on anyone journeying from the courtyard above. A fetid stench of death and decay hung over even the stairwell. Bits of dried blood coating the stone steps in spite of orders from the lord himself to scrub everything but the dungeons. Servants were always lazy, just working enough to keep themselves from earning the ire of the keep.

Few were allowed down here for obvious reasons, and the heir to the Dreadfort - Domeric Bolton - was one of them. Down here was where his father had the… family speciality running. Just like his father and his father before that. Hidden away from the watchful eyes of the Starks of Winterfell. Domeric didn’t enjoy the practice at all… but his half-brother did. Very much so. To think I ever wanted to meet that sadistic freak. Nevertheless, he kept his tranquil mask on.

The scream filled his ears almost immediately. “If you tell me where your daughter has gone, I might let you live,” came a rather calm voice, laughing. 

“Fuck you!” Domeric admired the smallfolk’s grit.

Not that he’d benefit from it.

“Suit yourself. Kornel, he’s all yours.” More laughs, ones that made Domeric’s skin crawl. “Make sure he lives for most of it.” The door to the dungeon chamber opened just as a pitched scream echoed through it, flash of red blood as a burly guard took a skinning knife to the smallfolk’s skin. The bare-chested, grinning young man exited, wiping the blood off his torso with a rag. “Ah, brother. What do I owe the pleasure?” Behind him was a beautiful brunette girl, her smile even more sadistic than the man’s.

Frowning, Domeric resisted the urge to punch the grin off his bastard half-brother’s face. “I wouldn’t normally come into your haunt, Ramsay, but father has summoned us to his solar.”

Slapping the girl on the ass, she giggled, running up the stairs. “Really? Both of us?” Ramsay Snow donned his homespun shirt, cracking his knuckles. “Well, lead the way. Can’t keep father waiting.” 

Shoulder length hair pulled into a bun, Domeric glanced at Ramsay’s curly mop as they ascended the stairs together. It had flecks of blood. “What was his crime?”

Blinking, Ramsay only chuckled. “Oh, him? His daughter got married without father’s approval and then disappeared.” A malevolent grin. “Just trying to find where she is. Myranda did her best, but sometimes the tried and tested methods of our house are better than her more… pinprick torture.”

That’s just how you were conceived. Their father had told them the story, though Domeric just kept it to himself. Best not antagonize the beast.

Domeric was proud of his house - one with an illustrious history of conquest and strength. The Dreadfort was the first stone castle in Westeros, even before Casterly Rock despite the boasting of the Lannisters. Many a day since he had arrived back home found the heir leafing through the history books with the maester and castellan to figure out ways he was going to bring his house to further glory and surpass House Stark and House Manderly in wealth and influence. But unlike his father and certainly unlike Ramsay, Domeric had seen the southern kingdoms and the rest of the North. Seen the culture and the benefits of trade over war. Of culture over brutality. How the dark, imposing harshness of the Dreadfort needed to be transformed from a fortress of death into one that radiated not only power but also the wild beauty of the North - like White Harbor or even Winterfell.

It was this that brought him in conflict with his father, and what caused his father to bring Ramsay to the castle as a spare heir and the offered groom to Sansa Stark, since rejected. He’s going to legitimize him. Of this Domeric had no doubt, though the quiet heir wouldn’t give up the Dreadfort without a fight.

Their father’s solar was just as spartan as the rest of the castle. A crackling fire, some spears and animal skins on the walls. Some smatterings of furniture and a massive banner draped behind his desk. Domeric had commissioned a painting of Royce II the Great from a Braavosi artist, but the Lord of the Dreadfort refused to put it up. Called it too ‘fancy’ for a proper northerner.

Roose Bolton sat at his desk, looking up only when both of his sons bowed to him. “Ah, my sons. Welcome.” Both boys blinked. He was never this cheerful. “Are you alone? Did you dismiss the guards?”

“Yes, father,” Domeric replied, his eyebrow up. Ramsay just sat in his chair, drumming his hands with a board expression. 

“I’m just going to come out and say it, and both of you know that you will not speak to anyone about this. Not the castellan, not your kennel master’s daughter, Ramsay, not anyone.” Both boys nodded. “I received a raven from King’s Landing, in the script of the Hand of the King. He has made an interesting offer to our house.”

Taking the slip of paper from his father’s outstretched hand, still discomforted by his smile, Domeric unfurled it. Angling his hand so that Ramsay could read it too.

 

 

 

 

 

Lord Roose Bolton,

The Starks have allied with the Targaryen dragonspawn. Why, I have no idea, but it appears the Kingdom of the North’s independence is a lie. They will plunge this realm into another devastating war, one that I cannot allow.

I offer an alliance between House Bolton and the Crown. If you swear fealty to House Baratheon and eliminate House Stark from existence as your ancestors have come close before, the Crown is prepared to name you Warden of the North and be granted Winterfell and the lands sworn to it.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King.

“Father, this is amazing!” Ramsay’s boredom was a thing of the past, excited grin stretched over his face. “Give me command of the banners. We can be in Winterfell by the end of the week!”

“What you’re suggesting is treason, brother,” Domeric shot back, his face pale. He didn’t know what was scarier, a second Targaryen conquest that King Eddard was barrelling themselves into or actually betraying House Stark. No Bolton that fought them ended up winning the resulting war. “Tywin Lannister wants us to do his dirty work.”

Ramsay scoffed. “House Stark is weak and they aren’t expecting any of us to betray them. The North should be ruled by a House with balls.”

Eyes narrowing, Domeric faced down his brother. “If you think any Northern House is going to stand with oathbreakers, you’ve lost what remains of your sanity.”

“Is that a challenge?” Ramsay replied, voice low and menacing.

He may have been more cultured and demure, but the heir to the Dreadfort was still a Bolton. His blades were sharp. “If you want it to be, brother,” he said in a similarly menacing voice.

A fist slammed on the table, catching both of their attention. “Shut up and sit down, both of you.” Roose was just as quiet as Domeric, but he was ruthless to the core. “I can’t believe either of you are my sons. A cowardly bootlicker on one hand,” Domeric winced. “And a vicious idiot on the other.” Ramsay scowled. “Do either of you have any ambition or sense?”

“Father,” Domeric stated. “Winter is coming for the North. We are sundered from the south and can barely feed ourselves without the guaranteed imports. King Eddard promised marriage alliances to obtain food…”

“Pfft,” Ramsay waved him off. “Marriage alliances with southern harlots and perfumed princes instead of a proper northern son.” I thank the gods that Sansa Stark is not yours. He didn’t want the screams in the dungeons to come to the Lord’s wing of the castle. 

“It was a grievous insult, my son,” Roose told his trueborn. “We must take this plan. I am not going to let this opportunity go to waste, but we will not act rashly. Do you understand?” Two nods, one eager and one resigned. “A naked man has few secrets, but a flayed man has none. Ramsay, I want you to get your men together and scout Winterfell. Learn its secrets and inform me accordingly.”

Ramsay grinned. “I will do our House proud, father.”

Roose nodded. “Good. In the meantime, we will be the perfect vassal for the King in the North. Pay our taxes, dispense his justice… all the while…” He looked at Domeric. “We shall prepare quietly and quickly for our opportunity.”

And the die is cast. Domeric would make an offering in the godswood that the Lions of Casterly Rock weren’t leading House Bolton into a trap. In the meantime, he’d sharpen his blades. 

 


 

 

Sansa Stark

“Va guard!” Arya cried, facing her sister side-on with her legs slightly bent, one in front of the other. Her practice sword was gripped tightly in her right hand and extended outward to point straight at Sansa’s chest. Her steely-grey eyes bored deep into the deep blue of her older sister, trying to unsettle the elder Stark. The harsh fading sunlight gleamed off the edge of her blade as both sisters awaited Syrio Forel’s call to commence their duel.

Sansa held her blade in a more gentle grip, not having fully gotten used to swordplay like her rough-and-tumble sister. The swords they both wielded were called rapiers, designed for thrusts and parries over cuts and blocks - lighter and thinner than standard longswords. Speed not strength was the essence of Water Dancing, Syrio had told them on their very first day of training. Thrust, not cut, and finish the duel before it began.

Staring resolutely back as she steeled her nerves, Sansa drew in a deep breath and prepared herself. Watching them assume their stances on the side of Winterfell’s courtyard, Syrio Forel gave the signal to begin with a loud “Begin!” Neither Stark attacked immediately. Instead, they circled each other, occasionally feinting, in order to test for an opening in the other’s guard.

Abruptly, Arya turned her head as if to look in surprise at something off to the side. Sansa turned her own head to catch a glimpse - in the blink of an eye, Arya lunged.

Seeing the thrust coming at her from the corner of her eyes, Sansa leaned backward and wildly brought her rapier around to deflect it. Her sword made only glancing contact, but her footwork kept the tip of Arya’s sword from just barely reaching her chest. Syrio had advised them to put more of their weight on the back foot and lean as such in order to put more distance between their upper bodies and each other’s blades. She breathed a quick prayer of thanks for that lifesaving advice before counter attacking.

Sansa struck hard at Arya, trying to force her sister’s rapier aside for an opening at her torso. Glaring at how Sansa dodged her trick, Arya sidestepped and stabbed under Sansa’s guard. The red-haired wolf parried and responded with a riposte. Her rapier reached for Arya’s chest… only to feel the blunt tip of the latter’s on her stomach.

“Done!” Syrio called. “Arya is the victor!”

For the umpteenth time in a row. Sansa rolled her eyes and lowered her sword. Her little sister had taken to Water Dancing like a duck to water. Every duel that they had, she always won. This was the closest Sansa had come to ending her losing streak. But no, her rapier had come to a hair’s breadth away, only for Arya’s to come to her first.

“Magnificent!” Syrio beamed as he strode up to them. “In all my years as the First Sword of Braavos, I have never trained a disciple as talented as you, young Arya.”

Arya smiled brightly, soaking in the praise. Sansa pursed her lips and looked away. Syrio noticed her melancholy and his face softened.

“Don’t feel shame Sansa,” he comforted. “Water Dancing is not the easiest sword style to master, but you have persevered doggedly. That’s more than I can say for half of my former students.”

“Thank you Syrio,” Sansa responded, feeling a little better - Arya was always a natural at these things, but she herself had been hopeless at first. For the ‘perfect young lady,’ her improvements were close to miraculous. No one will get close to dishonoring me again. Her face then scrunched in confusion “By the way, how did Arya reach me when my sword was already so close to her body?”

“Pommeling,” Arya stated simply.

“Pommeling?” Sansa blinked, puzzled.

“Yes, pommeling,” Syrio said. “It is one of the advanced techniques in Water Dancing. The swordsman or woman grips the hilt of the sword not up by the guard but at the bottom by the pommel. This gives slightly more reach than usual, but as you have experienced, it can mean all the difference between victory or death.”

He looked over Sansa, who nodded slowly in understanding. “Of course, pommeling results in a weaker grip on the sword, so there is a trade-off. I recommend not resorting to it unless you are unable to penetrate your opponent’s defense with the standard offense.”

That explains a lot. Sansa knew that Arya had been taking extra lessons from Syrio in her spare time. If she herself had partaken, perhaps she might’ve won a duel or two.

Just then, Catelyn emerged from the keep and strode out towards the three standing in the courtyard. “Syrio, I trust that my daughter’s lessons are going well?” She gazed at her girls, both red-faced and sweating from the exertion of training.

“Yes, my Queen,” replied the Braavosi swordmaster. “They are some of the best students I have had the honor of teaching my skills too.” He added with a smile.

“That is very good to hear,” she smiled back before turning to her daughters. “Arya, would you mind taking over Rickon’s lessons for Syrio today? I have to prepare him to take over as castellan for Winterfell when I go south with my brother to visit my family.”

“No problem Mother,” Arya said. She spun on her heels and headed inside to inform Rickon of the day’s change in teacher.

“Syrio, would you please head to my chambers and wait for me?” Catelyn asked. “I will join you shortly.”

“As the Queen wishes,” Syrio bowed and too headed inside Winterfell’s stone-grey keep.

Alone with her lady mother, Sansa felt a chill breeze blow through the courtyard as Catelyn Stark leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You remember Marcy?” she asked under her breath.

“Yes Mother,” Sansa hushed in the same soft tone. “What of her?”

“Lord Tyrion has just returned from the Wall. Please escort him to her.”

Needing no words to comply, Sansa nodded and headed briskly into the pleasant warmth of the Great Hall. She hummed in satisfaction as the chill left her bones. Looking around for the Imp, she saw him sitting at a table, knocking back a tankard of strong ale.

The Dwarf of Casterly Rock smiled as he saw the Princess of Winterfell approach him. “Lady Sansa, it’s good to see you again after so many moons. I trust that no further harm has come to you or your dear sister?” He grimaced. “Not after what Theon Greyjoy told King Stark’s party what happened in our absence.”

“No, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said. “Arya and I are quite alright.” She smirked at the glazed look in Tyrion’s eyes. Clearly drunk off his rocker. “How was your little trip to the Wall?”

“Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful,” Tyrion’s face lit up. “I didn’t see any grumpkins or snarks from atop the Wall, but I did take my long-awaited piss off of it. On top of that, I got the best news in the world. One that you will undoubtedly fall asleep thinking about.”

“What could that possibly be Lord Hand?” Sansa inquired.

“The in-name only Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon has been stripped of his titles and shipped off to join the Night’s Watch!” he declared, slamming his tankard down on the table.

A moment of quiet so silent that you could hear a pin drop passed before both Sansa and Tyrion burst out in an uncontrolled fit of laughter.

“Oh… my… gods!” Sansa choked out, chortling. “I guess the Father’s justice is real after all!” You got what you deserve, cunt. Exiled at the wall was punishment for two lifetimes.

“True! True!” Tyrion coughed. “I’ve never been a pious man but that little idiot getting his just desserts is proof that there is a higher power in this world!”

The two laughed wildly for a while longer, slowly coming down from their shared high. Once they calmed down, Sansa leaned over the table and spoke to the drunken dwarf.

“Tyrion, you have a guest in your room. She will be staying with you for the foreseeable future.”

Tyrion put down his tankard, having drained the last drops from it. “Really?” He swallowed hard and belched loudly. Sansa covered her nose with her left hand. “Sorry, Princess. You were saying?” He gestured for her to continue.

“Mother says I am to escort you to see her. You must address her as Marcy when in the presence of anyone other than myself, Arya, and my mother,” Sansa started with a meaningful look on her face.

“Fine, fine,” Tyrion agreed. “Two’s company and I do enjoy meeting new people.” He gave her a sly look. “However I am a loud sleeper, so this Marcy might want to stuff wax in her ears.”

“Follow me, my lord,” Sansa stated tersely as she got up from the table and headed for the hallway. Tyrion hopped down from the bench and followed her, hiccupping all the way. They walked down to Tyrion’s chambers at the end of the hall. Stopping outside the door, Sansa looked back at him. “Remember what I said?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Call my roommate Marcy when not around you, Arya, or Queen Catelyn.”

Sansa nodded and opened the door. Pushing open the heavy oak door, a small girl with dark brown hair was revealed, sitting on the bed. Her eyes were an emerald green and fraught with nerves.

Upon seeing her, Tyrion’s jaw dropped and his eyes welled up with tears. “Myrcella,” he breathed. He almost ran into the room to greet his beloved niece.

“Uncle Tyrion,” Myrcella responded with equal affection. She tearfully embraced her uncle.

Smiling faintly at their happy reunion, Sansa closed the door to give them some much needed privacy. Her thoughts reached out for her father beyond the Wall and her two brothers and good-sister out in Essos. She hoped and prayed that they’d be reunited soon.

 

 


 

 

Theon Greyjoy

“Well…” Theon panted, wiping a sheen of sweat from his face. “Was I good or was I great?” He grinned toothily, proud of himself.

Smirking and shaking her head, Ygritte rolled onto her back and stretched languidly. Rose-tipped breasts and lithe body deliciously bared to him. The same breasts he had been palming and the same body he had rutted into like a wolf just several minutes ago. “It was… better.” 

Theon snorted. “You’re mad, woman. Too proud to admit that the Prince of the Iron Islands fucked you raw.” He wiggled his brows, causing her to laugh.

“I will say you are learning some things, Theon Greyjoy.”

“You certainly thought so, judging by how you were screaming all night.”

Grinning, Ygritte leaned over and kissed him gently. Normally she treated him like an amusing distraction - teasing and insulting - but sometimes, while they were alone and not fucking like animals in heat, actual affection cropped up. “Still a southern fool, though. And I think that affliction will last you forever.” There’s the spearwife I know. “Now get the fuck up and get dressed. I’m not missing my chance to finally see what’s south of that fucking wall cause you decided to be a lazy cunt.”

Tough as nails like a proper Ironborn but with a rough loyalty that many of the raiders and reavers lacked, Theon thanked the Gods he had joined Ned Stark on his quest. It was dangerous. It brought him close to death. It was so cold his balls almost froze off… but he had met Ygritte. For all Theon’s aloof bravado, he knew he was falling hard for her. “I’d hate to keep my lady waiting.”

The spearwife smacked him, hard. “You really know nothing, Theon Greyjoy.” Much to his displeasure, she threw on her trousers and thick fur parka. “Call me that again and I’ll cut your balls off.”

Biting back a snarky retort, as he donned his trousers, Theon just nodded. “Duly noted,” he said, reaching to tie Longclaw to his waist.

The blizzard that had gripped the entirety of the True North had abated, leaving nothing but a cloudless sky and a welcome sun. A sun of summer twilight, granting at least a bit of warmth to heat up their bodies. Sparing one last kiss with Ygritte, Theon climbed atop a small, snow-capped hill where the rest of his party waited - head turned to watch the spearwife saunter back towards Tormund and the other Free Folk.

“So, should I be calling her Lady Greyjoy now?” Turning abruptly to find Lord Stark’s grinning face - and the laughs of Benjen and Jory - Theon flushed red. Humiliated beyond belief. “Relax, son. It was just an honest question. Wouldn’t be a problem if you did though… help integrate the Wildlings into the realm.”

The reddened cheeks abated, but only slightly. “No… you don’t have to worry about that, Lord Stark. Ygritte and I…”

“Oh, so she has a name.” Jory was sincerely teasing, expression contorted in humor. “Little Theon, fuckin’ all the whores in Wintertown, now he’s a kept man.”

“Shut up,” the heir of the Iron Islands snapped. “Ygritte and I haven’t talked about it, and I haven’t even stole her…”

Benjen, grin wider than his brother’s, chuckled at that. “Ah, so you know the Wildling marriage customs. Boy’s learned a lot, Ned. Never thought I’d see the day.” Whenever Benjen had ridden down, Theon… well, he remembered that he wasn’t on his best behavior. With the massive shock of the last few moon turns - Jon a Targaryen Prince, I would have never imagined it - he realized how he’d have to change in order to properly fight for his family. And now, that included Ygritte.

Laughing, Ned stepped forward and wrapped an arm around Theon’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, son. You’ll know when the time is right.” Honestly, the advice did make Theon feel better. He hoped every day that the ruby in the rough he had found north of the Wall wouldn’t leave. Thanked the Gods every night when she slept next to him in their tents.

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” Blinking from the glare of the sun glinting against the snow, Theon’s eyes found the sight to behold. Not the Wall, having stood for thousands of years, but something much more miraculous. “Did you ever think you’d see the sight?”

Beside him, Benjen trudged forward. “Been fighting the Wildlings all my entire adult life, and no. Never thought I would.”

Stretched across the snowy plains covering the ground between the Wall and the Haunted Forest was a sea of Free Folk spanning a dozen clans. Swathed in furs, some armed to the teeth but many more carrying supplies and even children, the mass of over five thousand - at least according to Mance’s rough estimate - followed the lead of Tormund and Ygritte and the bellowing exhortations of the massive Wun Wun. The first detachment of Wildlings to pass through the Wall. Ones dispatched by Mance Rayder to make residence in the southern Gift by order of the King in the North, Eddard Stark, preparing for the bulk of the Wildlings that would be transited south at a far later date. All gathered at Hardhome for protection, Ned intending to send a fleet of Manderly ships to help them construct a proper stone wall. A plan approved in practice by Lord Commander Mormont and therefore sanctioned by the Night’s Watch.

“They won’t like it much,” Benjen whispered.

“Aye, they won’t,” Eddard answered. “Night’s Watch fought the Wildlings for thousands of years. Lots of bad blood.”

“Lord Commander Mormont is on our side,” Theon said, hopefully. “And Maester Aemon. That counts for something.”

Benjen shrugged. “It does, until it doesn’t. There’ve been histories of mutinies, most of which just resulted in new Lord Commanders.” From the top of the wall, a rhythmic boom echoed across the landscape. Twice in quick succession, then stopping. “Hmmm…” Benjen seemed impressed. “They boom in tandem, so that’s one. Identifying even the Wildlings as returning rangers, good sign.”

“Two is wildlings, right?”

“Aye.”

Theon raised a brow. “So what does three mean?”

“The very demons we’re fightin’.” The heir to the Iron Islands gripped the hilt of his Valyrian Steel blade automatically.

The Nightfort was deserted… or at least mostly deserted. A group of Stark Household Guards and rangers absolutely trusted by Benjen and the Lord Commander had opened the small gate in the Wall, allowing the steady stream of Wildlings to pass through. The tunnel wasn’t the one at Castle Black or even Eastwatch, only able to fit through about five abreast - and there were five thousand, countless supplies, and a giant. It was slow going.

By the time Theon led Ygritte through - the last ones - it was close to sunset. A mischievous twinkle in his eyes that caused her to raise an eyebrow, he took her to the still working elevator, moving back up to collect the last of the lookouts. Wasn’t hard to hitch a ride.

At the top, the winds were bracing, even chilling Ygritte to an extent. “Well, we’re at the top of the known world,” he boasted. “What do you think?”

Looking over the side, the spearwife snorted. “I could climb it.”

Theon laughed. “I doubt anyone could.”

“Tormund did, three times. I heard Mance did it like twenty times in his life.”

Furrowing his brows, Theon only nodded. “I guess you could.” His woman kept surprising him… and from the corner of his eye he finally found his way to surprise her. “Ygritte, turn around.” She rolled her eyes and turned… only to gasp.

The sun was just peeking over the western horizon, bathing the landscape of the Gift in a brilliant orange glow. Snow-covered evergreen forests gave way to rolling grasslands of a vibrant green as far as the eye could see. “It’s beautiful.”

“Better than you imagined?”

Turning to face him, for once there wasn’t teasing in her expression. No lust or anger or hardened strength, but a young woman enchanted. “Yes, far better.” Leaning forward, Theon quickly closed the remaining gap between their lips.

 





Jon Connington

“Well, Connington?” Aerys hissed. “Have you located my beloved wife and her treacherous mother?”

The former Lord of Griffin’s Roost swallowed nervously as he looked down at the shining blade of Blackfyre his king held up to his throat. His Grace was not happy… not happy at all. Upon seeing that his Hand had no response, Aerys let out a dry, cruel laugh.

“Such a shame, dear friend,” he said, digging in his sword into Jon’s throat, causing a trickle of blood to run down the steel. “For your utter failure, your punishment will be to never see your beloved home in the Stormlands again. I, Aerys of House Targaryen, Third of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to die.”

Quick as a whip, Aerys drew back Blackfyre and swung… 

“Argh!”

Jon Connington sat bolt upright, eyes still flashing from the nightmare he just woke from. He groaned and rubbed his temples. Such a hangover. The night before he’d been binge-drinking every sort of alcohol he’d never tasted before. He must have drank a barrel’s worth or two because he passed out right where he’d been sitting in that tavern. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to steady himself and hopefully ward off that headache coming along, he slowly rose from his seat at the bar. The tankard in front of him was still half full with Qartheen dreamwine, but Connington didn’t have the stomach to finish it.

Slamming down another golden dragon to pay for his forsaken beverage, he stumbled to the door of the tavern and stepped outside onto the docks of Qarth. Shielding his eyes from the glaring sun, he scanned the foot traffic for his men and Varys’s little bird, Aran. Upon reaching Qarth, he’d ordered his small band to split up and question every merchant and sailor about the whereabouts of Daenerys Targaryen. He had a hunch that Ashara and Alysanne had reached her by now, and it would be easier to find them if they asked for the Dragon Queen, whose full Valyrian physique would make her presence immediately apparent.

By the old gods and the new, at least a lead on her. The hangover-induced nightmare had rattled him to the core. He could not possibly go back to Aerys, empty-handed. No attempt at reason would prevent his increasingly unstable king from beheading or burning him in an insanity-fueled rage.

Where is Aran? Connington looked up and down the docks as he headed in the direction of his ship - a small cog that he was lucky to get passage on in such short notice in Volantis. That little bird was supposed to stay by him, but he’d delegated Dirk to watch him while he spent the night drinking. If that boy had successfully slipped out from under them, Varys was sure to be alerted to him and Aerys. He couldn’t have the Usurper on his king’s scent before the time was right to reveal the dragon’s return.

As he approached his band’s small cog at the far end of the pier, he noticed that all of his men were standing around, drinking from a large jug of what looked to be black tar rum. His stomach lurched and he gagged. That stuff was like melted candle wax mixed with raw honey. Pushing the disgusting taste out of his mind, he called his men to attention.

“You’re all back at the ship so soon? The sun hasn’t reached his peak. Shouldn’t you be continuing to scour the port for information regarding the whereabouts of our king’s wife and her mother? Her sister, for that matter?”

One of them looked up - Dirk. Connington could tell by the bushy brown eyebrows and the generous mustachioed face. Dirk put down his cup of rum and stood up to address him.

“No need, my lord,” he smirked. “Your little sparrow heard all the whispers we need.” He called one of the deckhands who was currently bringing some rations off the boat. “Bring the boy down, mate!”

The deckhand quickly hauled two burlap bags filled with salt pork and hard bread down the gangplank before running back to retrieve Aran. The lad emerged a few moments later, sullen-faced at having been kidnapped and dragged far from home. Dragging his feet, Aran was pulled down the ramp to face Connington.

“Well, Aran?” he inquired. “What have you heard of the Targaryens?”

The boy clenched his teeth and fists. He looked ready to punch Connington in the crotch, but he held his temper. Not looking up at his captor, he nonetheless divulged his findings.

“Lady Ashara Dayne and her daughter have sought refuge with Daenerys Targaryen along with one Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister.”

Connington was floored. Barristan the Bold. The Kingslayer. On the one hand, he was glad that Alysanne and her mother had found Daenerys, for they would be in more danger if they hadn’t. On the other hand, the fact that two of Robert Baratheon’s Kingsguards had apparently done so as well couldn’t be anything good. The Usurper had probably sent them to assassinate Daenerys and now that Alysanne was near, they’d probably kill her as well if they learned of her parentage.

“Daenerys and her husband have six dragons,” Aran continued in a monotone voice. “Apparently, neither of them are here anymore.”

Connington relaxed a little. Six dragons was surprisingly a blessing in disguise. Barristan and Jaime would be less likely to risk an assasination under the exponential threat of multiple of those flying, fire-breathing beasts. Still, he needed to know where Daenerys was or where she would be going.

“Did you hear of where the Targaryens went?” he pressed eagerly. In the background, his men were scarfing down the pork and bread like a pack of wolves. He didn’t care - the news made him too excited to eat.

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing about the husband. The wife said something about going to Astapor. Freeing the Unsullied.” He frowned. “What are the Unsullied anyway?”

Connington didn’t hear Aran’s question - his mind was racing faster than a Dothraki at full gallop. Daenerys must already be preparing to invade Westeros if she was going to acquire the most elite slave army in all of Essos. Running his fingers through his sweaty hair, he pondered Daenrys’s potential moves after that. Assuming she would transport her army by sea, which was almost a certainty given the danger of the Demon Road, she would have to stop in Volantis for resupply. Aerys and the Golden Company could rendezvous with her there and together they could launch the invasion of Westeros.

A smile slowly stretched across the Griffin’s face as he could see his king reunited his sisters. As for his nephew… well, he hoped that Aerys would be more amenable upon meeting in person. Looking at his crew, he announced the plan.

“We sail at high noon, men. The Dragon Queen will meet us back in Volantis.”

 

 



Davos Seaworth

Between Jon’s rush to get to the ruined city and the close encounter with stone men, Davos hadn’t the chance to fully take in his surroundings. Now, getting a good look at the ancient ruins he had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to explore, Davos felt awed. He had seen all the cities of Westeros in addition to Braavos, Pentos, Myr, and Tyrosh - yet only the Titan of Braavos could compare to the marvels of Valyrian architecture.

Old Valyria reminded him of Dragonstone, only far larger, far more elaborate, and far more mystic. The buildings were adorned with dragon decor constructed out of solid grey stone blocks that fit neatly together without a crack. Most of the buildings were tall spires that shot up toward the sky straight as an arrow. Near the top of the towers were large balconies that Davos could only assume were for take off and landing of dragons. Spiral staircases snaked up and around the towers to those landing platforms. If Davos was asked to describe Valyria in a nutshell, his answer would be “up in the air.”

Unlike the crowded slums of King’s Landing, Old Valyria was an open-air space with many spacious courtyards interconnected by paved stone roads wide enough to drive four wagons abreast. Interspersed among the spired towers in the center of the courtyards were what looked like shrines. The one just behind Davos was shaped like a dragon spreading his wings and roaring. He assumed one was supposed to say a prayer in front of it and hope a real dragon delivered on it. 

Jon had spoken at length about how he would ensure that Westeros would build and rebuild its cities with architecture as grand and iconic as this - remembering his Flea Bottom origins, Davos could only think how lucky he was to serve the young King. He was destined for greatness in his opinion even without knowing the accounts of destiny.

“Davos,” Jon said, snapping out of his observations. “Hold Brightroar for me while I open this door. It’s so heavy I need both arms to get it to move.”

Wordlessly, Davos took the sword from Jon and stepped back to give his King room to pry the temple doors open. There was a loud creak and the doors groaned as Jon pulled them back. Davos peered inside as the sunlight outside petered in to reveal a statue-filled chamber covered with dust.

“I don’t know about you Jon,” Davos said nervously. “But treasure in ancient ruins is usually cursed. Are you sure it’s safe to take stuff from here?”

“I am the blood of the dragon, Ser Davos,” Jon replied confidently. “If anyone is allowed to salvage the relics of the dragonlords, it would be one of their descendants.”

“That’s reassuring,” Davos muttered.

Above them, Sarogon and Rhaegal circled around as if waiting for the tiny humans below to get a move on.

Making sure that the double doors were propped open, Jon and Davos walked inside the temple and gazed around the main chamber. In the center was a massive fire pit, its flames long gone out. The pit itself was a dragon head with jaws agape, facing the ceiling as if rising out of the ground. Surrounding the pit were three statues of armored men kneeling down with arms outstretched as if presenting an offering.

“I think this is a sacrificial altar, Davos,” Jon remarked.

“Why did your dragons fly here?” Davos mused. “I don’t think we have anything that could appease old Valyrian deities.”

“No, Davos. Look behind the altar.” Davos followed Jon’s finger pointing to a set of doors set back in the far wall, just slightly out of sight. “In there is where I think we’ll find what we need.”

Circling around the dragon head fire pit, the two men pushed the far lighter doors open and stepped inside. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they found themselves in a small library. On one side of the room were a few wooden shelves packed with leather-bound books, while on the other side was an open doorway. In between was a long wooden table, atop which various tomes were scattered about among multiple goblets and platters.

Davos headed for the open doorway while Jon stayed to inspect the books spread about the library. As much as Shireen had helped him improve his reading, he knew barely a word of High Valyrian, which these tomes were no doubt written in. Crossing under the door frame, Davos entered what looked to be a tiny armory.

On three walls of the room, hung racks of a multitude of weapons Davos did and did not recognize. All were forged of Valyrian steel, though, and had dragon stylings on the hilts and handles of the blades. Davos picked up a short sword with a double edge and tested its weight. Perfectly balanced as all arms should be.

Putting the sword back down, Davos looked over the other weapons on the racks. Among the usual longswords, spears, and maces were single-edged curved sabers, three-pronged tridents, and monstrous sized scythes. He shuddered at the thought of what the Valyrian armies of old were capable of doing with such a deadly selection to choose from.

“Davos!” Jon called from the library. “Come and take a look at this!”

Glad to step away from the lethal assortments, Davos walked back to the library. Jon was leaning over the table with a pile of books on hand. He was currently staring very intently at the book he had open.

“What is it, Jon?” Davos inquired, leaning over to see what his young king was so intrigued by.

“This book… I believe it has the secret for how to forge Valyrian steel, not just recast it! Look, you can’t read it but the illustrations clearly show raw iron being melted down and forged into the final product.”

“That’s… groundbreaking.” Davos was unsurprised at the findings. After all, Valyrian steel was common knowledge in Valyria so they were bound to come across some information about it. But Jon then picked up another book, worn from use, and thumbed through the pages.

“Not just that Davos. This book details how to accelerate a dragon’s growth rate.” He found the page and pointed to a hand drawing of a dragon submerged in a pool and a drawing next to it of the dragon at a larger size.

Davos’s eyes bugged outward. Sarogon was already almost as big as Fury. To imagine him any bigger than that in a day… He cleared his throat.

“Well Jon, looks like we have a lot of cargo to bring aboard. Guess my sons will get their wish to come ashore. We need all the spare hands we can get.”

 

Notes:

I rather enjoyed writing Domeric's scene... gives a perspective from House Bolton not normally shown in stories. In any case, Tywin is a devious one.

Writing Theon/Ygritte always cracks me up. Especially thinking of how Jon will react when Theon introduces his girl. XD

Sansa - let's be honest, none of us like the power hungry bitch she became in season 8. Now though, she's loyal to Jon, is close with Arya, has put aside her lofty dreams of being Queen, and is learning to take care of herself. Hopefully you'll like how we've portrayed her.

The discoveries in Old Valyria will all have a point, trust us.

Drop a comment. We'll likely update faster if you do :D

Next up, we catch up on Aerys, Olenna and Oberyn have a productive chat, and Melisandre has a gift for Dany's twin.

Chapter 34: High Stakes

Summary:

  • Olenna has an impromptu meeting with Prince Oberyn. 
  • Melisandre informs her Queen of a new vision and Dany has visions of her own. The Queen makes a decision. 
  • Melisandre offers her counsel to Robb while the two complete a task. 
  • Aerys is informed of Alysanne and Ashara’s whereabouts and decides his next moves in the game.
  • Winterfell receives new visitors and news from the south. 

Notes:

Longclaw: Was working on some other stories, so it took a little time to finish the story.

I know the pace seems a bit slow, but we’re working to accelerate everything. With the crown preparing for war and Dany’s baby close to birth, things are about to get really interesting.

CastleColin: The stakes are being raised! Contrary to what Jon and Dany expected, victory won’t be as easy as replaying their past in a better way. After all, there are no rules in the game of thrones.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 


 

Olenna Tyrell

The village of Highgarden was nestled within the small woodland that marred the wide expanse of the plains. Located to the east of the great castle that once belonged to House Gardener and now House Tyrell, the large hill and tall walls of the battlements built atop it provided welcome shade during the late afternoon - a welcome respite during the hot days of summer and early autumn. Beating her fan against the wrinkled skin of her face, Olenna Tyrell lived for the small comforts. While things were getting interesting thanks to the King in the North, the longer she waited the more the boredom got to her. The damn trip to Winterfell can’t come soon enough… even if I’ll be freezing my fingers off.

From within her litter, she nonetheless kept a curtain pulled back so she could watch the comings and goings of the town’s smallfolk. The village was bustling with activity - more than usual for the center of the most populous kingdom of Westeros. Farmers bringing their produce to sell directly from their wagons, shop owners plying their wares to prospective customers, giggling maidens and proud young men out and about. Shopping for a handsome knight or beautiful lass to take to the local sept for a quick marriage… or behind one of the buildings for something far less virtuous. 

And the reason was obvious to all, especially her. Spotting the various spear and sun banners dotting the courtyard of Highgarden castle, Olenna figured that the arrival of the Martell host was the best thing to happen to their village since Rhaegar Targaryen showed up for Margaery’s nameday tourney. “Keep it up, Garth,” she called to the captain of her litter bearers. “I don’t have many days left.”

“You’ll outlive us all, my Lady,” Garth quipped back, causing Olenna to smirk. “Where should we find him?”

“At Desmera’s.” Chuckles from the litter bearers. “If I know Prince Oberyn, and unfortunately I do, he’ll be there all day.”

Dating back to the foundation of Highgarden by Garth the Gardener through a series of various merchant families and minor nobility that owned the premises - Olenna heard from her husband one time that first Lord Tyrell had owned it prior to Aegon the Conqueror raising him to Lord of Highgarden - the brothel now owned by one Desmera Flowers was the largest in the Reach outside of Oldtown. Normally busy, the influx of horny Dornish of both sexes gave it a carnival atmosphere. Easing out of the litter, Olenna regarded it with amusement. “Shall we wait with you out here, my Lady?” asked Garth. 

“No need. I’ll probably be a while.” She dropped a purse of silver stags into his palms. “Go enjoy yourself, on me.”

Wide grins came from the litter bearers. “Thank you, my Lady!” They didn’t waste time scrambling into the establishment.

Inside the stone and mortar building, rather well built alongside the wooden structures that made the rest of the village, things were rather tastefully assembled. Mounted trophies, wood paneling, fine Myrish rugs. Might as well cater to carnal needs in style. “Lady Tyrell.” Desmera Flowers sauntered to her, kissing Olenna’s cheeks. “It has been too long.”

“Quite, my dear Desmera.” The handsome woman had been her lady in waiting decades ago, marrying a rich knight that lost his life in the Rebellion - selling the ancestral estate had bought a nice house and this brothel, turning her into one of the richest women in the Reach with a thriving business empire. “I doubt that I am wrong, but is our princely friend on the premises?”

Desmera laughed. “Large appetites and plenty of coin, the perfect clients. But he and his paramour asked not to be disturbed.”

A gold dragon dropped in her hands. “I don’t think it should be a problem for the ruler of the Reach to disturb him.”

“Lord Mace is coming?” There was a silence before both women chuckled. Desmera had been the first lover for her oaf of a son, and there were no doubts as to the kind of man that the gentle fool that was Lord of Highgarden. “He’s in the golden suite… with Ser Loras.”

Olenna’s smirk dropped. “Oh that infernal boy… he gets his sense from his father. Your discretion is…”

“No need to tell me.” She zipped her lip shut.

Muttering curses under her breath - more from annoyance than anything more sinister - Olenna hobbled on her cane towards the premier room in the brothel. Ignoring the two Dornish guardsmen and pushing the door open. The bed to the right wall was undisturbed, while a series of girlish giggles and masculine grunts came from the large marble bath five feet away. “Is this what you think is a good use of your time?” she announced without delay.

Six people rested within the tub, all of them engaged in some form of sexual congress. A man and two women - both employees of Desmera’s - gasped at the instantly recognizable form of the Lady Mother. Warm water heated by a piping system built underneath by Pentosi architects splashed all around the rim of the bath as they moved to grab their clothes… only to be stilled by the three highborns enjoying themselves. “Grandmother!” His curls wet and matted to his face, Loras wore a scowl. This had happened before so he wasn’t embarrassed, but Olenna was far more scolding than Margaery. “Must you interrupt my fun?”

She met his scowl with a withering one of her own. “While normally I don’t care about whatever nubile young lad you choose to satiate your desires, when it involves the Prince of Dorne then I shall interrupt.”

“Oh dear, Lady Tyrell… I mean no harm.” Prince Oberyn Martell, a pale redheaded whore on one side and her grandson on the other, turned to smile at her. Crossing his arms over the lip of the tub. “Ellaria doesn’t bite either… lest you wish for her to do so.” One of the other girls - a blonde - yelped as the Prince’s paramour latched onto her neck. 

Olenna tapped her cane upon the floor. “The viper has fangs, but a rose has thorns, Prince Oberyn. You’d best be careful if you tried to pry secrets from my grandson.”

“I am not an idiot, grandmother. I don’t spill my secrets between the sheets.”

“Do shut up.” Loras quieted down, groaning at his fun being interrupted. He was rather bored after being recalled from King’s Landing, but the less opportunity he could copulate with Renly Baratheon the better - especially as they prepared to go north. “Prince Oberyn, may we have a private word?”

Casting an apologetic glance at his paramour and her grandson, Oberyn climbed nude out of the tub. Olenna waiting patiently for him to find his robe, not that she minded. One can never be too old to enjoy a spectacular view. Had she been younger… “I’m sure Lady Flowers wouldn’t mind if we used her office,” Oberyn stated, robe wrapped securely around his form.

She sighed. “Of course not.” As she closed the door behind her, the last sound she heard was a throaty female laugh and a male groan... not Loras. “Didn’t take them too long.”

Oberyn chuckled. “What is life without a little fun? Trystane is practicing for his bride as we speak.” They fell into a steady rhythm towards Desmera’s solar. “He didn’t spill any secrets if you must know, not that I asked.”

“Sure you didn’t… but I didn’t think he would.” The office was empty, lock clicking shut so they could have privacy. “I was just worried that he’d grow attached to another man as he did with Renly. Not to mention he’s likely to be a foe with what we’re both planning with the King in the North… it isn’t wise to indulge in that sort of a relationship.”

“Ah yes, would hate to become Jon Connington - obsessed with a man that would never be his. Unfortunate for those so inclined, but it can’t be helped.” Neither felt attitudes would change any time soon. “In any case, what can House Martell do for you… besides the obvious, that is?”

She pursed her lips, easing herself into a chair and resting her hands on her cane. “Eddard Stark… an enigma, isn’t he?”

Oberyn took a seat across from her, pretty face not giving anything away. “The Starks… they aren’t too devious. I haven’t seen any of them act cunningly since Brandon Snow asked to sneak in and kill Aegon’s dragons…”

“Which is why I’m confounded with the King in the North right now. I mean, my granddaughter and your nephew are perfect catches for his eldest children, but if this were anyone else I would be absolutely certain these betrothals are not peacetime ones.”

“You think he’s preparing for war?” The Prince of Dorne raised an eyebrow. “Robert wouldn’t ever go to war against his longtime friend.”

A snort. “Robert is a drunken oaf who lets Tywin Lannister run his Kingdoms, and Tywin is a man who would most definitely go to war with Ned Stark.” Granted, it would be a daunting endeavor, but Tywin was a crafty bastard. Olenna refused to underestimate him. “And if the King thinks anyone would betray him in his vendetta against the Targaryens, then he’d agree with Tywin.”

Bristling at the mention of the Targaryens, Oberyn stood straighter in his chair. Interesting. “The Targaryens are preparing to go to war against Robert…” He was silent for a moment, as if calculating what he wished to tell Olenna. “I will deny this if you disclose it to anyone, and House Tyrell will regret it if you do.”

“My lips are sealed, Prince Oberyn.”

He nodded. “My daughters have infiltrated the Dothraki Khalasar.” Now that got Olenna’s attention - even if Oberyn was hiding something, which she had no doubt he was, that was big news. “The Prince Aegon - son of Rhaegar Targaryen - has married his aunt Daenerys and is building his army. Perhaps Robert or Tywin think Ned would declare for them.”

“You wish to cancel the betrothals?”

Olenna waved her hand. “Of course not. I’m having more fun than I’ve had in years and unless there’s a spare Targaryen out there, then Robb Stark is the best match out there for my Margaery and for the Reach - Sansa Stark is the same for Trystane and Dorne.” She cracked her knuckles, sighing audibly. “In fact, I think we should put aside our historical enmity and join our houses in marriage as well.”

From the expression on Oberyn’s face, it seemed as if Olenna had finally gotten to the point of her meeting - which she did. “If there’s anything that would antagonize the lion to finally see us as his enemies, that would be it.” He smacked his thigh. “I love it! What do you have in mind?”

“Your brother has a daughter, does he not? His firstborn?”

“Princess Arianne, yes. His heir according to Dornish succession law, much to the displeasure of her younger brother Quentyn. You’re wishing to offer your grandson as a husband for her?”

“Willas recently died of his many injuries, so Garlan is next in line after Mace kicks the bucket - he’s a good soldier and strategist on the battlefield, but has the same skills as his father in other matters.” She rolled her eyes, hoping to convey the message. “He needs a strong and devoted wife, and perhaps Doran would be interested in his daughter trading de jure control of Dorne for de facto control of the Reach.”

Furrowing his brows, Oberyn nodded. “The Northern heirs mothered by a Reachwoman. The Dornish spare heirs mothered by a Northwoman. And the Reach heirs mothered by a Dornishwoman. Throw in a Targaryen invasion and that’s Tywin Lannister’s worst nightmare.”

“We all leave for the North at the end of this moonturn. Do you think you can have an affirmative answer from Doran by then?”

“He will have to agree, as will Arianne. Also, young Garlan would have to journey to Dorne for the wedding.”

She waved him off. “He’ll go tomorrow if I order him to.”

Oberyn smiled, pouring two glasses of Arbor gold. “Looks like we have an alliance.” The two of them raised their glasses.

 

 


Melisandre of Asshai

Most Dothraki tents had a hole at the top, designed to let the smoke of cooking fires and braziers billow out to the sky. Melisandre’s however, did not. A fine cloud of smoke - not too much yet not too little - wafted through the tent. Lighter than normal smoke, for it was not a normal fire. 

“Show me the man,” she called upon the fire. “I give you the blood of the servant.” A knife coated in silver in hand, she cut a shallow wound in her wrist, letting a trickle of blood pour into the flames. They roared higher. “I humble myself before the lifegiving flames, and with my sacrifice I ask that you show me the usurper Aerys Targaryen. Twin brother to the Lightbringer Daenerys Targaryen and uncle to the Lightbringer Aegon Targaryen. Show him to me, lifegiving flames…”

The Lord of Light came to her in spurts. Granted her the gift of greensight through fire sporadically, only showing what he wanted her to see. But with the sacrifice of blood and the specific call… a face appeared. One of otherworldly beauty. Fine features, silky hair. Strong but beautiful, riding a dragon as he wielded a magnificent sword with madness in his eyes. The dragon unleashed death upon a city… which one Melisandre knew not. 

She pressed forward to learn more, only for the flames to reject her. Roaring higher and suddenly dying. Only the glow of the coals remaining. Breathing heavily - trying not to cough from the fine smoke - Melisandre left the tent. Needing to discuss her discovery. I must find the Promised Princess.

The Khalasar was making a good time up the coastline of the Gulf of Grief. In the distance, the sunlight glinted off the ruins of Old Ghis, worn by endless sandstorms from the Red Waste over the millennia. Destroyed by the wars against Valyrian dragonlords… and now the last Valyrian dragonlords march to the remaining Ghiscari cities. Songs would be sung about this, especially by the freed slaves. Millions of followers of her faith in bondage. Melisandre held no doubt that the King and Queen - the Promised Prince and Princess - would succeed in liberating them. In breaking their chains. Off to the right in an occupied tent, the sounds of passion wafted to her ears. Nymeria Sand’s voice begging in Dothraki for her partner to fuck her harder. Seems it wasn’t just Tyene that found a lover amongst the Khalasar. From what Aegon had told her of his past compared to now, many were finding a far better fate.

As she walked, the Red Witch’s thoughts turned dark. There is a third dragonlord. The Queen’s twin brother, one she had no idea of. Someone that didn’t exist in either past. This… puzzled her. Many lifetimes she had spent in the service of her lord, and Melisandre still didn’t know the depths of the wonders his power could channel into the world. The existence of Aerys Targaryen likely fit into this category, but perhaps there was a way for her to solve the issue for her Queen.

Passing the bloodriders flanking the entrance to the tent, Melisandre found Daenerys standing with her back turned. Arms splayed against the map table as she seemingly stared deep into it. By her feet rested Ghost, resting but occasionally leaning his head up to lick her hand and nudge her side. While most of the dragons were flying off on nocturnal hunts, the cream and gold dragon - Viserion, if she remembered correctly - was curled up on the other side of the Queen, asleep. They were growing well on plenty of food and love given them. 

Melisandre smirked - the legendary heroes always had animal companions, and here was one with both a dragon and a direwolf. Two lovers from different lives, thrust together to forge the lightbringers. She felt honored to serve them and witness the coming dawn. “Your Grace,” she finally said. “May I have leave to speak with you?”

Not turning around, Daenerys simply motioned for her to come in. “I’ve been thinking about it more and more. Wracking my memories for any thought of a twin brother… and yet nothing.” She turned, beautiful face twisted in frustration and stress - stomach as large as hers. The babe would come at any time. Running her fingers through the free silver locks, her eyes were bloodshot with dark rings underneath. “All I can recall is something my brother said when we were in Lys… it was after a deal to sell me to its pleasure houses was rejected after I wouldn’t cooperate.” She chuckled dryly. “Not the first time I ‘Woke the Dragon.’” 

She smirked dismissively. “A true Valyrian dragonlord doesn’t let his or her anger out for such pettiness, and definitely not on their family.” 

“My brother wasn’t a true dragon… a true dragon doesn’t burn.” Conflicting emotions appeared on Daenerys’ face before Ghost reached out his nose to nuzzle her hand, licking it. She brightened up, scratching the direwolf’s thick white coat lovingly. “He was screeching ‘You scum! You worthless sister of mine! If only our brother had come with us, he’d make sure you were tough!’ I always thought he meant Rhaegar…” Daenerys moved to Viserion, softly stroking his scales so that he wouldn’t wake. “But perhaps it was this… Aerys?”

“Rhaegar wasn’t on Dragonstone the night of the great storm. Your twin would have been.” She took Daenerys’ hands. “I saw this man. A man with silver hair riding a dragon. Spewing dragonfire on his enemies with Blackfyre in his hand.”

“Just as Alysanne and Ashara told us…” the Queen murmured. The two - along with their knightley escorts - were well cared for but still guarded carefully. No one knew what to do with them until Aegon returned. “He’s looking for me. He has an army.” She looked back at the map table, breathing heavily.

Undaunted, the Red Woman was by her side in an instant. “He will fall to you and his Grace, the Lord of Light’s promised. This is clear as day.”

“I can’t… we thought we knew what was coming. We thought we knew it all…” 

Clutching her heart, Melisandre’s eyes widened as the Queen almost fainted. “Guards!” she called out in Dothraki, a language learned long ago. “The Khaleesi has fallen!” In rushed the bloodriders, Ghost barking like mad while Viserion stirred awake. Peering at Dany with his amber eyes.

Gently, the bloodriders eased the Queen to the floor - it was then that she came to. Eyes fluttering open as she glanced around, dazed and confused. “Wha… what happened?”

“You fell, Khaleesi,” Bako stated. “Red Woman called us in. Shall I fetch healer?”

Daenerys nodded. “Best do that. The baby is coming soon.” As the bloodriders left and both animals were by her side, nudging her affectionately, the Queen looked directly at Melisandre. “More memories… of my past.”

She was intrigued. “What ones?”

Closing her eyes, Daenerys spoke slowly. “Jon and I making love after a battle. I was so worried… and his blood was up… I think that was when our child was conceived.” A small smile at the memory - the Queen’s love for her King was legendary. Then it faded. “I saw him after our son was born… but in the morning he was gone. Sansa was there, telling me he left to ride off to battle… with the monster.” A tear fell from her eye. “He never came back…”

“What else, your Grace?” Melisandre set a gentle hand on her shoulder as Viserion rubbed her hair with his snout.

“A pool of water… you were there, chanting in High Valyrian.” Water… a sacred bath. One of the most ancient rituals was of the magic that both promised said had happened. Sending a person back to change the past. Harkroon sent back both Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa according to the legends. They all involved a bath. “There was… a malevolence… and suddenly I felt a massive pain. As if splitting in two, as if I was torn…”

It all made sense now. “The ritual, my past self must have done it to send both of you back, but something went wrong.” Finding the Queen’s violet eyes, Melisandre willed her to believe it finally. “He is part of you. Likely knows all your memories. He will want to kill his Grace because of both of your failures. Of this I am certain.”

More tears from the Queen, protectively clutching her belly. “I can’t lose him again. I can’t…”

“There is dark magic I can use.” Her hand drifted to her pregnant stomach, Daenerys’ eyes widening in understanding. “It will be weakened, since it was originally intended to use for Stannis, but it is the only way to stop Aerys Targaryen before he can truly hurt his Grace.”

A long hesitation before Daenerys nodded. “Do what you must,” she murmured.

 


Robb Stark

Long ago, the Valyrian Freehold had fought five major wars against the armies of Ghiscar. It was said in the ancient texts and epic poems written long after that the Ghiscari had at their back actual harpies, massive grotesque creatures that often could face the dragons on equal terms… each time the powers clashed and each time the Valyrians slowly whittled down their enemies until the last war. Finally, Valyria slayed the harpies and burned Old Ghis down to the ground, leaving the remaining Ghiscari cities part of their empire.

Horse trotting through the wind-swept ruins of said city, Robb Stark felt as if he could hear the spirits of the dead screeching past him. To his left, Grey Wind was unusually subdued. Whimpering and periodically nuzzling his leg, tail between his legs. Did he sense the spirits too, or perhaps it was something else? An eerie feeling that something was about to take place that night.

“Something bothering you, Lord Stark?”

Ahead of him, the Lady Melisandre was looking back to him. Dark red eyes glinting in the moonlight. She was so very beautiful… yet so very unsettling at the same time. “No,” he responded, hoping to continue the rest of this ride in silence. Daenerys had asked him to escort her to the ruins, and while he would obey his goodsister and trust her judgement, it didn’t mean he’d like it.

Slowing her horse down, Melisandre’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “You’re a bad liar, Lord Stark.”

“I am not Lord Stark. That is my father.” 

“A deflection, Robb Stark.” The woman was tenacious. “I can see right through you, and her Grace won’t be served by a member of her council being preoccupied.” She cocked her head, both of them riding side by side. “Tell me, I can keep a secret.”

Looking around… as if trying to spot any evesdroppers, Robb eventually figured Grey Wind would alert him if there was anyone in the desolate ruins. “How did you know that my brother and goodsister spoke true? About their past?”

Melisandre glanced at the half-moon illuminating the landscape. “The prophecy, known to all who follow the Lord of Light - it is Valyrian in origin though few know of this. We share it since the prophecy concerns the same return of the dark and terrifying night that we’ve always known would occur.” Despite himself, Robb shivered. He had always loved Old Nan’s stories of the Long Night as a kid, but the prospect of them being real… “Two lovers from different lives - in the past they would fail the world and lead to its destruction, but the Lord of Light would use his will to thrust them together to forge the lightbringers. Bringing the dawn. I can’t truly explain it, Robb Stark, but looking into Aegon Targaryen’s eyes… I just knew.”

“At first…” It shamed Robb to say he didn’t truly trust his brother at first, but it had been weighing on him for a while. “Jon as a Targaryen… that was far fetched but ultimately believable, but for him and Daenerys to be from different realities?” Robb laughed, though his mirth didn’t reach his eyes. Letting out the stress within the torment of his soul. “I don’t think I truly believed it till Daenerys - who had no reason to even know Jon - actually recognized him. Remembered him… it was as if they had loved each other their whole lives.”

“Does not trusting them truly bother you, Robb Stark?” Melisandre quirked up an eyebrow. “Or is it something else?”

She saw right through him, apparently. “Had it not been for this magic - the Lord of Light’s will as you say - I would have done something absolutely stupid. Reckless and impulsive that would have butchered my family and myself when I was most needed.” Of everything, only the fact of Jon’s Targaryen heritage had made an impression on Robb as much as his fate. The Red Wedding… Falling in love with a girl and marrying her against the needs of his kingdom and his oaths, killing himself, his mother, his child… Robb’s eyes shut tight, love for that child strong even if he had been from a different life. “I vowed not to make that mistake again, but even still I worry there is some flaw inside of me that will only get Jon and Daenerys murdered.” Some said it would feel good to let out one’s thoughts, but Robb just felt hollow.

Saying nothing for a long time, Melisandre merely looked straight ahead as the horses softly neighed and clopped along the sandy soil. “Up there. We dismount at that pyramid.” Based on Daenerys’ tales of Meereen and the other Ghiscari cities, pyramids were their preferred choice of grand style. Old Ghis was no exception, though the ones here were often halfway piles of rubble with stone not worn away almost melted. Proof of the dragons. This one was smaller than the others. A house of worship rather than the massive palaces that the others had been.

“Why are we stopping here?” asked Robb.

Melisandre smiled. Shivering at the look of the ruined building. “Most eastern faiths are sacreligious to the true Lord. Vile, disgusting… like oil and water. His will usually would advise me to stay away from them, but in this ritual we will need the malevolence and the darkness the old faith of the Harpy provides for us.” They dismounted their horses, Robb ordering Grey Wind to watch them. “You need not burden yourself so, Robb Stark. Do you consider yourself a good man?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“A man is good or he is evil. There really is no in between - a lemon half with rot is still a rotten lemon.” The red eyes seemed to pierce right through him. Terrifying as the night she warned against, both fitting in with and contrasting against the beauty she held. “You are a good man, Robb Stark. Fighting for the light and his promised. It was always intended that the past would be the past, the failures that prepared both Aegon and Daenerys for the true test. They are learning from the failures, and you would only be an evil man if you do not.”

Mulling over what she had said, thoughts of the Red Wedding, his brother and goodsister, Margaery Tyrell - perhaps the political nature of their betrothal could give way to a loving relationship that he apparently had with this Talisa Maegyr - and the Long Night, he held a lantern through the dark corridors of the pyramid. “Ironic… you serve the Lord of Light, but you wish to work in darkness.”

His charge chuckled, throaty voice oddly alluring. “It was said that when the night was the darkest, Azor Ahai made light. His followers must do so as well when the situation calls for it.”

They both reached a large alcove, piled with sand and rubble. What the fuck do her riddles mean… “Shit…” A gust of wind through a hole in the roof blew out the lantern. “Where’re my fucking flints…”

Suddenly the lantern glowed brightly, causing him to stumble back. Melisandre was smirking at him. “The Lord of Light watches over us.” She threw off her thick cloak, revealing a naked body. A very pregnant naked body, ruby in the center of her choker collar glowing a pulsing red. Staggering… doubling over in a sudden pain, Melisandre reached out for Robb, who shook off his shock to grab her. Easing her to the ground. “Stay… ahhhhhh! Behind me, Robb Stark…” Whatever other words she wanted to say disappeared into either mumbled incantations or screams of agony, leaving the heir to Winterfell no other choice but to hold her head and comply.

I’ve never birthed a baby before… Honestly, his only experience with the female anatomy had been a few drunken brothel sessions with Theon and a roll in the hay with a servant girl - hardly an expert with female reproduction that made. 

But even a lifetime midwife would have recoiled as not a child left Melisandre’s womb. Something dark shot out like a black liquid. Twisting to form a cross between a hand and a bat’s wing. Screeching, lashing out violently, forming into something malevolent and evil. After about a minute, the specter fully left the Red Witch’s body - disappearing out of the gap in the roof.

“Would you kindly hand me my cloak.”

Good gods… 

 

 


 

Aerys Targaryen

“Repeat that, Lord Hand,” Aerys said slowly and menacingly. “What exactly did my wife and her mother do when they found my twin sister?”

He glared daggers at Jon Connington, who was sweating profusely. The man had been so cheerful and upbeat when he returned to Volantis to report on his family’s whereabouts that he thought for sure that they were coming back to him. Unfortunately, that was not the case and that smile on the Griffin’s face was wiped clean off at the sight of his king’s reaction.

“Your Grace…” Connington stuttered out. “Your wife and her mother sought refuge with Daenerys and are accompanying her and presumably her husband to Astapor.”

Aerys’s face darkened to a pitch black. He had waited nearly two moon turns for his Hand to return with his Alysanne, Daenerys, and Jon Targaryen. Oh, he had fantasized about what he would do when he finally had his Visenya and Rhaenys with him. They’d reconquer the Seven Kingdoms just as the founder of his house had centuries ago! As for his deceitful nephew… Aerys planned to have his twin sister feed him to Drogon and be done with it. He had even brought the Golden Company down to Volantis when his Hand had sent a raven informing him of his return. 

Only to hear this… the very last thing he wanted to happen… 

Aerys roared in fury and drew Blackfyre quick as a whip. He swung down at the table he was sitting at and chopped it into kindling. His Hand watched in silence as he vented his anger and frustration at the apparent betrayal of his wife and the treachery of his nephew.

Finally he calmed enough to take a breath. Huffing and puffing, he turned back to Connington. “Anything else?” he hissed, not taking his hand off his sword.

“No, Your Grace,” Connington replied shakily. “But, if I may, why are you… troubled… per say… about the findings I brought you?” He cleared his throat and continued. “Daenerys has gone to Astapor to acquire the Unsullied, the most elite slave army in Essos. She clearly is preparing to invade the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wager that your wife has convinced her to join you in the invasion, which is why she seeks to bolster the forces between you and her.”

Aerys was stone-faced as his Hand pressed the case for his wife’s betrayal. “Furthermore, it is only a matter of time before both of your sisters are by your side. Daenerys will have to transport her army by sea to avoid the Demon Road and so will make port in Volantis. All you have to do is wait. Perhaps entice more sellswords into your orbit.”

“Wait?” Aerys laughed mockingly. “You know nothing, Connington. My perfidious nephew is clearly behind this ‘perfect situation’ you describe. More likely, he convinced my wife to turn against me on account that he would be a better husband and king than I am.” He growled and clenched Blackfyre so tightly that his knuckles turned white as snow.

“Something else your intelligence failed to include or that you were too dumb to pick up.” Aerys inspected his blade as if he were a cook preparing to slice and dice pork. “Daenerys has command of a 100,000 strong Dothraki khalasar - at most half of which are warriors. Combine that with the 20,000 men of the Golden Company and our 85 elephants, we don’t need eight thousand eunuchs waving poles.”

He looked over matter-of-factly at Connington. “All of this, I know from my past life - Daenerys’s past life - our past life. We have sufficient forces to take Westeros, not including the Martells and the Tyrells, who will undoubtedly flock to us. They fought for House Targaryen before and they will do it again. Or else…”

Aerys swept his sword down in a wide arc and cleaved straight through his chair. “Alysanne will still be my queen but that will not spare her, or her mother, punishment for deserting me. Meanwhile, my nephew, the false Targaryen king will suffer tenfold for stealing my loved ones from me. I will have Rhaelyx slow roast him to make a tastier morsel for Drogon to devour.”

Aerys brooded silently. Fine, I’ll wait for Daenerys. I’ll deal with my nephew and Alysanne then. He didn’t divulge his thoughts to his Hand, who he only shot a haughty glance.

“Thank you for your report, Lord Hand. It was most enlightening. Now, I have to go feed Rhaelyx. She’s especially hungry after her master has heard such good news.”

As Aerys began heading for the manse’s doorway to the atrium, he felt a sudden chill behind him. Turning around he noticed that his shadow appeared to be rising off the floor. Eyes widening as he saw what looked to be a knife in its hands, he withdrew Blackfyre and swung at it.

The shadow’s knife hand was dismembered, but it grabbed with its other hand around his throat. Choking and sputtering, he locked eyes with the shadow. It had vaguely northern features but Aerys knew all too well who it resembled… Jon Snow.

His fury overcoming the shadow’s strength, Aerys slashed upward with Blackfyre and separated the shadow into two halves, from hip to shoulder. The dark entity faded into the surrounding shadows as its hold on Aerys’ neck vanished.

“My king!” Connington yelled, rushing over to his side. The specter of seeing such a demonic spawn had paralyzed him. “Are you alright?”

“Shut up, Griff!” Aerys thundered, reverting to his Hand’s pseudonym as he slapped Connington away. His hand went to his throat, ghosting over it tenderly while sucking in deep breaths into his deprived lungs. “My blasted nephew tried to assassinate me, with blood magic no less! It was that Red Witch - must’ve abandoned Stannis for him. She birthed him a shadow to kill me so he would not have to face me like the spineless craven he is!”

He gnashed his teeth and slashed his sword at the walls - destroying a Myrish tapestry. “Change of plans, Griff! I will not sit here and wait for Daenerys to come to me! Not when my nephew has stooped so low as to copulate with a witch!”

Connington trembled, but composed himself. “We shouldn’t be rash, but in light of this, a more aggressive course of action is needed.” Perhaps he could steer the King on a strategic move after all.

Aerys’s iron stare steeled his resolve. “I will bring the Free Cities to heel! I will amass the largest army ever seen in Essos! Both continents will bow before me! Once my sisters see me for who I am - Aegon the Conqueror reborn, they will never leave my side!”

He straightened up and sheathed Blackfyre. "My nephew will rue the day he dared cross me. Griff, prepare the Golden Company to move out!”

 

 

 


Catelyn Stark

The morning was but a quiet one and Catelyn Stark had just finished breaking her fast with her family when a loud horn blast was heard from the ramparts. Standing up from her seat in the Great Hall, she looked over to her brother who had also noticed the announcement of new arrivals to Winterfell. Sansa, Arya, and Rickon were intrigued by visitors at such an early hour and immediately left the table to head outside to the castle’s main courtyard. Sighing at her children’s impulsiveness, she motioned for Edmure to follow her outside after them.

Gendry, who had been breaking his fast with them as well, motioned to leave the other way. “Pardon me, Your Grace. But Mikken is expecting me this morning.”

Catelyn smiled. “Of course, Gendry. You have leave to go to the forge.” Bowing in thanks, the young man headed off for the day’s work as Winterfell’s assistant blacksmith. Watching him exit the side door, she then turned back to Edmure, who was waiting for her at the main doors.

“Open the gates!” called a guard atop the battlements. The great wood and steel door groaned as the chains attached to it slowly wrenched it up and off the ground to allow the small retinue outside entry. Six armored knights rode in, surrounding a scrawny brown-haired boy. The lead knight carried a banner depicting a sky-blue falcon soaring against a white moon on a sky-blue field - the Moon and Falcon sigil of House Arryn.

Catelyn stood along with her brother and children as the men of the Vale dismounted their horses and helped the young heir to the Eyrie off of his. The lead knight walked over to the small greeting party and gave a formal bow. “Catelyn Stark, the Queen in the North.”

The Queen in the North reciprocated with a curtsy standard of a highborn lady. “Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone. Welcome to Winterfell. It is an honor to have you here… ” She peered over his shoulder at little Robyn Arryn, who was fussing about with the heavy layers he wore to ward off the cold. “ … and to foster my sister’s son. My family will give him the utmost care.”

The Lord of Runestone merely grunted. “Not too much care, I hope,” he whispered to her. “That little runt could use some toughening up to make him into a real man. His mother never stopped coddling him and his father was too busy covering up Robert’s drunken escapades to notice.” He laughed. “Gods, it feels good to be able to say that.” He was a guest of a sovereign country independent from the Iron Throne, so his distaste for Robert no longer would have to be censored.

Nodding, Catelyn determined that she liked Lord Royce - he was refreshingly blunt and honest, a trait all knights should have in her opinion. “You’ll find my husband, the King, runs a much tighter ship. Young Robyn can learn swordplay among my children.”

Arya piped up. “Let me at him at swordplay. I’ll beat him into shape before you know it.”

“Arya!” Catelyn and Sansa both cried at once. “Do you have any manners, young lady?!”

A booming laugh resounded from the belly of Bronze Yohn Royce. “I like this one, very much. If I had my way, Robyn here would duel every day until he stopped fainting at the sight of blood.” He regained his composure and turned to address the rest of Catelyn’s family.

While the Lord of Runestone was getting acquainted with Sansa, Rickon, and Edmure, Catelyn made her way over to young Robyn Arryn, who was still trying to remove his thick wool overcoat. “Here little lord, let me help,” she said gently, as she helped to pull off his overcoat, which had gotten caught around his neck.

“Aunt Catelyn?” Robyn asked, as the burdensome garment was taken off him. “Mother said I am to stay here for awhile. Is it true? I lived my whole life in King’s Landing until Father died… Then Mother took me to the Eyrie.” He bit his lip and looked pleadingly at her. She could tell just the trip to Winterfell had been hard on him.

“Yes, Sweet Robyn,” Catelyn said in a reassuring tone. “Your mother believes it would be best for you to get to know the rest of her family and see more of the Seven Kingdoms. As you are the future Lord of the Eyrie, fostering away from home will teach you many things that will help you rule.” 

He peered up at her. “Do you have a moon door? To make the bad men fly? Mother says there are a lot of bad wildlings in the North that need to be tossed out the moon door.”

Oh Lysa, what have you done to this boy? She held his hands in hers to comfort him and soothe his obvious homesickness. His true parentage wasn’t far from her mind, but he was still family and would in all hopes be stepping into Jon Arryn’s place when of age. “My family and I will do all we can to make your time here in Winterfell safe and comfortable.”

Robyn Arryn gave her a quivering smile and nodded in assent. Behind him, Yohn Royce came up and put his hand on his shoulder. “Well, Your Grace,” he said, addressing Catelyn. “Best get him inside. The lad here catches the chill easily.” The young Arryn huffed at that reminder of his less-than-stellar health, but kept silent.

“Of course, my lord,” replied Catelyn. “The hospitality of Winterfell is at your beck and call. Chambers have been prepared for your stay and bread and salt will be offered in the Great Hall. Hot baths will be drawn for you and your men if you so desire after days of hard riding.”

“A bath sounds welcoming,” chuckled Yohn Royce. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” He turned to his men, who had finished unloading their saddlebags and securing their horses in the stables. “Hear that, boys? Baths for us all! But you better eat the bread and salt first, otherwise the water will be cold!” His retinue burst out in laughter and headed for the Great Hall’s main entrance.

“Please join your men, my lord,” Catelyn said. “I’ll take care of Robyn while you rest up.” Yohn Royce grunted in agreement and left the little Arryn after a rough clasp on the shoulder. He walked into the Great Hall and the doors slammed shut behind him.

Sansa, Arya, and Rickon came over to their cousin and introduced themselves. Sansa did so with the grace and poise of a proper lady. Arya blurted out her name and squeezed his hand in a vise. Rickon babbled how happy he was to have another little boy like him to play with. Edmure watched them in amusement as the wolfpack clearly was overwhelming to Robyn.

“Children,” Catelyn called in a loud, clear tone. “Please escort your cousin to his chambers and try not to scare him. Your Aunt Lysa once said in a letter that he frightens easily.”

“Yes, Mother,” the three young Starks resounded. Gesturing to Robyn, the four left the courtyard for the tower that had been prepared for him and his Vale retinue. After they were out of sight, Catelyn now could turn to more pressing issues.

“Edmure, please go to my solar and wait for Maester Luwin,” the Queen in the North asked her brother. “I anticipate that he’ll come up this morning bearing more correspondences. I will join you shortly.”

“As you say, sister,” Edmure responded. He turned to leave before abruptly turning back around to face her. “I presume that the expected messages are from your husband and eldest son?” He inquired with a knowing look.

Catelyn shook her head. “No, brother. I do not expect Ned to send a raven until he is sure of when he can return to Winterfell, which may not be until he’s settled the wildlings behind the Wall. That could take another moon or two than originally planned.”

Edmure nodded in understanding. “True, it wouldn’t be wise to just leave them to run amok and potentially clash with the Northern houses.”

Both Tully siblings walked together inside Winterfell’s keep before splitting up. While her brother headed for her solar, Catelyn made her way to the King’s chambers. She had given orders to the castle’s servants to prepare the room for Jon and Daenerys’ arrival and would personally inspect to ensure they had done well. It is the least I can do for him after years of neglect. Catelyn Stark swallowed her pride and thought bitterly about her family’s words.

Family. Duty. Honor. That was not me. She prided herself on those words - the life of a Tully, and she failed each one of them. Jon was her family, and it was her duty and honor to care for him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself out of her misplaced jealousy and spite to do it.

As she rounded the corner in the hallway, she nearly was struck by the door of the King’s chamber, which had opened suddenly. The elderly, balding man who stepped out from behind the door looked in shock and immediately made his apologies.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin apologized. “I should have been more careful in how I exited the room.”

“Nothing serious,” Catelyn dismissed. I probably deserved that. “I was just coming by to inspect the King’s chambers for Jon’s approaching return.”

“That will be unnecessary, Your Grace,” he assured. “I have just completed what you came here for. The room is spotless and fresh sheets have been laid on the bed.” He paused momentarily before continuing. “Of more immediate concern is the letters I received at daybreak. I hoped to show them to you after you broke your fast.”

“Thank you, Maester Luwin,” Catelyn said. “My brother should be in my solar by now, so we’ll see what they say there.”

“At once, Your Grace,” he concurred with a bow of his head.

Arriving outside her solar, Maester Luwin politely opened the door for Catelyn and followed her inside. Edmure was seated at the thick wood table and poured himself a drink from a flagon of wine. He raised his eyes to his sister and smiled as she sat down in the chair next to him.

“Hello dear sister,” he greeted. “Would you like a cup of summer wine?” He motioned to the flagon of the sweet alcohol that was more than half-full.

“Please,” she replied, sliding an empty cup over to him. Her brother filled it to the brim and handed it to her. She took a sip as Maester Luwin sat across from them with two letters he produced from the folds of his robes. One was sealed with a rose sigil while the other with a plain dollop of black wax.

“Here you are, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin said as he passed the rolled up parchments to Catelyn. “Presumably news from the Tyrells and Lord Varys.”

Catelyn broke the seal on the letter with the rose sigil and unwrapped the scroll. Biting her lip, she read its contents.

 

 

 

 

Queen in the North,

I am addressing this letter to you as I am not aware of when the King in the North will return from his expedition beyond the Wall. Regardless of the proper formalities, I write to inform you that my son and I are accompanying my granddaughter north to Winterfell as of this writing’s delivery. Joining us are Prince Oberyn Martell and his paramour Ellaria, as they too are bringing young Trystane to the North for his own prospective betrothal. We have just crossed Bitterbridge out of the Reach and should reach the Kingsroad in a few days. Given the slow pace of our party, expect us to arrive within two moon turns. We hope very much to strengthen our ties with the North so as to weather the storm that has engulfed the Realm since the former Prince Joffrey pulled his little stunt with your daughters.

Sincerely,
Olenna Tyrell

Catelyn smiled and looked up from the parchment at the expectant faces of her brother and maeste. “Nothing especially new,” she informed them. “The Tyrells and Martells are now on their way north to arrange the betrothals with Robb and Sansa.”

“Wonderful news, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin responded. “Margaery and Trystane sound like excellent matches for your eldest children.”

“Indeed, Cat,” Edmure chimed in. “In fact, given Sansa’s glowing face whenever the Martell prince is mentioned, I’d say it’s a match made in all seven heavens.”

Catelyn laid Olenna’s letter down on the table and picked up her cup of wine. After taking a long gulp of the sweet and sour liquid, she reached for the other rolled-up scroll and broke its wax seal. Opening it, her joy at the previous letter evaporated as she processed the far more foreboding words of the Targaryens’ spymaster.

 

 

 

 

Queen in the North,

‘Dark wings, dark words’ is what is said that ravens carry when bearing news. I regret to say that for this correspondence, it is very true. King Robert discovered Ned Stark’s alliance with the Targaryens and is currently preparing for war with the North. I suspect that Littlefinger’s whores obtained this closely-guarded secret. It may be sooner than I anticipated to ‘take care of him.’

I can not stress enough the odds your husband faces. Robert has called upon the banners of the Westerlands, Stormlands, and the Crownlands to march on the North. He has also requested that Littlefinger get your sister to call on the Knights of the Vale. I realize that they will inevitably cross through the Riverlands on their way, but I implore your husband not to send men to reinforce your family, as unthinkable as that is for a Tully. The North is outnumbered at least three-to-one. Therefore, your best chance is to hunker down in Moat Cailin, where even a vastly larger enemy force can be neutralized.

I would caution not to expect any help from Dorne or the Reach. Lord Tywin has made his intention to reconstitute the Faith Militant to keep the Tyrells and Martells occupied with religious war and strife. As it looks presently, House Stark stands alone.

I pray that the North can hold out long enough for the Targaryens to return, or the consequences will be dire for us all.

Lord Varys, Master of Whisperers

Catelyn’s face was visibly pale and ashen as she looked up from Varys’ last words of warning. Her hands shook as she gingerly put down the parchment on the table and raised her wine cup to her mouth. By the old gods and the new, protect us. The marriage alliances had not been finalized… Jon and Daenerys were still out in Essos…. She still had received no word from Ned of his return from beyond the Wall… This is the worst possible time for the war against the Crown to begin!

“Cat?” Edmure asked, concern etched across his face at his sister’s sudden dread. Luwin also looked curious to see why his queen’s joy at the previous letter had evaporated so quickly.

She set the letter down, hand trembling. “I fear that Varys has been the bearer of bad news,” Catelyn told her brother and maester. “Robert has discovered our alliance with the Targaryens and is preparing for war - most likely an invasion of the North.” She watched as their faces were struck with horror and alarm. Oh, dear brother. What will father do?

“Cat, do you know what this means for Riverrun?” Edmure questioned, panic writ across his face. “Father will be caught in the middle of the war and will likely suffer devastation to his lands and vassals.”

“I am very aware of that, Edmure” Catelyn said sharply. “However, now that I think of it, I am not surprised at this turn of events. Littlefinger’s spying whores pulled off this same thing before and they are well capable of doing it again.”

“Your Grace,” interjected Maester Luwin. “What do you believe is the best course of action to take, now that Robert knows.”

Catelyn sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Varys didn’t say specifically if Robert knows we are planning to overthrow him. He only said that the Stark-Targaryen alliance has been uncovered. However, given that he’s called his banners, such minutiae doesn’t matter.”

“That doesn’t answer what we should do, Cat!” exclaimed Edmure, exasperated with the roundabout talk of his sister. “We need a plan to save our home from the destruction this war will inevitably bring upon it.”

His sister crossed her arms and stared deeply into her almost empty wine cup. He will not like what Varys advised, but I see why it should be taken. She said “Nothing. Varys said that the North is outnumbered at least three-to-one. Even combining our forces with father’s, we would be going up against the Westerlands, Stormlands, Crownlands, and… the Vale.”

Frowning, Maester Luwin tapped his fingers on the table thoughtfully. “I see Lord Varys’ point. Against those numbers, the North is better defending Moat Cailin then risking open battle.”

Edmure, however, was having none of it.

“You would just abandon our childhood home and father to burn and die!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the table. The wine pitcher spilled over, the reddish-orange liquid running over the table, but he hardly noticed.

“That is the very last thing I would ever consider!” Catelyn shot back. “I am still a Tully, and I know our words. But we can’t risk fighting a war we can’t win. Not until Jon and Daenerys return with their dragons.”

Fuming, Edmure retorted back. “Call on the Vale then! Why would Lysa send her knights against us? Especially when we have her son!”

“That is a strong point, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin agreed. “Knowing how obsessive-compulsive your sister is about her boy, I highly doubt she would entertain anything that would put him at risk.”

“Littlefinger has her wrapped around his finger,” Catelyn said resignedly. “He will likely persuade her that sending her forces will save Robyn from the war.”

There was grinding scrape across the wood floor, as Edmure pushed his chair back and stood up. Glaring at his sister, he spat, “Fine. Abandon your family in its hour of need. Why should you come to its aid when you’re so safe. Not every kingdom has a Moat Cailin to hide behind!” He stormed out of the solar, slamming the door behind him.

Watching as her brother left the room, Catelyn sighed and chuckled dryly. “Probably good that he didn’t stay to hear the rest of Varys’ message. It would have just upset him even more.”

“Meaning, Your Grace,” Maester Luwin asked, slightly perturbed at Edmure’s angry departure.

“Lord Tywin has decided to reconstitute the Faith Militant. I presume it is to keep the Tyrells and Martells busy, assuming he knows of our betrothals with them.”

Maester Luwin blinked. “That is… risky, even for a lord like Tywin Lannister. The Faith Militant have their own agenda and aren’t necessarily loyal to the Crown. Even with dragons, Jaehaerys I had to reach a peaceful settlement with the Faith in order to get the Stars and Swords to disband.”

“That is what worries me, Luwin. Lord Tywin would be mistaken if he thinks that he can dissolve the Faith Militant once they’ve served his purpose. He’ll more likely be dealing with a violent religious schism.”

A knock was heard at the door. Behind it a servant called, “Your Grace! Lord Tyrion requests Maester Luwin’s assistance. Marcy seems to be catching a cold.”

“Go on, Luwin,” Catelyn nodded at him. “The Lord Hand’s ‘guest’ is in need of you.”

“At once, Your Grace,” he said, getting up from the table. He strode over to the door and exited the solar to provide healing to the incognito Myrcella Baratheon. The door closed with a soft click behind him.

Catelyn retrieved a ragged cloth from her desk and wiped up the spilled wine on the table. Lord Tyrion had taken to breaking his fast in his room with his niece since he had arrived back in Winterfell. His wonderfully sweet niece was understandably shocked and frightened by her turn of events in the past few moons. Having discovered her supposed father was not her father and had tried to kill her - losing her brother in the process. Now having to seek refuge far from home under a pseudonym with the ever present threat of assassination should her true identity be leaked. Catelyn understood why she rarely left Tyrion’s chambers, staying inside with that orange tabby cat to soothe her fears.

That kitty is all she has left of her brother... The only thing she has left of the life she once knew. Catelyn’s heart went out to her. She was a bastard but was as kind hearted as any trueborn… like Jon. She was forever reminded of her failing to care for Lyanna Stark’s only child, all out of prejudice and petty hate.

Finishing wiping down the tabletop, she thought about her father down in Riverrun, unaware of everything Jon had revealed to the Starks and Robert’s impending invasion of his lands. I will have to go south and tell him in person. It was the least she could do if, like the North, House Tully would stand alone.

 

Notes:

Longclaw: I couldn’t help myself with the Olenna scene, lol. The old Queen of Thorns has a pretty high tolerance. It also makes sense for the Tyrells and Martells to formalize the alliance on their side rather than relying on the Starks as a middleman. Since I’ve heard Garlan was sort of like a martial version of his father, the crafty Arianne would be good for him.

Melisandre knows the threat of Aerys, but didn’t count on the Targaryen to have a greater magical skill than Renly. Aerys will be out for blood. I guess you could say the “War of the Four Kings” is on: Jon, Ned, Robert, and Aerys.

CastleColin: Aerys has now fully thrown down the gauntlet. He’ll have plenty of tricks up his sleeve forthcoming. As for Catelyn, she has much to wrestle with until Ned finally returns to her.

Chapter 35: Fire and Blood

Summary:

1) Daenerys and Jon reunite in Astapor.
2) Joffrey gets acquainted with and his arse kicked by his Night's Watch brothers.
3) Alysanne is introduced to Jon and requested to assist in the deal for the Unsullied.
4) Lysa receives good news from Catelyn and bad news from Petyr.
5) Jon and Daenerys free the Unsullied as she did alone and once before.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi everyone. Sorry for the long delay. Been busy (Finished my story Empire of Ice and Fire, be sure to check it out). Gonna be starting to update more this week.

Things are heating up. Jon and Dany are putting their plans into work, the baby is close to coming, and the rest of Westeros is on the cusp of the war to end all wars.

Also, just want to give a shoutout to some new GoT stories that I think are awesome: one's called From the Ashes Begin Anew by bykim0120 - it's an alternate telling of Aegon's Conquest; another is called Wolves of War (on fanfiction.net) by my good friend GulfYankee23 that's a post season 8 ressurection/reconciliation fic; one is a unique spin on the post-season 8 time travel to fix the past plotline (hint, it isn't Jon or Dany going back) called Howl of the Dragonwolves by my other good friend Elphaba818; and the other is a season 8 fix-it called The Kingdom of Ice and Fire (on fanfiction.net) by my other good friend WhiteWolf04, starts off slow but I have assurances the plot will be awesome. All are really, really good! Check them out :D

If we can get 40 comments for this chapter, we'll update later this week :D

CastleColin: The Three-Headed Dragon has returned to Slavers’ Bay! We all know exactly what that means. Hopefully, it will go smoother this life around.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text



Daenerys Targaryen

 

Bricks and blood built Astapor, and bricks and blood her people. Daenerys thought of the words that summed up the Slaver City of Astapor that she now returned to… but in this life. The city that the Good Masters ruled over was the most ramshackle and frankly, the poorest of the cities that the banner of the Harpy still flew over. Apparently, the Unsullied just weren’t very appealing on the auction block. Yet, their infamous reputation as fearless, soulless warriors contradicted that notion. Wouldn’t anyone with the purse of gold heavy enough want at least a century of these eerily silent, inhumanly subservient soldiers at their disposal? If anything, they shed the blood on the bricks that rose Astapor on this corner of Slavers’ Bay.

 

Daenerys mulled this enigma over as she squinted out to sea. She was standing on the docks of Astapor, waiting for Jon and Davos to return from Valyria with what her husband had dreamt of to forge his new sword. Robb was beside her, also eager to reunite with his brother. Ser Jorah stood on her other side, watching the bustle on the ships loading and unloading cargo. Most of this ‘cargo’ were slaves captured from all over Essos and across the Summer Sea. She saw silver-haired, purple-eyed maidens from Lys… ebony-skinned, dark-haired men from the Summer Isles…. some of them she hadn’t a clue on their origin. But the sight of men and women being hauled around in chains made her blood boil, especially when she heard the lash of a whip.

 

Thinking back to Astapor’s relative poverty compared to its sister cities, she figured it was because everyone spent their gold on bed slaves from Yunkai on the way. She chuckled inwardly. After all, the only thing men like more than fighting is fucking - not that she minded in Jon’s case in that regard. Whatever the reason, no man or woman would be sold like cattle when the Dragon clipped the Harpy’s wings again.

 

Shouts rang out in the mongrel Ghiscari accent as a gang of slavers wielding sticks set upon a haggard, skeletal man who had collapsed on the ground. Thud! Thud! Thud! The sound of wood beating against flesh was sickening. Daenerys forced herself to watch and commit the faces of the gang to memory. She’d feed them to Arogon if she got a hold of them. Besides her, Robb Stark recoiled in disgust at such a barbaric sight. His sense of honor clearly held that beneath himself.

 

“I have to admit, Daenerys,” grumbled Robb Stark. “I never really understood why slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms until I saw this godforsaken city.” He kicked at a broken slave collar on the wood planks of the docks and watched it splash into the harbor. “It’s utterly deplorable. Men, women, and children traded for wine, gold, whatever as if they’re wine, gold, whatever.” He glowered at a powdered, perfumed master ambling around in a tokar, counting the coin he’d just received from selling two young girls. They were crying loudly as the slaver led who presumably was their mother to get a better deal with a buyer than the one who bought the girls, who didn’t meet his price.

 

“Aye, brother,” she replied coolly. “That’s precisely why I became the Breaker of Chains. I won’t allow anyone to suffer the indignity of being treated as less than human.” She glanced over at the row of crosses lining the piers. On each cross was nailed a slave, ranging from a full-grown adult to a wee child - a stark warning to any in bondage that might think of rebelling. After this sennight, never again.

 

Ser Jorah edged away not so discreetly. It was clear that he felt shame for selling those poachers to Tyroshi slavers. His guilt was well-deserved for a lord from a family as honorable as House Mormont. He would not make that mistake again. Not after his Hightower wife, who he had sinned for to maintain her lavish lifestyle, abandoned him so readily in his self-exile from the North. Of that, Daenerys was sure of… for his sake, not hers.

 

In the distance, two ships emerged out of the horizon, approaching Astapor’s port. As they sailed closer, Daenerys could make out the black and gold Stag sail of Fury and the black and white Onion sail of Black Betha fluttering in the strong breeze that blew over the city. She frowned at the absence of Wraith. Why was Ser Davos’ second ship missing? She hoped it hadn’t been separated or worse, sunk.

 

“His Grace has returned,” said Jorah. He watched intently to see where the large war galley and smaller fishing galley would dock. Guessing that it would be at the quay a little way to the left of where they were, he motioned for Daenerys and Robb to follow him.

 

As they walked with Fury and Black Betha getting ever closer, Robb remarked, “I can’t begin to speculate what Jon and Ser Davos found in Valyria. No explorer that’s dared to venture there has returned alive to tell the tale. Yet, my brother did.”

 

Daenerys smirked. “Neither can I. Nevertheless, I’m confident Jon found what he was looking for. Since he had Ser Davos to help him, so much easier. Smugglers are good at hiding their contraband, so he probably had an idea of where the dragonlords stashed their treasures.”

 

“Ahoy, down there!” called two voices from the quarterdeck of Black Betha. Matthos and Dale waved from aboard their father’s small galley as they steered it to stop alongside the quay. Releasing the anchor with a splash that sent seawater up to soak the three awaiting their arrival, they hurried to furl the sail and lower the gangplank.

 

Wiping saltwater from her brow, Daenerys watched the slower war galley steadily row to a stop after furling its sail. The anchor dropped with another loud splash and the gangplank dropped down onto the quay. Jon and Ser Davos emerged atop the main deck and headed down onto the docks to greet their welcome party.

 

“Jon!” Daenerys exclaimed as she leapt into her husband’s arms, warmth returning to the world at finally inhaling his spicy northern scent. His soft lips met hers in a passionate liplock and she giggled into his mouth. Kissing him without abandon, promising much that she intended to deliver. Ah, it had been too long without his touch. She vowed to have more of him that night, alone.

 

“Brother!” Robb grinned, slapping Jon on the back and enveloping him in a bear hug. “You're late! We reached Astapor almost three days ago.”

 

Jon smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It took longer than expected to load what he found in Valyria.” He smirked at how Robb’s eyes lit up at the mention of his findings. “You’ll soon see what they are.”

 

“Why is Wraith not here?” Daenerys looked at Jon puzzled. He opened his mouth to explain, before Ser Davos cut in. The old knight had been conversing with Jorah about the state of the ships and the maintenance they’d need.

 

“I sent my other sons and Marya back to Westeros. My wife believed she and her younger children would be safer in White Harbor than out here.” He sighed and rubbed his nose. “Frankly, I don’t blame her. Even for a sailor like me, it’s treacherous sailing in the waters past Volantis.”

 

“That’s understandable,” Daenerys agreed. “I’d want to keep my family out of harm’s way as much as I can.” She smiled and teased, “I hope you didn’t sneak anything aboard from Valyria to sell back in Westeros.” She meant it as a jest, but Davos took it seriously.

 

“Of course not, Your Grace. Everything we brought back stays with us until you or Jon say otherwise.”

 

Jon took a moment to fully process his surroundings. Daenerys could tell he liked none of what he saw. She cleared her throat to get his attention. “Well, now is the time to free the Unsullied. From what you told me back in Qarth, Grey Worm should be here by now.”

 

“Aye, Dany.” Jon nodded confidently - he wrapped an arm around Dany’s bulging waist, hugging him to her possessively. Gods, she loved him so. “There’s no one else better suited to lead the Unsullied.”

 

“By the way, brother,” Robb interjected. Jon raised an eyebrow at his brother’s sudden interruption. It seemed particularly urgent. “We have new guests. You should meet them before making your purchase.” He grinned slyly. The Good Masters would be paid back a hundred times over for their goods.

 

“Guests?” Jon asked. Hearing that from Robb threw him off for a moment.

 

“I’ll introduce you to them,” Daenerys promised. “They are allies and have come bearing… intriguing news, so to speak.”

 

“Always enjoyed meeting new people,” said Davos. “A highlight of my smuggling career.”

 

Jorah was watching Matthos and Dale fiddle around with Valyrian steel sabres on the main deck of Black Betha . Turning to the others, he elected to stay behind and watch the ships in case some thief tried to sneak aboard. Daenerys gave him leave before tugging on Jon’s arm to lead him to where the khalasar was camped.

 

Mixed feelings were churning in her. She was elated to finally reunite with Grey Worm and Missandei, the latter was her closest confidant apart from Jon. However, she was nervous of how to break the news of Aerys to her husband. Knowing of how he could go into a rage if he found out her twin brother wanted to steal her away, she dreaded seeing his eyes glow that fiery orange blaze. But she would have to tell him anyway. The consequences would undoubtedly be worse if he found out from Aerys himself.

 

My father reborn… 



Joffrey Baratheon

 

“Sword up!” barked the instructor, a Ranger named Qhorin that everyone called ‘Halfhand.’ “Watch the opponent! You keep your eyes on the ground again and I’ll cut your balls off!”

 

Freezing mud soaking into his leathers and shoes, making him feel slimy, Joffrey bit his tongue. Knowing after the last several bruises dotting his stomach not to complain, especially not to the senior brothers of the Night’s Watch. Facing a boy several years older than him by the name of Edd - not that he cared - he charged, wild swings pushing him back…

 

“OWW!” A blow to the side from another boy named Pypar sent Joffrey toppling to the ground. Slipping on the iced-over ground to land in the churned mud that hadn’t yet froze. “Fuck you, peasent shit!” 

 

While Edd and Pyp simply laughed, Halfhand rolled his eyes. “Get up, stupid.”

 

Groaning, Joffrey moved to push himself out of the mud - forcing himself not to burst into tears as he had the first week back after leaving Eastwatch, picked up by other rangers after the mystery prisoner with the strange words dumped him there. Only for another recruit named Rast to jab his training blade hard into Joffrey’s stomach. Both causing him to retch his breakfast onto the cold ground and squelch back in the mud. “Crown Prince,” Rast spat. “More like Mud Prince.” He laughed. “Here’s a crown for the Prince of the Mud.” Joffrey felt a clump of wet dirt splatter atop his golden hair.

 

“Enjoy your crown, Prince of the Mud,” Edd smirked, slapping forearms with Pyp. Only the sadists liked Rast among the new recruits, but none liked Joffrey.

 

Blinking back hot tears - the only part of Joffrey that weren’t cold - he lashed out with the sword. Attempting to hit someone but only making him look more pathetic. “I’ll kill you all!”

 

“Save the killin’ for the wildlings, recruit.” Even Qhorin backed away, adopting a deferential posture as Master-at-Arms Alliser Thorne strode onto the training grounds. Fourth-in-command after Lord Commander Mormont, First Ranger Benjen Stark, and Maester Aemon, he was tough but earned respect from most that served under him. “And get the fuck up, Stag shit. Do you think the damn Frostfangs or Thenns’ll give you the chance to cry like a bitch - probably’ll chop ya’ up and eat you first, boy’o.” And he was a Targaryen loyalist. A firm Targaryen loyalist. 

 

Joffrey’s anger was still boiling. “Thorne, you hedge knight dog! Punish these men in the name of your rightful Crown Prince!”

 

Jaw dropping slightly, eyes twinkling with mirth, Thorne turned to Qhorin. “Hear that, Halfhand? He’s giving orders to me.” At the smirk on Qhorin’s face, Thorne now looked at the other recruits, all of them mere weeks from swearing their oaths to the Night’s Watch. “The ‘Crown Prince’ has ordered me to punish you. What should I do? Rack? Lash? Or just kick the shit out of ya’?” 

 

Giving each other looks, Edd glanced down at Joffrey before answering for the group. “Would take far more time for the Master-at-Arms to fetch anything than he should give. Do the last option.”

 

“Fair enough.” A mere moment passed before Thorne’s face contorted into a snarl, foot lashing out to smash into Joffrey’s gut. “Fuck you! You’re a fucking disgrace to the Red fucking Keep you little Stag Shit!” Another kick, this time right in the balls, Joffrey wincing and dry heaving from the pain. “Your fucking, whoring father took away the greatest King I’ve ever known, and you think you can fucking tell me what to fucking do?” He delivered another kick to Joffrey’s side, the last of the contents of his stomach heaved onto the ground. 

 

“What’s going on here?!” All eyes - many stopping at what they were doing to watch the show put on by their Master-at-Arms - shifted to the balcony of Castle Black. There was the Lord Commander himself, grizzled facade glancing down upon Thorne with a disgusted face. “Who did this to that boy?”

 

“I did,” Thorne admitted easily. “And I enjoyed it, was a long time coming for this little shit.”

 

Jeor nodded upon seeing Joffrey, the former Prince wiping the mud off his face to expose his golden hair. “Get back to your tasks. That’s an order.” With that, he disappeared into his chambers.

 

Spitting on Joffrey, Thorne’s sneer of contempt didn’t disappear. “Privy duty for the next four days, all except when it’s time to train - starts now.” Barking at the rest of the boys to get to their duties around the keep, Joffrey finally had a chance to push himself up. Unable to stop his tears, he began to trudge towards the trough to wash himself off. “Hey, I didn’t say you could get off your duty. Grab a bucket and get the fuck up to the privys!” 

 

I’m gonna kill you all when I get my throne back! But for once, Joffrey held his tongue. Battered so many times until even the cat going for the fish would learn to be cautious of the smack it would get each time. Mud still dripping from his body, Joffrey gritted his teeth and let his hate and desire for vengeance to drive him forward. Grabbing the bucket and lugging it up the steps. Wincing each step from the bruises inflicted by his ‘brothers.’

 

A cold wind blew down from the Wall, Joffrey shivering violently. Each chatter of his teeth aggravating his injuries. Fucking cold. Fucking father. Hobbling down the balcony, two hushed voices from within the Lord Commander’s quarters caught his ear.

 

“...not tell the men of this.” The voice of Lord Commander Mormont. Joffrey would know it anywhere.

 

The wary voice of Maester Aemon was also one he’d not soon forget. “Five thousand wildlings through the Nightfort with our approval would cause a mutiny.”

 

Joffrey’s eyes widened. Everyone hates the wildlings. Since he hated everyone, that was one source of common ground he had - the only time the other boys didn’t beat him up were when they all groused about the wildlings. 

 

“Ned Stark is moving them to the Gift as we speak. Once out of there they are Lord Umber’s problem - think they’ll support the Targaryens?” Targaryens?

 

“If Mance supports my great-nephew and great-niece, then they will. Ned going there personally for his son and gooddaughter will be respected by them, no doubt.”

 

“Good.” At the sound of steps towards the door, Joffrey ambled away. Making sure not to be seen. Niece… Daenerys Targaryen? His own father had yelled about the living Targaryens enough for him to remember the name and connection. If that fool Jaqen does what I bid him to do, she won’t be a problem. But what was this about a nephew… son of Ned Stark? But if they were the ultimate masterminds of the wildlings, no one would give a crap. Targaryen Thorne would likely cheer.

 

Cursing the entire Night’s Watch for the thousandth time this week, Joffrey merely went about his privy duty. Better than getting the shit kicked out of him again that day.


Alysanne Sand

 

It had been sudden. One moment she was sharing supper with her mother, the next Alysanne was being escorted by the Sand Snakes to the tent of the King and Queen. In the distance the massive pyramids and glittering statues of the great harpies loomed, glistening in the light of sunset. She had never been to Slaver’s Bay, but their reputation for brutality preceded them. A shiver passed through her delicate frame, only just now beginning to swell with her pregnancy.

 

“Easy, little one,” she murmured. Calming her babe as she entered. Her eyes quickly widened at the masculine figure standing by the roaring fire. “Your Grace.” Alysanne moved to bend the knee, but was stopped by the firm hand of King Aegon. 

 

“Don’t, my Lady.” He had kind eyes. Kind, grey eyes. Slight but tough build, raven hair… Alysanne had enough contact with members of the Company of the Rose to know northern looks when she saw them. “So, it is true. You are my aunt by my… grandfather.” 

 

Alysanne nodded, biting her lip. “And you are Rhaegar’s son by Lyanna.” He seemed to tense. “The northern looks… it’s rather obvious.” 

 

Rising, her pregnant belly close to popping, Daenerys wrapped her arms around Aegon. “She has a point, my love.”

 

Nodding, Aegon motioned to a plain wooden chair. “I am Aegon Targaryen, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms… though I’d be perfectly fine with you calling me Jon. It’s my northern name… the name of my mother’s heritage, and the name I had when my wife fell in love with me.” Daenerys beamed and kissed his cheek, and even Alysanne couldn’t smile. They were clearly a very loving couple - like she and Aerys… long before. “Daenerys told me many things, but I want to hear it from you personally.” He motioned to her. “Start at the beginning.”

 

 And so Alysanne told him the entire story. Aerys’ birth, her birth, the mysterious change in her husband and half-brother’s personality. Her escape and all that had happened when facing the blue dragon… Ragnar. She watched Jon’s expressions throughout, a mix of emotions. Anger, confusion, utter bewilderment, and… sadness.

 

At the end, the normally stoic Jon Targaryen was close to tears. Shifting eyes away, getting up and walking to gaze at the fire, he didn’t move even as Daenerys touched his shoulder. “All this time…” His voice was hoarse. “I thought we were the last of our house.”

 

“Apparently not,” Daenerys said, hugging him from behind. “But this is… terrifying. We never experienced this before. Our plans, they are already obsolete without our foresight.”

 

Brow rising, it was Alsyanne’s turn to be bewildered. A feeling that increased when Jon spoke. “Perhaps that is why your memories didn’t come back fully to you. Something wrong with Melisandre’s ritual in your past?”

 

“Excuse me, but I am confused.” Eyes shifted to her, wary and sad. “What… what will happen to me.”

 

Daenerys leaned down, hugging her. “You are our family, Alys. The Last Dragons.”

 

“I trust Ser Barristan, and spoke with him earlier,” Jon replied. “He vouches for you, and thus you will be our honored guest.” He smiled. “We’ll explain everything, I promise. No need to be confused. But there is something you could help us with.”

 

“Name it,” Alysanne murmured. In the embrace of her sister, full of love and warmth, she finally felt like she belonged.

 

“We need your help, for purchasing the Unsullied.”

 


 

Kraznys mo Nakloz was a cruel man. Alysanne never met him, and her sister and nephew truly didn’t speak of him more than in dismissive words, but it was clear he was trying to say something. To send a message to the Targaryen do gooders that arrived on his doorstep. A seaside road leading to his palace on the tip of a narrow peninsula. Close to the city market, bustling with people both freeborn and slave. But it wasn’t simply the market that the giant statue of the holy Ghiscari harpy overlooked. 

 

A solid line of slaves, bound to crosses and crucified - left to die. Some lucky ones had their limbs broken and had already passed into the afterlife. Most, however, were left to burn in the sun and die of exposure. Many badly beaten. Alysanne wanted to vomit at the sight.

 

“I thought I’ve seen everything.” Even the arrogant and handsome Ser Jaime Lannister was appalled, forced to look away. “At least the men butchered in battle have a fighting chance.” At least the men Aerys burns die within moments. The last year or so with him, after his pilgrimage to Old Valyria, Alysanne learned to live for those small comforts. 

 

Her hand went to her stomach, willing the babe within to calm. “How could men do this to other men?” Most of the masters that passed by didn’t even give the crucified slaves didn’t even spare them a glance. The ones that did… either spat or threw rocks with laughter, or browbeat their own slaves over them.

 

Barristan opened his mouth to speak when Daenerys answered for him. “The walk of punishment. Made to show the slaves of Astapor exactly what fate has in store for them if they resist or disobey.” She had a faraway look, only snapping out of it when Jon hugged her from behind. Anger clouding his face as he pressed a kiss against her forehead. Turning in, snuggling her pregnant body into him for a few seconds, Daenerys suddenly motioned to her bloodriders. Barking something in Dothraki.

 

They each handed her their waterskins, jostling with liquid. She kept one, Jon getting the other - and the King handing the third to Alysanne. The implication was obvious… one that she gladly accepted. Both her nephew and sister looked her over with appreciative eyes, all three approaching those upon the crosses. One, a young woman, turned to the violet-eyed girl. “Ivestragī…” she murmured, parched. “Nyke morghūljagon...” Alysanne bit her lip. Let me die.

 

As they leaned up on the platforms to soothe the parched throats of the condemned ‘property,’ Barristan stepped forward. “Please, your Graces. This isn’t worth it, dealing with these monsters.”

 

Glancing in the eye of the poor female slave, glassy from resignation to death - widened in stunned silence that someone as beautiful as the bastard daughter of House Dayne would stoop to caring about them. “Gods know what they do to the Unsullied. We can’t let them have any sort of projection power.” Surprised herself at how… determined she sounded, a glance at her sister found the Queen’s violet eyes sparkling with… pride?

 

“We can defeat Aerys and secure the Golden Company. Buy all the sellswords from here to Pentos.” Jaime was just as worried as Barristan, likely knowing his continued survival remained with the Targaryens. 

 

“Sellswords? They fight only for gold, Khaleesi,” Jorah countered. “And your twin… he’ll be hard to defeat. Only the Unsullied would tip the balances in your favor.”

 

“Yes,” Daenerys finally answered. “Yes, they would.”

 


 

“All?! Does this bitch have some sort of madness about her?” Alysanne bit her tongue, catching the insults but saying nothing. Not wanting to jeopardize the deal but arising her family’s anger. Aerys had suffered greatly for such insolence… at least until he started feeding naysayers to Rhaelyx. Dany and Jon… they couldn’t afford to get brutal like that.

 

“Her father was mad,” the other Good Master stared. “His too, considering he destroyed his kingdom for a random slut.”

 

Clearing her throat, the cowed translator spoke in the Common Tongue. “Master Kraznys feels that, given your family history, you may be speaking without seriousness.” She bore the collar of a slave, and from the manner in which Kraznys mo Nakloz eyed her bust and backside, it was obvious to Alysanne the particular consequences of disobedience.

 

“Yes, all.” Daenerys was calm but firm. “All sixteen thousand. And the boys in training, along with the non-combatants.”

 

You’re mad.”

 

This time it was Jon that spoke up. “Her Grace would never waste your time with an empty offer. When she says all, that means we want all.” Translating in halting Valyrian, Alysanne didn’t miss how his hands clasped the hilts of his swords tightly. A slight quiver of anger in his jaw. Eyes flashed orange, before a deep breath brought them back to a dark grey.

 

Kraznys scoffed. “Are we sure he’s even a Targaryen? He even smells like a hairy savage.” Before Missandei could put a diplomatic spin on it, he waved her off, continuing.

 

“Master Kraznys hopes that you are willing to sell off the vast majority of your Dothraki horde. They are… uncultured.” Ironic, she left out the parts where the Good Masters used terms such as ‘bitch,’ ‘gigolo,’ and ‘dirty horsefuckers.’ 

 

“I know you think little of the Dothraki, but they are our people,” Daenerys began, Alysanne struggling to keep up with the High Valyrian words. I’ll have to find a better tutor. She only brought shame to their house, just as Aerys had told her many times.

 

The masters burst out into mocking laughter at that. Needed no translation. “We could have sacked your city,” Jon added, words sharp as Valyrian steel. “A third of our horde would have died, but we’d have won. I consider the fact we’re here discussing a business arrangement to be enough to bargain with.” A smirk was on his face, as if this were a game to him. In fact, Daenerys wore the same smirk.

 

Kraznys barked out more insults, leaning back in his chair bored. Sipping from wine a very young slave girl brought him. “If you truly wished to make a bargain, Master Kraznys says, then you should have sacked Qarth and its treasures. Your… kindness will cost you now. It is 70,000 of your Horde along with their horses, or no deal.”

 

Well, there’s the end of that. Alysanne, along with the knights, all slumped in resignation.

 

Their monarchs were a different story. Glancing at each other with a knowing glint, Daenerys delivered the counteroffer. “We have dragons.” Alysanne’s eyes widened, jaw dropping. “I’ll give you one in exchange for the Unsullied.” As it was translated, the masters began speaking in hushed whispers to each other.

 

All the knights dashed forward. “Your Grace, reconsider,” Barristan pleaded.

 

“Aegon won the throne with dragons, not slaves,” reasoned Jaime Lannister.

 

“Khal… Khaleesi…” Jorah had the most fearful look of all. “The dead cannot be defeated without dragons.” Dead? Alysanne was shocked and confused at this point. She wanted to speak against this, but something about her sister and nephew… they just seemed too confident. 

 

Kraznys leaned forward. “Six.”

 

“One.”

 

“Three.”

 

“One.”

 

Sweat beaded on his bald head, but he nodded. “Done.”

 

“Oh, one more thing.” Jon stepped forward, pointing at the slave translator. “The girl, Missandei.” A look of surprise formed on the girl’s face, her actual identity likely not one to be even given a second thought by anyone she would encounter. “She comes with us.”

 

“Why the fuck would you want this slut?” 

 

Another flash of orange, this time from Daenerys. Jon, however, remained calm. “My wife is having my first child. I’m… rather happy. What better present could there be than her very own handmaiden - the only ones she has now are… Dothraki.” He shrugged. Daenerys happened to laugh and roll her eyes, while Alysanne smirked. The King… he was dour and brooding by nature, but had a teasing nature underneath for the ones he loved. Perhaps her brother was like that… or perhaps Lyanna Stark?

 

“Look at that. The gigolo is concerned with what a woman thinks.” Kraznys laughed. “Probably doesn’t have a large-enough cock to properly break the slave in.” Nevertheless, he motioned for Missandei to go with them. “We have a deal, Dragon Whore.”

 

Several minutes later, they found Robb outside, Ghost and Grey Wind with him. “Well, what happened?” 

 

“Their Graces are trading one of their dragons for the Unsullied,” Jaime started, still a bit shell shocked at the whole thing.

 

Robb looked as if he were to faint. “WHAT?” The Direwolves stilled, sensing something amiss. “Are you mad?!”

 

“Calm down, brother,” Daenerys stated firmly. “You are family, but watch yourself.”

 

“We are the King and Queen, so you will have to trust us. You’re advising us, not ruling us.” Nodding as the others stopped their words, he pointed behind Robb. “Missandei, come here.” Stepping forward, the translator was visibly cowed - eyeing the direwolves with barely disguised fear. “You know what your duty is now, correct?”

 

“Yes, your Grace. To serve yourself and her Grace.”

 

Smiling, Jon patted the slave on the shoulder. Very informal and friendly- Alysanne has seen enough slaves attending to the Golden Company to know such things were just not done. “I think you’ll be happy in the Queen’s service.”

 

“My happiness does not matter, your Grace.”

 

Jon frowned. “Well, it does to us.” Turning to Daenerys, he brought her in a passionate kiss. A pang hit Alysanne’s heart - such had been how Aerys kissed her… before he left for Old Valyria that is. “Robb and I will prepare the khalasar to march to Yunkai. Do not take too long.”

 

“I won’t, my love.” Daenerys kissed him again. “Kesi ipradagon īlva havor hēnkirī, aderī.”

 

“Nyke jurnegon naejot naejot ziry.” Ignoring Alysanne’s wide eyes, he motioned to Ghost. “Stay with Dany.” The direwolf wagged his tail as he and Robb mounted their horses and galloped off. 

 

The ladies were now alone, knights behind them for protection. “Follow me.” 

 

“You… you speak Valyrian?” Alysanne asked, shocked. From the look in Missandei’s submissive expression, she thought the same but was conditioned to keep silent.

 

“Most ‘men of culture’ think girls weak and northerners wild savages. Sometimes it’s good to play into such stereotypes.” A smirk formed on her face, a dark one. “The halting Valyrian, that was a good touch.”

 

Alysanne hung her head in shame. “That… that is how I speak, Daenerys.”

 

The smirk turned to a frown. “Unacceptable, you are the blood of the Dragon - I taught Aegon and you must be taught as well.” She shifted to the girl. “Missandei, you can teach my sister, correct?”

 

“I can, your Grace.” The translator’s dark eyes were trained on Ghost warily.

 

Alysanne couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s fine. This is Ghost… he’s harmless, if you don’t wish to harm the Queen or King.” Cocking his head at Missandei, the direwolf’s tongue hung out of his mouth. He looked like an overgrown puppy, all furry and white and adorable. “Go ahead, pet him.”

 

“Yes, my Lady.” Missandei reached out and hesitantly petted his fur, causing the direwolf to yip. Something formed on the tip of her tongue, but Missandei quickly killed it.

 

Such was noticed by Alysanne, and by extension Daenerys. “You wish to tell me something?” After Missandei shook her head, Daenerys stopped, reaching up to lightly grab her shoulders. “From now on, you are to speak freely to me, my husband, and my advisors - including my sister Alysanne here.” A warm, happy feeling passed through Alysanne at being accepted by her sister. “Are we clear?”

 

Biting her lip, the translator nodded. “It’s just… how do you or his Grace know my name? Master Kraznys never mentioned it… nor knew it himself.”

 

This brought a smile to Daenerys’ face, adding to the mystery before Alysanne. “I know all about you, Missandei of Naath. You are smart, loyal, and kind, someone I hope shall be a close friend and advisor for the future.” She seemed… unburdened now that the dark-skinned translator was in their service.

 

“But I am a slave, your Grace.”

 

To the girl’s complete shock… and Alysanne’s surprise and approval, Daenerys simply unfastened her collar and tossed it in the dirt. “I free you as your mistress. You may go anywhere you wish, but I would very much like it if you served me as a free woman.” Unable to respond, a hesitant smile formed on her face, falling into step behind Daenerys and beside Alysanne once again. “Missandei, the Unsullied are larger in number than I thought. Why?”

 

The girl answered quickly. “The Golden Company… they stopped taking bids over ten years ago. Since Yunkai and New Ghis hired them in the past, the Good Masters felt they would be better served with double the soldiers they had. It was a… busy time.”

 

“I remember that… my mother told me just as Jon Connington was marshalling the Golden Company behind Aerys’ cause.” Alysanne shuddered. “They called it the Year of Blood. Thousands of slaves were shipped to Astapor only to die in the training for the Unsullied.” Her fists balled together… what Aerys would call ‘Waking the Dragon.’ “These masters must pay for what they did.”

 

“Valar Morghulis, mis… your Grace,” Missandei said, confidence long suppressed starting to bubble to the surface. Free of her collar, neck bare to the world for the first time she could remember, there was nothing but propriety keeping her from actually speaking her mind.

 

“And in the Common Tongue?”

 

It was Alysanne that answered. “All men must die.”

 

She saw Daenerys cast her a smirk. “But we are not men, are we dear sister?” Approaching where the bloodriders waited with their mounts, Alysanne couldn’t help a smirk of her own.


 

Lysa Arryn

 

“My lady,” called the Maester of the Eyrie. “A raven arrived from Winterfell. From the seal on it, I assume it’s from your sister.” He walked across the cold stone floor of the Eyrie’s main hall over to the Lady Regent of the Vale, who was seated with a goblet of wine in hand. The maester handed the wrapped scroll over to Lysa Arryn, who accepted it with a gracious smile.

 

“Thank you, Maester Faroe,” she responded as she took the letter from his outstretched hand. He bowed and turned to leave the room. She wasted no time in ripping the seal off, with its wolf sigil, and unrolling the parchment so quickly that a loud rip was heard. My Sweetrobyn had better arrived at Winterfell safely, or I’ll have Yohn Royce’s head!  

 

Dearest sister Lysa,

 

I am happy to inform you that Robyn arrived in Winterfell as of this letter’s writing. Your son will be given all the hospitality my husband and I can offer him. Lord Royce will ensure his safety, I can assure you of that. He will also have the aid of House Stark’s Household Guard if ever needed. Jory Cassel is the most exemplary captain I could ask for to keep Winterfell secure.

 

I very much look forward to fostering the future Lord of the Eyrie and getting my children to bond with him as their cousin. I will send future letters should anything come up that I feel you should be let known. Do not hesitate to write me if you’re concerned for your son’s well-being at any time.

 

Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North

 

An audible sigh left Lysa’s lips as she read the first line in her sister’s correspondence. She had never been to Winterfell, but had heard it was the strongest castle in the North. As long as her son was behind its walls, she felt confident he’d be safe. However… the North was a wild place with more dangerous animals roaming free than among the Mountains of the Moon. She sweated at the thought of her son being mauled by a pack of wolves on a hike through the Wolfswood. Maybe it would be best for him not to partake in any hunts or hawkings - at least not until he came of age. She would have to write to Cat about that immediately.

 

She swallowed another gulp of wine and laid the goblet on the stone armrest of her chair.

 

“My lady,” called Maester Faroe again, jolting her out of her thoughts. She raised her head to see him walking briskly back into the room with another scroll in hand. “Another message for you - from King’s Landing.” She put her sister’s letter aside and took the one from her maester’s outstretched hand. He bowed his head before heading again back out the hall to presumably his quarters.

 

The sigil on the seal of this scroll was of a mockingbird. She smiled brightly. Her Petyr always could lift her spirits, even if only through ink on parchment. Then her grin gave way to puzzlement as she furrowed her brow, trying to figure out what he wrote her for. There wasn’t anything she could recall that immediately concerned her attention, unless something new happened in the capital.

 

Breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment, Lysa guessed that was the reason. Petyr must have heard of something that he felt that she should know too.

 

My Lady Lysa,

 

I have disturbing news to inform you of. Unfortunately, it does concern Sweetrobyn. I plead with you not to panic, for you would only make matters worse for your son.

 

The North’s independence is apparently a mummer’s farce. Through my reliable agents, I have uncovered what appears to be an alliance between your sister’s husband and the Mad King’s daughter, who is currently in Essos. I believe that Ned Stark fears retaliation from Daenerys Targaryen’s impending return and has pledged his banners to her in hopes that he and his family will be spared for the Starks’ part in the Rebellion.

 

This treason can’t be tolerated, regardless of the North’s official separation from the Seven Kingdoms. I do not know if Catelyn is aware of her husband’s machinations, but I’m certain she would not stand for it if she did. After all, the Mad King was responsible for killing her first betrothed, Brandon.

 

Robert has called his banners to invade the North and has requested that you dispatch the Knights of the Vale to join him. I understand that Robyn will be caught in the midst of this chaos, so I strongly advise you to answer our king’s call. Your son will survive this war if his soon-to-be bannermen are among the forces marching north, who will pressure the other forces to do everything they can to spare him harm.

 

I pray that your dear sister does not suffer consequences for her husband’s conspiracy with  the Targaryens, who should’ve died out long ago. I promise that I will do everything in my power to persuade Robert to grant leniency to our Catelyn.

 

Yours, Petyr

 

“AAAAAHHHHHHH!”

 

The shrill, ear-piercing scream echoed through the Eyrie as the letter dropped from Lysa’s hand onto the floor. Spots swam before her eyes and she started hyperventilating. She felt like she'd been struck over the head with a heavy book.

 

“My lady!” came an urgent shout as Maester Faroe again ran into the Eyrie’s main hall with panic across his face. “Are you alright?! What happened?”

 

“Get me a quill, ink, and parchment, Faroe!” Lysa screeched in response. She snatched up her goblet and threw it at him. “NOW!” The wine painted a bright red slash over where it stained his robes and the goblet clattered near the Moon Door. Maester Faroe gingerly stepped near it to pick up the goblet, despite the favored execution device of House Arryn being shut tight.

 

As the maester retreated to get what she demanded, she sat back in her chair with her mind racing. Forget the Targaryens! Forget Ned Stark! Forget even her sister! All she could think about was her son impaled on a spear or shot full of arrows as Winterfell burned around him. She would write to her sister now and insist that she send him home to her at once! There was no chance in the Seven Hells that her sweet boy would even hear the drums of war!

 

Thinking back to Petyr, she slowly calmed down and her breath became more regular. Her dear Petyr was right. She’d call her banners to ride north with Robert Baratheon. No chances would be taken in getting her son back where he belonged, safe and sound. Yohn Royce would stay with Robyn. She wouldn’t risk him leaving her son’s side. His firstborn, Andar Royce, would lead her knights. 

 

Upon Maester Faroe’s return with her writing materials, she dipped the quill into the inkpot and set to write furiously… 



Jon Targaryen

 

“I still do not understand, Jon,” Robb whispered harshly. He was dressed in his northern-style finery, sword clipped to his belt and direwolf-emblazoned ringmail armor clinking as he walked. “We should have slaughtered these slaver scum and taken the Unsullied.”

 

“You worry too much, Robb,” Jon laughed in response. His eyes looked at the rattling cage draped with a cloth and atop a large wagon. A screech came from inside. Calm, Arogon. Kepa is here, he’ll make sure no one hurts you. The screeching stopped, though the cage still rattled.

 

He peered at the King with a look of incredulity. “A dragon? You’re seriously going to give them a dragon?”

 

While his brother looked like a powerful King of Winter, Jon stood tall and resplendent - aside from the grey eyes and raven curls spilling over his shoulders, he looked every inch a Valyrian dragonlord. From the library/armory in Old Valyria, a set of dragonscale Valyrian steel armor now hugged his every muscle. Red cloak tied over his shoulders, he had added a black tunic and boots underneath the armor. Red and black, the colors of his house. Surrounding him were Jaime, Ser Barristan, and Nymeria Sand, along with the ever faithful Grey Wind. Waiting outside in the courtyard of Kraznys mo Nakloz’s palace, lines and lines of Unsullied standing firm ahead of them. He gazed in awe at the powerful warriors he had fought alongside in his past life… and burned with hate at the overseers stepping between the centuries, whips in hand.

 

Head turning to Robb, Jon narrowed his eyes. “Did I ever tell you the story of how Daenerys acquired the Unsullied?”

 

Robb furrowed his brows. “No. You just told me she did.”

 

The scowl slowly turned into a wolfish smirk. “You’re going to enjoy this.” A dark chuckle. “I’m honored that I shall be involved.” Steps scuffing along the stone behind him, both the Targaryen and Stark turned to find the rest of their party, save for Ser Davos, who was at his reading lessons with Shireen. He told them that he had seen enough fire lately, and would no doubt see plenty more upon returning to Westeros. Obara and Tyene stood joined by Ser Jorah, Ghost, and their bloodriders, shepherding the most precious people in Jon’s life. Ashara Dayne bore a rather modest, purple Dornish dress - he didn’t really know her, but anyone who was the mother of his aunt was his family to protect. Alysanne wore a simple black dress, exposing the cleft of her ample chest to all. She was a Targaryen beauty that Jon would already plunge into the seven hells to protect, but the King saved his wandering eyes for only one.

 

Matching her pregnant figure in a look that radiated power while also enticing her King, Queen Daenerys clearly bore the air of a great Targaryen Queen - Visenya or Rhaenyra. Dark Sister was slung along her back as the train of her black and red dress dusted the stone. Her hair drawn into the same intricate braids that Jon remembered from their first meeting. Gods… That image had haunted his dreams for years. 

 

On her left was the still docile and cowed Missandei - hopefully that would change, since the strong and determined Naathi translator had been an indispensable ally in the withdrawal to Pentos in his past life - and the smirking Melisandre. But both stood with the rest of the group as Daenerys approached him. “My Queen,” Jon bowed, smile on his face.

 

His wife’s determined expression shifted to a smile of her own as she attempted a curtsey - hard for her, considering the swell of their son. “My King.” Dany leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I’m happy you’re here, my love.”

 

“So am I.” He moved his mouth to her ear. “To be honest, I loved you telling this story since it always turned me on.” The Queen drew back, sultry smile on her lips and a glint in her eye - they would be tearing each other’s clothes off as soon as they got alone, Jon was sure of it now. 

 

But as Kraznys mo Nakloz entered the courtyard holding the golden whip of command, the moment would have to be postponed. “Robb,” Daenerys said. “Go stand by the cage.” Brow raising quizzically, he nevertheless did as bidded. “Are we ready for our arrangement?” she asked Krazys, translated through Missandei.

 

He sneered. “Give me what is mine, and the arrangement will be consummated.” There was a burning greed in his eyes. One Jon was quite familiar with, what he knew Dany was familiar with. “Where’s my dragon?!” 

 

Daenerys nodded. “Aegon, bring him here.”

 

As Jon complied, armor clinking on the surface of the courtyard, he could hear the mocking laughter. “Weak girl-man taking orders from a woman.” He ignored it, continuing till he opened the cage. Hand on the rope that served as Arogon’s leash, a calm coaxing through their connection preventing his wife’s hybrid dragon from destroying their enemies as of yet. Poking his head through the lip of the cage, Arogon emerged. Sunlight glinting off his shiny red scales as he screeched, flapping into the air. Kraznys gaped at Jon and the dragon, eyes lighting up. “ Bring him here! Bring me what’s mine!”

 

Gingerly ascending the steps, Jon handed the dragon off to Dany, who took the rope to Kraznys. Gods, what must it have been like for the young and alone pretender to the throne? Pulling this stunt off? Jon felt his love and admiration for his warrior Queen soar. “Is it done?” Dany asked, whip in hand as Kraznys tried to corral the mighty dragon.

 

“The army belongs to the bitch and her gigolo,” he replied through Missandei, smiling like a kind caught in a jaw of sweets. “And now I am Dragonmaster!” The Dragonmaster didn’t seem to master the dragon very well, observed Jon. Arogon screeching and flapping his wings with a mix of irritation and rage. Meeting eyes with Dany, he saw them form into an icy blue. Calm. A cold fury, buoyed by the knowledge that justice was to be done.

 

“Is this it?” Robb asked with a hiss. “You’re just going to let him take Arogon?” 

 

“It’s madness,” Ashara observed, though Alysanne was quiet. Waiting for the show to begin. “Your Grace?” Dany and Jon walked right by her to gaze out at the mass of Unsullied. 

 

He looked at the whip in her hand, feeling the same revulsion to it that she undoubtedly did. Daenerys reached out to him with her free hand, grounding them both as history repeated itself. The time for this mummer’s play was over. “Dovaogēdy!” she yelled. The soldiers crashed to attention, while many pairs of eyes among their own advisors and guards widened. Didn’t know she could speak Valyrian. Jon smirked. “Naejot memēbagon!” The thousands of black leather clad hoplites began to march. “Keligon!” They halted in place as one.

 

Arogon screeched loudly, Jon turning his head to see Kraznys struggle to hold him in place. “Ivestragon se aspo zirȳla dyni kessa daor māzigon,” he snarled at Missandei.

 

Now it was Jon’s turn. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor,” he boomed in High Valyrian. He was sure Robb’s eyes had popped from their sockets in shock. No one but Dany knew of how she and Missandei had taught him till he was fluent in his past life, and they rarely spoke their mother tongue outside the bedroom.

 

Slowly, realization dawned on Kraznys’ face. “Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha?” Face paling as he stared at Dany and Jon.

 

“Ao iōragon gō Aegon Vīlībāzma se Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor! Anogar hen uēpa Valyria iksis isse īlva! Valyrīha iksis īlva muña ēngos!” Gods, Jon had never wanted to make love to her more since their wedding night.

 

But they had work to do. Taking the whip from her hand, Jon thrust it into the air. “ Dovaogēdy! ossēnagon se āeksia. Ossēnagon se mentyr. Ossēnagon tolvie vala qilōni holds iā qilōny, yn ōdrikagon daor riña.” At his command, the overseers found Unsullied spears ran through their stomachs. Centuries marching into the city to carry out their new King’s orders. 

 

Kraznys was apoplectic at this point. “Ossēnagon se aspo! Ossēnagon zirȳla sir!” Freeborn guards suddenly charged towards the two monarchs, curved swords waving around in a wild attack. Bad idea.

 

Within moments Ghost and Grey Wind had jumped two, screams dying in a gurgling mass of blood as the direwolves ripped their throats out. Robb, the Sand Snakes, and the Kingsguards had their swords out, engaging closely with every guard they saw. Three though had managed to break through to the Targaryen royals. Dawn and his castle-forged longsword were already out and at work. Jon slashed both right across the front of one of the guards - his leather armor sliced open like paper by the razor sharp blades. A clash of steel rang out as the second guard lunged… only for Jon to block it, twirl around and slice his sword hand off. Kicking the screaming master down with a sharp kick.

 

Dark Sister spun around her wrists, the pregnant Targaryen Queen took two parries before batting aside the attacker’s blade and burying the Valyrian steel into his midsection. The blade glinted with blood in the sun as she raised it high. Ordering the remaining Unsullied in the courtyard - Jon swore he could see Grey Worm at the vanguard. “Pryjagon se belma hen tolvie buzdari ao ūndegon!”

 

“Bisa iksis ribazmoqitta!” Kraznys shrieked.

 

Melisandre looked completely calm during the entire scuffle. “Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys, āeksio Kraznys.” Jon knew she was just waiting to proclaim it to the world.

 

Now, it was just Kraznys and his cohorts staring down him and Daenerys. “Kostā daor gaomagon bisa!”

 

Glancing Dany’s way, Jon nodded. Delighted that he could enjoy this moment with her. Their eyes glowed a merciless blue. “Suvion!”  Irritation turning into a roar of defiance, Arogon reared back his head to unleash a torrent of ice upon the foolish man that thought he could enslave a dragon as he did his fellow human beings. Kraznys screamed as the ice began to quickly turn his flesh into frozen meat, death painful but creeping upon him. 

 

Gazing at the other masters, both monarchs felt their hate rising - remembering the crucified innocents. Blue turning to a pulsing orange.“Dracarys!”  Arogon didn’t need to be told twice.

 

Fire and blood had come for the Masters of Slaver’s Bay.

 

 

Notes:

CastleColin: The Targaryen army is complete. Joffrey’s getting his comeuppance. Lysa’s panicking as usual. We’re very curious to see how this all adds up.

Translations:

Kesi ipradagon īlva havor hēnkirī, aderī - We will dine together soon

Nyke jurnegon naejot naejot ziry - I look forward to it

Dovaogēdy. Naejot memēbagon. Keligon - Unsullied. Forward march. Halt

Ivestragon se aspo zirȳla dyni kessa daor māzigon - Say to the bitch her beast won't come

Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor - A dragon is not a slave

Ao ȳdragon Valyrīha - You speak Valyrian

Ao iōragon gō Aegon Vīlībāzma se Daenērys Jelmāzmo hen Targārien Lentor! Anogar hen uēpa Valyria iksis isse īlva! Valyrīha iksis īlva muña ēngos - You stand before Aegon Warborn and Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen! Blood of Old Valyria is in us! Valyrian is our mother tongue

Dovaogēdy! ossēnagon se āeksia. Ossēnagon se mentyr. Ossēnagon tolvie vala qilōni holds iā qilōny, yn ōdrikagon daor riña - Unsullied! kill and masters. Kill and fleet. Kill every a man who holds a whip, but harm not children

Ossēnagon se aspo! Ossēnagon zirȳla sir - Kill the bitch! kill her now

Pryjagon se belma hen tolvie buzdari ao ūndegon - break the chains of every slave you find

Bisa iksis ribazmoqitta - This is madness

Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys, āeksio Kraznys - The Night is dark and full of terrors, master Kraznys

Kostā daor gaomagon bisa - you can't do this

Suvion - freeze

Longclaw: It was so fun writing the Joffrey section. He's getting exactly what he deserves - Sansa's enjoyment of his suffering is pretty much on the money.

Alysanne... she's pretty much a Targaryen as much as she is a Dayne. While Jon and Dany are shocked at the huge changes from their past lives, she is a good person and thus both of them would be happy to have more of their family - they aren't the last Targaryens after all.

The Astapor scene was pretty perfect on it's own, so most of what I focused on was more of how the presence of Jon and the others affected Dany. You'd have to imagine seeing Dany dressed in Targaryen colors and Jon in full armor kicking ass and taking names. Plenty of that is coming up.

If we can get 40 comments for this chapter, we'll update later this week; next chapter we see the Faith Militant make their appearance :D

Chapter 36: The Die is Cast

Summary:

1) Cersei orders Pycelle to put Robert to rest.
2) Ned returns to Winterfell and receives mixed messages.
3) Sam witnesses the Stars and Swords make their resurgence.
4) Bran meets the Three-Eyed Raven... and someone all too familiar.
5) Aerys bolsters his ranks and initiates his conquest.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hey everyone! So happy to see all the love for this story! Shift away from Jon and Dany for this chapter.

CastleColin: Big reveal from Dany’s shrouded past life coming now. She’ll be shivering when she finds out. As always, leave a kudos and drop a comment.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Cersei Lannister

 

“Father! Father! Father! Let me out!” screamed Cersei Lannister as she pounded on the door to her chambers, which had been locked tight from the hallway outside. She could hear a servant briefly stop outside the door, before the footsteps continued on their way. The Queen clenched her teeth and shrieked in frustrated anger at her solitary confinement, which had stretched into its seventh moon.

 

She slowly dragged herself back to her bed and sat down heavily on the silken sheets. Her hands went up to stroke her bulging abdomen, which was larger than a melon and a stark reminder of how little time she had left to execute her plan to kill Robert and free Joffrey. That despicable husband of hers had dared to murder her precious Tommen and Myrcella. As if exiling her beloved Joffrey to the Wall to live among thieves, rapists, and murderers wasn’t enough for him! Her mind turned to Jaime… her Golden Lion and father of her children. Dead by his own hands because Robert threatened to kill him if he ever saw him again, meaning she would never see her loving brother again.

 

The babe in her belly kicked violently, as if detecting her distress. She cursed it under her breath. The spawn nestled within her would not live to see the world outside if she had anything to say about it. However, she couldn’t risk taking moon tea before Robert was dead. His wrath would be horrific if he found out his heir died in her womb.

 

It was for the safety of his child that her father had agreed to confine her to her chambers until she gave birth. Robert was not taking any chances with finally securing a trueborn of his blood to succeed him on the Iron Throne. Hence, she was not allowed to leave her room under any circumstances, and only Grand Maester Pycelle was permitted to attend to her, both to bring her meals and check on the state of her pregnancy. Why no servants were allowed in her presence vexed her when she asked Pycelle why her handmaids didn’t show up on her first day of confinement. The wheezing, coughing old man gave an answer that was vague and unconvincing: her husband didn’t want the health of her babe put at risk by servants that knew little about child-bearing. She didn’t believe that excuse for even a second.

 

Cersei Lannister was second only to her father Tywin, the Hand of the King, in intellect and cunning. It was more likely that Robert suspected retaliation from her for the deaths of Tommen and Myrcella. Whether or not he considered the prospect of her actually attempting to kill him, she could not say. In any case, she had to poison him now, or her only chance at saving Joffrey would be irretrievably lost.

 

A hooting cough was heard outside the door as the lock on it jiggled loose. The door was gingerly pulled open and the white-bearded Pycelle tottered in, balancing a tray in his frail, wrinkled hands. He walked slowly over to the small table by the Queen’s bedside and gently set the tray down. Turning to Cersei, he bowed and addressed her, “Your Grace, I’ve brought you your midday meal. Hot tea, I included. It is good for digestion.” He gestured to the tray, upon which was a plate of fresh-baked bread, lean chicken breast, and roasted carrots and celery. A pot of boiling hot tea sat next to it with a matching teacup and saucer.

 

Ignoring the food brought up to her, Cersei instead glared furiously at the Grand Maester. “Seven moons, Pycelle… Seven moons you’ve had to dispose of my no-good, rotten husband… and seven moons you’ve failed utterly!” She threw a pillow at his face, smirking with some satisfaction as he tripped backward to land heavily on his rear atop the floor’s plush Myrish rug.

 

“Forgive me, your Grace,” he stuttered, clambering to his feet. “I’ve tried my best, but Robert has been… more mindful about what he drinks lately.”

 

“My drunken oaf of a husband has never given a damn to what he drinks as long as it gets him drunk as a skunk!” she snapped in disbelief.

 

“Apologies, your Grace,” Pycelle said. “However I can confirm it’s true. Robert retrieves his own wine from the Red Keep’s stock and always has a taster drink a glass before he takes one himself.”

 

Cersei fumed inwardly. If her wine-loving husband was sober about his drink, she didn’t know how she was going to slip the Strangler into his Arbor gold. He had to suffer for ripping her children and brother away from her. That poison was the best way she could get her revenge on the Stag for twisting the Lion’s tail.

 

Pycelle wheezed and hacked to clear his throat. “Your Grace. There may be a way for me to sneak the poison into Robert’s drink when he’ll least suspect.”

 

That got Cersei’s attention. “Tell me how, Pycelle,” she demanded, leaning forward on the bed toward him. He coughed and shifted nervously where he was standing. “Well, Grand Maester?”

 

“Robert usually spends each night guzzling wine and falling into bed with whores,” the old maester began. Nothing new. He’s done that ever since Tommen was born. “Thus, in the morning he wakes up with a massive headache from his hangover.” Pycelle wrung his hands as he finished explaining his observations to her. “He’s in such a stupor that he forgets to have a taster check his wine when he breaks his fast prior to his sparring with Ser Meryn.”

 

“Seven moons it took you to figure out the obvious, Pycelle?” Cersei scoffed in derision. “You should’ve known that immediately after I informed you of my plan.”

 

“My apologies, your Grace,” Pycelle bowed his head. “It just… never occured to me until now.”

 

“Well, proceed with the poisoning at once,” she ordered. “Make it four doses. One for each of my children and my brother.”

 

“Of course, your Grace,” Pycelle agreed. “Robert will be dead come morning on the morrow.”

 

As the sickly Grand Maester slunk out of the room to finally execute her assassination, Cersei laid back on her bed with a sigh of relief and vindication. Her pathetic excuse of a husband and king would soon be burning in the deepest part of the Seven Hells, and her Joffrey would ascend to where he rightfully belonged - the Iron Throne. 

 

Looking over to the tray with her midday meal, she suddenly felt hungry. Her stomach rumbled at the savory scent of the food, which had never smelled so tantalizing. She poured herself a cup of tea and dug in, daydreaming of Robert choking to death on his wine. A small sinister smile snaked across her otherwise alluring visage.

 

Unknown to her, a pair of ears was on the other side of the walls the whole time the Grand Maester was with her…

Eddard Stark

 

“You have got to be damn kidding me, Stark.” A meaty fist slammed down on the table where the King in the North was seated with Greatjon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth. “You, of all the Northern lords, let the wildlings through the Wall?!”

 

“I understand your disapproval Lord Umber,” replied Ned Stark, calmly. “However, I wouldn’t  have taken such action without a just cause.”

 

“What cause is that?!” spat Greatjon Umber. “The North has shed countless lives fighting those savages ever since that Wall was raised. Now, you’re letting them onto our land to live on it just like that?!”

 

“Winter is coming, Lord Umber.” Ned leaned forward across the table. “When it comes, it will come for us all, wildling or not. My house’s words are a warning not to become divided by petty squabbles when greater dangers threaten us all.“

 

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” Greatjon recited. He sighed heavily and tightened his jaw. “It’s only your infallible honor that convinces me to cooperate with your insane plan against my better judgement.”

 

The Lord of Last Hearth sized up his king. “Tell me, what do you require of me?” He arched an eyebrow. “More importantly, why exactly should I care?”

 

Ned Stark stared down the Umber. “I have personally ventured beyond the Wall, my lord. I know without a shred of doubt what all the Seven Kingdoms will face when it falls.”

 

“What do you mean ‘when,’ my King?”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t have me with you to corroborate what you told Greatjon, brother,” remarked Benjen. “As First Ranger, I could’ve lent more credibility to such wild claims about the dead coming for us all.”

 

Ned Stark chuckled. “You know Lord Umber, brother. He’s always been skeptical about the Night’s Watch’s reports of anything supernatural occurring beyond the Wall. Says it’s all just hallucinations and fantasies from men who can’t tough out the cold like we can.”

 

“Well, at least he agreed to keep his mouth shut about how you’re settling the wildlings in the Gift. From how you described his reaction, he treated it like betrothing a daughter to a suitor with your eyes closed.”

 

Benjen laughed heartily at his somewhat weak joke to which Ned cracked a small smile.

 

“It’s crucial that he did, Benjen. The Umbers are usually the first to experience wildling raids and they harbor the greatest hate for the Free Folk. Yet, their proximity to the Gift necessitates them at least keeping the peace with them, or else violence will inevitably spread across the entire North. That is even more of a certainty if the other lords hear of what I did.”

 

The two Stark brothers rode on in silent contemplation of the wars to come. Each day passed meant another day closer to the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya the Fierce in Jon and Daenerys Targaryen. Ned was excited to see his nephew again and meet his gooddaughter for the first time in any of his lives. He was even more keen on getting to meet Jon’s son. He remembered how Jon lost his first son, Rhaegar, in his past life, when the child was only a babe. Not this time. Jon would finally have the happiness and family that Lyanna would’ve wanted for her only child.

 

Ned and Benjen crested over another hill on the Kingsroad, and the great stone castle of Winterfell came into view on their right.

 

“Well, brother,” said Benjen as his horse shifted slightly. “I guess this is our parting of ways.” He reached his hand out to the elder Stark and firmly shook his hand. “It was truly an honor to have the King in the North aid the Night’s Watch himself.”

 

“Aye, Ben,” replied Ned. “Thank you for accompanying me on my expedition.” He then looked back over his shoulder. “I hope that Jory can keep a hold on Theon’s proclivities in my absence. I specifically told the Greyjoy he was staying to help oversee the settlement of the Free Folk, not sconder off to have his fun with Ygritte.”

 

“Your captain of the household guard is more than capable of keeping your ward’s breeches up and tied tight. At least until I can come by to check on their progress.”

 

Benjen pulled on his reins and turned his mount around. “Farewell, your Grace. I’ll inform Jeor and Aemon on a successful mission when I return to Castle Black.”

 

Ned watched his brother gallop off back north to the Wall that guarded the realms of men.

 

Stay safe, brother. For Lyanna’s sake.

 


 

“Open the gates for his Grace, the King in the North!” called out the guards on the battlements with pomp and ceremony.

 

As the great steel-and-wood door was painstakingly raised off the ground, Ned Stark rode underneath into Winterfell’s main courtyard, whereupon a stableboy ran up to help him. “Your Grace, welcome back to Winterfell,” the boy said as the king dismounted from his horse. “My thanks, lad.” Ned smiled back at the young man, who took the reins from him and led the horse to the stables.

 

“Father!” Ned turned around to see Arya barrel toward him and into his arms. The little she-wolf embraced him tightly as her older sister walked up behind her, shaking her head and smiling at her enthusiastic greeting. 

 

“Father, you’re home.” Sansa was more prim in her greeting, but her hug was no less tight. “I trust that your excursion beyond the Wall went well?” Sansa asked.

 

“Aye, Sansa. All went as planned.” Ned said as he ruffled Arya’s hair. “Where’s Rickon?” He noticed that his youngest son hadn’t shown up to welcome him home. “Rickon’s feeding our direwolves with Ser Rodrik. He needs help when giving them raw meat so his fingers aren’t accidentally chewed off,” Sansa said, waving her hand back toward the kennels.

 

“Where’s Benjen and the rest of the men that went with you, Poppa?” Arya asked, her grey eyes wide and inquisitive. Ned sighed and looked her in the eye. “Two were killed by wildlings in a mistaken fight. Three others were struck down by the dead.” He watched the stunned expressions on her and Sansa as they registered what he just told them.

 

He smiled to reassure them. “Theon, Jory, and Benjen made it back. My brother is returning to Castle Black to give his report to the Lord Commander. Theon and Jory are helping to oversee the Free Folk settling in the Gift.”

 

Ned’s daughters sighed in relief at their ‘brother’ and uncle’s survival. “Well, Father, we need to be getting back to our Water Dancing lessons with Master Syrio.” Arya disengaged from him and pulled on Sansa’s hand. “Come on, Syrio’s probably in the kitchen helping himself to another lemon cake.” Her sister tsked-tsked. “Not on my watch!” Both girls began heading inside the imposing keep of the castle.

 

Arya turned as if forgetting something. “Father, cousin Robyn is here! Aunt Lysa sent him here for fostering with us!” Ned’s face broke out in a wide grin. He’d only ever heard of his wife’s nephew and was excited to hear that he’d finally see him in person.

 

As his daughters ran inside, it was only then that Ned realized Catelyn hadn’t come out to greet him as usual… 

 


 

“Your Grace, I am glad to see you have returned home safely,” greeted Tyrion as his King walked into Winterfell’s Great Hall. The Imp smiled generously as Ned took a seat across the table from him. “Would you care for some ale? I once heard it helps to ward off the chill of this frozen climate.” He slid a tankard of ale over the tabletop to Ned, who accepted it gratefully.

 

After taking a long swallow of the malty tasting liquor, he laid the half-empty tankard on the table. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion. I trust that your journey back here was uneventful as well?”

 

“Yes, indeed it was.” Tyrion took another noisy gulp of ale before continuing their conversation. “Was your excursion to save the wildlings from the White Walkers successful? If so, I surely hope that you’ve worked out some arrangement with the Northern lords for peaceful accommodation of wildling settlement behind the Wall.”

 

“The Free Folk will be settled in the Gift, Lord Hand. As for ‘peaceful accommodation,’ I got Lord Umber to agree to the wildling resettlement so long as they refrain from raiding his lands.” Ned rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I also managed to get him to not tell any of the other lords about what I pulled off in order to forestall any unwanted hostilities.”

 

“Excellent idea, your Grace,” Tyrion remarked. “By the way, your daughters said that you, Benjen, Theon, and Jory were the only survivors of your expedition. I’m sorry for those who failed to make it back.” His brow furrowed. “Where are the other survivors, if I may ask?”

 

“My brother is heading back to Castle Black to give his report to Jeor and Maester Aemon. Theon and Jory are overseeing the wildlings moving onto the Gift,” Ned responded.

 

“Well, that worked out rather nicely… Your Grace, Yohn Royce recently arrived with young Robyn Arryn for the boy’s fostering with your family.”

 

“I know, Lord Tyrion. Arya shouted that to me as she ran inside after greeting me.” Ned and Tyrion shared a laugh over the Wild Wolf’s brash personality. Tyrion’s face then turned serious. “Your Grace, there is also another guest that came here in the last moon. An unexpected guest that would probably be better described as my guest rather than yours.”

 

That grabbed Ned Stark’s attention. “Who is this guest of yours, Tyrion?” He folded his hands together expectantly and waited. Tyrion fidgeted in his seat and grasped his tankard with both hands. “My niece, Myrcella, your Grace.” He cleared his throat with a rough hacking cough. “Pardon me… Robert discovered that his children were my sister and brother’s bastards. He ordered Tommen and Myrcella killed.” Tyrion blinked hard and wiped a tear that slid down his left eye. “Varys was unable to save Tommen but he managed to send Myrcella here to Winterfell.”

 

Ned’s temper rose and his fists clenched until the knuckles turned white. His once best friend stooped so low as to actually go through with killing innocent children, blameless for the sins of their parents. For years, he had condemned Robert’s condoning of the deaths of Aegon and Rhaenys. Now, it seemed that nothing would make him see sense in quenching his thirst for vengeance in the blood of anyone completely undeserving of punishment.

 

Offering his sincerest of condolences, Ned comforted the grieving Lannister. “I am truly sorry for your loss, Tyrion, and the death of your nephew. I only knew him briefly, but I could tell he deserved nothing less than peace and joy.”

 

“Thank you, your Grace,” Tyrion said, wiping his tears away. “Oh, your wife said that to address my niece as ‘Marcy’ when in the presence of anyone not you, her, or your children. Just to prevent her true identity from finding its way back to Robert.”

 

“Marcy, eh?” Ned chuckled. “That’s easy to remember.”

 

Tyrion smiled wanly and sipped his ale. “On a less gloomy note, your Grace. Her Grace, Catelyn, received ravens from the Martells and Tyrells informing of their now traveling north. They should be here within two moonturns.”

 

Ned nodded in understanding. Everything is going as Jon planned. With the marriage alliances with Dorne and the Reach sealed, it will be easier to dethrone Robert more quickly and with less bloodshed. Then a thought resurfaced from the back of his mind. “Tyrion, where is Catelyn? I was expecting her to greet me when I arrived.”

 

The Hand of the King in the North hastily chugged down the rest of his ale and put the tankard down. His face was grim. “I think it would be best to tell you about that in your study, your Grace.”

 


 

Closing the door securely behind him, Ned made sure the lock was tight before following Tyrion over to his desk and sitting down in a chair across from him.

 

Steepling his fingers, Ned waited for his Hand to divulge the whereabouts of his wife, who he had not seen in almost a year.

 

“Your Grace, Queen Catelyn departed for Riverrun with her brother Edmure, a sennight ago,” Tyrion said. He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. His face had turned an even grimmer shade of grey. “Robert discovered your ‘alleged’ alliance with the Tagaryens and is preparing for war. Catelyn and I both suspect that he intends to invade the North and resubjugate it under the Iron Throne.”

 

Ned’s face drained of color. This was not according to plan. He was to reveal his support for the Targaryens after Jon and Daenerys returned from Essos. Now that Robert knew… well with the fury his old friend had slain Rhaegar, Robert would have few compunctions doing the same to him. Even more serious was that Robert would have zero hesitation with killing Daenerys and her innocent babe, and Jon, regardless if he learned the truth behind Lyanna’s ‘abduction.’

 

Trying to quiet his thoughts and pushing aside the frightening images of Jon’s family’s gruesome deaths, he listened as Tyrion continued onward.

 

“Your wife believed that she was obliged to inform her father in person about the impending invasion of his lands by Robert’s forces. Edmure, even more so, considering that Varys advised you not to call your banners to defend your goodfather.”

 

Ned relaxed slightly. The plump eunuch’s reputation as a spymaster was infamous around the Narrow Sea. He was immensely relieved that Varys had defected to the Targaryen cause. But his relief evaporated when Tyrion concluded with Tywin Lannister’s reconstituting of the Faith Militant. He slumped back in his chair, trying to process all that engulfed the Seven Kingdoms in his time beyond the Wall.

 

“I understand your feelings of overburden, your Grace.” Tyrion looked sympathetically on his king’s face, whirling full of emotions. He cracked an impish grin. “If it makes you feel better, I often feel the same way after guzzling a barrelful of Dornish red.” Both men laughed at his jest, humor alleviating the stress that Ned felt.

 

Finally the two stopped to catch their breath. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion. That did help.” Ned’s expression then turned forlorn. “Cat… I was hoping to see her again.” He sighed. “Now that Robert knows of what I plotted behind his back, I have to prepare my men for war. It doesn’t look like I’ll be able to wait for or go after my wife.”

 

“That is correct, your Grace. You will likely be nabbed by some lord looking to curry favor with Robert if you go south of the Neck. I fear that your wife may be as well, but since she’s Hoster Tully’s daughter, that might spare her any trouble, so long as she stays within the Riverlands.”

 

“I pray to the Old Gods that you’re right, Lord Hand. I don’t know if I could bear losing another of my family.”

 

Tyrion scowled at the floor. “Knowing my father, that’s exactly what he’ll do to defeat his rivals. Now that he knows you’re a Targaryen loyalist, that puts you up there with the Reynes of Castamere.”

 

Ned stood up and rubbed his eyes. “I believe I have heard enough for today. Thank you, Lord Tyrion for updating me on the goings of Westeros in my absence.”

 

Tyrion nodded in assent. “You're most welcome, your Grace. Shall we confer again tomorrow to hash out our next moves in the game of thrones?”

 

“Of course, Lord Hand.” Both men walked over to the door of the study. Ned was looking forward to a hot, steaming bath and a piping hot meal. As Tyrion went to open the door, Ned remembered something he’d planned to tell Tyrion upon his loyalty proven.

 

“Tyrion!” He said. The Dwarf of Casterly Rock had served House Stark faithfully to warrant letting him in on its most closely-guarded secret. The Imp turned where he was as the King in the North knelt down to him.

 

“There’s something important that I have to tell you. I needed to be absolutely sure of your loyalty to my house before informing you.” Ned opened his mouth to speak before Tyrion cut him off.

 

“Your natural son, Jon. He’s the scion of the Last Dragon, is he not?” Tyrion said with a snark.

 

Ned’s jaw dropped. “How? How did you…”

 

Tyrion grinned. “Deductive reasoning… and some corroboration from Maester Aemon.” He bowed his head. “Don’t worry my King, your secret is safe with me.” He turned back to the door and let himself out.

 

As the door clicked shut behind him, Ned shook his head in disbelief. Jon was right when he said that one would be hard-pressed to find a more clever Hand than Tyrion Lannister.

 

Samwell Tarly

 

Forking over two silver stags to the vendor, Sam took the scooped out trencher of bread containing the delicacy within. His companion wrinkled her nose at what for her was a strange dish. For Sam, however, the wafting aroma only caused him to sigh, smiling wide. “I never thought I’d taste these again. My favorite thing to eat growing up.”

 

Sarella Sand blinked her honey-brown eyes, peering at the food. “What is it?”

 

Popping one in his mouth, Sam moaned at the delicious taste. “You don’t have this in Dorne? I would think it’s a perfect place to grow olives.”

 

“Oh we have olives there, just not anything like that.”

 

“It’s a specialty in the Reach, especially in the area around my home where the olive trees grow. Probably these things were about half of…” Sam jostled his shrinking but still ample girth, causing Sarella to giggle softly. “Fried olives, stuffed with meat and spices. Usually pork… try it, you’ll love it.”

 

The female acolyte of the Citadel hesitantly reached out to take one of the steaming fried pebbles with her fingers. Observing it for a bit before shrugging and popping it in her mouth. Chewing for a split second, suddenly she almost purred from the back of her throat. “Gods be good, that does taste amazing.”

 

Too distracted by the feminine sounds coming from the caramel-skinned Dornishwoman, Sam didn’t notice that Sarella had taken the trencher until it was out of his hands. “Hey…”

 

“Mine now, Tarly,” she teased, grinning as she downed two more in quick succession. “I’ll share it with you.” Unable to truly be angry at his new friend, Sam chuckled and took for himself another of the treats.

 

It had been several moons since Sam had ‘met’ Sarella while searching for texts on the Long Night and Valyrian prophecies. She had been shadowing him and was only discovered due to an inconvenient trip over a loose tile within the library. Revealing her… feminine features that she tried to hide. The blush that adorned the comparatively light Summer Islander skin was still in Sam’s mind, making it impossible to truly be mad at her. Since, the two became fast friends, one the Tarly boy’s two if he included Archmaester Marwyn. Helping him sneak into the restricted section, sharing meals in the communal hall, staying up late in the night discussing everything from botany to prophecy…

 

Sarella had admitted to him that ‘Alleras’ was just her cover for studying at the Citadel. The Conclave forbid women from joining, but she had dreamed of learning from Westeros’ greatest library of knowledge since her tenth nameday. Sam sympathized with her completely. He himself wanted to become a maester, but his father wouldn’t allow it - calling the role ‘too soft’ for a Tarly. Well, his father and the Conclave could shove it up their arses!

 

As they strolled along the streets of Oldtown for some time away from the stuffy Citadel, Sam glanced over at Sarella. Eating her stuffed olives and enjoying the beautiful day in the market district close to the Starry Sept. He knew he was slowly falling for the beautiful Dornish lady, but who was he kidding? She probably only thinks of me as a friend. Regardless of what Jon told him, his father was right on this. Who would ever fancy a pig like me?

 

Suddenly, Sarella stilled. “Did you hear that?” she asked, gaze following a large group of people that were racing towards the massive bulk of the Starry Sept…

 

Several were running away from it too - nothing too panicked but Same could see the fear in their eyes. “Hey,” he asked one man. From the pattern of leather armor, he was clearly a northerner. “What’s going on?”

 

“New High Septon,” the man grumbled. Eyes then looking over Sarella in a way that made Sam uncomfortable. “Better take your girl and get the hell out. It’s gonna be bad.” Without another word he turned tail and kept jogging away. Joining the exodus of… come to think of it, all either northern types, red-clad R'hllor worshippers - they were easy to spot - and darker skinned travellers from Essos.

 

“Maybe we should go…” 

 

But Sarella wasn’t the daughter of Oberyn Martell for nothing. “Come on!” She raced for the main square of Oldtown as fast as she could in her acolyte robes. Sam booked after her, but she was far swifter. “Stop being a slowpoke, Sammy!” 

 

Only Sarella ever called him Sammy, and Sam liked it on her tongue - but now he was in no mood. “Wait… not safe…”

 

“Don’t be a babe. I wanna see what this is.” Only several moments later did they emerge into a mass of thousands of people. All gathered in the massive open space that graced the north entrance to the Starry Sept - the holiest place in the Faith of the Seven. Men, women, and children of all ages and occupations. Some curious laborers simply looking for a show while others were clearly highly devout zealots mumbling incantations to the Maiden and Warrior. Sam could feel the tension slowly building in the crowd, and by how she took his hand in hers Sarella felt it too.

 

A seemingly nondescript voice came from the head of the crowd - ordinary, but with a subtle charisma to boom across the courtyard to everyone watching. “My friends! Fellow believers, rejoice on this day!” Sam’s gaze fell upon the entrance to the Starry Sept, dais packed with people. Robed men and drably-dressed women with hard mouths and quiet faces, the Most Devout and the Silent Sisters, gathered to preach to the faithful. 

 

“Where is the High Septon?” Sarella whispered. Sure enough, the fat, uptight old grouch wasn’t there, even though the Citadel had received word that he had arrived from the capitol to take part in a conclave of the Most Devout.

 

Instead, the older man with a bald head and tattered robes of a country Septon stood at the head of the assemblage. Speaking to the crowd with a remarkable charisma. “I think that’s the new High Septon,” Sam replies back.

 

“But the Faith hasn’t booted out a living one since Aenys the Weak’s reign.” While Sarella hadn’t figured out the implications of her statement yet, ice coursed through Sam’s veins as it dawned on him.

 

Seemingly frail, the new High Septon was anything but. “They called me the Sparrow… a name of endearment and love, though with my past life of sin still scarring me I cannot see this path as anything but my duty. And so, I and my flock spread the word of the Seven Pointed Star across our great land. Across the Six Kingdoms that know the nurturing bosom of the Mother, bringing sustenance and charity to those that needed to discover grace in the physical realm.” Sam hadn’t ever heard of such, but the Reach was the most devout of all the Kingdoms. The Faith didn’t need to send missionaries. “I was content in this life of peace and atonement.”

 

“But now the time for peace has ended!” His voice thundered across the crowd, stilling all conversation. A dark and ominous tension, causing Sarella to squeeze Sam’s hand tighter. “Our Faith is under siege. Close to destruction at the hands of sinners and heretics. In this time, we must unite!”

 

Suddenly, the doors to the Starry Sept opened for a large group of men to march out. First a mass of simple smallfolk, clearly no different from the others in the crowd aside from the assorted weapons they carried and the red star of the Seven emblazoned on their shirts. Sam blinked. Poor Fellows? After nearly a hundred assembled along the steps did a new group emerge - one causing Sam to pale. Two dozen fully armored knights, plated with a gleaming silver steel and cloaked in a rainbow of dyed colors. Shields bore the same rainbow in the shape of a sword while their blades carried a crystal pommel.

 

“Those are Warrior’s Sons,” said Sarella, trembling. 

 

Involuntary, Sam took a step back, joined by Sarella. Warrior’s Sons and Poor Fellows… “The Faith Militant…” Gods, this could end only poorly.

 

The new High Septon, the lines of Poor Fellows in front and Warrior’s Sons behind only enhancing his majesty - or perhaps terror would be more apt - threw his hands to the sky. “Oh Father, oh Mother, we sinners beseech you for forgiveness for our many sins. For allowing vice and heresy to run rampant. For our indulgence in every form of lust and gluttony.” His hands fell to the rim of hair that ringed his bald scalp, tearing at it with lamentation. “Our glorious land is tearing itself apart. In the North, the land of tree-worshiping heretics plot war and death as they rejected the will of our great King.” Hundreds gasped, the ‘Sparrow’ swaying even the skeptical to his side. “Robert of House Baratheon, ordained by the Seven to carry out their will, they reject his will and thus reject the will of the Gods themselves!” 

 

The crowd screamed their hate, bellowing the most vile of insults. Some began to collapse to the ground, making seven pointed stars with their fingers on their chests and acting out their lamentation in pure religious fervor. Sam just stood there, trembling. Eddard Stark… Jon… oh no.

 

“And now, my children, the demons themselves gather in Essos. The Targaryen dragonriders, returned from the seven hells from which they condemned themselves, they return at the head of a godless horde of Dothraki monsters and dark-skinned savages for which to plunge our land of peace and plenty into a world where the only honor is atrocity and flame!” The High Septon’s words were electrifying, as if he held a mystical hold over the crowd. Screams of fear and apology were turning into snarls and sneers of absolute vitriol. Many calling for the heads of the Targaryens on a spike - Oldtown had never been truly supportive of any Targaryen since the death of Aegon II during the Dance of the Dragons, but this was something else entirely. “We must stand united under the Faith. Stand with the Seven and be their champions! Follow Grand Captain Theodan the True, follow him into the glorious Holy War to vanquish the heretic and sinner for a new dawn of the glorious promised land underneath our very feet.”

 

Stepping up alongside the High Sparrow was a tall man. Well built and handsome with a thin beard and close-cropped brown hair. Ser Theodan Wells, who Sam knew as a northman who had converted to the Faith, losing his inheritance as a result. As such, he was as zealous as they came and had been seen at the Citadel practically screaming at them to finish Baelor the Blessed’s work and destroy the “books promoting vice and sin.” And now he commanded a host of armed men. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam whispered to Sarella, beginning to pull her away.

 

“Citizens!” thundered Theodan. “Today begins our campaign against the foreign scum and tree and fire-worshipping heretics. The whores, buggerers, and dark-skinned savages that pollute our fair land!” 

 

Sarella’s eyes widened in terror - her having inherited her mother’s skin. Lighter than most Summer Islanders, but darker than anyone in the crowd. Angry eyes already finding her, Sam pulled her into a light jog. 

 

Theodan’s voice still pierced the air, a shrill cry to arms. “Clear out the city! Clear it out of sin! Clear it out! Clear it out! CLEAR IT OUT!” 

 

Turning the corner onto one of Oldtown’s great avenues, Sam and Sarella broke out into a headlong run.

 

Behind, the crowd boomed. “HUUUUUUUURRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

 

It was as if in an instant, the peaceful city of Oldtown - two thirds the population of King’s Landing and one of the commercial anchors of Westeros itself - had descended into a nightmare. Led by the dazzling demons of the Warrior’s Sons, riding on horseback and waving their swords in the air, the Poor Fellows and enraged smallfolk thundered through the city. Most civilians were spared since they were fellow devout followers of the Seven, but any obvious heretic or foreigner received a beating at best. 

 

Sam and Sarella hid in empty houses and abandoned shops. Underneath an upturned street cart in one instance. They saw countless atrocities. Brothels cleared and whores raped in the streets. Known buggerers and money changers hung from windows and lampposts. Followers of the Red God or the Old Gods beheaded by the cheering rioters. But the greatest of the ire were the obvious foreigners. Those from the Free Cities, Slaver’s Bay, and especially the “heathens” of the Summer Islands or Naath. Oldtown had plenty due to being a commercial hub, and those that did not flee outright were dismembered, blood eagled, or sometimes burned alive. News of the taking of the Unsullied - all largely dark-skinned stolen slaves from those lands - had reached Oldtown days before and association with the Targaryens made them targets. Sam held a shaking Sarella close covering her ears as the screams echoed from each butchered soul.

 

Crawling into a gutted out storefront, Sam saw the spire of the Citadel close by. “We’re almost there, hurry…” A heavy object slammed into Sam’s back. 

 

“Consorting with a dragonspawn following-savage?!” snarled the attacker. A massive Warrior’s Son, removing his helm and revealing a perfect blonde visage to the fat maester’s acolyte. “Stay down, fat arse! Maybe then I’ll let you live.” Eyes found Sarella trying to dash to Sam and he slapped her hard across the face, mailed fist cutting into her cheek. “You’re pretty for a heathen. Maybe putting the word of the Gods into you would save your soul.” From his lecherous grin, it was obvious what he meant. 

 

Pushing back until she was seated against the wall, Sarella was frantic. “Please… my father is Prince Oberyn Martell…”

 

“Dornish, eh?” He was not deterred, rainbow cloak billowing behind him like a shroud. “They say they fuck the best.” Moving to untie his codpiece, there was no stopping the Warrior’s Son.

 

“Please don’t!” 

 

“It’s easier if you don’t struggle.”

 

Pain nearly doubling him over in dry heaves, Sam saw Sarella’s terrified eyes and suddenly he was seeing red. Finding an unused paring knife mixed with shattered wood and glass on the floor - by some miracle - the portly acolyte scrambled up and charged the holy knight with a fury he had never once shown. Thrusting the knife right above the lip of his breastplate, catching the knight in the side of the neck. It was sloppy, but the knife sheared through bright red arterial blood so it didn’t really matter. The knight swiveled around, throat gurgling with blood as he tried to close the wound… but no avail. He slumped to the ground seconds later, dead.

 

Breathing heavily, lungs and heart hurting from the weight of it all, Sam sheathed the knife in his belt. Huh, so something father taught me did stick… His eyes found Sarella, still backed against the wall, eyes wide with shock and… wonder? “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he told her.

 

“You killed him…” Sarella trembled, seemingly barely able to comprehend what happened. In the distance, flames roared as screams filled the air. Laughter booming along with the screams. “You saved me…” 

 

Without hesitation, Sam yanked her up by her hand. “WE HAVE TO GO!” As shadows of armed rioters flickered against the walls of the many buildings across the street, Sam slammed his build into the back door, shattering the flimsy wood into a winding alley. “This way!” Racing faster than he had ever before, he hauled the Dornish noblewoman away from the chaos, fire, and death unleashed by the Faith Militant and High Septon.

 

Hours later, they were safe in the Citadel. Passing through the line of Hightower guards that strung across the entrance causeway blocking the Faith Militant from entering - not that they tried - by Archmaester Marwyn, supervising the men. Sam waited in his room, sporting a small window overlooking the city. The fires only grew, homes and businesses of all that failed the purity test of the Warrior’s Sons and Poor Fellows immolating along with their owners. In the harbor, several trade ships flying the foreign colors of Lys or the Summer Islands, both ‘immoral dens of godlessness,’ burned as well. Gods, it’s all falling apart. This wasn’t spontaneous, Sam knew. Someone planned this to happen.

 

The door opened behind him and Sarella entered, clad in a thick sleep dress - quite unacceptable to Dornish fashions but needed in the Citadel. He immediately rose. “Are you alright…?”

 

She cut him off. “I’m fine…” The female acolyte bit her lip. “Thanks to you.”

 

“It was nothing…” 

 

She cut him off yet again, launching into a tight embrace. Kissing his lips before squeezing him close. “Thank you, Sam.” Tears started falling from her cheeks. “Thank you…”

 

Sam could do nothing else but return the embrace. Disbelieving of what had just happened.

 

Brandon Stark

 

Bran Stark pressed his hand to the carved face, a bleeding red laugh, on the weirwood bark of Greywater Watch’s heart tree. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, trying to relax his body and assume a meditative state. Many times he had done this since beginning his training in greensight, and each time still felt like his first.

 

“Breathe,” encouraged Jojen, who was standing beside him. “Let your mind empty of all thoughts, all distractions, and just feel the world move around you.” The son of the enigmatic Howland Reed was even more of a mystery to young Brandon, even after almost a year with him. Jojen was as immersed in the supernatural as his sister Meera was in the natural when hunting in the swamps. 

 

Bran blushed inwardly. Despite her being close to Robb’s age, he couldn’t help but feel attracted toward her. A little too much sometimes, especially when he felt his erection stick out under his breeches. Jojen had informed him of the requested betrothal between him and her. Apparently, she would be critical to his survival when the Long Night returned, so all the better to seal the defense with marriage. He didn’t mind the circumstances of said marriage. In fact, he might have asked that of his father himself in a few years time.

 

Steadying his breath into a cycle of deep inhales and exhales, he returned his focus to opening his greensight to whatever new visions might come forth that day. He suddenly felt a cold breeze that swept over him and a blinding flash of light shone in his eyes. Opening them, he found himself in a dark cave. Looking around as his sight adjusted, he gasped at what he saw in front of him.

 

Sitting at the base of a weirwood tree, was an ashen, skeletal man with one eye missing from his skull. The tree roots appeared to have grown into him and pinned him to where he was in the dirt floor of the subterranean cave. The man peered at him with his remaining eye and raised his hands in greeting.

 

“Brandon Stark. We meet again.”

 

“Meet again?” Bran asked. “Who are you?”

 

“I was once known as Brynden Rivers, young Stark,” the ancient man replied. “But you knew me as the Three-Eyed Raven, in our past lives.”

 

“Of course!” Bran exclaimed. “You do look familiar.” His face dropped in apprehension. “Will I have to go beyond the Wall to train with you like last time?”

 

“No, Brandon,” the Three-Eyed Raven replied. “The Ice King knows of me and my role in the wars to come. You coming north is what he anticipates, so he lies in wait. I will train you to the best of my ability through our shared greensight. When the Ice King realizes he will not be able to trap you, only then will he seek me out and kill me.”

 

“But you’ll die if left where you are!” Bran protested. “It’s… it’s too harsh…”

 

“Only death can pay for life,” Brynden responded gently. “Mine will not be in vain. The spirit of the Three-Eyed Raven will pass to you upon my passing. Through the spirit’s preservation, all life in this world stands a chance at surviving the enemy that knows as much as the Lightbringers do.”

 

Bran looked at him pleadingly, clearly not willing to abandon the last of Aegon the Unworthy’s Great Bastards to perish in the wastes of the Lands of Always Winter.

 

“Bran,” Brynden said. “You are a gentle soul - insane fantasies notwithstanding.” Bran snorted at the memory of that delusion of ‘Mad Queen Daenerys.’ Only idiots would imagine that to be reality. “I am touched that a noble like you would care for a bastard like me, who should never have existed to begin with.” He chuckled dryly at his self-degradation. His expression turned serious. “Your past self told your family. There will be no third chance if we fail to bring the Dawn this life. Night will fall over us and never again will morning come.”

 

“I understand,” Bran said. He stood up a little straighter. “I won’t let you down.”

 

The Three-Eyed Raven gave a thin smile, then grimaced. “Bran… Bran! Leave! Now!”

 

“What?!” Bran asked, confused at the wizened greenseer’s sudden panic. He then felt a tremendous pain in the back of his head, as if an axe had been buried in his skull. A violent tug was felt on the scruff of his neck and he was pulled backward out of the Three-Eyed Raven’s cave into the swirling snow storm outside.

 

Bran landed with a thump and groaned loudly. He groggedly dragged himself onto his knees, snow falling off his hair. Raising his head, he found himself on a bare white field with no trees or vegetation anywhere in sight. Then in the distance, he spotted a shadow moving toward him. Vaguely humanoid. As it drew nearer, he could spot a crown of ice atop its head.

 

The Ice King.

 

Ice congealed in Bran’s stomach and he scrambled backward to get away. But every movement just seemed to move him toward the apparition that was almost upon him. The blizzard swirling around him seemed to pin him to the ground and ice froze around his legs, making escape even more far-fetched.

 

The figure in front of him stopped. It reached out a clawed fingertip and put it under Bran’s chin, forcing him to look up. He gasped in horror at what stared into his eyes.

 

The Ice King was a perfect storm, an unholy blend of the Night King and the ill-fated Jon of Daenerys’ past life. He resembled the former down to the last detail with the only hint of the latter being his face, which oddly enough, had a hint of kindness behind a sadistic sneer. The demonic entity’s skin was ice-blue and smooth as glass, but it was the eyes that shook Bran to the core. The Ice King’s eyes were a malevolent blue and colder than ice, yet at the same time, burned with a fire intense with rage, pain, and… sorrow?

 

“All hail the Ice King,” Bran said in monotone. “Long may he reign.” His eyes widened as he realized he didn’t mean to say what he just did. He gazed fearfully into the eyes of his doomed brother, who evidently had wormed into his mind.

 

The Ice King’s mouth contorted in a cruel smile. “Hello little brother. We meet again.”

 

Bran swallowed nervously at the Ice King’s voice - it was freezing with cruelty and sounded like rusted iron scraping across stone. The icy sharp fingertip still hadn’t left his throat, keeping his face level with the king of the White Walkers. The Ice King cocked his head to the side. “Something wrong, Bran? Not happy to finally see your brother again? If I recall, I just ran off to Pentos without saying goodbye to you.”

 

“You’re not my brother,” Bran said defiantly. “You’re not Jon. He would never become what you are. Not now, not ever.”

 

The Ice King chuckled in an almost gleeful tone. “But I am your brother and I am here, not the fool who abandoned his family to stick his cock in the woman he got killed.” He looked at Bran mournfully. “How can you stand by a man who claims to love you yet can’t protect his loved ones?”

 

Bran stared back. “Everything my brother is doing or has done, has been for the good of those he’s sworn to protect. That includes even himself, considering what you intend for Westeros.”

 

The Ice King looked in mock horror. “Is that so? Tell me, Bran. What is it that I intend for the Seven Kingdoms?”

 

“To exterminate all life and swell the Army of the Dead. To bring a never-ending sleep upon the world from which it would never wake up.”

 

“Valar morghulis, Brandon Stark,” the Ice King said simply. “All men must die. That is the rule of the gods, and I am their instrument.”

 

“Yes, all men must die! I understand that!” Bran exclaimed. “But do you have to force it upon everyone instead of letting them live out their lives in peace?”

 

“Valar dohaeris, Brandon Stark,” the Ice King repeated in the same matter-of-fact tone. “All men must serve. Why do you think that is the response to ‘Valar morghulis?’ Because death is the greatest service one can give to end humanity’s suffering.”

 

The White Walker stood over Bran, dropping his fingertip from the boy’s neck. Bran breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the loss of contact. The Walker then started walking in circles around him, as if he were a maester giving a lecture.

 

“That is the truth I realized when I attempted to slay the Night King. The war had stretched into its third year and the situation was desperate. Cersei Lannister’s refusal to aid us had stretched our forces to the breaking point. So many men we lost. I lost you and Arya. I lost a dragon. I became desperate to win, so I set it upon myself to face the Night King without bringing forth the Lightbringers.”

 

He looked down at Bran, still frozen to the ground. “You saw how that turned out for me.”

 

Turning his head to gaze out through the blizzard, he continued. “Upon becoming the creature I am, I was horrified at first. I wanted to die. But the more I thought about it. The more I contemplated my new circumstances, I knew what befell me was not a curse, but a blessing.”

 

The Ice King paused and gave Bran, who was still frozen to the ground, a pitiful expression. “All the pain and suffering that I had endured. All the pain and suffering that I fought to prevent befalling those I held dear, I failed to stop. My fate as the very demon I stood against was punishment for defying the natural and inevitable - death.”

 

He knelt down again next to the young greenseer. “The return of the Long Night signaled not an end, but a beginning. After all, new growth can not exist without first the destruction of the old. Yes, life would become extinct, but only to give way to a world better than the shit one we always knew. A world where all of humanity’s sins are extinguished… forever.”

 

Bran stared back in utter disbelief. “You are talking an apocalypse here! How can you? You yourself flew off to destroy the Night King for good. You risked everything to save the world. Now, you’re throwing it all away?!”

 

The Ice King waved his hand dismissively. “The Night King was pathetic. Nothing more than a frozen figurehead. Oh, he looked invincible when hiding behind his army, but once isolated, I ran him through in the blink of an eye.”

 

“Upon becoming who I am, I discovered he was just some random First Man driven out of revenge to destroy the world for his misfortune.” He snorted in derision. “As if he was the first person to suffer the consequences of dark magic. He was never worthy of the glorious mantle that was bestowed upon him, instead abusing it for his petty spite.”

 

The Ice King looked Bran, dead in the face. “You will soon realize, Bran. I am not your enemy, I am your salvation. Out of my love for all life, I bring the gift of death to break you free from the chains of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.”

 

“Daenerys will never stand for it!” Bran yelled defiantly. “This is not what you won her love with. She loved you for something far greater. Something you’ve clearly forgotten.”

 

A frozen fist slammed into his cheek, sending Bran sprawling across the snow-laden soil. The Ice King towered over him, any pretense of friendliness gone. “Watch your tongue, Brandon Stark,” the ice demon warned. “This is only a vision, yet I can end your miserable existence if I so desire.” He planted his foot on Bran’s stomach and pushed down. “My dragon will return to me, one way or another. If I have to turn her into what I am, I will do it without hesitation.”

 

“Jon will ensure you die before that happens,” Bran wheezed weakly, the icy boot painful against his gut.

 

The Ice King reached down and grabbed him by the neck, like a plucked chicken, and wrenched him off the ground. There was a deafening crack as the ice around Bran’s legs shattered against the force of the white walker’s yanking tug. “For our family, Bran, death will pass over you. But do not stand in my way when the Wall comes down, or my mercy will be tested.”

 

Bran was dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. “Oh, and as a parting gift for my favorite little brother…” The Ice King grabbed Bran’s right arm and squeezed. Bran felt a searing pain on the flesh of his forearm, so cold it was hot. Upon his arm’s release, he saw the shape of a snarling wolf had been branded on the skin.

 

“Winter is coming,” the Ice King declared. He started to cackle, louder and louder until Bran’s head was spinning. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the noise… 

 

“Bran! Bran! Bran!” a voice was shouting, imploringly.

 

Bran’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, chest heaving. A pair of strong arms gently pulled him away from the heart tree and sat him down in the grass. He blinked, the sunlight harsh after the darkness of his vision. As he tried to calm his ragged breath, he noticed his hands were shaking uncontrollably.

 

“Here, drink this,” the voice said, handing him a flask. Looking to his right, he saw the pretty, yet hardened face of Meera Reed. She looked alarmed at his state. “You were stuck, literally, to the tree for an hour. Jojen went to father to get help.”

 

Bran took the flask with trembling hands and took a welcome swig. It was water, boiled fresh. The crannogmen boiled their water before using it in any way because of the dirtiness of swamp water. He swallowed hard and thought back to what he saw. I am not your enemy, I am your salvation… The Night King was pathetic… 

 

“Meera,” he said, voice hoarse. “I… saw… the Ice King. My brother from Daenerys’s past life.”

 

Her eyes bugged outward. “Are you serious?” she breathed. “Did he hurt you?” her voice rising in concern.

 

“No,” Bran admitted. Feeling the cold on his right arm, he rolled up his sleeve. “But he did mark me.” 

 

Meera gasped in horror at the wolf branded onto his flesh. “We have to tell father immediately. If the Ice King can now track you, he’s closer than we expected to start his invasion.”

 

Winter is coming. Bran nodded listlessly as Meera helped him to his feet to go divulge his findings to Howland and Jojen.

 

Aerys Targaryen

 

“Are these all of them?” Hair pulled back in a messy bun - too impatient and irritated to expend any energy tending to it - Aerys, Third of His Name scowled as he looked over the gathered men before him. 

 

Connington nodded. “Aye, your Grace. The leaders of the finest sellsword companies in all of Essos.” He looked extra eager to please today. Good. Perhaps he won’t annoy me more than he does. Aerys wasn’t about to forgive his failure to bring back his wife and sister so easily. Girls were happy to throw themselves at him, but none could truly compare to having a dragon quiver around one’s cock. Even a half-dragon like his Alysanne. “I have spoken with all of them and with the right price, they will be glad to pledge their loyalty to you.”

 

“Hmmmm…” Standing upright from his chair, Aerys walked till he was only feet away from them. Turning so the distinctive twin dragon hilt of Blackfyre was visible to them all. “Rhaelyx, come.” At the mere command, a screech was heard as the large rust-colored dragon erupted into view. Landing on the balcony of the manse. It roared, already large enough to ride. Many of the sellswords were petrified, while some held up better than others. “See that? Hm, that’s a dragon. She likes to burn things, burn people. I like to feed people to her that try to betray me, so don’t ever become one of those people, are we clear?” Nods all around. “Connington, introduce me.”

 

Down the line, his Hand proclaimed their names, one by one. Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances, a balding man with a thin goatee who commanded eight hundred cataphracts. The ‘Tattered Prince’ of the Windblown, sad-eyed with grey white hair and a burly build who brought to bear two thousand assorted horse and infantry. Bloodbeard of the Company of the Cat, leader of three thousand soldiers, mounted and on foot, that clearly despised the Tattered Prince - the two were only on speaking terms apparently for the prospect of gold. Commanders that despise each other are less likely to revolt. Aerys wished his father would have thought of such things.

 

“Who’s this? You look like a northerner,” Aerys spat with contempt at a woman of all things.

 

“Alyssa Snow, Captain of the Company of the Rose.” She was raven-haired, slight and beautiful but clearly a handful. She carried herself like a warrior. “We have no desire to conspire with kneelers, Your Grace.” Northerners that refused to bend the knee to Aegon the Conqueror - Aerys admired the tenacity of their ancestors, but would keep an eye on them.

 

They came across a toned, trim bearded man with a cocky grin. “This is Daario Naharis, Captain of the Second Sons.”

 

Aerys raised a brow - immediately recognizing this man. Daenerys’ lover. He smirked. Oh, this is going to get interesting. “I thought the Second Sons were commanded by Brown Ben Plumm.”

 

“We had a disagreement,” Daario remarked, matching Aerys’ smirk. “He wished to continue selling his services to suppress slave revolts and banditry, then use the gold to fuck and drink his way into an early grave. I, on the other hand, like a bit of danger.” 

 

Cocky bastard. Aerys knew exactly how he took command of the Second Sons in the past life. “What happened to Plumm?”

 

“Whores… they aren’t always what they seem. Seems that one of them liked to kill and rob her clients.”

 

“Is that so?” Daario looked to know Aerys knew, and Aerys knew that Darrio knew as well. “I like you, Naharis. Be loyal and you’ll have your choice of the finest women in Westeros.”

 

Daario nodded. “Can’t make love to property, after all.”

 

If you seek out my twin, I’ll rip you apart piece by piece. The pretender continued on, finding another man that looked familiar, but whom he couldn’t place. “Who are you?”

 

“This is Ser Bronn of…”

 

“Just Ser Bronn,” the man replied, older and with sandy blonde hair and a crafty smile. “Haven’t found a place to call home yet.”

 

“He’s Captain of the Stormcrows, your Grace,” Connington finished.

 

Aerys pursed his lips. “Now, I know the captains of the Stormcrows, and you aren’t one of them. In fact, you look like you’re fresh off the boat from Westeros. How’d you come to lead a premier fighting outfit?”

 

Chuckling, Bronn held open his arms. “What can I say? It’s a boring story - not like this one…” he pointed to Daario. “His story’s at least got a whore in it.”

 

“Try me, I like most stories,” Aerys said.

 

“Well, it all started after I left Gulltown cause the Vale was boring. Found myself in Pentos when this dumb cunt started tearing apart the tavern I was in. I told him to go fuck off and he started swinging at me with a knife. Killed him easily, then killed off his entire bodyguard - dumb shits. Turns out they were the leaders of the Stormcrows. Bastards figured it was a leadership challenge by combat and offered me the job.” He grinned. “Who was I to pass up?”

 

Aerys only heard the location. “Pentos. You came from Pentos?”

 

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Aye, my men are still there. Why?” A twinkle flashed in his eye. “Want me to help ya’ get in? It’ll cost a castle.”

 

“Give me Pentos and you can take your pick.” Clearing his throat, Aerys looked at each of the captains. “What I can offer you is more than mere gold. Sure, you’ll get your gold, but pledge yourselves to me and you’ll be offered your choice of cities to rule, castles to call your own, lands to use, and highborn noblewomen to marry and fuck. I am going to take back my throne with fire and blood, and new nobility is what will be needed to replace the traitorous cunts I face.” He took out Blackfyre and held it high. “Who’s fucking with me?”

 

Several seconds passed in silence, but one by one, each of the sellsword captains eased themselves to their knees. Greed or bloodlust perked by the Targaryen pretender.

 

And just like that, Aerys had doubled his army. Time to begin my conquest.

Notes:

Longclaw: And the Faith Militant rises! Sam... he has another reason to be called Sam the Slayer.

After what I did with Ygritte and Theon, decided to try an unconventional paring for Sam as well. Randyll may find it a bit better than a wildling, but a "half-breed Dornish bastard" would still probably give him a stroke XD

Daario and Bronn show up, both under the command of Aerys. We'll see plenty of Bronn from here on out, and since there was no trial in the Eyrie he's gotta go where the money is ;)

The Ice King... the Ice King speaks for himself.

CastleColin: The pieces move again on the board, or the players that control them. You decide.

Enjoy and comment :D

Chapter 37: In the Shadows

Summary:

1) Arianne meets and marries her match.
2) Balon revives the Old Way.
3) Varys spins his web ever more.
4) Walder schemes his house’s rise.
5) Daenerys receives an anonymous visitor.

Notes:

More players throw their hats into the ring. Woe to those that fall short.

Be sure to check out Longclaw's new one shot, Something About Dragonstone :D

Enjoy and please Comment!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arianne Martell

 

“Princess!”

 

Nubile body emerging from beneath the surface of the pool, Arianne Martell didn’t see the enamored stares of a well hung smallfolk boy but rather the gruff face of Areo Hotah - her father’s personal guard. This is strange. Normally her quiet frolics in the Water Gardens just north of Sunspear were just that. Quiet. “Yes, Areo?” Hotah was a strong fighter, but spurned knighthood as many Dornish of non-Andal blood were wont to do.

 

He was far more chivalrous than many knights Arianne knew… knew quite intimately in fact. Can’t refuse a handsome, worthy man… or woman. “Your father requests your presence at his balcony.”

 

“May I ask why?”

 

“He’ll tell your when you meet him, Princess,” was the gruff answer. 

 

Sighing, Arianne swam to the edge of the pool and hauled herself out - water dripping from her olive skin onto the limestone tile that lined that part of the gardens. Walking unabashed to her robe resting on a bench several yards away, Arianne cared not who caught a glimpse of her naked body. I’m pretty proud of it, myself. While her late aunt Elia, according to those that knew her, was rather modest, the other women in her family were far worse in their immodesty. Finally donning her robe, the Princess of Dorne smiled at the guards. “Lead the way.”

 

Her father, Prince Doran, was where he usually was when not secluded in his study with a stack of papers. Seated on his wheelchair, watching the smallfolk stroll through the gardens as he sipped a goblet of spiced liquor to ease the discomfort in his joints. Arianne remembered her father in his prime and hated watching him deteriorate before her very eyes. She loved him greatly. Hearing her walk towards him, Doran’s eyes sparkled. “My dear daughter.”

 

She bowed slightly before pressing a kiss on his brow. “You summoned me, father?”

 

“Ah yes.” He took notice of her wet hair and thin robe. “Forgive me for interrupting your fun.”

 

“It was nothing,” she deadpanned. “With my cousins and Trystane travelling, it’s been rather calm. Nothing like the wild times.” Arianne couldn’t help but grin. Their family… nothing was a secret. 

 

Her father nodded, sighing. “I normally wouldn’t disturb your happiness, but I have some rather important news to tell you.” Shifting his chair around to face him, Doran gestured to the north. “You already know of the marriage alliances negotiated with the King in the North.”

 

Arianne nodded. “Double alliance. Margaery Tyrell for Prince Robb and Princess Sansa for my brother… is it true Crown Prince Joffrey tried to rape Sansa Stark?” A scandal such as that… even the Yi Ti would hear of it.

 

“Yes, he did. Such a grave crime. Exile to the Wall wasn’t enough in my opinion - death… or Northern independence. Robert was a fool for choosing the latter.”

 

“I’m not shocked that the son of the man who gloated at the murder of my aunt and cousins turned out to be a vile rapist,” Arianne spat. “But what does that have to do with me?”

 

Doran snorted. “Much as I dislike the Reach, I think Eddard Stark wants an alliance between Dorne, the Reach, his goodfamily in the Riverlands, and the North. As to why, I think it concerns the Targaryens.”

 

Arianne blinked. “The Targaryens… why father?”

 

“Because Eddard Stark’s bastard son is actually Rhaegar’s son by Lyanna Stark.” For the next few minutes, he informed his stunned daughter of the secret he had kept for so long. “And with the war we are about to embark on, I believe our alliance with House Tyrell needs to be made shatterproof.”

 

“I still don’t…” Arianne’s eyes widened. “You wish to betroth me to the heir to Highgarden?” Garlan Tyrell… if I remember correctly. She fell back in her seat, a surreal feeling taking over her.

 

Looking at her, a small smile on his gaunt face, her father reached out to clasp Arianne’s hand. “You are my only daughter, Ari. I fondly wish that you could have been able to chart your own way in the world, find love for yourself as your uncle did.”

 

“I understand, father,” Arianne replied. “Highborns and all that. I resigned myself to being required for an alliance and I am glad to be of benefit to Dorne and my house.”

 

“There wasn’t a chance that I would shackle you to a sadist or a brute… in all honesty, I was planning to seek out the new Targaryen pretender for a betrothal - both him and House Martell seeking revenge for what happened to your aunt and cousins in King’s Landing. But your other cousins…”

 

“Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene? Is that where they went?” Arianne was surprised. Once her cousins had been scandalizing the conservative snobs with her, the next day they had disappeared on a ship bound for somewhere in Essos. “To find the new Targaryen King?”

 

Doran nodded. “They informed me that he’s already happily married to his aunt… the Princess Daenerys. I know you are supposed to be my heir, Ari, but in giving up Dorne you are gaining the Reach. Highgarden is already being ruled by a woman that was a true love match to the lord she married. Who’s to say that another won’t be the true loving puppetmaster?”

 

Arianne smirked, leaning back with a glint in her chocolate brown eyes. “So… when will I be heading to Highgarden?” While the Reach was the traditional enemy of Dorne, she had heard nothing but glowing praise for the beauty of Highgarden - nothing on the Water Gardens, but better than most of Westeros.

 

“In a sennight, after the wedding.” Arianne’s smirk faded into a look of confusion. “Oh, that reminds me, Ser Garlan is on his way.”

 

The Princess of Dorne ended up chuckling. The Heir to Higharden coming not at the head of an army, but humbling himself for matrimony? What with dragons in the world and comets streaking through the heavens… Perhaps reality was truly falling apart.

 


 

“Are you nervous?” 

 

Brows furrowed, Arianne tilted her head back to catch a glimpse of Obella, her cousin currently attending her hair. “Why would I be?”

 

“You know, your wedding, silly.” A laugh left the Sand Snake, tying a brightly colored macaw feather in Arianne’s wavy locks. “I’m surprised you’re not more excited… or nervous.” Moving to shift a few strands to get the style just right, Obella yipped in satisfaction. “Perfect.” It was said that the second daughter of Ellaria Sand was the rare Sand Snake to take the matters of being a lady seriously. Those people have never seen her shoot a bow. 

 

“I just don’t see why? This is to solidify an alliance, just as Trystane is marrying Sansa Stark.” Not that her being an acclaimed beauty is an added boon. She did seriously pray that Garlan Tyrell would be a kind husband. While Uncle Oberyn prepared her to deal with anything, preparedness and wanting were two different things.

 

Hugging her, Obella understood. “Don’t despair. If Sarella could find love then you could.”

 

Arianne’s eyes bugged out of her sockets. “Sarella? But, how?” She was a beauty, but as a maester’s acolyte pretending to be a boy it just seemed unlikely.

 

“A fellow acolyte from the Reach… Lord Tarly’s son. Saved her from the Faith Militant.” The Oldtown riot was well known in Dorne. Houses Manwoody, Blackmont, and Dayne had already called their banners. House Hightower had put on notice that none of the High Sparrow’s goons would touch a Dornish soul. “She has fallen hard. Calls him her hero.”

 

Pursing her lips, Arianne reflected on that - if there was anyone among her family that would fall in love, the bookish Sarella wasn’t the one she’d pick. Her other cousins… now the ones of age had already found love… multiple times in fact. 

 

At that point, the conversation was cut short as her father appeared in the doorway, flanked by his guards. “I’ve come for the beautiful bride.”

 

Arianne blushed from the praise, suddenly a bit shy. Nevertheless, she stood. “I’m ready, father.” She looped her arm in his and they stepped through the airy halls of Sunspear - designed perfectly to carry cooling sea breezes during the scorching days. Servants and guards bowed as they passed, appreciative gazes in their eyes regardless of their sex. Why shouldn’t they? Even when at her most modest, Arianne had to admit she looked gorgeous. Her burnt orange wedding dress of her House’s colors was cut more conservatively than normal, but still hugging every curve and emphasizing her buxom breasts. Obella had styled her long, thick black hair to perfection, curls falling in ringlets to the middle of her back. While many in Dorne preferred the lushest of face paint, she opted for a bit of simplicity this time to show off her natural beauty, instead saving the ostentasity for her jewelry. Rubies, sapphires, amethysts, and amber glittering in the low torchlight. Quite shorter than even most women around her, there was no chance Arianne would be lost in the crowd.

 

“Don’t be nervous, my dear,” Doran offered, voice soft but exposing a slight wince. His breathing was starting to labor. It had been a long time since he walked for so long outside of his wheelchair.

 

“I’m not,” Arianne replied. “I’m more worried about you.”

 

He waved it off. “I’ll be fine. Nymeria’s blood runs in my veins, I’m stronger than I look.” The grin he wore managed to calm her, the future Lady of Highgarden shifting her eyes forward as they passed an arch flanked by guards.

 

The wedding was held outdoors in the private gardens of Sunspear. Not as vibrant as the Water Gardens, but the palm trees, creeping vines, and wildflowers still brought it a sense of natural beauty. Whatever lords that dwelled in the Princely court were there. Lord Wyl, Lord Yronwood, Lord Holt, Lord Uller, Lord Tolland… all houses had sent a representative except for Dayne, Manwoody, and Blackmont, mobilizing against the Faith Militant. In the sea of robes and loose garments were several scattered doublets and knightly gambesons of the Reach. The red apple of the Fossoways, the gold tree of House Rowan, the Horn of House Merryweather… and lastly the rose of House Tyrell, a collection of bannermen gathered at the front of the assemblage…

 

Her breath hitched at the sight of her groom. In a green doublet and brown riding trousers, Garlan Tyrell towered over her. Shoulders broad and muscles - if not bulky - toned and strong to hold the thick plate armor of a Reach knight, by the way he carried himself and the sword clipped to his belt proved him a powerful warrior. Neatly trimmed beard and mustache framing his face, eyes boring in on her as they met hers. A slow smile spread across his face at taking her in… less lecherous rather than appreciative. As if in awe that she was to be his. Feelings known intimately to Arianne. Handsome men were her weakness, especially those powerful with a hint of adventure - not arrogance - and intelligence. Garlan the Gallant seemed to be one of these at first impression and her first impressions were never wrong. I will make this man mine. Arianne never rested till she obtained what she wanted, and at this moment she wanted Garlan Tyrell.

 

After her father placed a kiss on her cheek and left her at the altar - relieved sigh escaping his lips as he sunk into his wheelchair - the septon took position. Electricity tingling up Arianne’s arm so close to Garlan. I haven’t even spoke one word to him. The usual wedding balderdash rooted in the Faith passed over her like water over a duck’s back, but she was brought back into reality at the first truly active words. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

 

Turning to her with a smile, Garlan motioned for Arianne to turn her back to him, which she did. Gently did the orange sun and spear leave her shoulders - Arianne not missing how his fingers brushed upon the bare olive skin exposed by the dress. I hope those fingers are as appreciative in the bedchamber tonight, my knight. She couldn’t help the small smirk at her lecherous thoughts as the green and gold rose cloak was laid upon her shoulders. Wordlessly, they assumed their positions again.

 

The old septon cleared his throat. "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Knowing what came next, Arianne reached out her hand so that Garlan could take it. His grip was firm, palms calloused with strenuous activity - he was no tourney knight, she observed with a grin. Gingerly, the septon tied the knot around their wrists. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity."

 

And now the infamous words. Her lips moved just as Garlan’s did, not missing the pleasing lilt in his voice. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

 

“I am his…”

 

“I am hers…”

 

“And he is mine…”

 

“And she is mine…”

 

“This day until the end of my days.”

 

Cupping her cheek, Garlan rubbed his thumb across her tanned cheek. A gesture that made Arianne’s heart clench. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” She really didn’t want the next kiss to end.

 

The wedding feast passed by in a blur. Hours of boisterous behavior, countless food and drink passed as the uninhibited Dornish and the Reach knights went through cycles of brawling and then singing jaunty tavern songs. Many a Reachman ducked out with a sultry Dornish lass of both high and common birth. Arianne wouldn’t doubt many houses would find their heirs and spare heirs return with a Dornish bride by the end of this. At the time of the bedding ceremony, she laughed uproariously at how the women pawed at her husband while trying not to enjoy how the strong male hands felt on her body - she was a married woman after all.

 

With the door slamming shut, the half-stripped couple - nothing too extensive revealed - were finally alone. Arianne suddenly nervous and Garlan rubbing his beard, stalling for time. “Well,” she broke the silence. “Here we are, husband.”

 

He grinned softly. “Aye, here we are.” Garlan took a seat on the plush bed, patting the spot next to him for her to join. Heart pounding, Arianne took him up on the offer. “I’m sure this was sprung up on you quickly… just for clarification, my grandmother shipped me here just a day after telling me.”

 

While not romantic at all out of context, to Arianne it did manage to clear the tension somewhat. She ended up giggling. “Your grandmother sounds like quite the woman.” Everyone in Westeros knew about the Queen of Thorns.

 

“Oh, you have no idea.” Both of them laughed together. “This was her idea… and your uncle’s.” Garlan rubbed the back of his neck. “Had it been my father’s choice… he doesn’t like the Dornish. Age old rivalries and all that.”

 

Dorne and the Reach… rivalry wasn’t a strong enough word to cover the breadth of their history. “Now is a time of strange and amazing things, Ser Garlan…”

 

“Garlan… just call me Garlan.”

 

“Garlan.” Arianne liked his name on her tongue. “And you may call me Arianne… or something more familiar if you wish?”

 

That disarmed his returned worries. “I think I’ll call you Ari.” Ari… She liked that even better, placing her hand on his knee to show her appreciation. “Strange and amazing times, that is true. My sister marrying Prince Robb Stark, your brother marrying Princess Sansa Stark… dragons returned to the world… I’m sure a burying of the hatchet between Highgarden and Sunspear isn’t as miraculous as the others.” Radiant smile forming on his handsome face, he cupped her cheek. “You are beautiful, Ari.”

 

Warmth pooled in her core. “You aren’t hard on the eyes yourself, Garlan.” Arianne’s hand inched up to his mid-thigh.

 

“My mother and father… they had a loving marriage.” Hesitantly, he leaned closer to her. “I’d like for us to grow into one as well.”

 

Hovering closer until their lips were barely inches apart, Arianne’s eyes sparkled. “I’d like that very much.” Throwing caution to the wind, she threw herself on him, beginning their wedding night in earnest.

 



Balon Greyjoy 

 

The Lord Reaper of Pyke squinted over the letter he’d received by a raven that looked like it had flew through a storm on the way to the Iron Islands. The seal was marked with the sigil of House Lannister, which he’d given only a cursory glance at before ripping it off. It was such a coincidence that he’d received a letter from one of the very houses that he’d been preparing for war against ever since the North gained independence, weakening the power of the Iron Throne. If it’s gold or a betrothal being offered to Yara, they can eat my sword! The ironborn would revive the Old Way, one way or another. No amount of treasure would change that unless paid in the iron price - either way the ironborn would reave and raid as their glorious ancestors had once done unopposed.

 

Hovering over the parchment in hand, he read the words inked over it.

 

Lord Balon Greyjoy,

 

I understand that relations between House Greyjoy and the Crown have been less than desirous ever since your failed rebellion nearly a decade ago. While I can’t offer the Iron Islands independence in good faith, given the ironborns’ infamous reputation as pirates and raiders, I can propose a compromise that will hopefully rectify past grievances against Robert Baratheon. I offer you your best opportunity to return to the Old Way.

 

As you may or may not know, the Starks have conspired with the Targaryen dragonspawn for reasons that currently are murky. This can’t be allowed to exist with impunity. Knowing that the Iron Islands largely stayed neutral during the rebellion, there may be little incentive for you to intervene. However, if you renew fealty to House Baratheon and deploy the ironborn to raid and sow devastation across the North, the Iron Islands will be permitted to continue the Old Way in the North in perpetuity, even after the North is enfolded back in the Seven Kingdoms. As a token of good faith, the Crown will also grant you Seagard and the Stony Shore.

 

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King

 

Balon Greyjoy clenched the parchment in his hand. The nerve of Tywin Lannister to ask that he swear fealty again to Robert after what the Swollen Stag had cost him almost ten years ago! The Iron Fleet had been decimated and he’d lost all of his sons! It had taken years to rebuild the ironborns’ naval strength and build Yara up to the caliber of her eldest brothers.

 

His first impulse was to chuck the message into the hearth and be done with it. However, the more he thought about it, the more he saw an advantage in debasing his people, albeit temporarily. The Iron Islands would never be free from the Iron Throne if they openly rebelled again as they had done when they had burned the Lannister fleet at anchor. No, repeating that wouldn’t do. For success to be assured, he’d need a foothold on the mainland so as to credibly threaten the Crown into giving up rule over the ironborn. Taking Seagard would open the gate to conquering the entire Riverlands, via the Trident, just as House Hoare had done before Aegon’s Conquest. King’s Landing would then only be a throw away from the axes of sea-hardened berserkers. As for the Stony Shore… consider that vengeance against Eddard Stark for taking away Theon.

 

Balon allowed himself a thin smile as he made his decision. Yes, the iron price would be paid handsomely and behold, the ironborn would see glory not witnessed since the Grey King. First, though, he had to ‘prove’ to the Old Lion that his offer was accepted. The ironborn would make ready for war on the North.

 

Summoning a servant, he ordered the boy to call in his daughter.

 


 

The door to his solar was pushed open, and Yara Greyjoy walked into the room. She shut the door behind her as she did and folded her hands over her waist. “Father, what is it this time? Last we spoke, we were to ready our ships for a raid on Lannisport. Now, I hear that there has been a change of plans?” The lithe, lean warrior lass wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.

 

“Yara,” started Balon, holding up the parchment in hand. “I have received an offer from Tywin Lannister. Seems that Ned Stark has consorted in some way with the exiled Daenerys Targaryen. Should the ironborn go to war with the North, the Crown will grant us Seagard and the Stony Shore.” His lip curled up in pleasure. “As well as the right to continue the Old Way in the North in perpetuity without impunity.”

 

Yara crossed her arms and frowned mightily. “Father, that sounds awfully close to paying the gold price, if only in name. You made it very clear that the iron price is all the ironborn will pay, now and always.”

 

Balon let out a laugh, much to her confusion. “Precisely why I am taking this deal from the senile Lion of Casterly Rock, Yara. Doing what Tywin wishes of us will give us a foothold on the mainland, and a stronger position from which to prevent the Crown from barring us from the Old Way ever again.” His daughter arched an eyebrow, but didn’t seem to understand what he was saying. He turned toward a window, outside of which he could see swords and sailors milling about on the docks where multitudes of longships were moored.

 

“Our first rebellion failed because we struck out immediately for independence with our enemy’s forces intact and no leverage to dissuade them from retaliating. Burning the Lannister Fleet wasn’t enough. The Redwyne Fleet must be destroyed as well - if the rumors are true of the Tyrells allying with Ned Stark, it is a task we will gladly take - then we will have full mastery over the Sunset Sea. Robert will think twice before he sends the Royal Fleet and risks losing his last reserve of sea power.”

 

Turning back to face his daughter, Balon’s wrinkled face was one of determined resolve. “Holding Seagard will open the way to reconquest of the Riverlands, putting further pressure on the Fat Stag. Land and sea will the ironborn take control of their destiny.”

 

Yara tilted her head to the side and smiled boldly. “Brilliant, Father. House Greyjoy will surpass House Hoare should your plan bear fruit.” Then her face faltered. “The North… how will Theon react? If he truly has become one of the Starks - ”

 

Cutting her off, Balon snorted in irritation. “Then he will pay the iron price to protect the wolves. What he decides is none of my concern. Not anymore.” He crumpled up the letter in his hand until it was a squashed ball and tossed it into the hearth.”

 

“Yara, brief your uncle Victarion. Tell him to ready the Iron Fleet to sail at a moment’s notice for the Reach. As for yourself, you take on the North, capture everything you can. The kraken rises from the depths once more.”

 

“At once, Father.” Yara bowed and left the solar. Balon looked back at the hearth, at the flames dancing within it. Above it was a great battle-axe, its blade worn and chipped from countless raids. 

 

He could already see it buried in the skull of some northern peasant.

 




Varys

 

Rounded stomach jostling underneath his Pentoshi style robes, Varys could hear the clash of steel before he even left the corridor leading from Maegor’s Holdfast to the training yard. Many a time he had seen Prince Rhaegar training with Ser Arthur or Ser Barristan till he dropped from exhaustion - but in his nearly two decades serving the Stag, not once did King Robert train here. As Ser Edric and Ser Boros stood aside to let him pass through, there was a first time for everything.

 

“Keep your footwork steady, my King,” Lord Commander Meryn Trant cautioned gently, dodging a wild swing from the blunted training warhammer. “Never lower your guard until your opponent is close to the breaking point.” A second swipe was parried by the sparring sword.

 

Sweat literally dripping from his ruddy face and soaking his gambeson and breeches, Robert looked like he was about to keel over right that moment. If only we were so lucky. “I… fought the…” the King grounded out, huffing and wheezing. “Tougher men… than you… before… you were… in… swaddling clothes…” Doubling over, the contents of his stomach voided upon the tile. Simply pathetic…

 

Ser Meryn was by his side quickly. “My King…” The brute would normally have kicked the trainee in the gut and laughed about it, but the King was a different story. Varys has never seen him so compassionate. All likely lies and ambition.

 

“Get your hands off me!” Robert batted his sparring partner away, gritting his teeth. “I feel better. Again!”

 

With whatever he had eaten to break his fast - probably easier to describe what he hadn’t eaten - the King looked better and he showed it. Silently standing by one of the large stone columns, Varys watched as the once mighty Terror of the Trident embarrassed himself as he clashed with his Kingsguards. Easily enraged, swings sloppy and simplistic, it didn’t take a military mind to see that the warrior king was reduced to something truly humiliating due to just… not trying anymore. Perhaps, Varys mused, Robert had always been like that. Bullheaded and without skill, relying on strength and ferocity to secure victory upon the field of battle. And that strength had significantly fell away in the years of whoring, drinking, and stuffing his face.

 

And yet… “Fuck…” Ser Meryn hacked with his sword, hoping for the blunt end to smack Robert in the shoulder like he had many times, but only found the blade batted away with the butt of Robert’s warhammer. The King spun it around with the brute force of a bruiser and slammed the dulled head into Ser Meryn’s breastplate. Knocking the Lord Commander down.

 

Still puffing, a weak grin came to Robert’s face. “Ha! This old fuck still has it in ‘im!” 

 

Wincing from the obvious bruise underneath his golden armor, Meryn Trant removed his helm and bowed. “Very good show, your Grace. You are improving.”

 

“Improving? Fuck that, I learned all this stuff fuckin decades ago - tis comin’ back to me is all.” Pleased with himself, Varys saw him seeking to end on a high note. “We’re done for now, though you better be here before bedtime. I want another go, this time against two of ya’.” 

 

There was no room to argue. “Of course, your Grace.” The Lord Commander, face going sour as soon as the King’s back was turned, stormed off. When his job didn’t involve terrorizing helpless smallfolk or conducting executions, everything seemed to irritate him. Oh, Ser Barristan. When you left, the quality of your guild just collapsed. 

 

His Grace alone finally, Varys took the time to truly enter the courtyard. Picking up a pre-tasted bottle of wine from a servant girl - one rather young and… pretty - Robert turned as he was downing it. Spotting Varys. “Ah, there’s my bald friend.”

 

Varys bowed. “My King. I went to your solar and did not find you. Ser Arys said you were training… you’ve never trained this early, your Grace.”

 

Laughing, Robert clapped the eunuch on the back. “Had to get out of there before my goodfather Lord Stuffy showed up. Didn’t even get to drink my morning wine.” Glancing back at the training yard, Varys could already see rats scurrying in to dine on the King’s vomit.

 

His eyes sharply looked the King over up close. Exhausted and out of shape… Robert Baratheon’s training regimen was actually paying dividends. Aside from the still copious amounts of food and drink he was downing every damn day, his Grace’s habits were becoming more disciplined. His battle skills were slowly improving and he even was losing weight. All it takes is burning hatred to focus his energies. And yet, guzzling from the flagon of Dornish red, the King was still the King. In need of the Dragon Prince to depose him.

 

“So, what the fuck is going on in the world?”

 

Varys cleared his throat. “The Martells and Tyrells have passed into the Riverlands on their journey to Winterfell. Additionally, my birds have sung rumors of Garlan Tyrell journeying to Sunspear.”

 

“Why the fuck would he do that?”

 

“I suppose that the Tyrells and Martells would like to further cement their alliance with the Starks by betrothing him to Princess Arianne.”

 

Robert cursed under his breath. “So the whole fuckin three Kingdoms are allied against us, with the Tully cunts to top it off.” Robert wasn’t a genius, but all highborns not addled one the mind had a sense about these things. “When we march, I’m naming loyal lords to replace those shits.”

 

The Master of Whisperers already had suspicions that Tywin was already lining up contenders in mind - among other things that the wily Hand of the King was planning behind everyone’s backs. He tried to decipher it for the true King and Queen’s benefit, but operational security was tight.

 

He could make assumptions though. “I believe House Hightower would make a good choice to supplant House Tyrell given their wealth and strength.” Robert raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Now that the Oldtown riots have concluded, the new High Septon and Grand Captain of the Faith Militant are traveling to the capitol to anoint you Defender of the Faith.”

 

Hearing that, the King was preening. “Defender of the Faith, huh?” He seemed quite excited at the title. “I’ll have the Rivermen topping Hoster Tully limb from limb with that moniker.” It was no secret that aside from the southern Reach, the Riverlands was the most devout portion of the Faith’s breadth.

 

“Quite.” Varys didn’t disagree. “Ser Baelor Hightower is accompanying them. I could arrange a meeting.” 

 

“Have Renly do it. Bout time that buggerer did something worthwhile… fuck…” Right before his foot was a dead rat. “This is my palace, not a pigsty. Servants!” 

 

Bending down, Varys picked the little rodent up by its tail. Peering at it. A tiny bit of pink froth coated its whiskers while its fur was drenched in vomit. Well, bad luck for you, Pycelle old friend. “This rat died of poison, your Grace.” He pointed to the frothed mouth. “Poison meant for you.”

 

Robert’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Seven hells!” The King had enough wits to put it together. “Something they fed me… that I vomited out…” His eyes flickered from the rat to the pile of vomit, in which several other rats laid - all dead. 

 

“Tears of Lys, as undetectable as it is deadly.” His little bird brought him the tidbits of what Cersei and Pycelle were planning, but he wanted to catch the old maester in a manner so obvious as to guarantee their guilt. You played right into my hands. He would ensure a loyal Grand Maester was appointed - loyal to Jon and Daenerys Targaryen that is. “It affects small animals quicker and more powerfully, so I can tell. Good thing you vomited whatever they were serving it to you in.” 

 

Sitting upon the ground, legs suddenly wobbling, Robert felt light-headed but otherwise just shocked. “Find this person, Varys. Find them and kill them.”

 

“I am at your service, your Grace.”

 


Walder Frey

 

“The pie is cold.”

 

“But it was just made - ”

 

SMACK!

 

“I said the pie is cold, ya wench. How many times do I have to repeat mi’self? Git back to the kitchen and fetch me a hot one, ya hear me?!”

 

The young serving girl bowed quickly, one hand over her cheek where Walder Frey had struck it backhanded. Scooping up the uneaten meat pie from the table, she hurried back to the kitchen to order a fresh one for the Lord of the Twins. Muttering curses under his breath, Walder thought about everything that had gone wrong ever since the North seceded from the Seven Kingdoms. Not the fact that civil war was a possibility, but the possibility of his lost coin. Generally speaking, armies didn’t care to pay his tolls to cross the Green Fork, they just demanded crossing or else they’d tear down his castle, mortar and stone.

 

Grumbling to himself further, his mind drifted to his betrothal request to the King in the North. His generous offer had been met with a polite refusal, but he could sense the scorn between the lines. Apparently, a dowry of the bride’s weight in silver wasn’t enough, and neither was his consideration for the Bastard of Winterfell. Why Ned Stark refused to marry off the boy, he hadn’t the foggiest clue. What he proposed was Jon Snow’s best and perhaps only chance at marriage given the stigma surrounding bastards. Old Walder Frey should know - half of his children were such!

 

Snickering, he gleefully remembered a very interesting letter he’d received from the Hand of the King himself. The details were unimportant, but the bottom line was that Tywin Lannister would have the Crown name him the new Lord Paramount of the Riverlands if he successfully overthrew the Tullys. The Late Lord Frey, Hoster Tully had mocked him for arriving after the Battle of the Trident was won, eh? Well, that rotten trout would learn the hard way that those who are slow often spot opportunity where those that are fast rush ahead without a glance.

 

“Father!” Black Walder called, rushing over with a letter waving in his hand. “A raven came from House Haigh!” 

 

His father rolled his eyes. “This had better be important if you’re disturbing my dinner.” 

 

Confusion wrought his son’s face. “Dinner? I don’t see…”

 

“I said you’re disturbing my dinner, ya brainless boy! What is it in that letter? Hand it to me if ya don’t have a thought.” Black Walder wordlessly handed the rolled-up parchment to his father, who broke the seal and unrolled it. “Git, boy. Leave me be,” Walder said, without a glance up. His son beat a hasty retreat from the Great Hall. This had better be something good.

 

Lord Walder Frey,

 

Catelyn and Edmure Tully were spotted crossing out of the Neck into your lands. At the pace they’re riding, they should arrive at the Twins in a few days. They have an armed retinue of Tully bannermen.

 

Ser Harys Haigh

 

A wicked grin stretched across the dried up face of Walder Frey. Hoster Tully’s son and heir was in his grasp. Even better, his sister, the Queen in the North, was with him. Capturing the two of them as hostages - he’d have to plan some sort of excuse for the short term - would, once things got going, force Hoster to bend the knee to him and potentially force Ned Stark to agree to his betrothal request.

 

Yes, this is going very nicely. A steaming scent of roast meat and potatoes wafted up to his nose as the serving girl returned with a properly cooked pie for his delight. He smacked her on the rear and told her to get him a glass of wine. House Frey’s long overdue ascension was cause for celebration.

 




Daenerys Targaryen 

 

“Your Dothraki is exceptional, your Grace.” Pouring the concoction of herbs and bath oils into the steaming tub, Missandei’s presence caused a sense of contentment to spread through Daenerys. Aside from Jon, it had been her closest friend she had missed the most. “And you only had a little less than a year in command of the Khalasar to learn it?” 

 

One hand perched on the rim of the large iron tub - the other gently caressing her massively pregnant stomach - Daenerys smirked. “A Queen doesn’t reveal all her secrets,” she teased. “And besides, you know nineteen languages.”

 

The frizzy-haired former slave girl looked at her incredulously. “I read that Valyrians possessed what they call dragon dreams… their version of the greensight seen in those of the blood of the Westerosi First Men. That’s my conclusion as to why you know so much about me.”

 

“Perhaps it is,” Daenerys replied cryptically, but still smiling. Missandei had yet to be told about their future - she and Jon were waiting for the right time to expand their inner circle to include her, but all the chaos following the capture of Astapor and the march to Yunkai was delaying many critical actions. “You are an interesting person to know about, Missandei.”

 

“Mysterious, you are your Grace… but alas, you are wrong.” Daenerys’ eyebrow rose quizzically. “Twenty languages.”

 

She snorted. “Twenty? And what would the twentieth be?” A quick rattling off of what she remembered her speaking found the translator smirking.

 

“Master Kraznys dealt with the inhabitants of Mossovy, north of the Yi Ti. Some of the Unsullied were purchased from there as boys in the expansion, and I translated.”

 

“You grow more interesting by the day.” The Queen laughed. “Any other languages you wish to learn?”

 

“Well, I’d love to learn how to speak High Valyrian with the divine tongue as you do, and his Grace speaks of the people north of the Wall of Westeros with fondness.” As a slave with special skills, Missandei had access to knowledge and learning denied to the vast majority of those with her in bondage. She took advantage of this. “My studies indicate that they speak something called the Old Tongue, and that the mythical race of giants speak something even simpler. I would very much like to learn those.”

 

An image of the petite and graceful Missandei of Naath speaking to the massive giants that Jon had told her so much about made Daenerys giggle at the sheer absurdity of it all. Gods, I missed her companionship. And now she had Missandei, Shireen, and her own half-sister to give her female company. “I’m sure his Grace can arrange that.” It was settled for her. Missandei will be joining us going to Winterfell. Out of nowhere a light growling was heard, Dany’s attention flickering to the translator. “Missandei, when was the last time you ate?”

 

“Do not worry about me, your Grace…”

 

“No,” the Queen replied softly but firmly. “You are not a slave anymore, and are someone I care deeply about as my friend and advisor. When did you eat last?”

 

A tiny smile curled on Missandei’s face. After a lifetime of people only caring to use her as a sex slave when they noticed her at all, here she was - a top advisor to a King and Queen of the blood of Old Valyria. To Daenerys’ joy, the strong, confident woman she knew from her past life was starting to emerge. “This morning, your Grace. There was so much to do…”

 

“You are relieved of duty, Missandei. Go get something to eat.” Dany grinned. “Queen’s orders.”

 

Frizzy hair bouncing as she bowed, Missandei stepped away from the tub. “Thank you, your Grace.”

 

Left alone by her translator and trusted advisor, Daenerys shivered slightly. The water was what anyone else would consider warm, but for those of dragon blood it was far from comfortable. Hence Dany and Jon’s penchant for searing bathwater, which she found out recently that Alysanne shared as well. Viserys… he always called her mad for liking it so hot. He was not a true dragon. The memories of him as a kind and loving brother were reflected in the love she poured out for Viserion. She didn’t reflect on the monster Viserys had become - never gave it a second thought.

 

Eyes shifting to where Rhaegal rested, curled up beside his older, furry brother Ghost - approaching the point where he would dwarf the direwolf that used to carry him on his back - Dany whistled softly, catching his attention. Rhaegal raised his head, cocking it as his amber eyes blinked at his mother. “Come here, sweetling. I could use your help” Chirping, he hobbled over on his wings and feet. Boiling water over a fire would take too long, so Daenerys had a better idea. “ Bāne.”  

 

Head rearing back, Rhaegal shot a soft gout of flame to hit the bottom of the metal tub. Dragonfire acting with the power of a dozen campfires to heat the water to a proper boil. “Thank… you… sweetling. Go play with your siblings.” Rhaegal chirped again and flew out of the tent. “Ahhhhh…” Dany sunk into the soothing water, letting it work the kinks out of her swelling, pregnant body. “I love you, little dragon,” she murmured, rubbing her belly underneath the surface of the water. “But can you come out soon?”

 

“I don’t know.” Two arms snaked around her bare neck. Strong ones, belonging to someone she absolutely adored. “Our baby inside your tight little body, growing strong with the blood of the dragon and the wolf?” Jon’s mouth latched to her neck. “So sexy.”

 

“Mmmmm…” Now Dany felt a different kind of heat coursing through her. “I’m trying to get clean, husband of mine.”

 

Jon smirked against her neck. “Looking like that, how do you expect me to resist?” Hands moved down to her breasts, causing a moan to leave her lips. He knew how to play her like a fiddle and she loved it. “Perhaps it is time that your King takes a bath with his Queen.”

 

Turning to look at her handsome King, Daenerys’ eyes sparkled with love and lust. “Strip and get in. Your Queen demands it.”

 

But just before he could even unlace his leather cuirass, there was a shout at the front of the tent. “Jon, you decent?”

 

Daenerys groaned, wanting to sick Ghost on her goodbrother for interrupting what was already planning to be a steamy night - but Jon stilled her with a gentle caress of her shoulder and neck. “I am, but Dany isn’t. You’re free to come in if you want…”

 

“Jon…” Dany murmured.

 

“No… no… that’s alright.” Robb’s stammering made them both laugh. “That Unsullied commander you were requesting was found. He’s waiting for you in the command tent.”

 

Wide violet eyes met Jon. “Grey Worm?” Gods, in all the confusion that surrounded the sack of Astapor, there was no time to find him - Daenerys finally had Missandei, so he was the last piece of her past council left. Not to mention she longed to see her long lost friend and loyal companion. “Go. I’ll be there once I’m done bathing.” The King seemed torn, desire for her written on his face. Daenerys grinned, biting her lip and looking him over. “Don’t worry, my King. I’ll still be here and ready to play when it’s all done.”

 

Leaning down, Jon kissed her sweetly. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, so much.”

 

Smiling, Jon whistled. “Come Ghost.” Stretched out on the tent floor, the snow white direwolf yawned, tongue licking his nose as he went back to sleep. Groaning as Dany giggled, Jon approached him. “Come on boy, don’t be lazy.” That did the trick, direwolf rising sluggishly and trotting out of the room. “I think he prefers being with you,” he quipped, resheathing his swords as he left.

 

“Just like his kepa ,” Dany called sweetly after him, sighing again as she leaned back in the tub. With that man in her life, she felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Letting the hot water soak into her skin, calm Rhaegon inside her womb… wash away the aches and pains. Eyes closed as she envisioned her life with Jon once this war was done. Living in the Red Keep with their children - knowing the truth of the curse… or blessing Mirri Maz Durr left her, Daenerys thought about what she wanted with Jon. A keep full of children. Little Princes and Princesses with the blood of the wolf and the dragon. Perhaps like Jaehaerys and Alysanne, oh she couldn’t wait for such a life.

 

She heard footfalls in the tent. “Jon?” she called out happily. “Forgot something?” No answer. “Jon? Missandei…? Daenerys started to grow confused, her guard up. “Alysanne?” Starting to rise, suddenly she was shoved down. Gloved hand clamped over her mouth before she could cry out for help.

 

“A girl shouldn’t scream.” The voice was male, and had a distinctive, flat lilt to it. Smooth and calm - a professional. “It would complicate things.”

 

Heart pounding, Daenerys instinctively reached for her belly. Though it wouldn’t help, not with the cool feel of smooth metal brushing the superheated skin of her neck. 

 

“The boy once a prince said nothing of a child.” While the words might have indicated a sense of hesitation, the man’s tone was still flat. Emotionless, as if the death of Daenerys and her babe was as simple as mounting a saddle on a horse. “No matter. A man was given one name to give to the Many-Faced God.” Many-Faced God? Faceless Men! Dany didn’t just forget what Arya had said of her skills in their past life. “A man will deliver.” 

 

My babe! Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons and Princess who was Promised, did not come back through the fabric of time to be killed by a faceless assassin. As the knife prepared its journey across her throat, Daenerys scooped a helping of the scalding water in her hands and hurled it over her shoulder into the attacker.

 

Faceless Men were notoriously calm and emotionless, but even this one couldn’t withstand the pain of boiling water. “Arrgh!” He screamed, pitching back and allowing Dany to try and scramble out…

 

Only for a rough shove to send her to the ground. Dany crying out as a sharp pain stabbed out through her womb. “A man will not deny the Many-Faced God his offering.”

 

Someone rushed through the tent flap. “Your Grace!” The last thing she heard was a sword leaving its scabbard just as something wet rushed down her thighs…

 

Jon, save me...

 

 

 

 

Notes:

CastleColin: Jon’s going to see fire after this. Robert’s an embarrassment to the Baratheon name, isn’t he?

Longclaw: Lots of great stuff in this chapter :D

Arianne Martell is a fan favorite, and here she is being the first of the three planned alliance couples to be wed. She and Garlan will play a big role coming up and I'm excited to write them.

Robert... yep, he's actually doing something other than drinking and whoring. He's going to war so he kinda has to, but we'll see if that works against who he'll face.

Damn, Dany's in trouble!

Please comment :D

Chapter 38: Three Lions and a Stag

Summary:

1) Jaime joins the new Kingsguard.
2) Shireen welcomes a new member of the family.
3) Tyrion plans with the King in the North for the wars to come.
4) Tywin meets with the High Sparrow and the Hightowers.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hey all. Sorry for the delay, but we have a chapter that will resolve the cliffhanger and resolve one of the visions had in chapter 17.

Be sure to check out my other stories :D

CastleColin: We’re back after enjoying the holidays! The story will be getting back in the groove soon.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Jaime Lannister

 

Pushing through the flap of the command tent, Jaime was instantly greeted by the vicious stares of the Sand Snakes. If not the murderous kind that would have struck him dead had they been projectiles, more the bitter hate that would slow roast him had they been fires. It wasn’t hard to place the three girls’ faces on their father’s - different mothers that they had, each was so like Oberyn Martell it was uncanny. 

 

At the chuckle from the old knight that walked in behind him, Jaime tilted his head back with a cross look of his own. “Amused?”

 

Ser Barristan smirked at him, nodding in apparent apology. “Forgive me, Ser Jaime… although I doubt you’re not used to such.”

 

That was true. After killing Aerys… after the tale of a craven son murdering his King on behalf of his father had been spread by the mouth of Eddard Stark, everyone not a diehard Lannister loyalist had treated him as if he were a demon. A monster. He was used to it, and despite the long-lasting grudges of House Martell for the horrid murder of Princess Elia and her children - sister and brother of the King - this time he was on the path to redeem his honor. The Lion of Lannister wouldn’t let it get to him, so he changed the subject. “What do you think his Grace wants with us?”

 

“I think he wants to appoint some general of the Unsullied, Kingslayer,” said Tyene, voice sharp. “Heard him mention as such to the Queen.” Jaime merely nodded, not wishing to antagonize the justifiably bitter Martells. If there were any troops better trained or more disciplined than the Unsullied - now seemingly invigorated, if they had emotions - with their newfound freedom at the hands of the King and Queen. In all honesty, Jaime hadn’t seen anything like it, and it redoubled his desire to serve the son of Rhaegar and daughter of Rhaella.

 

As if perfectly timed, the King boldly strolled into the room, Ser Jorah and Robb following close behind. Trotting at the rear was his Grace’s direwolf… who promptly plopped down on the closest mat and curled up to sleep. “Lazy bugger,” laughed Aegon to his cousin, the heir to Winterfell, only then turning to the bowing guards. “Rise, Sers. Is he here?”

 

“He will be in momentarily, your Grace,” Jorah replied. Just then, a helmeted Unsullied marched inside, halting just into the tent at a firm attention. “This is Grey Worm, centurion of the second century, first thousand.”

 

While impressively disciplined, Jaime didn’t see anything distinguishing between the eunuch soldier and the other thousands slowly marching towards Yunkai. But by the expression on Aegon’s face, it was as if the King wanted to greet an old friend but trying to restrain himself. “Grey Worm… that is a… unique name, soldier.” Guarding the Targaryen monarchs, Jaime had picked up some High Valyrian from Rhaella and Rhaegar. Not anywhere close to fluent, but he could understand it decently enough.

 

The name my masters gave me… so that I may know my place alongside that of the mules and oxen.” His voice was monotone, but the words spoke for themselves.

 

“Swine.,” Jaime muttered under his breath.

 

“I agree. Swine.” With surprise, the young Sand Snake actually agreed with the Lannister. A start…

 

Aegon folded his arms. “You can change your name back to what it was if you wish.” Somehow, he looked nonplussed about everything - Aegon and Daenerys had torched Astapor and brought the ‘Good Masters’ to justice for their crimes. They earned the right to be nonplussed about the sufferings of the slaves in public in Jaime’s opinion. 

 

To the surprise of the gathered guards and Robb, Grey Worm shook his head. “My old name was the name that I took into slavery. Grey Worm is the name I held when King Aegon and Queen Daenerys freed me. I wear it with pride.”

 

“Good.” The tiny smirk that adorned the King’s face was… curious. How did he seem to know what was going to be said before anyone said it? A mystery to Jaime, and perhaps to most. Robb Stark certainly didn’t seem to be as curious as the other guards. “I have heard nothing but good things about you, Grey Worm. As such, I am promoting you to Lord Commander of the Unsullied.”

 

While a Westerosi knight would have basically been kissing the King’s feet for such an appointment, Grey Worm merely bowed. “I will serve the Liberators till my dying breath, King Aegon.”

 

That brought a merry chuckle to Aegon. “Liberators, eh?” he told Robb. “I suspect Daenerys would like that title. Perhaps add that to our titles alongside Breaker of Chains.”

 

“It does have a nice ring to it, brother,” Robb replied, the two of them laughing. He’s not wrong.

 

Aegon turned to Grey Worm. “Keep your forces integrated, and make sure to coordinate with the Dothraki if battle is to be upon us soon. We don’t know what will face us at Yunkai.” He thought for a moment. “Oh, and make sure all the centurions learn the Common Tongue. There are persons that can teach you, and I believe…” His tiny smirk returned. “You would be best taught by the Lady Missandei, the Queen’s translator and advisor.”

 

“As you command, your Grace.”

 

“It isn’t just you, I am rewarding today, Grey Worm.” Stepping away from the Unsullied soldier… now Lord Commander - Aegon moved to stand directly before the lot of them. Barristan, Jorah, each of the Sand Snakes, and Jaime. “When I learned of my birthright, my first thought was that I didn’t want it. What man born a bastard named Snow… a man who knows himself and isn’t blinded by lust, why would he desire power?” A sigh, followed by a stare of resolve. “But I am not a bastard. I am Aegon VI Targaryen, born of Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryen. Married to Queen Daenerys I Targaryen, and it is about time that we embrace our roles fully. Ser Barristan Selmy, step forward.”

 

Blinking, Barristan the Bold did as bid. Emerging from the group to stand straight before the King. “Yes, your Grace.”

 

“Do you wish to be a member of my Kingsguard?” Jaime blinked, surprised. This is why he called us here? Was he really going to be a member of the Targaryen Kingsguard? Gods, he didn’t know whether to feel guilty or excited. Perhaps both is appropriate.

 

On Ser Barristan’s part, he nodded firmly. “Yes, my King.”

 

Smiling, Aegon reached for the box and took out a sword. Gleaming in the errant sunlight that poked through the hole in the tent. “Allow me to present to you this blade of Valyrian steel, acquired from the ruins of Old Valyria. May you serve the Realm well, Ser Barristan.” Not easily moved, Jaime could see the old knight almost break down holding the magnificent sword… Scythe, from the whispered words of Barristan himself.

 

The King wasn’t finished. “Ser Jorah Mormont.” A beautiful bastard sword followed the acceptance, dubbed Redemption by the old bear.

 

“Ser Obara Sand.” Her acceptance was presented with a long glaive, blade of Valyrian steel. Sunspear , she named it - after her family’s castle.

 

“Ser Nymeria Sand.” Eager words of approval found a scimitar given to her, to which she christened Venom.

 

“Ser Tyene Sand.” The youngest of the Sand Snakes took the glittering knives from her King. Viper Fangs now went into the annals of history.

 

And now the moment of truth. “Ser Jaime Lannister, please step forward.” 

 

Sweat beading on his brow, Jaime did as commanded. Immediately falling to his knees. “Your Grace…” Gods, at that moment he looked so much like Rhaegar. Northern in coloring, but every much his father’s son. “I cannot take back my dishonor, nor my past. I can only seek to remedy the future by honoring my oath to your father once again. To serve you and the Queen till my last breath.”

 

Silence… followed by a chuckle. “Rise, Ser Jaime.” A small smile of gentle amusement was on the King’s face. “Forgive me, but I was for a moment imagining Lord Tywin saying something like that.” The room suddenly erupted in laughter at the jape… even Jaime. The image was just too priceless and ridiculous to conjure up. As it died down, Aegon continued. “Daenerys told me once that if we look back, we are lost. Our past can only shape us, not guide our future. Only we can do that in the present… and you have proven to me that you are worthy of my trust and my honor.” Reaching back into the chest, he pulled out one last Valyrian Steel sword.

 

Green eyes fell upon the lion pommel, immediately widening. One didn’t need to be a person that sat on their Uncle Gerion’s lap for hours hearing stories about it to recognize the blade. “Is that…?”

 

“The greatsword Brightroar, recovered from Old Valyria with the others. House Lannister is a Great House of Westeros, having nobly served my family for generations. With this gift, Ser Jaime Lannister will forge the new chapter of his house’s legacy.” The lion knight nodded, accepting Brightroar with trembling hands. “All kneel to recite the oath.”

 

As all complied, the famous words tumbled out of their lips simultaneously. “Under the grace of House Targaryen, I, Se Jaime Lannister…”

 

“Ser Barristan Selmy…”

 

“Ser Jorah Mormont…”

 

“Ser Obara Sand…”

 

“Ser Nymeria Sand…”

 

“Ser Tyene Sand…”

 

“Hereby swear on my honor and my allegiance to protect the King, Aegon VI Targaryen, the Queen, Daenerys I Targaryen, and their families. I will do my duties until death, and through that time, keep all secrets of the King and Queen safe from spread. I will not speak unless spoken to, and I will defend the King and Queen's land or pay the price. I will…”

 

“Strike those parts.” All eyes shifted to Aegon in shock - the parts ordered stricken were the guidelines blocking wives and children. Set forth in the original oaths, but what the King gave the King could also take away “By my order.”

 

Who was Jaime to argue, and his colleagues felt the same. “...and hold no land. I will master the gate, pluck the bow, handle the blade and serve my realm: for now and forever.”

 

“Rise, knights of the Kingsguard.”

 

After a life of despair and dishonor, Jaime finally felt himself transported back to the day where he had been knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne himself. He had been given his second chance - and he was damned if he would let it slip past his fingers.

 


 

“Silver Stag for your thoughts, Ser Jaime?”

 

Thoughts all over the place, Jaime shook himself out of his reverie. “I’m sorry, your Grace?” He looked at the King, who was walking ahead of him with Robb Stark… everything felt so surreal. More so than usual since the chaos with Joffrey and the insanity that followed.

 

Aegon glanced at his cousin, grey eyes seemingly seeing right through him - as if Jaime had spilled his innermost thoughts and secrets but without memory of even doing so. “I know you did the right thing. Stopping my grandfather from burning down King’s Landing.”

 

Who told him… The King travelled with a Red Priestess and could have seen a vision. Jaime couldn’t discount the possibility of anything anymore, not with dragons flying overhead. “I… I didn’t want to, your Grace. But, what could I honestly do? Watch hundreds of thousands of innocents die?”

 

Stopping in his tracks, Aegon reached out to clasp his shoulder. “And that is what I told my brother that we could trust you… to be in our Kingsguard.” An earnestness in his eyes, one that looked to Jaime as holding wisdom beyond his years. “You’re a good man, Ser Jaime. Regardless of what you think of yourself.”

 

Jaime felt the smooth ivory of Brightroar’s pommel against his hand. Try as he might, he couldn’t tear his grip away from it. The ancestral sword of his family, now in his hands. Hands covered in blood. “I am not a good man.” He sighed. “The things I did for love… but she never truly loved me.” Away from her, from Cersei’s influence, he could see it clearly. Someone she could manipulate in the wake of the most painful decision of his life… someone she could use to fully emasculate and shit on her oaf of a husband. “I would have done terrible things for her… I don’t deserve this.”

 

“The fact that you would say that proves that you do.” This time it was Robb Stark. “Why didn’t you tell my father why you killed the Mad King.”

 

That was the same question Tyrion had asked him so long ago… and Jaime only had one answer then and one answer now. “What was the point? The deed was…” 

 

“Arrgh!”

 

It was faint, but Jaime heard the sound. Her Grace’s tent… Hand drifting to grip the hilt, the Kingsguard didn’t wait for even a reaction from the King or heir to Winterfell before he was racing towards the tent. Eyes wide as his focus hardened, narrowing. Legs pumping till they burned with exertion. 

 

Barging into the tent, Jaime saw a figure in Unsullied leathers, gloved hand clamped over Queen Daenerys’ mouth and knife raising to her throat. “A man will not deny the Many-Faced God his offering.”

 

Brightroar practically leapt out of its scabbard. All Jaime could see was Rhaella, pinned down and violently raped by her husband the King as the Kingsguards were forced to watch, shock still and unable to respond. Not this time! Not Rhaella’s daughter! “Your Grace!” Red coating his vision, he charged. 

 

The Unsullied swiveled around. Reacting on reflex at the new threat and abandoning the Queen, the sharp assassin’s dagger raised automatically. Arm red and covered with scalding burns darting to the side, the assassin feinting before aiming for his armpit. A killing move, cutting the veins there through a gap in the Westerosi plate armor. But it wasn’t some random soldier the assassin faced, rather the Lion of Lannister himself. Anticipating the move, he chopped his hand down. Hissing as the knife cut through his forearm, Jaime nevertheless knocked the knife to the ground. Brightroar angling up only for the assassin to leap on him. Both of them falling, tumbling in a heap.

 

As the King and his cousin emerged into the tent, they saw the commotion. Attention falling upon Daenerys. Currently crying out and trying to push herself out of the tub. “Dany!” Aegon was by her side in a heartbeat.

 

“The baby…” she gasped. “The baby’s coming…” 

 

“Jon…” Robb cautioned, a faint amount of blood in the water.

 

Feeling the assassin slam the hilt of his dagger in his gut, causing Jaime to lose his breath, he nevertheless clawed at the man. Fingers digging into the flesh of his cheek and forehead - only for the assassin to scramble to his feet. Skin ripping away… Seven Hells… Rat-brown hair framing the assassin’s face, he ran out of the tent. Hobbling from a sprained ankle.

 

“Ser Jaime,” Aegon croaked. “Who…”

 

Wheezing in breaths, Jaime pointed out. “The Unsullied… the Unsullied…” In his hand he held up the ripped off face, and the King’s eyes widened in understanding.

 

“Faceless Men…” Eyes scrunched shut, almost shaking in rage, Aegon’s voice boomed. “Robb! I need you to protect her and our child!” He began to move outside.

 

"Where are you going, Jon?” Robb called after him. “They need you!”  

 

Aegon looked back at the both of them, Jaime flinching involuntarily when he saw red eyes. Blazing red-orange, almost demonic. Reminiscent of the Mad King, only somehow worse. More powerful and yet, utterly logical. Out drew his twin blades, obvious that he planned to use it. “I am going to go kill the people who did this to her! I am going to kill every single one of those fuckers who are trying to harm my family!” In the distance, a dragon roared - a roar of pure malevolence and rage.

 

Catching a pleading look from Robb - knowing something had to be done before the King lost control - Jaime rose. “I’m with you, your Grace.”

 

Nodding, the King’s concentration and anger so deep that he didn’t even register both Lady Shireen, Melisandre, and the Princess Alysanne arrive, he whistled a command. “Sarogon, come!” The ground shook as the grey dragon landed - having grown significantly. Head half as long as Jaime’s entire body and wings spreading wider than the entire tent behind. “Ser Jaime! Flush him out!”

 

“Yes, your Grace.”

 

Mounting his dragon, he took off after his wife’s would-be killer. “Sovegon!”

 

Somehow, news of the Kingslayer, the King, and the King's brother racing into the Queen’s tent had spread like wildfire. It had kicked up a wasp’s nest in the Targaryen camp, Unsullied marching to defensive positions, non-combatants panicking like scattering hamsters, and enraged Dothraki accosting anyone in their way - already several no holds barred fistfights were breaking out between groups of screamers. As Jaime muscled his way through, it became painfully obvious that this was an assassin’s dream. Slip out unseen in the chaos.

 

But the Lion of Lannister wouldn’t be outsmarted. The assassin wore Unsullied leathers, and in this pandemonium there wouldn’t be time to change… no Unsullied walked out of formation. Eyes scanned the mass of bodies… There! A flash of black cut through an unoccupied tent. Hoisting Brightroar high in the air for the King’s benefit, he ran for the tent, turning the corner to arrive at the entrance. 

 

A quick jerk of his sword met the swing in a harsh scrape of steel, arakh in the assassin’s hand only just missing slicing across Jaime’s forehead. Pushing back, he knocked the would-be killer back. Lashing out with a sharp kick that staggered him. Jaime moved to lunge when a knife sallied forth, smacking into his breastplate - not penetrating but causing him to stumble.

 

Just then, the tent itself was ripped away, grey blur slamming into the assassin. Knocking him back several yards. Sarogon roared with a great fury, Aegon all but leaping off the hybrid dragon with sword drawn. Before the assassin rose, the longsword ran him through the middle. King snarling with the ferocity of a direwolf.

 

The man’s eyes widened, blood bubbling out of his mouth as his legs buckled. Looking dead center at the King. Lips curling into a smile. “It is done…”

 

Withdrawing Winter’s Wolf from the assassin’s belly, the King’s irises began to fade. From the blazing orange into a more muted evening sun. Calming, anger simmering but there also a curiosity in them. “What? What is done?”

 

“A man has provided a life to the Many-Faced God… only death can pay for life…”

 

Still, Aegon reached down, grabbing the assassin by the scruff of his neck and giving a hard right hook into his side. Earning a grunt and more coughed up blood. “Who?! Who gave my Queen’s name?!” Behind, the massive grey dragon stomped his folded wing on the ground and shrieked. “Give me a name!”

 

A small smile. “A boy… a boy not a man… his death shall soon come, for the life soon born…” He coughed again, only the force of his lungs weaker. “And now a man must rest. Meet the god of death.” With that, his eyes closed for the final time. Bading the nameless Faceless Man to the death he so worshipped.

 

There was a silence, Aegon rising as he tried to calm his anger. Jaime stepped to the side when Sarogon lumbered forward. The dragon stuck his snout into the King’s stomach, nudging him with a low rumble… was the dragon purring? Gently, Aegon ran his hand along Sarogon’s snout and head, as one would a dog. You don’t see that every day.

 

But this was not the time to dither. “Your Grace… the Queen.”  Silence breaking, Aegon was back on alert. Anger replaced with a deep fear… a terror so vast that all the color drained from his face. Without a single word, he ran back to the tent.

 


Shireen Baratheon

 

“What is your name, if I may ask again, my lady?” asked the chestnut-haired noblewoman. She brushed a loose strand of her hair that fell across the sun-tanned skin of her face. Pursing her lips before spreading them in a smile, the young Baratheon said, “Shireen… my lady .” The two girls collapsed momentarily into a fit of giggles. The privacy of the tent they were in shielded them from prying eyes and ears.

 

Shireen had only briefly conversed with Alysanne and her mother, Ashara Dayne, since the two had joined the Targaryen khalasar back in Qarth. Having a very sharp memory, she quickly learned their names. Alysanne, on the other hand, had trouble remembering hers. She wasn’t bothered by this, unlike some other lords she knew back home. The marcher lords in the Stormlands were excessively proud of their houses to the point that to misidentify one was met with, well, fury. As she wasn’t afflicted by such misplaced pretensions, she understood that learning new names wasn’t high on Alysanne’s priorities. Apparently, she had fled for her life from her abusive husband that just so happened to be Daenerys’ long-lost twin brother.

 

Aerys Targaryen. She mused on that revelation when Ashara conferred with her after Alysanne froze up and started crying when asked about him. From how Ashara described him, Shireen got the impression that he was everything that the Mad King was. Although she was all the more curious to find out about this hidden Targaryen prince, Ashara had asked her not to press the matter. It was painful for both her and her daughter to think about, especially with what he’d do to them if they crossed paths again. So, she’d avoided ‘the Mad Prince’ and spoke to Alysanne about their childhoods.

 

“Alright,” she chuckled, coming down from her high. “Now that I’ve told you my name for the umpteenth time, will you please remember it?”

 

Alysanne smiled back. “Yes, I’m certain that I now know your name forwards and backwards.”

 

Shireen reached behind her and fluffed up one of the pillows she was reclining against. Leaning back, she said, “Alys, I’d like to know… if you never encounter your husband again, where will you and your mother go?”

 

Alysanne sighed heavily and twiddled her thumbs. “Well, I’ve always been fond of Norvos. The city’s three bells were music to my ears. The Sinner’s Steps were lively during festivals.” She wrung her hands. “At this time, I just don’t know. I’ve never been to Dorne and everyone there believes my mother is dead. Starfall may not be for me.”

 

“Well, how about King’s Landing? By blood, you are a royal of House Targaryen,” Shireen stated matter-of-factly.

 

“But I’m a bastard…”

 

“Our king and queen can legitimize you then. Besides, Aegon lived all his life as a bastard in Winterfell to keep him safe from my family. Clearly, his ‘bastardy’ didn’t preclude a noble upbringing.”

 

Alysanne extended her hand out to hers and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you for your kindness, Shireen. I haven’t had that from my husband in a long time.”

 

Brow furrowing, Shireen cut at a sensitive spot. “Considering that your mother said that he plans to steal Daenerys from Aegon, I’m willing to bet he won’t survive the attempt.” Alysanne had a hint of what she meant - the king’s eyes tended to glow a fiery orange when his temper was raised. “Will you remarry if he dies?”

 

Blinking rapidly, the Dornish Dragon opened her mouth to respond, only for the tent flap to be suddenly pulled back. Sunlight, harsh and bright, flooded the tent’s interior. Hissing in shock at the sudden loss of shade, both girls looked up to see Melisandere, the Red Priestess, standing there with her arms beckoning them.

 

“Come quickly!” the Red Woman implored. “The Princess Who was Promised is in labor!” Not waiting for them to follow, she turned and hurried away, red robes billowing in her wake.

 

Eager to see the birth of little Rhaegon, Shireen and Alysannne scrambled after Melisandre toward the king and queen’s tent. As they hurried toward the tent, kicking up dust in their wake, they heard a scream from within, followed by a cry of “Your Grace!” and a ringing of steel. The voice of Jaime Lannister inside the tent was soon joined by the forms of Robb and Aegon as they sprinted from out of nowhere after him.

 

Melisandre put out her arm to stop them from approaching the tent too closely, but they could hear the sounds of combat all the same. Inside there were screams and grunts, punctuated by the rhythmic singing of steel on steel. Bursting out from the tent was a ratty-haired man in black leathers running as fast as his legs could carry him. There was a huge gash under the left side of his ribs that was bleeding profusely. Shireen could tell neither head nor hair of the strange man who apparently was a cutthroat of sorts.

Suddenly, Aegon's thundering voice boomed out of the tent. “Robb! I need you to protect her and our child!” He tore through the tent flaps to glare in primal fury at the retreating assassin fleeing for the hills.

"Where are you going, Jon?” Robb called after him. “They need you!”  

Shireen looked at where Robb was shouting and gasped when she saw red eyes. Aegon appeared to be possessed as he unsheathed his twin blades. “I am going to go kill the people who did this to her! I am going to kill every single one of those fuckers who are trying to harm my family!” With Ser Jaime following, he whistled a command. “Sarogon, come!” The massive grey dragon landed by his rider in the blink of an eye. “Ser Jaime, flush him out!” Mounting his dragon, he took off after his wife’s would-be killer. “Sovegon!”

As Jon flew after the assassin with Jaime hot on his heels, Ashara Dayne was walking toward where Shireen’s small group was standing. Eyes widening in shock at the sudden commotion surrounding the queen’s tent, she hurried to her daughter. “What happened!?” she demanded. “Who was that man running from the king?!”

Alysanne gulped. “An assassin, Mother. I…”

“Will you all stop standing around and lend a hand, please!” Robb yelled from the tent. “The Queen has gone into labor!”

Shireen, not wasting a second, rushed into the tent to see Daenerys lying in a bed filled with blood - her face was pale and her brow drenched with sweat. From how heavily the queen was bleeding, Shireen deduced she’d die from blood loss if delayed assistance, now. She had read enough medical tomes from the library on Dragonstone to know.

“Robb!” she said sharply. The king’s cousin snapped to attention, yet unused to taking orders from a young girl. “Yes, my lady?” She gestured to the queen’s bleeding. “Gather up all the cloth in this tent and press them to the queen’s inner thighs to stem the blood. I’ll get more if needed.” The heir to Winterfell immediately went to work, ripping off the sheets and blankets from the spare bed in the tent.

She emerged from the tent, shouting for more towels and blankets to be brought over. Melisandre went to collect from her tent, while she went for hers. Ashara and Alysanne went into the tent to help the queen with the actual birthing of Rhaegon.

Upon her return to the tent with a bundle of towels in arms, Shireen stepped inside to see the queen lying on the bed, pale and weak, but very much alive. Besides her was the king, who was gazing in awe and love at the small bundle of brown cloth in his wife’s arms. Ashara and Alysanne stood on the other side, beaming widely as proud great-aunt and aunt, respectively. The little bundle shifted and squirmed in its mother’s arms to reveal the wrinkled, chubby face of a boy. A dragonwolf babe. Her heart gave out for such an adorable little creation.

Robb and Melisandre stood at the foot of the bed. The former was tearing up while the latter was deep in prayer. She understood fully. Innocence like what lied in the queen’s embrace was rare in the world, and it was clear that both monarchs had gone through more pain than any of those present. Pain, suffering, grief. On their faces were worn both adoration and a sense of disbelief at their good fortune.

Stepping forward, Shireen could hear the gentle cooing of Daenerys. “Oh my precious babe.” Tears clouded her eyes, leaning forward to press sweet kisses upon the flushed cheeks. “ Muna loves you so… look at him, Jon. Our babe.”

“He’s just precious,” the King said, crying himself. Of all the pain and anguish of the past, the apprehension and chaos of the present, with this babe… the hope of the future could be felt by all.

 



Tyrion Lannister

 

“That was delicious, if I do say so myself,” Tyrion groaned as he polished off his fried eggs and bacon, burnt black, just as he liked it. He looked up from his plate at his niece, who was picking at her food. “Myrcella, you’ve barely had a bite since starting to break your fast. Is something bothering you?” He gently placed a comforting hand on her knee to reassure her of her safety within Winterfell’s walls.

 

The middle child of his exiled brother’s bastards shrugged her shoulders. She picked up a piece of buttered bread, which had staled, and took a bite. Tyrion sighed. When Myrcella was sad or upset, she often withdrew into herself and refused to talk to anyone. She had been like this ever since he returned to Winterfell and it was starting to worry him given how long she’d isolated herself in his room.

 

“Myrcella,” he tried again. “If there is anything you need or any assistance that you require, the household staff of Winterfell is at your beck and call.” She raised her head to make eye contact with him. “Please… if not for yourself, for me. It’s painful to watch you clam up inside your shell.” A tear welled up in the corner of his niece’s eye. Oh, gods. I hope I didn’t make it worse.

 

Weeks of silent grief over Tommen’s death caught up with her and she burst out in full-force sobs. Putting down his plate on the table, Tyrion embraced his niece and gently rubbed her back. She buried her face in his chest and hiccuped. Silent fury wracked his insides at Robert. If he ever got his hands on the Fat King, he’d cut out that fat and leave the muscle bare to the winds.

 

Myrcella’s breathing steadied and she slowly pulled back to sit back down in her chair. Still hiccupping slightly, she rubbed the tears out of her eyes. “I… I’m s-sorry if I’ve worried you recently, Uncle Tyrion.” She inhaled shakily. “I just miss Tommen. He never got a proper burial. His body was burnt where he last lied.”

 

“I know,” Tyrion said sympathetically. His mind recalled Tysha, that crofter’s daughter he’d met outside of Lannisport. He fell in love with her and they’d married. But his father… quickly divorced them. Losing a loved one was nothing new to him.

 

A loud meow disturbed both of them as an orange tabby cat ran over from under the bed and jumped onto Myrcella’s lap. Her dour, tear-swollen face vanished to be replaced by one of rapture and laughter. “Oh, Tommen,” she giggled. “What did I tell you? No eating off of my dish.” Tyrion guffawed. It was at once ridiculous and heartwarming. His niece had taken to calling her brother’s kitty after him as a way of remembrance.

 

Pushing the orange tabby off of her lap to an indignant mewl, she yawned and stretched her arms. “I think I’ll take a walk on the battlements today. Feel cooped up in here.” She got down from her chair and went over to the wardrobe in search of a winter cloak.

 

Tyrion hopped down from his chair. He was to meet with Ned in the solar today to plan their next moves in the coming wars against his father. Not that he was looking forward to it particularly, but it would be so satisfying to knock the Old Lion down a few pegs. “Myrcella,” he called as he walked over to the door. His niece looked back at him. “I’m going to meet with the King. You remember what your name is outside this room?” He looked back at her expectantly. 

 

“Marcy,” she said without hesitation. Tyrion smiled before turning to exit the room.

 

As he walked briskly down the halls to the King’s solar, his mind whirled with thoughts. However, the one that stood above all the others was how his father would play the game. Tywin Lannister obeyed no rules, save for his own. He paid lip service to honor and chivalry, but had no qualms about stooping below his stature to put one over his rivals. Tyrion knew very well how to fight dirty - it was the only way a dwarf could hope to survive in a world that spat on those like him. At first, he was concerned that the rigidly honorable Eddard Stark couldn’t hold a candle to his father, but after discovering the truth about Jon Snow…the King in the North was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

 

Stopping outside the door to the solar, he heard hushed voices conversing inside. Sounds like Ser Rodrik. His guess was confirmed when Winterfell’s master-at-arms opened the door and exited the room. “Ah, Lord Tyrion,” Ser Rodrik smiled and bowed his head. “Good morning. I presume you are to meet with our king?”

 

“Indeed I am, Ser Rodrik,” Tyrion smiled. “If I may ask, what is it that you were conferring with his Grace about?”

 

“Oh, accommodations for Jon Snow’s return,” the master-at-arms replied. “His mounts are especially large,” he added with a wink.

 

Tyrion blinked and furrowed his brow. “Mounts?”

 

Ser Rodrik only gave a smirk before heading off down the hall. Tyrion shook his head in bewilderment and opened the door to the solar. Stepping inside, he carefully closed the door behind him, making sure the lock was in place.

 

Ned Stark looked up from the letter he was currently engrossed in. “Lord Hand, please have a seat.” He gestured to the empty chair across the table from him. Tyrion pulled the chair’s seat out from under the table and clambered onto it. There was a pitcher of sweet summer wine with two cups, and he wasted no time in pouring himself a full one.

 

“So, your Grace,” Tyrion started after inhaling a bellyful of intoxicating drink. “Shall we begin? We’ve got a lot on our hands with Robert coming after us with my father right behind him.”

 

The hour passed with the two going over potential invasion routes that Robert could take. A naval assault was considered as it would bypass Moat Cailin but was determined unlikely. The Royal Fleet didn’t have enough ships to carry a sufficiently large army and even if it did, everyone knew how Theon the Hungry Wolf repelled wave after wave of Andal longships that landed on the North’s shores. It wasn’t a stretch to believe that Winter’s sons could do that again. The only other option was through the Neck straight at Moat Cailin, an ancient fortress that kept the North insulated from the Andal invasions centuries ago. Formidable as it was, it could potentially be overrun if the enemy could overwhelm the defenders through sheer numbers.

 

“It’s settled then, your Grace,” Tyrion said after downing his fourth cup of wine. “Houses Karstark, Manderly, and Bolton will together send five thousand men to fortify and man Moat Cailin for the foreseeable future.” His speech was slurred slightly, to Ned’s slight annoyance. “As for White Harbor, I’ll send a raven to Lord Manderly, requesting that he acquire more ships for his fleet. In case Robert does decide to send the Royal Fleet.”

 

“Good,” Ned agreed. “Now on to other matters. The Martells and Tyrells will be arriving in the next moon turn for the betrothals. I’ve spoken with Sansa and she knows that it’s her choice alone on whether to take Trystane to wed. Robb has already agreed to the marriage on account of how it will aid Jon.”

 

“He’s going to marry the beautiful Margaery Tyrell… I doubt he’s going to be upset.” The Imp swirled his goblet. “I presume that Robb is with his brother in Essos, your Grace,” Tyrion said. “After all, you told me that he accompanied Jon on his expedition beyond the Wall.” He snickered at that last part.

 

Ned pursed his lips. “Yes, he is. However, Lord Hand, please watch your tone of voice. I believe the wine is getting to your head.” He stared meaningfully at his Hand, who was going to pour himself yet another cup.

 

Blinking, Tyrion was shaken out of his torpor by his king’s stern words. “My apologies, your Grace. Yes, I will watch what I drink.” Reluctantly, he put the wine pitcher back down and slid his empty cup away from him.

 

He watched Ned pick up the letter he’d been reading earlier when Ser Rodrik had left the solar. It was plain to see that his Grace was troubled by the news. Ned pinched his nose and passed the parchment to him. “Lord Hand, what would you suggest is the best response to a correspondence like this?”

 

Tyrion smoothed out the parchment on the table and read.

 

Queen in the North,

 

Cat! I demand that you send Sweet Robyn back home to me where he belongs at once. Whatever shenanigans that your husband is dabbling in with the Targaryens, my family will have no part of. I expect my son to be back in the Eyrie within a fortnight, or I will call my banners.

 

Lysa Arryn, Lady of the Eyrie

 

Tyrion chuckled. The letter reminded him so much of his dear sister whenever Joffrey threw one of his temper tantrums. Only she never disciplined him - instead, getting mad at whatever upset her pathetic excuse of a prince. Lysa Arryn sounded very much like the Cersei of the Vale.

 

But on a more serious note, it was bad news if the Knights of the Vale joined with Robert on his invasion. The Vale fielded the best cavalry in the Seven Kingdoms. Couple that with the strong martial tradition of the Stormlands and the prime quality arms of the Westerlands… even the raw ferocity of the Northmen would be hard-pressed.

 

“Well, your Grace. First instinct would be to comply with this… request of your goodsister.” More like a not-so-thinly-veiled threat. “However, I am familiar with Littlefinger’s reputation as an opportunist and Lysa’s bizarre affection for him. Even if you sent Robyn home, I’m certain that Littlefinger would convince her to call her banners anyways to curry favor with Robert. At least, keeping Robyn here will dissuade her from acting too aggressively, for fear of harming her son.”

 

“A hostage then?” Ned sighed. “I already did the same with Theon. Now for my own family against my family?” He closed his eyes and sat straight. “From what Cat told me of her sister, I’m concerned that holding Robyn might be more of an incentive for her to strike hard to reclaim him more quickly.”

 

“Well, your Grace, life has taught me that everything comes with a trade-off. I, for example, gained my father’s brains at the cost of his legs,” Tyrion japed, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Ned laughed at his humorous self-degradation. “I admit, you are right about that.” He took a sip of his own wine. “Very well. Robyn will remain here for his fostering. As for his mother… ” he trailed off. After a long pause, he spoke. “It matters not whether I respond to her letter or not. The Knights of the Vale will ride against us either way… unless Lord Royce has earned more loyalty than some Riverlands interloper.”

 

“Are you going to divulge this to Lord Royce, your Grace?” Tyrion asked. “Robyn’s safety is his duty while the young lord is in your care.”

 

“In due time, Lord Tyrion,” said Ned firmly. 

 

Pursing his lips, Tyrion tapped his fingers against the table. “Nevertheless, I think you should speak to him at least somehow. Letters from someone as respected as him to the Vale lords… that could convince at least some to remain neutral, if not join us.”

 

Visibly thinking, Ned then nodded. “Perhaps I can gauge something that doesn’t disclose much to him in the future for such actions - since I doubt Tywin would move before all the pieces are set, we have time. For now, our plans shall remain under wraps.”

 

Tyrion nodded and grinned in appreciation of the King in the North’s hidden cunning. Whoever said that wolves were honorable to a fault?

 


Tywin Lannister

 

Candles flickering as the doors to the small council chamber were thrown open, Tywin Lannister quickly made his way to his seat. Normally surrounded by Amory Lorch and his other household guards, this time an equal number of stag sigils joined him - it was… uncomfortable. Especially given the reason. “Are you sure we shouldn’t include my brother in this, Lord Hand?”

 

Tywin eyed Lord Renly with a disguised contempt. “He’s been in a bender of training for the last week. Let his Grace sleep.” Fucking Cersei. Pycelle was his stooge on the small council, and now the stupid bitch he sired had to get him locked in the dungeons awaiting execution. Now I have to get an entirely new Grand Maester… a selection process supposedly impartial, but in reality completely controlled by the same people he was meeting tonight. All displeased Tywin greatly.

 

As for Renly, it was obvious that he didn’t believe Tywin’s explanation. “Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate our efforts to make him comfortable.” As they both took seats - leaving one between them as a mutually agreed to buffer - the Lord of Storm’s End offered a tight smile.

 

“What’s good for the realm and all that, yes.” The youngest Baratheon was as loyal as blood could make him - unlike House Lannister or House Stark, that blood loyalty didn’t really exist. Renly was ambitious, with a sort of animal cunning that could sniff out opportunity for advancement anywhere. Normally easygoing, the stress of the out of nowhere conspiracy to restore the Targaryens, his brother Stannis’ death as confirmed by both Varys’ little birds and Littlefinger’s sources, and what Tywin could only gather as Loras Tyrell spurning his advances had made Renly bitter and even less loyal. Something Tywin could work towards his advantage.

 

Besides, anything that could serve as a check on Baelish’s growing power was an added bonus.

 

At just that moment - luckily before Tywin could be roped into more small talk with the sullen buggerer - the clink of mailed feet heralded the arrival of the delegation. “My Lords,” Janos Slynt started with a bow, the bald fool’s ego having grown triple in size since his appointment to the Small Council. “May I present His High Holiness, the High Septon, along with Ser Baelor and Lady Lynesse of House Hightower.”

 

A slight raise of his brow at the latter name. Tywin had been expecting Lord Leyton’s heir and firstborn son to arrive under the excuse of shepherding the High Septon - this ‘High Sparrow’ as many referred to him as - but not the lad’s sister. Younger than Ser Baelor, she retained the sort of willowy, fair beauty common in the Reach. “Lord Tywin, Lord Renly.” Baelor bowed while Lynesse curtseyed. “Our Lord thanks you for the personal reception you grant us.”

 

“Lord Leyton’s thanks is welcome,” Tywin droned, putting on the obsequious court airs he despised. “And the honor is mine for welcoming His High Holiness to King’s Landing.” One could never bow too low… or have enough knives poised over the man whose power could end up rivaling one’s own. 

 

Renly couldn’t help but assert his own importance. “I speak for his Grace, Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, when I rejoice in this new dawn of the Faith in the Seven Kingdoms.” The emphasis was not lost on Tywin, who wholeheartedly agreed despite his amusement at Renly of all people showcasing his piety. As if Littlefinger couldn’t bury you in a heartbeat with all the male whores he sneaks into your chambers. 

 

The High Sparrow had abandoned the usual gaudy silk robes inlaid with gold for a simple habit of a country septon, feet bare and smelling as if he hadn’t bathed in months. A true believer… good. So much easier to manipulate. “A moment so long overdue, my Lords. The Most Devout has lost its way due to the corruption and compromise it so willingly entered with the Targaryen Kings. With them deposed and the usurpers on their way to defeat, we can begin the march toward a world free of vice and sin so proclaimed by the Seven and begun by his Saintly Majesty, Baelor the Blessed.”

 

Baelor the Blessed was a Targaryen, you fool. But Tywin kept his smile wide and teeth clenched. “Providence upon us, High Holiness. Now shall we begin?” Even Janos Slynt, idiot that he was, seemed to notice that the High Sparrow and the flock of Septons and Silent Sisters that accompanied him hadn’t taken their seats as the Hightower retinue had. 

 

More powerful than any High Septon in centuries, the High Sparrow refused to even try to be intimidating. Quite the opposite in fact. “Forgive me, Lord Tywin, but I will have to decline your gracious offer. My old bones ache after such a long ride, and I must pray and seek guidance in the Royal Family’s sept if I am to have the grace and strength to assist His Grace in purging himself of vice and sin.” The High Sparrow bowed, “Ser Baelor and Lady Lynesse are two of the most virtuous of birth. They may argue for the Faith in my stead.” He then made his exit, stone-faced septa to his right beginning to chant incarnations while the Silent Sisters waved their incense decanters in rhythmic motions - filling the air with the sweet-smelling but pungent smoke.

 

Suppressing a cough, Tywin finally was able to make his seat. “Well… I believe we should proceed without them, Ser Baelor.”

 

“Quite presumptuous if you ask me,” Renly huffed, crossing his arms. “They didn’t even bring any of their own soldiers to bolster our City Watch.” From the disappointment in Janos Slynt’s face, he seemed to have been looking forward to cloak his various acts in the protection of the Faith.

 

Ser Baelor shrugged. “They’re focusing on ‘purifying’ the lands of the Faith. Paxter Redwyne was already forced to accept three hundred Poor Fellows into the Arbor, while ships have already been sent to Lannisport…”

 

“They better know that the Faith is still subservient to His Grace,” Tywin warned. “If they attempt to undermine my family’s ancestral seat, the ‘High Sparrow’ will have more than the Targaryens to worry about.”

 

“Do not worry, Lord Tywin.” Lynesse shocked the old lion by interjecting, her beauty masking over a sharp mind. “The Knight Captain of the Warrior’s Sons leading the expedition to purify the Westerlands is one that was formerly in your service, and my brother ensured that his devotion to the Faith supplemented rather than supplanted said loyalty.” Apparently, she wasn’t just the vain, spoiled maiden that all of Westeros gossiped about years before. Interesting. 

 

“In any case, the desires of the Crown in regards to the Faith are rather obvious. Instead, we are here to discuss your offer to our house,” Ser Baelor responded. “Is it true, that you are offering to grant House Hightower the lordship paramount over the Reach?”

 

Once again, it was Renly that answered. “House Tyrell plots against the Crown.” His voice was trembling with anger, and not a little betrayal. Apparently he actually loved that flowery shit. Fool. “They will pay for their treason!”

 

It was clear that the righteous anger of the wronged Lord of Storm’s End wasn’t going well with either Hightower. Tywin wasn’t shocked as to why, considering the Lady of Highgarden was Alerie Hightower, their sister. “What the Master of Laws means to say is that Olenna Tyrell has manipulated her family into suiting her own age-addled paranoid agenda.” The Queen of Thorns was a Redwyne, and had no recent connection to Oldtown. Lord Leyton wouldn’t have any compunctions about tossing her to the lions. “The title of Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Reach deserves to be in the possession of a wiser family, one that both dutifully follows the one true Faith and understands the knightly paragon of loyalty.”

 

Baelor grinned. “Your words appeal to me, Lord Tywin, and give me no doubts as to delivering to you my father’s acceptance of your offer. You will have the Hightower forces and resources of Oldtown alongside the Stars and Swords.” Tywin’s still vibrant green eyes sparkled - it felt like the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion all over again. Outsmarting and out strategizing those that thought they could pull the lion’s tail. “But I think that for us to truly trust both the Crown and House Lannister, we will need to seal our new alliance with a marriage.”

 

That caused eyebrows to rise. Tywin’s gaze settled on Lynesse, and it all finally made sense. “You wish to offer your sister in marriage to secure this alliance?”

 

“Yes. She is still young and capable of bearing children, not to mention witty and beautiful.” The young knight proclaimed his sister’s virtues as well as any father. As for Lynesse, her eyes bored on Tywin with a remarkable intensity.

 

But the Lion of Casterly Rock knew his gossip and history. “She was the wife of Ser Jorah Mormont if I recall correctly, currently the sworn sword of Daenerys Targaryen in Essos.”

 

A fact lost on Renly, but the younger lord managed to gather Tywin’s sincerity in disclosing the information. “How do we know she isn’t still beholden to him?! We had enough traitors in our midst when my brother asked Eddard Stark to be Hand of the King!”

 

At the mention of Jorah, Lynesse’s nose wrinkled. “I can assure you, Lord Renly, I have no use to associate with that trash anymore.” The highborn beauty’s voice was filled with disdain. Tywin didn’t blame her - Jorah Mormont’s dabbling in the slave trade had been the biggest scandal of its day, dropping a taint on her to which any woman without a name as august as Hightower would be unable to escape. “My loyalties - if I am so lucky as to marry the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms - would be unquestioned.”

 

“I’m afraid we must decline. The King is married to my daughter,” Tywin stated. Even if she was a fool and a bitch, he wasn’t going to let her die - perhaps a year in a cell would straighten her out. “And I’m sure Lord Renly’s… tastes don’t run in that direction.”

 

Renly stood, lips pursed in anger at the jape… but a nonplussed look from Tywin forced him down. With the Faith’s influence asserting itself once more, he would have to tone down his proclivities. Picking a fight in front of the Hightowers was not smart.

 

Waiting for the tension to dissipate, Baelor shook his head. “It is not his Grace that we propose allying our house in matrimony. It is House Lannister.”

 

“But Ser Jaime is dead?!” Renly responded, utterly confused. 

 

Baelor ended any confusion. “Our offer is for you, Lord Tywin. Unmarried, in need of heirs, my sister can marry you tomorrow under the blessing of the High Septon himself, if you so desire.”

 

Blinking, eyes locking with the Hightower beauty, for once, Tywin Lannister had been shocked speechless.

Notes:

CastleColin: A little Targling - isn’t he cute?

Longclaw: And Crown Prince Rhaegon is here! A little one for Jon and Dany to love and shower with affection :D

Kingsguard is forming, but not at all done.

So... Tywin has secured the support of House Hightower... by marrying Jorah's ex-wife. Honestly, it was a lightbulb moment for me :D

Enjoy and please comment!

Chapter 39: Gold and Steel

Summary:

1. Catelyn and Edmure have a run in at the Twins.
2. Margaery learns how to be a proper Northerner and chats with her goodbrother.
3. Alysanne plays babysitter while arriving at Yunkai.
4. Jon plans to go home while getting some lovin' from his beautiful bride.
5. Grey Worm is the hero of the Battle of Yunkai.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi all. Things are beginning to go faster and faster. Strap yourselves in!

CastleColin: The liberation of Slaver’s Bay continues as plans go awry back home. A familiar face will join the procession to Winterfell. Take a guess?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

CATELYN STARK

 

Horse hooves pounded the dirt track of the Kingsroad as a small retinue of Tully bannermen escorting two of their liege lord’s children made their way at a brisk pace out of the Neck. They’d been riding hard for the past fortnight and had just crossed the border of the North into the Riverlands. The lands that they were now in were owned by the last house that Catelyn wanted to see - the Freys.

 

“Cat, hurry up!” said Edmure, exasperated at how his sister kept slipping from her saddle. “There’s no telling when Robert will invade Father’s lands, and I will not have him caught off guard.”

 

“I’m riding to the best of my ability, brother.” Cat gritted her teeth at how painful the saddle jostled between her legs. “I haven’t ridden a horse for this distance since Ned brought me up to Winterfell.”

 

“Well, I’m not slowing down for you, sister,” he responded curtly. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess anyways.” Spurring his steed, he rode on ahead of her to the front of his bannermen.

 

Catelyn sighed in weary sympathy. Her brother still hadn’t gotten over how she’d decided not to send reinforcements to their father in Riverrun. As hard-hearted as it seemed, she couldn’t risk losing any of the North’s fighting men with the Targaryens still absent from Westeros. She wasn’t taking any chances as she remembered vividly how the Bran from Jon’s past warned there would be no third chance if the dead weren’t defeated in this life. Even after informing her brother of that fact on their way through the barrowlands, he remained adamant about his disapproval of her admittedly callous abandonment of their father.

 

Not that she blamed him, though. However, the survival of all life as is was more important than any individual one, regardless of rank, religion, and yes, birth. She prayed to the Seven to grant mercy on all truly devout in their faith and deliver them from the ancient evil beyond the Wall.

 

“Delp, Elwood, Enger, Poul,” commanded Edmure. “Halt.”

 

The four guards from the Tully Household pulled on their reins and brought their horses to a sudden halt. Catelyn came to a less graceful stop, her torso being flung forward atop her mount’s neck, much to its chagrin.

 

“What now, brother?” she huffed, annoyed at the abrupt stop.

 

“That, Cat,” he spat, pointing ahead of them on their right. She followed his gaze to see the twin towers of the Twins atop the stone bridge spanning the Green Fork. “The backstabbing family within those walls was responsible for our family’s fall.”

 

“Aye, brother,” Catelyn agreed before rolling her eyes. “Is it really necessary to recite the obvious? We’ve already established that we’re not crossing here. We’re going to the Ruby Ford before taking the Riverroad to Father.”

 

“Well, in that case, your Grace,” interjected Elwood. “We might want to pick up the pace. The nearest inn after the Twins is a good hour ahead of us. On top of that, the weather looks like it’s about to turn for the worst.” He gestured to the heavy clouds that were gathering over them. A maester wasn’t necessary to tell a storm was coming.

 

Edmure grumbled but said nothing. Pulling on his reins to resume their journey, they had barely taken five steps before Catelyn felt a few drops then heard thunder. Seven hells . She cursed under her breath. The rain was coming down in sheets and thunder punctuated the air in a steady rhythm. On the horizon, she saw lightning flash across the sky.

 

“By the old gods and the new,” groaned Edmure. “What are we going to do? We can’t set up tents in the rain and we’ll be dead of the chills by the time we make it to that inn.”

 

As Catelyn went to answer, she spotted a rider approaching them from the Twins. As the figure came closer, she could make out the twin tower sigil on the cloak draped over its hunched form. Pulling up in front of the Tully retinue, he addressed them in a hoarse, grating voice. “Who goes there? Do you seek to cross here?”

 

“I am Catelyn Stark, Queen in the North,” she responded without pause. “This is my brother, Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun.” She blinked and wiped the raindrops streaking down her face. “No, we were heading south to the Ruby Ford when this rain started.”

 

“You’ll never make it in this weather,” the man replied. “My lord father Walder Frey would be more than pleased to offer his liege lord’s children shelter until they can be on their way.”

 

Edmure noticeably balked and went to refuse, but Catelyn shot him a stern glance. As much as she wanted nothing to do with her father’s treacherous bannermen, the man had a point. They’d certainly die from the cold if they didn’t get out of the rain. She could only pray that nothing unfortunate would befall them.

 

Her fears were not allayed when she accepted the man’s offer. “Thank you for your father’s hospitality, Ser. May we know your name?”

 

The man looked over his shoulder as he turned his horse around back toward the castle. “Lothar Frey, your Grace.” He spurred his mount on, eager to put a roof over his head.

 

As their retinue followed him, Edmure shot his sister a look of warning to which she reciprocated. After all, Lothar Frey was responsible for murdering Robb’s wife, Talisa, and their unborn son in their past life… 

 


 

 “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Walder Frey laughed at his soggy arrivals as they made their way into the Great Hall. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting visitors at this hour, but it’s always a pleasure to host old Hoster Tully’s little trout.” He clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers at the serving girls standing off to the side. “You all are just in time for dinner.”

 

Shedding their sodden riding cloaks to be taken away by the Frey servants, Catelyn, Edmure, and their guards took their seats at one of the long wooden tables beneath Walder’s elevated seat. Most lords had a long table reserved for their family that they would offer to honored guests. Not Walder Frey - he dined alone.

 

Edmure discreetly leaned over to Catelyn’s ear. “I don’t trust Walder’s hospitality at all. You and I both know that guest right means nothing to him. The fact that bread and salt was offered to us is just a mummer’s farce.”

 

“Do you think we had a choice, brother?!” she snapped. “Let’s just not give him a reason to hold us here any longer than we’d like.” She sighed and turned her attention to the goblets of wine that the serving girls were busy pouring out for them. Snatching one up, she drank heavily from it to avoid talking any longer with her brother.

 

Edmure snorted and turned to converse with his guards, who were sitting across the table from him. They were all starving and eager for a hot meal after weeks of dried camp rations. A loud clap interrupted them from their conversation.

 

“Dinner is served!’ Walder announced. “My personal favorite - steak and kidney pie!” On cue, several serving girls strode out from the kitchens, each with a steaming pie in their hands. The hearty scent of roast meat and kidneys wafted up to Catelyn’s nose as her pie was set in front of her. Picking up her fork, she tentatively scooped a morsel out of the pan and took a bite. The pie was surprisingly tasty - just the right blend of salty and spicy. There was a certain herb mixed into the filing that made it richer. She groaned contentedly and tried hard not to wolf it all down in one go.

 

From the noisy chomps and slurps next to her, it was obvious that Edmure had no such restraint. He had always been like that when he had to wait for his meals - it annoyed her and father to no end when guests were hosted at Riverrun in their youth. Lysa didn’t care - she barely paid her brother any attention. Yet for all the time she spent gawking at Petyr Baelish, he spent gawking at her older sister. Some people are just so clueless.

 

From his dais overlooking the hall, Walder smiled behind his wrinkled visage. He had no pie served to him, which was curious. Clearing his throat, he announced, “Well, how about a song? I always enjoy a tune to help my meal go down.” Snapping his fingers again, the doors to the hall flew open and a troupe of musicians marched into the room - Lothar and his brother, Black Walder at the head.

 

Suddenly, Catelyn felt an overwhelming sense of dread. This was exactly how the Red Wedding started. If the Rains of Castamere started playing… May every Frey man be cut up and made into a pie. Still, she kept her wits above her and placed a reassuring hand on her brother, who was starting to sweat.

 

The musicians took up their places on the sides of the hall and raised their instruments. What came out of their horns was the most high-pitched blare that grated across Catelyn’s ears. Then the singers started belting out the most bawdy tune that she remembered from her youth. The song was a mockery of the popular Jenny of Oldstones , in which ‘Jenny’ danced among whores rather than her ghosts. Only the singers were using her name instead of ‘Jenny’s.’

 

Edmure clenched his fists and went to rise out of his seat, but Catelyn yanked him back down. As disrespectful as it was, she couldn’t risk giving Walder a pretext for imprisoning them. Delp, on the other hand, had no such reservations about defending Hoster’s daughter’s honor. He leapt from the table with a knife in hand… then fell over from intoxication. Clearly drunk, he failed to heed Catelyn’s yell for him to stop before he clambered to his feet and charged the musicians.

 

Delp had barely taken three steps before he dropped to the floor, a bolt in the dead center of his chest. The hornblower in front of his corpse smirked and lowered his crossbow, which he had held covertly behind his back. Silence overtook the Great Hall as everyone stared at the dead Tully bannerman sprawled on the floor. Walder broke the suspense with a disappointing click of his tongue.

 

“Lord Edmure,” he started. “I am most displeased at your bannerman’s blatant breaking of guest right in my home. Had I not given you the bread and salt upon your entry?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As it is the lord’s responsibility to enforce discipline upon his sworn swords, I am holding you personally accountable for this… discourtesy.”

 

Edmure went to challenge Walder’s accusations, but Catelyn elbowed him in the ribs. They were already in trouble as it was - best not to dig the grave any deeper. Fuming, he bowed his head to the old man sitting smugly atop the dais. “I take full responsibility for my guard’s actions and will accept the proper penalty as such.” He ground his teeth as he said that.

 

“The proper penalty, heh,” Walder said. “You and your sister will remain here for the time being until your father comes around to answer for what happened. I am sure that the Queen in the North wouldn’t want her brother to be lonely now, would she?” Turning his head to face his sons, he called, “Black Walder and Lothar. Take our esteemed guests to their rooms. Give them the finest comfort as they will be staying here for awhile.” Catelyn closed her eyes, her worst nightmare coming true. Is this my punishment for how I treated Jon? Weighed against that, it was rather fitting.

 

“Right away, Father,” said Black Walder. As he and his brother moved to escort Edmure and Catelyn out of the Great Hall, he turned back abruptly. “What about Lord Edmure’s bannermen?”

 

Walder’s smirk contorted into a sadistic grin. “Finish the song for them.” He raised his goblet in a toast. Enger, Elwood, and Poul scrambled to their feet as the musicians brandished their hidden crossbows.

 

As Catelyn exited the hall, their screams of agony echoed in her ears.

 


MARGAERY TYRELL

 

A dainty hand reaching out to the thick trunk, Lady Margaery Tyrell gently rested the palm against the rough bark. The oak tree wasn’t a Weirwood, not even close. Far smaller and with a vibrant green canopy rather than the blood red that made the latter so iconic, it only made an… underwhelming substitute.

 

“There are few Weirwoods south of the Neck.” The Tyrell beauty turned to find her raven-haired lady-in-waiting, Melissa Blackwood smiling softly, hands clasped in front of the skirts of her black dress. Youngest sister of Lord Tytos Blackwood, she had met up with the Tyrell/Martell procession at Harrenhal. Picked personally by Margaery’s grandmother as a First Man companion for her as she would marry Robb Stark. As of now, Melissa was teaching her about the Old Gods.

 

Margaery raised an eyebrow, curious. “Why is that?”

 

A sigh. “The Andals… many cut them down as a sort of psychological warfare against the First Men. Most of the remainder largely fell victim to the Faith Militant over the various years.” This caused Margaery to wince. News of the Oldtown riots had sent Olenna into a fit of rage, screaming at Margaery’s parents and sending ravens to her grandfather Leyton. None which were yet answered. “As a result, most Godswoods hold oaks or cedars as their heart trees.” House Blackwood was one of the few south of the Neck that retained the Old Gods. “Come here, Lady Margaery, let me show you something.”

 

Being led around the tree, Margaery soon found a crudely carved face in the oak. Eyes wide depressions and the mouth gaping open, as if screaming. “Which of the old gods does this represent?” She was kicking herself for not visiting the Godswood at Highgarden… but the preparation for the travel north consumed her days. 

 

“No,” chuckled Melissa, reverently bowing her head at the face on the tree. “Weirwoods never need to be freshly carved, while those for other trees need constant maintenance. These faces, they are what the magic of the gods use to witness all around them. To connect with us in the serenity of the Godswood.”

 

“It does feel serene…” Surprising herself slightly, Margaery could acutely feel just the mystical power that Melissa seemed to feel. “Can I pray?”

 

Melissa smiled widely. “Of course. Just kneel here.” Margaery complied, gingerly lowering to her knees as her cloak kept her finely tailored blue and yellow dress untouched. “Never lie in the Godswood, my Lady. It is the worst of luck.” 

 

Letting out a deep breath, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. Envisioning the great Weirwoods of the North, the ancient castle of Winterfell where she would soon be calling her home. Old Gods… my voice is new to you… I may be a follower of the Seven, but I hope you can give me your guidance as I journey into your domain. Grant me the wisdom of my grandmother and the kindness and nurturing nature of my mother. Grant me the love of my intended, and the strength to be a good wife and Queen to him. To do my duty for your people in the North. Such is my deepest wish. As she prayed, Margaery swore she could feel a calming wind pass through her.

 




Spearing a spoon through the flaky outer crust of the meat pie, Margaery sniffed from the wisps of steam that escaped into the air. Inhaling the meaty aroma of the tender chicken, melted cheese, and boiled greens. Mmmmmm… 

 

“So you actually prayed in one of those?” Trystane Martell asked her with keen interest. He snorted at her nod. “Thank the gods I don’t have to live in the North.”

 

Margaery narrowed her eyes. In the weeks they had travelled to reach the crossroads inn at the Ruby Ford, the dashing youngest child of Doran Martell had seemed quite charming and respectful - positively serene compared to his larger than life uncle, though Oberyn shared a similar self-confident charm. Perhaps she’d been wrong in her assessment. “What do you mean by that?”

 

Sipping at the wine he had ordered - making a face at how sour it was - Trystane shrugged. “Nothing against it, I just know my mother would cut my balls off if I abandoned my faith in Mother Rhoyne. Most Dornish follow the Seven, but House Martell sticks with the roots of Princess Nymeria.” 

 

The Tyrell beauty relaxed, comforted by the answer that her first impression was right. Bringing the spoon to her mouth, she devoured the scoop of meat and greens. Gods… “Seven Hells, this is delicious.” The best pie she had ever tasted, another quick scoop finding her tongue cheering at the taste louder than it screamed at the heat. “Excuse me!” she called out to the server. 

 

A plump boy with frizzy hair waddled over, standing straight. “Yes, my Lady?” While the inn got many highborn travellers, none were so august as children of the Lords of Highgarden and Sunspear. He seemed… starstruck, especially by her beauty. It was something that Margaery was used to but didn’t let get to her head.

 

“Who made these delicious pies?”

 

“I did, my Lady.” He even blushed. 

 

Taking out a gold dragon, she surreptitiously handed it to him. “You have a bright future with skills like that…”

 

“Hot Pie, they call me Hot Pie…” the boy stammered. Trystane crossed his arms, trying to hide an amused smirk at how the server was enchanted by Margaery. 

 

“Well, Hot Pie,” she said, adding four other gold dragons to her gift. “Save up your money. You should be owning this inn, and when I come back as Queen in the North, I hope to see that you do.” Hot Pie beamed, bowing and mumbling a thank you. Once he was gone, Trystane no longer hid his grin. “What?”

 

The Prince of Dorne laughed. “Now I know why they call you the Rose of Highgarden. While you are beautiful, Queen Cersei is beautiful and everyone hates her - you have a tendency to make everyone fall for you, Lady Margaery.”

 

Smirking herself, she continued eating her pie. “I only hope to enchant my husband to be… and the people of the North.” Another three mouthfuls and Margaery washed it all down with a mug of ale. A bitter drink, but one she would have to get used to. “How about you, Prince Trystane? King Eddard only offered a betrothal on the condition that Princess Sansa agrees to it.” The novelty of it both surprised and impressed Margaery. The Northerners were different, alright. “How will you charm your bride?”

 

A sly grin formed on Trystane’s face. “I may not be a globetrotting lover of wine, women, men,  and song as is my uncle, but I do have his wont of seduction. She isn’t likely to resist my charms… sincere as they are.” He leaned back. “We Martells are passionate people, but we treat our women well. Princess Daenerys - that’s Daeron II’s sister - my ancestor made the transition away from her love of Daemon Blackfyre by building the Water Gardens. That’s why if Princess Sansa agrees to marry me, while I won’t change my faith, I’ll plant a Godswood in the Water Gardens for her if she so wishes… I’m not the High Septon.”

 

All happiness dropped from her expression. “Damn him… mother is beside herself after that… barbarism. Grandmother was furious at her and grandfather Leyton, that the new High Septon’s reformation of the Faith Militant wasn’t stopped.” Alerie Tyrell loved her family, both the one she was born from and the one she was married into, but Margaery knew her loyalty was to House Tyrell. That’s what made it so hard for her. “I hate to speak ill of my family, but I think grandfather Leyton made a deal with the Crown.”

 

Trystane nodded. “That does make sense. I’m sure the news that you are now my good-sister, through the marriage of my sister to your brother must have reached King’s Landing.” Now that had been a good surprise for Margaery. She couldn’t wait to see Garlan and meet her new good-sister. Hopefully he and Arianne could bury the years of rivalry between the Reach and Dorne. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I don’t hear that Renly has married a Hightower girl.”

 

She shuddered at the thought of her would-be betrothed. “Well, from what Loras has told me, Renly would likely try to wriggle out of that. Girls… they don’t have the parts he likes.” They both laughed at that. “House Hightower controls the Citadel and the Starry Sept, and they will need to be placated. My guess is that my aunt Lynesse will marry Tywin Lannister.”

 

Chortling at that, Trystane smacked the table. “Gods, I’d pay a sack of silver stags to see… ah, fuck!” He had accidentally smacked his knife with his palm. Cut across the hand, blood started gushing onto the table.

 

Before Margaery could do anything, a woman in a traveling dress of dull blue darted forward. Cloth in hand. “Here, press this against the cut,” she said to Margaery, holding it there and waiting for the daughter of Highgarden to do so. “It doesn’t look that deep, so we can probably bandage it. Don’t move.” She had a distinctive foreign accent, though her common tongue was fluent.

 

Margaery held it there while the girl returned with a bag. “What are you doing?” asked Margaery when she began dusting powder into a white bandage. 

 

“Special remedy, from Tyrosh. It contains sulfur so excuse the smell,” she smiled. “It helps with wound rot, not that the Citadel cares, my lady.”

 

Judging her identity wasn’t that hard to deduce, while Trystane tried not to wince in pain, Margaery struck up a conversation. “Your accent… Tyroshi?”

 

“Close, Volantis.” The healer began to bandage the palm. “I’m the daughter of a Magister there, though I vastly prefer the art of healing. Citadel booted me out, as did the Grand Maester of King’s Landing, so I thought I could head North. See if the King there could use my services.”

 

“We’re headed to Winterfell, if you wish to join us? I’m sure Prince Oberyn would let you hitch a ride for patching up his nephew.” The healer only smiled back, continuing her work.

 


ALYSANNE SAND

 

A chubby hand reached up to grab a fistful of chestnut-brown hair. Laughter rang out as it pulled down hard.

 

“Oh my!” gasped Alysanne, shocked at the babe’s surprising strength. “Rhaegon, you’ve definitely inherited the inner steel of your parents,” she laughed as she gently freed her locks from his meaty grip. The tiny son of her half-sister giggled in response before letting out a huge yawn and snuggling down in the folds of his blanket. Alysanne’s heart melted - the little treasure in her arms reminded her so much of what Aerys used to be like - innocent and pure. 

 

Looking over the Crown Prince of House Targaryen, she noticed he bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, with the only trace of his mother being the amethyst shade of his eyes and the silver-gold hue of his hair. She prayed that the babe in her womb would be just as blessed as her nephew.

 

Her lady mother Ashara gently nudged her, discreetly motioning for her to keep Rhaegon quiet while the King and Queen held a parley with the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Alysanne complied, gently rocking the babe in her arms and humming softly a lullaby that her mother sang to her and Aerys in their youth. She could see a procession of richly dressed men approaching the pavilion under which the Targaryen monarchs sat with their Kingsguard standing and ready. She herself and her mother were situated a bit further back under the canopy from which to watch the proceedings. Her mind drifted back to when the Targaryen Army had first come within sight of the Yellow City… 

 

“Would you like to take a guess as to how many slaves are behind those walls, sister?” Daenerys asked atop her silver mare.

 

“Maybe… fifty thousand?” she guessed, trying to gauge how many people could fit within the confines of the city of the Wise Masters. Larger than Astapor with its buildings more pressed together, Yunkai stood out among the dusty rocks of the land surrounding it. Its most striking details, however, were the massive pyramids that penetrated the sky, atop which sat bronze statues of the Harpy - a creature with the body of a woman, the talons of an eagle, the wings of a bat, and the tail of a scorpion.

 

Frankly, she found the Harpy to look downright hideous.

 

“Not even close,” Daenerys laughed. “Two hundred thousand, actually.” Her gaze then steeled. “Two hundred thousand reasons we have for taking the city.”

 

Musing over the memory, she considered her half-sister’s care for individual life quite touching. Certainly more so than how the masters treated the well-being of their slaves as she had witnessed back at Astapor. After liberating the city’s slaves, Jon and Daenerys had set up a council of freedmen and non-slaveholding freeborn to rule in the Good Masters’ place. They had also left behind a garrison of three thousand Unsullied to maintain order until the new regime had settled down. The Breakers of Chains would make sure that the chains stayed broken.

 

Now, awaiting the arrival of the delegation of the Wise Masters, the rightful King and Queen of Westeros were dressed in the same finery as they were during the liberation of Astapor. Jon wore his all-black garb of tunic, breeches, and boots underneath a blood-red cloak tied over his shoulders. Daenerys bore the black-and-red battledress under which she had on black leather riding boots. While Jon let his raven curls out loose, Daenerys had her hair up in the Dothraki braiding style that she favored in combat. Winter’s Wolf and Dark Sister were displayed prominently on their figures.

 

To Alysanne, they looked every inch Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya the Fierce come again. They were the fire to each other’s blood.

 

As the sun past its zenith, the envoy from Yunkai arrived at the Targaryen camp; thirty soldiers armed with spears, and ten other slaves. Six of whom carried the litter that the envoy traveled in, with the other four carrying large chests in their arms. The man in the litter climbed out when his litter-bearers gently lowered him to the ground. Straightening up and adjusting the folds of his tokar, he entered the tent where the Targaryens were waiting.

 

The envoy introduced himself as Razdal mo Eraz - unlike Kraznys mo Nakloz, he had a less sickening smile and more control of his tongue. Yet, Alysanne observed that his manners didn’t extend to either his guards or his slaves - he pushed his way past the former and stepped over the latter. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly and clutched Rhaegon tighter to her breast. At least this little one knew no vices, not at his age and wouldn’t know growing up if he was anything like his parents.

 

“Ancient and glorious is Yunkai,” Razdal announced upon entrance to the pavilion. “Our walls are strong, our nobles proud and fierce, our common folk without fear. Ours is the blood of ancient Ghis, whose empire was old when Valyria was yet a squalling child. You were wise to sit and speak, Khal and Khaleesi. You shall find no easy conquest here.”

 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to make it that easy now, would we?” Daenerys replied sarcastically. Next to her, the Sand Snakes tried and failed to stifle their snickering, much to Razdal’s annoyance. Jaime cracked a grin while Grey Worm, who had just entered from the back of the tent, relaxed his otherwise stone-faced visage.

 

Daenerys smirked. “Our Unsullied are fresh off their first conquet and our Dothraki are spoiling for a fight. If the great and glorious Yunkai can offer an actual battle, they will gladly accept.”

 

Razdal took a moment to regain his composure before he continued. “If blood is what you desire, blood shall flow. But why? ‘Tis true you and your husband have committed savageries in Astapor. But the Yunkai’i are a forgiving and generous people. The Wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the Silver Queen and… your consort.” Razdal clapped his hands and sent the slaves carrying the chests forward to kneel before Daenerys, who raised her brow as the slaves opened the chests to reveal shining bars of gold.

 

Alysanne was impressed, but she knew that this generosity contained a hidden threat. After all, the battle-cry of the Golden Company was “Beneath the gold, the bitter steel!”

 

 “Why squander your strength against our mighty walls when you will need every man to regain your family’s throne in far Westeros? Yunkai wishes you only well in that endeavor. And to prove the truth of that is this.” Razdal indicated the chests before him. “Fifty thousand golden marks,” Razdal said smoothly. “Yours as a gesture of friendship from the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Gold given freely is better than plunder bought with blood, surely? So, I say to you, Daenerys Targaryen, take this chest and go. Certainly there are ships to be bought.”

 

Daenerys took a long, meaningful look at the gold shining in the chest before casting Jon a sly smirk to which he reciprocated. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time the Wise Masters tried to buy her off with a bribe of precious metal. But instead of taking it, Daenerys slammed the lid shut. 

 

Alysanne was intrigued. So far, the parley had proceeded as per usual in Daenerys’ last life. Now things were becoming different very fast. Still, she was surprised at how her half-sister reacted to the gold that was set at her feet.

 

Razdal wasn’t the only one who was shocked. Everyone in the tent was baffled at how she unceremoniously disregarded a castle’s worth of gold so casually. She cleared her throat before speaking again to the envoy.

 

“I have a gift for you as well, dear master,” she said. “Your life… consider this gold you so kindly gifted me a good faith payment to assure you of my word.”

 

“My life?” Razdal frowned. “For what reason do you speak of?”

 

“For the lives of every man, woman, and child in bondage behind the walls of your city. You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman, and child shall be given as much food, clothing, and property for their years of servitude. Reject this gift and no mercy shall be given to the Wise Masters.”

 

Daenerys smiled genuinely, but from the warning look Jon was giving Razdal, it was clear that she wasn’t joking. In her last life, she had made the mistake of leaving the Wise Masters intact when she liberated Yunkai. The result being the freedmen being put back in chains almost as soon as she had left. This time, every master would be put to the sword if they resisted.

 

Razdal, however, was having none of it.

 

“You are mad! We are not Astapor. We are Yunkai and we have powerful friends! Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive we shall enslave again, and use to retake Astapor from the rabble. We can make a slave of you as well, do not doubt it. There are pleasure houses in Lys and Tyrosh where men would pay handsomely to bed the last Targaryen.”

 

“It is good to see you know who I am,” Daenerys said mildly. Next to her, Jon drew his sword and brandished it - the milky pale blade of the famed Sword of the Morning clear as dawn for all to see.

 

“You would be wise to live up to your noble namesake, my lord,” Jon said. “It is wiser for the masters to give up their treasure in blood to keep their treasure in gold.” He tapped the lid of the chest with the flat of his blade. “What friends do you have that can match the Dothraki and Unsullied, the strongest armies in Essos, other than the Golden Company?”

 

Razdal looked at a loss for words. Perspiration was visible across his brow, but still trying to maintain a controlled decorum, he shook his head at the Targaryen monarchs. “Even against siege weapons, Yunkai will fight to the last man. What few catapults I could see coming down from the city won’t be enough to bring down our walls.”

 

He spread his arms out wide. “Our people are not fools. We knew your kind would come to us after hearing what befell Astapor. The land has been stripped bare of any food that could sustain an army - you won’t be able to maintain a siege.” Allowing himself a slight sneer, he pointed at Jon with a crooked finger. “Your consort here would make a fine living in the fighting pits of Meereen. Perhaps as a small mercy, we shall sell you there with him instead of Lys?”

 

Alysanne clutched Rhaegon to her chest tighter. He started to cry in his sleep. Apparently he knew a threat to his parents when he felt it. Her mother eased him from her grasp and rocked him gently until he fell back into a peaceful sleep.

 

“I thought you might say that,” Daenerys replied. “As for bringing down your walls, we actually plan to blow through them.”

 

“With what?” Razdal scoffed.

 

As one, Daenerys and Jon whistled for their winged mounts. “Sarogon! Arogon!”

 

Twin roars echoed from the sky as the great grey and red dragons swooped down to land behind the Yunkish envoy. Overhead, Jogon, Rhaegal, Viserion, and Ragnar circled and screeched to announce their presence. Such was the most blatant show of intimidation that Alysanne had seen short of Aerys in his rages.

 

Razdal tripped over the elaborate folds of his tokar and flailed on the ground trying to get back up. The cloth folds having tangled up around his legs. Alysanne laughed silently. The tokar was the most ridiculous, impractical clothing she had ever seen. At least, Westerosi dresses allowed a woman to move her legs freely.

 

After making a fool of himself for a few seconds while his slaves hauled him to his feet, he angrily dusted himself off and spat at the ground. “Impressive, I admit. Dragons are back in this world after all these years.” He shot the Targaryens a glowering stare. “You may triumph today, but our loss will be our victory tomorrow. The Harpy will never submit to the Dragon, whether with wings or without!”

 

With that he spun on his heels and headed back up the long, winding road to the Yellow City, not bothering to get back in his litter. His soldiers ran to catch up with him while the slaves clumsily grabbed the litter and chest of gold to take back with them.

 

“Wait,” Daenerys called to the slaves as they rushed to leave. They turned back to the Mother of Dragons as she reopened the chest. “Take what you wish. What you want is yours to keep.” The slaves looked back at her dumbfounded, unsure at the display of altruism. “Please, you will need it after tomorrow,” she added with a conspiratorial wink.

 

The slaves bowed and muttered thanks to Mhysa . Each then took two broad bars of gold and stashed them under their shirts. Then they took the chest back with them to put back in the vaults of their doomed masters.

 

Watching them leave, Jaime pursed his lips. “Sad sight isn’t it? Until now, only the mutilated bodies of Elia and her children were the greatest horror and tragedy of my life.”

 

Hearing the Kingslayer openly share what he’d been denying out of guilt and shame for years opened a small well of empathy with the Sand Snakes. Alysanne could make that out from how their posture was no longer so tense around the Lion of Lannister.

 

“Well, that went as expected, more or less,” Daenerys said to her husband. “Diplomacy has failed… Fire and blood?”

 

Jon nodded grimly. “Show them steel.”

 

Alysanne couldn’t agree more.

 


JON TARGARYEN 

 

“Our columns are setting up here, here, and here,” Robb announced, pointing at the various points on the map table. “The objective will be a lightning assault at the weakest points in the wall. Once it’s breached, the meager forces that the Wise Masters have won’t be able to stand against the might of an Unsullied legion or Dothraki horde.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Jon was unable not to laugh. “They didn’t even realize you were scouting their defenses right under their noses.” He and his brother shared a grin.

 

A chorus of agreements among the few in the command tent, final preparations for tomorrow’s assault being made. “I used to think House Stark to be unable of actual subterfuge,” Jaime mused, crossing his arms. “But I see the Targaryen blood has served you well, your Grace.”

 

“We all know what we must do, Ser Jaime,” Jon replied, not a single doubt in his mind about including him in the war council. Nor the other unlikely member. “Yunkai will be our last conquest under my direct banner. After mopping up of their forces is complete, we shall fly for Winterfell.”

 

Barristan blinked. “Is that wise, your Grace? The situation here is far from over.”

 

“And the situation in Westeros is close to collapse.” Robb had discussed this with Jon, and they knew the stakes. “Faith Militant reformed, chaos north of the Wall, Robert erratic now that his children were proven bastards… we cannot wait any longer, lest the chance to solidify the alliance with the Martells and… Tyrells is lost.” Jon reached out to tap his brother’s shoulder comfortingly. I hope you and the Lady Margaery will be happy together. He couldn’t live with himself if Robb was forced into misery for his sake.

 

“That is all well and good,” Ashara Dayne remarked, “but who will lead the Targaryen forces in Slaver’s Bay?”

 

The King’s eyes fell on one person in particular. “You will lead the armies here in my stead, Princess Alysanne.”

 

Alysanne, quiet but observant during the entire meeting, looked confused. “Princess? I am a Sand…”

 

“Not anymore.” Removing an official decree from his tunic, Jon handed it to his aunt and her mother. “By the order of myself, Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of my Name, I hereby proclaim you Alysanne of House Targaryen, trueborn daughter of Aerys II Targaryen and Ashara Dayne, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.” Formalities out of the way, he smiled. “I love you, aunt. Never forget that.” 

 

Surprise written in her eyes, the heavily pregnant Targaryen Princess suddenly understood what had just happened. Face a mix of laughter and tears, she threw herself into Jon’s hands. “I love you too, nephew.” A sharp kick bumped into Jon’s side. Alysanne giggled. “Your wee cousin loves you too…” Everyone enjoyed the moment. “Will he be trueborn too?”

 

“You are still officially married to Aerys, dear,” Ashara elaborated. “He will be a Targaryen Prince.”

 

“Good.” Her brows furrowed. “Ragnar… we’ve bonded…”

 

Jon kissed Alysanne’s forehead. “Ragnar will stay here, with you. To help rule Slaver’s Bay and to grow using the secrets of Old Valyria. Trust your council, aunt. The Masters are crafty, but I know you are up to the task.”

 

Nodding, Alysanne stood on her tiptoes and kissed Jon’s cheek. “I will not let you down, my King.”

 

Half an hour later, Jon stumbled exhausted into his own tent, eager for some rest before the battle. Ghost lifting his head from where the direwolf rested lazily, Jon ruffled his fur before the gentle, soothing voice came from the inner chamber of the tent. A smile came to his face once the words began to be intelligible in his ears. "Lyka sir, ñuha rūs. Sagon iēdrosa jorrāelagon, ȳdra daor limagon."

 

Pushing aside the tent flap, he saw the most precious sight. His beautiful wife, stunning in a white silk gown held up by a leather belt round the waist and a single gold choker tied to the central strap of fabric. Easy to lower for feeding their babe, currently being softly rocked in her hands. Rhaegon serene as he made sleepy movements in her arms, held close to Dany’s breasts.

 

Daenerys sang in Valyrian, her gentle voice one among the angels in his ears. "Ēdrugon hae ao sagon inditan ondoso se qelbar."

 

Swaying softly to her own tune, Daenerys suddenly spotted him. Jon watched as her smile only widened. Her violet eyes shifted between him and Rhaegon, then back to him. Sparkling with utter adoration.

 

"Ēdrugon se gūrēñagon, ” she continued to sing, eyes trained completely on Jon. Silently begging him to come to her. “...ñuha mōrī vāedar."

 

Wordlessly, Jon could only comply. Nothing could stop him as he bounded in large strides to close the distance between them, wrapping his wife in his strong arms. Pulling her close, kissing her forehead, and gaze dropping so they could watch Rhaegon together. 

 

"Sīr nyke sagon lēda ao skori ao pendagon." Song finished, Rhaegon stretched out in Dany’s embrace. Silver-white hair brushing against the skin of her arm as he snuggled to sleep. His soft breathing drove Jon to tears, eyes cloudy from the joy he felt. Our son… our beautiful boy… “I can’t believe he’s here, my love,” she sighed, leaning down to drop feather light kisses on Rhaegon’s head.

 

Jon hugged her even tighter, heart bursting with love and protectiveness for his young family. “He is here, Dany. He’s alive and we will never let him suffer as…” He didn’t need to say it - neither of them had to. “Let me.” Gently, he scooped Rhaegon into his arms, carrying him to the bassinet perched close to their bed to let him sleep. “I love you, my son.” One kiss upon his brow and then the true King of the Seven Kingdoms returned to the embrace of his Queen. It didn’t take long for their lips to crash together.

 

Tongue battling hers for dominance, Jon found this to be his favorite spar. A sensual dance in which he usually won, his beloved allowing herself to surrender her body to his onslaught. But as his hands instinctively shot to her breasts, squeezing and kneading them through the thin fabric of her dress, she hissed - pulling back. His eyes widened in alarm. “Dany, are you alright.”

 

Catching her breath, Daenerys chuckled. “Aye, I’m alright.” Jon felt her thin arms wrap around his torso. “They’re just sensitive, my love. Be careful… on second thought, you probably shouldn’t touch them for a while.”

 

Fuck. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“They’re feeding our babe, Jon,” she laughed. He mumbled something under his breath, drawing a look of incredulity. “Are you seriously jealous of Rhaegon?”

 

Sighing, Jon was certain that he was acting like a spoiled child. “Sort of, Dany, but I can’t help it. They’re literally perfect.” Even becoming the Mother of Dragons all over again, even blessed by a close and loving family… even after being worshipped by his mouth, tongue, fingers, and cock for nearly a year, Daenerys still surprised him by being shy and modest when it came to his unconditional love. “Oh, Dany.” Another kiss, this one slow and sensual. “Besides,” he said when they broke apart. “You know how I am when you wear those dresses.” Her figure back, gowns showing off her creamy skin… Gods, she’s magnificent.

 

She answered him with an eye roll and a smile. “Take me to bed, husband.” Lifting her up, he did exactly that. Giggles coaxed from her when Jon tossed her onto the soft furs and attacked her midsection and inner thighs with tickles. The King relishing his opportunity to simply act as young lovers, free of duty and struggle for even the shortest moment. Eventually, she ended up half on top of him. Nuzzling his chest. “I love you, Jon.”

 

“I love you too, Dany.” He figured now was as good a time as any. “After we take Yunkai, I think it’s time to go back to Winterfell.”

 

He watched as she lifted her head, striking violet eyes staring deep into him. “Are you sure, Jon? We still have so much to do here.”

 

“I did it, Dany. I legitimized Alysanne, as we discussed.” They had been talking about it since Astapor - bringing their remaining family within the fold of House Targaryen. Away from Aerys, she had flourished. Bright, charming, growing into her role as a leader. Once the babe was born… “She has a bond with Ragnar, and I’ve figured that with Ser Jaime, Ser Jorah, and her mother by her side… Alysanne can do as good work as you did in our past lives, my love. I trust her.”

 

Smiling, Dany leaned up to kiss his lips. “I trust her too, as I trust you, Jon.” She straddled his waist, beaming brightly. “I can’t wait to go to Winterfell. There we can have the dragons grow with the spells you found in Old Valyria, train for the coming fight.”

 

“There are abandoned castles at the Wall. Deserted islands isolated from the rest of the mainland - after I finally introduce you to my family, my… Uncle Ned, we can get the rest of the Wildlings south of the wall and prepare our unification of Westeros.”

 

“Oh, Jon, I love you.” She kissed him so deeply, taking charge like the fierce dragon she was. 

 

Hands holding her waist… Jon’s eyes darkened with lust. “Tell me Dany, have the healers said that we may resume…” By the cock of his eyebrow, shit-eating grin on his lips, there was no doubt what he meant.

 

Daenerys pursed her lips, suddenly looking like an innocent maiden. Fuck me… His cock strained his breeches, painfully hard. “I haven’t heard anything from the healers, sweet husband.” She giggled as his face fell. “But… I don’t think I would be a dutiful wife if I didn’t take care of that for you.” Grinning wickedly, she slinked down his chest. A sultry apparition, a goddess of both beauty and sin. “It’s time for the Queen,” she husked, unlacing his breeches. “To pleasure her King.” Daenerys took him in her mouth, licking and pumping with a furious enthusiasm. Doing what she set out to do, give her King pleasure.

 


GREY WORM

 

Helmet fastened to his head, Grey Worm grabbed the spear from where he had stuck it into the sandy soil outside the walls of Yunkai. Shield loops already tucked into his forearm as he made his way to the head of the line. One of four columns of Unsullied assault troops gathered out of artillery and archery range. Already, the Targaryen army’s complement of trebuchets thundered, chains rattling as they hurled massive piles of stone and fire into the city. No one was taking any chances with the city of the Slavers.

 

Taking his position at the head of the column, the Lord Commander of the Unsullied stared with narrowed eyes at the glittering statue of the Harpy at the top of the central pyramid. Feeling an uncharacteristic hate burning inside of him. Being set free by the Targaryen monarchs… not only did it emancipate his body but also his soul. Recovering memories long suppressed of the brutality he had committed. The atrocities of corpses created out of babies simply to harden his heart and kill his soul… it worked far better than hoped, even now his lack of emotion and iron discipline remained.

 

Leaving only anger. Hate. Resolve to free the citizens brutalized in the city. His hands curled around the spear. Eyes meeting those of Robb Stark, overall commander of the assault force. The Northerner nodded, stepping into position besides Grey Worm. Standing, waiting under the late afternoon sun as the artillery continued to bombard the Ghiscari city.

 

A pitched roar shattered the din. Drawing the attention of the cluster of Westerosi warriors forming the honor guard of the column - men drawn from the Andal ships of the False King’s brother, now loyal to the Onion Knight and as a result, the Targaryens - but the Unsullied remained still. Holding position as ordered, but listening all the same. Just a little bit of awe in their minds, at least in Grey Worm’s mind, when the dragon Arogon landed upon the field. Ground underneath his feet shaking, eyes drawn to the slender form of the mighty beast’s rider.

 

Daenerys Targaryen had recovered from her childbirth. In spite of the heat, she wore an all black leather battledress, hair pulled up in elaborate braids and a Valyrian steel breastplate now emblazoned with a painted red three-headed dragon stretched across her chest. Sheathed across her back was Dark Sister - looking every inch the Valyrian dragonlord from the scary stories that the masters often told their children. Only to all the Unsullied, this woman was their savior, not their monster.

 

“Dovaogēdy!” Her iron voice thundered across the fields, audible even over the sound of the trebuchets and catapults. Over the pandemonium within the walled city. “Barely two moons ago, King Aegon and I freed you from your bondage. Gave you a choice of whom you were to serve, and you chose to serve us.” Unsheathing Dark Sister, the blade gleamed in the orange sunlight as Daenerys leveled it at the Harpy towering above the city of sandstone. “And we bring you here! To a city filled with your brethren… chained for the bidding of the so-called ‘Wise Masters.’ Wise for their decision to trade people as if they were mere chattel. You put your trust in us, Dovaogēdy, and now we repay that trust with the knowledge that you shall be the vanguard in the effort to break the wheel of bondage from this world.”

 

Arogon hooting, Daenerys stood straight on his back. “ARE YOU READY?!” In unison, every spear in the entire column slammed into the ground. Boom echoing in all distances. Joined mere seconds later by the red dragon roaring at the very heavens. A twin roar a mere mile away signalling the King’s similar address to the others. “Bring me the collar of every man, woman and child in bondage! We shall send them all to Meereen and bury it under the piles!” With that, Arogon spread his wings and erupted into the air.

 

Drawing his own sword, Robb leveled it at the walls surrounding the city. “Hedgehog!” Having learned Valyrian… at least a rudimentary form of it, Grey Worm was able to implement the order - his own Common Tongue quite weak even after lessons from the alluring Missandei of Naath. Shields clattering together in a scaled carapace, as if a massive wyrm, spears bristled the outside in a magnificent protective formation. “Forward!” No one needed to say anything else.

 

There were four columns surging forth towards Yunkai. Each targeting one city gate. The Masters had few soldiers to actually stand against the Targaryens and their Unsullied/Dothraki forces, but defending the walls was another story. Having ruled out a siege, the monarchs had orchestrated a lightning plan to blast through the walls for the Dothraki horde waiting behind to be let loose into Yunkai, and Grey Worm was determined to be the one to deliver it for them. 

 

Legs pumping, Grey Worm kept his back arched as his shield provided a scale for the lower front line of the hedgehog. They were making great time, gate growing in size before them. Morale surged through the commander’s heart as the grey dragon - King Aegon’s - enveloped the base of the golden Harpy atop the central pyramid in dragonfire. Several seconds passed before the statue keeled over, scraping off chunks of brick and stone in its ponderous descent to the streets below. The two dragons roared, diving in mock terror attacks to strike fear into the hearts of the masters.

 

But all was not perfect. As the hedgehogs pondered closer, streaks of fire emerged from behind the walls. Hidden trebuchets and catapults waited until just that moment to bombard the attacking columns - at least someone within wasn’t an arrogant fool. 

 

“Faster!” This time it was Grey Worm that gave the barked command. Taking initiative on his own - unheard of before the Targaryens discarded the golden whip. Obeying, the hedgehog surged forward, practically lurching towards the walls.

 

It hit them with a thud, men beginning to spread around to use the walls as cover against the harassing artillery. Atop, Yunkish soldiers began hurling rocks and debris at the Unsullied… from the lack of pitch or burning oil, or massive boulders, it seemed as if this section of wall was rather unguarded. Perfect.

 

Stone slamming against his raised shield, Grey Worm anchored it against a chip in the sandstone walls. “ Alright!” bellowed Robb Stark, shieldless and crouched underneath the hedgehog formation. “ We need to get atop these walls!” In the distance a large projectile launched from one of the massive Yunkish trebuchets detonated spectacularly behind them. Showering bits of rock and flaming pitch in all directions, a large cluster of about forty Unsullied taking the brunt of it. Many crushed by stones or set alight - bodies writhing as they became awash with flame. 

 

Echoing through the thick walls, Grey Worm felt the ground tremble as a dragon roared. Red beast soaring overhead with a greasy black pyre marring the blue and purple sky of sunset. Trebuchet destroyed. Undulating cheers came from the waiting Dothraki at the Queen’s counter battery fire, while the Unsullied stayed silent and shock still. Incredibly disciplined, even as Yunkish archers joined the melee. Merely moving to patch in holes in the formation when one fell to an arrow.

 

Robb struggled to be heard over the cacophony. “ They may look huge, but those fuckers… can’t blast the walls all over. They only have a limited… fire.” He pointed to the walls before them, lifting up an unfurled Targaryen banner, the banner of the Breakers of Chains themselves. “Someone needs to take this and signal at the top. Then, they’ll blow the wall and the Dothraki will rush in.” Only one of the assault points could be targeted, and the first to have the signal would be the lightest defended.

 

In hindsight, there was no surprise that Grey Worm volunteered to be first. “I’ll go, Lord Stark.”

 

No later than sooner did Grey Worm find himself with his hands and feet wedged in the cracks and chips in the wall. Spear and shield strung against his back, normal men would have been terrified - shaking uncontrollably and praying to whatever deity would hear them. Not the Lord Commander of the Unsullied. Fearless in the face of danger, only emotion the same burning anger from before, he braved the falling stones to blaze a path for Jaime Lannister, Nymeria Sand, and the other Unsullied scrambling up beneath him. 

 

Hand finding purchase on the lip of the battlements, he hauled himself up. Fist flying to slam a right hook into an unsuspecting freeborn soldier. The same sadists that were used for slave control - two bit overseers dressed up as soldiers. Eyes sparkling in a rare show of emotion, Grey Worm knew he would enjoy this.

 

It didn’t take long for the Yunkish troops - the several dozen that manned this section of the wall - to notice the black-clad Unsullied leading men atop the battlements. Swords and bows drawn, they weren’t given the chance to begin the attack as Grey Worm charged. Spear thrust through the leather armor of one overseer, his shield smashed into another that tried to rush him. Arm drawing out the smooth spearpoint to slash across the shoulder of another. Fluid and graceful, as much an art as the expert swordsmanship of the Kingsguards and their Valyrian steel swords.

 

Stabbing a man in the gut as he tried to bring up his sword, Grey Worm’s shield slammed into the back of an archer. Arrow flying wildly as he pitched over the side onto the waiting spears below. “DO IT!” yelled Jaime Lannister, parrying a blow before Brightroar twirled in his hands to decapitate another overseer.

 

Knowing enough Common Tongue to understand that command, out of the sling he carried came the banner. Grey Worm quickly affixed it to his spear, arms straining as he waved it through the last tendrils of sunlight. Hoping that the King or Queen could see…

 

Somehow, by providence or simply chance, the King did. Sarogon shrieking in an attack run. Gout of orange-red dragonfire lancing out from his maw to envelop and shatter the gate. Arogon and the Queen weren’t far behind, their dragonfire finishing the job and leaving a gaping hole into the heart of the city. “FUCK YOU!” shouted Nymeria Sand at the heart of the city as the echo of horns bellowed over the din of battle. Unsullied pouring into the breach… followed by the beginnings of the thundering hoofbeats of the Dothraki horde. They had done it… they had opened the city of the Wise Masters for liberation. The dozen or so climbers had earned a well-deserved rest. 

 

Grey Worm scrambled for a set of stairs leading to the streets below. His fight was not yet over. No rest until the last chain was struck off.

 

The histories would say he was the first to coin the monikers. “FOR MHYSA! FOR VHYSA!” By the dark of night, all the slaveborn of Yunkai would be howling those titles into din.

Notes:

CastleColin: With all the different POV characters going around, it can be tricky to keep their storylines sorted. Each chapters’ sections run either sequentially or concurrently to each other. Hope that helps.

Longclaw: Catelyn got screwed by Walder no matter what. Her impulsivity is... a problem

Who could that healer be? ;)

The Battle of Yunkai was based on the Storming of Peking during the Boxer Rebellion, with Grey Worm playing Calvin Titus. It serves well, cause Daenerys and Jon will be heading to Winterfell now! And in Essos rises Princess Alysanne Targaryen, Aunt of Mhysa and Vhysa and Defender of the Free.

The song lyrics were adaptations of the song "Deliver Us" from the Animated classic Prince of Egypt.

Till next time!

Chapter 40: Inferno

Summary:

1) Aerys makes landing in Volantis.
2) Missandei and company find a calling card.
3) Ramsay scouts Winterfell.
4) Cersei gives birth to Robert’s true heir.
5) Daenerys is revealed more about her past and future.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hey all. Happy February and welcome to a new chapter. One more till our couple reaches Winterfell :D

CastleColin: We’re back. Sorry for the delay. Flu season and the Super Bowl kind of put a slow down on things.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aerys Targaryen 

 

“You smell that, Connington?” said the rightful King of Westeros, ‘the Conqueror Reborn.’ 

 

Jon Connington raised an eyebrow beside him. “Two million souls worth of piss and shit, sire?”

 

Aerys laughed, a rare showing of mirth at an actual jape - at least since his beloved Alysanne and surrogate mother Ashara had left. “Well, besides that.” Both his hands spread out. “Besides Valyria itself, reduced to ruin by the Doom, can anything compare to the history of my people? The foundation of my blood and culture, than this great city?” He looked at the pale blue sky, sun shining unobstructed on this beautiful late summer’s day. “It is only fitting that the Reconquest begins here.” Other than the burning and sacking of several upper Rhoynish farming villages, his massive sellsword army hadn’t yet tasted combat.

 

Before him was the great city of Volantis, still as powerful and influential as when it boasted the claim of being Old Valyria’s “First Daughter,” the premier colonial outpost of the Valyrian Freehold as it expanded outward. The immense dragonglass Black Walls isolated the noble-owned old city from the massive metropolis that stretched out in all directions along the marshes and bluffs at the mouth of the mighty Rhoyne River. The expansive Long Bridge was covered in scaffold housing and wooden marketplaces, but the city maintained it’s economic expansionist air since when the Valyrian armies used it to march against the Rhoynish centuries before. A large fleet, protective forts along the various islands in the harbor, many sellswords and elite janissaries ready to defend the city if need be.

 

They would be needed, but if Aerys had anything to do with it they couldn’t do anything to stop him. 

 

“They will never bow to you,” Connington murmured behind him. His Hand wore the Stormlands armor he had for so long forgoed, mighty griffin emblazoned on red upon his breastplate as if he led his bannermen into battle upon the continent of Westeros. “Even against three dragons and the knowledge their fleet had been annihilated in Daenerys’ past before Meereen, Volantis itself never submitted.”

 

Aerys snorted, watching the column bearing the Triarchs atop elephants surrounded by their honor guard approach their party. “Naharis!” From the line of his commanders behind him, Captain Naharis trotted forward, bowing to his King and paymaster. “You lived in Volantis for years, correct?”

 

Nodding, Naharis narrowed his eyes at the sight of the Long Bridge. “Aye. My mother was sold to a brothel on that wood and stone monstrosity. Killed my first man there.”

 

“Do you think the Triarchs will bend the knee to me?”

 

Daario snorted. “They think themselves the heirs to Old Valyria.” Aerys’ fingers twitched as he held Blackfyre’s hilt - the idea both laughable and insulting. Those fat eunuchs have the temerity to claim my mantle? Even his bastard half-breed of a nephew had more of Old Valyria in him than the triarchs and other nobles of the great slave traders. “They’ll spit on you… but are you prepared to take the city?” 

 

“It would be a distraction, your Grace.” Connington and the other sellsword commanders had advised Aerys to ignore Volantis. To concentrate on the more manageable and less populated ports closer to Westeros itself - further away from his family in Slaver’s Bay. “Perhaps it would be best simply to assert a non-aggression pact until victory over your other enemies is secured?”

 

Weak minded fools. They have no imagination… no vision. Am I the only one here capable of thinking? It would be up to him, as always, to steer them towards greatness. “The great Aerys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, shall never waver in the face of adversity.” Just as the triarchs began to descend from their elephant mounts, Aerys motioned Connington to follow him. Time to shine.

 

The Triarchs were well-dressed, robes of a neatly-pressed cream and gold with plenty of jewels as befitting their station. Resplendent yet simple in his crimson cape and Targaryen armor, Aerys fought himself from coughing at the noxious perfume that liberally soaked their hair and beards. His hair was tied back in a simple bun, just as his older brother’s was prior to battle. “My Lord Aerys Targaryen,” one with a closely cropped black beard and mustache announced, hands out in greeting. “I am Triarch Belicho Paenymion, leader of the Tigers and honored representative of the people and merchants of Volantis.”

 

“He is King Aerys, to you,” Connington replied gruffly, to which Aerys greatly approved of. Best to leave his own threats and intimidation for the right moment. “You will refer to him as ‘Your Grace.’ They all stood upon Volentene ground… but one quite open and fallow. Suitable for a neutral parlay.

 

Glancing among themselves, the Triarchs didn’t seem to like that. “We know no King, Jon Connington,” another replied, slim and sophisticated unlike the more unctuous others. “Valyria was not ruled by any absolute monarch, and neither shall we bend the knee to one.”

 

Aerys nodded, pursing his lips. “You don’t have to, for I am not your King at this point, Triarch…”

 

“Malaquo Maegyr, your Grace.” The title held barely veiled sarcasm.

 

Now this name was familiar - it took Aerys several moments to draw the connection, as it had been not he but Daenerys that first found the name… and even then it was only in passing. “Ah, Lord Maegyr. How is Talisa by the way? Still travelling Westeros in search of orphans to heal or some other such nonsense?” Hopefully Robb Stark still throws away his birthright to marry her.

 

Triarch Maegyr seemed visibly surprised that his own daughter - one who had largely stayed out of the high society that other noble-born girls so embraced - was known by Aerys. It amused the would-be King. “My daughter has nothing to do with this.”

 

“No, I doubt she does.” His vile nephew likely would have nipped that in the bud. No matter… “I do not come here to discuss smalltalk. Submit before me right now. Pledge your fealty to the true heir of Old Valyria… the King that Braved the Smoking Sea and Lived to Tell the Tale. And you shall hold the primacy of trade amongst my New Valyrian Empire.”

 

Each Triarch looked at each other before they chuckled lightly. “In what form do you presume to demand anything of us?” Paenymion scoffed haughtily. Each of their expressions were very cold and very arrogant.

 

Something that Aerys could match in spades - coupled with pure dragonfire. “I am the true King, and you will follow me.”

 

“You are not here legally. It is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen that holds the true claim to the Iron Throne and Valyria, as much as anyone can.”

 

Aerys wanted to throttle Maegyr where he stood. “My father, the second of our name, abrogated his claim when he disinherited Rhaegar for running off with some northern slut. I am the true ruler of all of Valyria and Westeros.”

 

“No, you are not.”

 

He narrowed his eyes. “Does that mean you won’t surrender? That you will support the false monarch as your Red Priestess is wont to do?” He knew what the Red Priestess Kinvara would do. Aerys only wished that she had come here so he could kill her personally.

 

Maegyr puffed up. “We seek no side, upstart usurper. But if you push us, we will fight you.” He gestured to the massive city. “You and your army of sellswords and exiles,” a rather contemptuous look was given to Connington, “Can never besiege a city of millions. Not when you have no ships.” He chuckled. “Your reign, how pathetic it is, is over.”

 

And history repeats itself. The smirk that fell upon Aerys lips was enough to even cause the Volantines to flinch. Dark, the very image of the Targaryen house words of fire and blood. Come, girl. A surge of fiery energy coursed through him, feeling the ever so slight vibrations in the ground as his secret weapon ascended into the air. Aerys had been waiting to use his twin’s words from their shared past. “My reign has just begun.”

 

Seconds ticked by before an immense roar echoed around the landscape. Many of the Volantines flinching or falling on their asses while his own men crouched. No one but the blood of the dragon could be comfortable with the mighty beasts. 

 

Aerys’ smirk never wavered as Rhaelyx slammed into the ground, emerging from behind the bluff on which they were gathered. Rust-colored head pitching back and bellowing as loud as he could. Shaking the very ground beneath them. Behind the triarchs, the guards, horses, and elephants immediately began to scatter, resolve breaking before any fight ever began. Grown and sustained with the fat of the land and the magic of Old Valyria, he had approached a powerful size. That of Rhaegal and Viserion when they had been released from underneath the pyramid. While they had been emaciated for their age, Rhaelyx was massive for hers. 

 

He approached his bonded dragon, rubbing her snout. Rhaelyx the only being that could calm his fire now that Alysanne had fled. Be ready, my sweet. “Triarchs, you had your warning. May the gods have mercy on your souls, because House Targaryen will not. Dracarys!” 

 

The orange-red flame of dragonfire erupted from Rhaelyx’s maw not seconds later, engulfing the triarchs in her inferno. Left nothing but ash and a few charred bones. 

 

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” laughed Aerys, eyes flashing with power and fury - fire and blood. Slowly, he mounted his dragon. “Commanders, Lord Hand,” came the order to the waiting men, first columns of the Golden Company appearing across the bluff - ordered to wait there until the dragon erupted onto the scene. “Order the men forward. You have a day to plunder what you wish. Take what you want, the city is yours!” Blackfyre felt at home by his waist, its wielder finally astride a dragon for the first time since Sunfyre took to the skies above Rook’s Rest. "Because afterwards, there will be nothing left!"

 

Cheers and shouts of the waiting sellswords heralded the one true King’s ascension to the skies. Guiding his dragon right for the heart of the waiting city.



Missandei of Naath

 

“Are you positive that a non-Valyrian can ride a dragon, your Grace?” Missandei asked nervously. She glanced at Arogon and Sarogon with a hint of apprehension in her eyes. Dragons were fearsome creatures and could be very unpredictable.

 

“As long as a proper dragonrider mounts with you,” Daenerys reassured. “There is no need to fear my children.” She smiled and stroked Arogon’s enormous snout, getting a loud purr from the red-winged beast as if it were a cat. And it wasn’t even at normal size...

 

Pursing her lips and nodding slowly, Missandei tentatively reached out and grasped Arogon’s right side and started to climb on his back. A hand reached down to help her up. Upon taking it, Grey Worm pulled her up with surprising speed and settled her on the dragon in front of him. She felt butterflies in her stomach at his touch.

 

In front of her sat Melisandre, who was securing Prince Rhaegon to a special pouch that she’d attached to the front of her red robes. Finally, the Dragon Queen herself hitched herself up and took her place at the front just behind Arogon’s neck.

 

Looking over to Sarogon, Missandei saw Jon at the front with Robb, Davos, and Jorah behind him. Jogon hoisted the heavy sack of meteor iron in his claws while Rhaegal and Viserion balanced Ghost and Grey Wind on their backs.

 

Below them watched Princess Alysanne, newly legitimized member of House Targaryen, alongside her mother and the rest of the Kingsguard. Shireen Baratheon stood quietly by Alysanne’s side. Davos’ sons, Matthos and Dale, stared in envy at their father atop a dragon. Behind them sat Ragnar, closely observing his parting of ways from his brothers.

 

The Targaryen retinue would be departing Slavers’ Bay for the Seven Kingdoms. The betrothals with the Tyrells and Martells were coming due and the war against the Usurper was starting to heat up. Alysanne would complete the liberation of the last Slaver City of Meereen, then hold down Slaver’s Bay until the King and Queen could return after the situation in Westeros calmed down for awhile.

 

Having bid farewell, the dragons took off with a loud roar, announcing their departure toward the setting sun… 

 

Wrapping her cloak tighter around her neck, Missandei shivered as Arogon glided through the clouds. Despite the heat of the Essossi sun, the altitude at which they were flying to avoid being spotted below was shivering with a frigid wind that was blowing from the north. Grey Worm, having taken notice of her discomfort, wrapped his arms around her waist to try and stem the heat loss from her body. Inwardly, she blushed and felt her temperature rising. There was something attractive about the sullen Unsullied commander. He showed little emotion yet always seemed to be able to pick up on your own. She could only speculate at what he’d sensed about her in the time that they shared on Arogon.

 

“How are you doing back there, Robb,” Jon called from Sarogon just ahead.

 

“Great, Jon. Just great. My arse is sore and my face is freezing from this wind.” Behind the King’s cousin, Davos and Jorah could only chatter their teeth in response.

 

Daenerys laughed - a lovely sound that rang over the air. “We’ll be making landing for another stop soon, boys. Just hang in there.” She nudged backward at Melisandre. “How’s my little prince doing back there?”

 

Melisandre, who had been unusually quiet since they’d passed over the Demon Road toward Volantis, rubbed Rhaegon’s back. “The sire of Azor Ahai is healthy and well, your Grace. He’s taken to dragonriding like a duck to water.” A small smile. “Yet, he’s still to bond with a dragon of his own.”

 

From atop Rhaegal and Viserion, Ghost and Grey Wind started to howl. In response, Jogon dipped down through the air to disappear from sight momentarily. When he leveled with his brothers, he dipped down again as if motioning for them to follow him.

 

“What’s going on?” Missandei asked, curious at the dragons’ sudden change of behavior.

 

As Daenerys went to answer, Melisandere cut in.

 

“Make landing immediately!”

 

“But where we are…”

 

“Just do it! This is a sign from the Lord of Light! You’d be wise to heed his message!”

 

Shrugging her shoulders at Melisandre’s outburst, Daenerys signaled to Jon to begin their descent from the sky. As they approached the ground beneath them, Missandei could make out a great oval of black walls on the east bank of what she assumed was the Rhoyne, based on its massive estuary. Not far away from it was a massive temple, bristling with braziers and lit fires, its superstructure towering over all what used to be around it.

 

“The Red Temple of Volantis,” Melisandere said. Shaking her head, she swept a hand out over beyond. “But that is not the warning of the Lord of Light.”

 

Upon taking a better look at her surroundings, Missandei gasped in horror. The great city of Volantis, founded by the Valyrian Freehold and third in economic importance only to Braavos and King’s Landing, was a gutted out shell of what it once was. Massive tongues of greasy black smoke billowing into the air, wooden buildings all over the city turned into pyres for whatever people were inside. Over half the city is no more. Missandei was awed in a sense of the sheer magnitude of what happened.

 

The awe turned to horror as the only structures that remained untouched by the inferno were the Temple of the Lord of Light, the Black Walls, and the Long Bridge - all made of stone and east of the Rhoyne. Beyond that, every house, every market, every brothel... every building had either been put to the torch or suffered some kind of collateral damage by the fires or the stampeding mass of humanity. The long standing tradition of blocking the vast slave and non-noble population out of the Black Walls was dashed as soldiers turned on their masters, admitting the refugees in a massive mob that overwhelmed capacity...

 

No number of torches would turn what she saw to this fine a layer of ash… 

 

The dragons made landfall with a heavy thump and a bellow, content to rest after a grueling flight with so many riders and cargo to carry. Sliding off of Arogon’s back, Missandei took in the desolation of the first of Valyria’s daughters around her. Nearby were Robb, Jorah, and Davos, equally shocked and appalled at the destruction they had witnessed.

 

Smoke drifted upward from still smouldering buildings. Corpses were scattered everywhere, their flesh charred black or burnt completely off their bones. What survivors that drifted among the rubble did so in a daze, the only noise they made being a hacking cough that almost felled them where they stood. Many looked too traumatized to have understood what had befallen them - burns covered about half, some rendering them unrecognizable from corpses. 

 

Grey Worm stood resolutely beside her, but the quivering in his jaw let her know that he was holding back tears. From a man who was castrated as a boy and made to murder babes. She looked over to where the Queen was standing at the bank of the river, her King by her side.

 

Daenerys picked up a small ragdoll that was lying discarded at the water’s edge. Staring into its black button eyes, she broke down in tears. Jon embraced her and tried to comfort her distraughtness.

 

“There’s only one thing that could have committed this monstrosity,” Missandei announced, chilled to the bone. “That’s…”

 

“That, my lady,” Melisandre finished, her red eyes swirling ominously. “Is a dragon.”



Ramsay Snow

 

Even for men of the North, raised in the harsh environment where the cavalcade of freezing temperatures could even banish away the summer, Ramsay Snow figured that no one actually prayed to the old gods for there to be snow. But he and his four hand-picked scouts found themselves in that very mindset as they crawled on their bellies under the tree cover of the Wolfswood. Snow may have brought exposure, limited visibility, and footprints, but it also restricted the mobility of enemy patrols, not to mention the lack of the ever present mud. 

 

The same mud that now coated all of them. Soaking deep enough through their clothes to almost ensure the green rot lest they not scrub it off later in the White Knife. And yet Ramsay still grinned. The stalk is the prelude to the hunt.

 

“Gods…” whimpered Martyn. “Mi’ asscrack itches… fuckin’ mud.”

 

“Next person that says a word will find their cock cut off,” Ramsay hissed. Martyn and the other two still endowed men with him didn't even breathe after that. Anyone that had even passed through the Dreadfort knew he wasn’t joking. “Forward. Slow and steady.” 

 

After a battering of quite vicious summer snows, autumn had descended upon the north with a vengeance. Far earlier than expected by any maester, at least that was what the chain-wearing old man at the Dreadfort told Ramsay, Roose, and Domeric two weeks before. As such, the rains had turned the ground into a muddy soup, chilly droplets continuing to pelter him and his men unrelentingly as they slogged through. Bellies sliding snakelike upon the wet earth. Barely keeping his nose above the surface of the puddles and gullies as to be spotted by sentries, Ramsay was comforted by the fact that the downpour covered their approach. No one can hear shit in this. The thunder and roar of the rain meant they could splash and squelch to their heart’s content as long as they stayed low…

 

Eyes spotting a flash of something, Ramsay held up his hand. “Halt.” The murmur brought his entire column to a stop. Reaching back to grab his knife - a large one meant for flaying animal hide and whatever else House Bolton wanted to flay - Ramsay gently eased himself into a low plank. Ready to leap up at a moment’s notice. Dog patrols? If rumor could be believed, the Starks had direwolves. He was itching for a fight but not one he would lose. Another flash growing closer tensed him up, knife at the ready…

 

“Flayed man’s secrets.” The words were timed just to come before a boom of thunder, but Ramsay relaxed all the same.

 

“None,” he called out the countersign. A grin curled on Ramsay’s face as Myranda appeared, racing over in a low crouch till she was right alongside him. “My dear lover.” The greeting was punctuated by a short but savage kiss, the bastard son of the Lord of the Dreadfort chuckling inside at the grumbles of his men. Even baseborn, his rugged good looks could land any girl he wanted. “Report?”

 

“No sentries… apart from the usual guards.” She pushed some matted, mousy-brown strands of hair from her forehead. “They’re buildin’ up a storm.”

 

Ramsay furrowed his brows. “In this shit? Impossible.”

 

“Think I’m lyin’, dirty bastard?” While Ramsay would cut the tongues off of people who said even less offensive words, his fiery lover had some leeway. “There’s a ridge covered in brush a hundred yards that way.” She pointed in the direction she had come from, motioning them to follow her. While the men didn’t move, a curt grunt from Ramsay got them going.

 

Crawling on their stomachs, Ramsay and the group reached the edge of the tree cover. All ahead was simply dead grass and muddy puddles crowding the large stretch of plain between them and Winterfell. Crackling lightning illuminating the entire Stark castle for an instant, he could make out an ant colony of activity. In this weather? Hiding behind the brush, their mottled green-gray clothes and splotches of mud concealed them well. Ramsay just needed to get a closer look. 

 

“Reek,” he hissed sharply to his own personal coolie. “Spyglass.” 

 

Scrambling to Ramsay with well-honed urgency, ‘Reek’ in this instance was a disheveled, slight wildling woman. Once known as ‘Osha,’ Ramsay and his patrol had discovered her among a band of wildlings poaching on Bolton land. She had taken his fancy, leading him to ‘train’ her as his body slave… the others were not so lucky. “Here master.”

 

Lucky for Osha, the finely crafted Braavosi lenses weren’t smeared with mud. Putting it to his eye, Ramsay first made out a dirt road leading to Winterfell. In spite of being turned into a soggy mess of churning mud, horse drawn carts were traversing it constantly. Stone blocks making up the overwhelming amount of the cargo. What the fuck is going on? 

 

Shifting, he could see the hubbub - nearly every able-bodied man and woman were deployed around the scattered huts and buildings of Wintertown, squelching through the mud to construct… is that a wall? Ramsay felt a cold shiver go down his spine, one having nothing to do with the weather. “You think they know? About us?”

 

Myranda tapped him on the back. “Don’t think so, lover. They’d have called the banners and marched on the Dreadfort if they did.” She may have been the kennelmaster’s daughter, but she had a cunning about her.

 

Conceding she had a point, he turned to her. “Take half and skirt around. Get a glimpse of the other side. Then we send a message to my father from the collection point.” She kissed his cheek and soon made her way out, splashing through the mud along the way. 


Spyglass moving towards the main castle, Ramsay could make out a lone figure gazing out of one of the towers. Red hair illuminated by the lightning. Sansa Stark… Already his mind turned on what he would do to the beauty once she was his.


Cersei Lannister

 

“Please, your Grace,” said acting Grand Maester Calden, wringing his hands nervously from the foot of her bed. “Keep pushing… your contractions have increased in frequency. The baby will be coming out very soon.”

 

“I’ve been in labor for seven hours, you cunt!” Cersei screamed at the new Grand Maester sent by the Citadel. The fact Robert was still alive said everything. Pycelle is dead… Her scumbag of a husband still breathed. 

 

Calden had the same disgusting touch as Pycelle did, only without being easily manipulated. “Some women take longer, just keep pushing.”

 

She gritted her teeth while she felt another painful tug in her abdomen. “This little thing in my belly has barely moved an inch!” She bit down hard on her own tongue and hissed from the pain. The handmaids on the side of her bed wiped her sweaty forehead with a wet cloth and held her hand reassuringly. She squeezed their hands so hard their fingers turned purple.

 

Outside the door stood Ser Edric Storm, on guard duty while the Queen gave birth to his father’s trueborn heir. She reckoned that he must be laughing inside of himself. His own father having an actual Baratheon of his own for the first time in years - quite a departure from his whoremongering ways. Not that he was there. In her chambers, watching from the table off to the side of her bed, was her lord father. He merely watched his daughter strain at pushing the babe out of her womb with an impassive stare on his face.

 

Cursing silently under her breath, she thought about how the poor excuse of a Grand Maester fumbled up Robert’s poisoning. She had specifically told him four drops of the Strangler in the King’s morning wine. Instead for some godforsaken reason, he had misplaced his supply and so instead used Tears of Lys. Of all the mummers and fools in the world. She almost welcomed his likely execution.

 

Now, here she was, bearing Robert’s actual child. Robert had wasted no time in tracking down his poisoner, courtesy of Varys’ little birds for expediting the search. The only reason Pycelle hadn’t yet been dragged from the black cells and taken to Ilyn Payne was other pressing matters.  However, her father made it abundantly clear that the Grand Maester’s head would ultimately end up on a spike when all this was through and done. As such, the even older and more decrepit Calden was the only maester that could be summoned on such short notice for her. 

 

Clenching her jaw as her contractions reached a peak, she tried to console herself. There would be other opportunities to serve justice on her devilspawn husband for ripping her family away. As for Joffrey… 

 

She tensed up violently and screamed. Her father barely flinched, his eyes remained fixed on the shifting bulge under his daughter’s belly. Both of them knew what Robert would do if the babe that was born looked even a hint like a Lannister. Whether or not, Robert would follow through on what he said he’d do to her if that did come to pass… she didn’t want to take her chances. The presence of Ser Edric Storm already made it known that he had a spare heir in mind.

 

Fortunately, she had no doubt that this was Robert’s child. She couldn’t remember the last time that she’d lain with her brother. The thought of her dead Golden Lion made her see red through the pain.

 

“Alright, your Grace,” Calden broke in. “I can see the head of the babe emerging from you. Breathe and push. Breathe and push…”

 

After several minutes of following the creaky Grand Maester’s advice, she shuddered and fell back on her bed, exhausted. A high-pitched wailing echoed through the room as the handmaids handed a swaddled bundle of a babe to her.

 

“A girl, your Grace,” Calden tried to smile. “A healthy baby girl of your blood.”

 

Cersei gazed at the plump face of her newborn daughter, and for just a moment, felt the ice around her heart melt. Her daughter had the Baratheon black hair and blue eyes, but the rest of her visage was so clearly her… she was reminded of when she’d brought Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen into the world. But her momentary joy turned to ash in her mouth when her father spoke up.

 

“Unfortunately, I have to say,” Tywin said flatly. “Robert wants a male heir. Under the laws of succession, no women can inherit the throne unless all her male kin are dead.”

 

He looked at her meaningfully and she understood. Renly was the heir apparent until Robert could get a child with a cock stuck in her. Given that Renly’s interest lied not in women, but in… well, the Faith wouldn’t be happy to see him on the Iron Throne.

 

Feeling her daughter take to her breast, Cersei resigned herself to her husband’s coming wrath. After all, she smiled, a Lannister always pays her debts.


 

Daenerys Targaryen 

 

Ashes… Ashes… Ashes… 

 

Black soot and ashes were all that ran through the Dragon Queen’s mind as she processed what remained of Volantis. The city was a burnt-out wreck of its former glory. No one who hadn’t been to the city before it had been fed to the fire would recognize it as the powerful Free City it once was.

 

Feeling nausea bubble up in her stomach, it was obvious who had committed this senseless atrocity. She stared listlessly at the ragdoll she still held in her gloved hands. Volantis was a slaveholding city, yes - with a slaveborn population that outnumbered the freeborn, five-to-one. But no extent of slavery practiced could justify what she could only describe as an act of genocide.

 

Fire and blood. Is this what being a Targaryen entailed? Was this what she was ultimately destined for? For some reason, she couldn’t dissuade her creeping paranoia that her psychopathic twin was merely ahead of the curve.

 

A gentle hand brushed a lock of silver out of her face. She looked up to see the ruggedly handsome visage of her husband smile in a solemn, but reassuring manner. No words were needed to tell her that he firmly believed in her and what she stood for. Smiling wobbly back at him, she then heard the clearing of the Red Woman’s throat behind her.

 

“Your Grace,” Melisandre said, her voice slightly hoarse. “As alarming as what we have just seen, that is only part of what the Lord of Light wishes of you to see.” Her immaculately manicured right hand extended from the folds of her robe to point toward the immense structure of the Red Temple, its presence a defiant stand against the dragon’s wroth. “My fellow priests will have insight as to the true danger that your twin poses… as well as the consequences of your being sent back from another life.”

 

Daenerys swallowed hard. “You knew this would happen? You were awfully quiet on the ride over here and don’t appear surprised at what befell all these lives?” She spread her arms outward to make her point.

 

Jon narrowed his eyes. “If you were complicit in this by seeing and not warning…”

 

“Fear not, your Grace,” Melisandre said. “After nearly condemning the young lady Baratheon to a meaningless sacrifice, I take greater care in interpreting what the flames show me.” Gazing out at the charred husk of what was once Volantis, she sighed. “I, like my fellow followers of R'hllor, possess an affinity for great and terrible acts of fire. In a way, I knew this was coming, just not where and when.”

 

“This can’t continue with impunity,” Daenerys declared firmly. “My twin will face justice of the highest order for the murders he committed here.”

 

Jon bit his lip and furrowed his brow. “As much as I would love to run my blade through him, I agree with Melisandre that it would be wise to learn more about Aerys before facing him. What he left here, I suspect was just a warning for us.”

 

“The Desolation of Aerys,” Daenerys murmured. “Yes, I believe it was.”

 

Collecting herself, she ordered Robb, Jorah, Davos, Missandei, and Grey Worm to stay behind and help as many wounded as they could. Ghost and Grey Wind whined at being left behind, but she was insistent. For some reason, the dragons were calmer when the direwolves were around them.

 

Melisandre passed the sleeping form of Rhaegon to her, which she kissed tenderly before handing off to Missandei. With her husband beside her, they followed the Red Woman down the charred black road toward the Red Temple.



 The Red Temple was certainly the largest building that Daenerys had seen since the pyramids of Slaver’s Bay. Dwarfing even the Great Sept of Baelor, the consecrated site dedicated to the Lord of Light was an even more imposing structure as virtually the only one to defy Aerys’ wrath. A hundred hues of red, gold, yellow, and orange met and melted on the temple walls, dissolving onto each other like clouds at sunset. As her party approached the temple’s gates, she saw the small ring of guards that ringed the temple’s perimeter.

 

“The Fiery Hand.” Melisandre announced. “Elite warrior slaves sworn to protect the Red Temple and all who cross its threshold.” Sparing Jon and Daenerys a slight smile. “I presume you will want them to be freed from their servitude.”

 

“Correct, my lady,” Daenerys replied. Slavery would not be tolerated under her watch - not in any way, shape, or form. “However, as you have rendered me good service, I will delegate the task of emancipation to you, rather than my dragons.”

 

“Spoken wisely, your Grace,” Melisandre nodded approvingly. “The Fiery Hand will shine ever brighter in their faith in the Lord of Light in light of the gift you offer.”

 

Taking a closer look at the guard of the temple, Daenerys reckoned there were no more than a thousand. Each man bore ornate armor over orange robes and carried spears with heads carved in the shape of writhing flames. Marking their status as a slave of R’hllor were flames tattooed across their cheeks.

 

“Keligon,” said the lead guard, a burly man with oaken skin and a shaved head. “Qilōni begs se vaoreznon hen Āeksiot Ōño?”

 

“Melisandre of Asshai,” responded the Red Woman in a graciously formal tone. “Red Priestess of Dragonstone and former acolyte of the Red Temple of Volantis.” Switching to High Valyrian, she spoke, “Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys.” Then gesturing to Jon and Daenrys standing behind her, “Īlva āeksio believes pōnta kessa maghagon se ōños.”

 

The guard gave the Targaryens a good look, head to toe. Snorting in a mild skepticism, he nonetheless nodded and motioned for his subordinates to escort them inside. “Eglie voktys Kinvara kessa sagon se judge hen bona, Melisandre.”

 

“On my word, Benerro,” she smiled back. He scowled and hurriedly motioned them to enter.

 

“What’s bothering him?” Daenerys asked as they stepped into the main hall of the Red Temple. They had been immediately relieved of their weapons upon entry. Blood was forbidden to be shed unless as a sacrifice to R’hllor.

 

Chuckling to herself, Melisandre let her in on the secret. “Benerro used to be High Priest until Kinvara was brought here from Qohor. She is a former sorceress-priestess of the Black Goat, which may have given her an advantage in mastering the mystic arts of R’hllor. Benerro was none-too-pleased to have been replaced by an upstart girl who had just flowered.”

 

“So, the Red Temple enslaved him when he was replaced?!” Daenerys was appalled.

 

Frowning, Melisandre shook her head. “No, the Priest Captain of the Fiery Hand is a free man and equal in authority to the High Priesthood on martial matters. Benerro’s reassignment was in gratitude for his services and a sort of appeasement for being upstaged.”

 

Jon had been quiet and brooding the whole time the two women conversed. His eyes were on the massive statue of what appeared to be the Lord of Light in the center of the hall. Carved entirely from gold, the statue resembled a flame with the form of a man. Its arms were outstretched in a V and its legs were planted slightly apart from each other.

 

“Well, if it’s truly Azor Ahai come again,” a voice rang out from behind one of the massive stone pillars in the room. From out of the shadows stepped a girl of youthful beauty and energy. She was blessed with sun-tanned skin, raven-black hair, and a slightly bulbous nose. Her eyes were a striking gold with fiery red tints etched in them. She curtsied with a flourish, her rich red robes spiralling outward like a blossoming rose. “I am Kinvara, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light.”

 

“Kinvara,” Melisandre bowed her head. “It’s been many years.”

 

“Three and twenty exactly. Not counting that brief meeting we had when you were traveling with that Baratheon,” Kinvara smirked. Directing her gaze to the Targaryens next to Melisandre, she raised her eyebrows. “These two are who you claim to be… the ones? The last time you claimed to have found Azor Ahai, he ended up dead at the hands of this man that you now say bears the mantle.”

 

Jon cleared his throat. “My lady, I know nothing about prophecies and divine providence, but I do know that the warlord who destroyed Volantis is real and must be stopped. Assuming that you bore witness to his rampage, is there anything that you can share that will help us?”

 

Kinvara’s red-tinted gold eyes bore into Jon while he spoke. So intently did she stare at him that Daenerys found herself unconsciously fisting her hands. After making his case, Kinvara curled her lip in a coyish smile. Then just as abruptly, she turned to Daenerys and her enthusiasm dropped like a stone. “Oh my… Oh dear… I see.”

 

From the look on Melisandre’s face, Daenerys deduced that this was unusual for the High Priestess to react in such a worried way.

 

“If you will, your Graces, please follow me.” Kinvara’s shift to more proper etiquette did more to stoke Daenerys’ fears than allay them.



“Lie down flat on your back, your Grace. The key to a successful divination is to relax the mind, body, and spirit. Otherwise, you will receive blurred and incomplete messages.”

 

Daenerys gritted her teeth, but did as she was bid. Kinvara had taken them to a small altar room deep within the temple. Melisandre and Jon were made to wait outside as what was to be revealed was to be done so only in the presence of the subject, Daenerys, and the priestess at hand, Kinvara.

 

That was why Daenerys now found herself lying stark naked on a block of smooth white stone that was ringed by a circular fire pit. There were no secrets to be hidden from the Lord of Light, in the flesh or in the mind, Kinvara had said when she’d ordered her to strip.

 

Inhaling and exhaling at a steady pace to calm her heartbeat, Daenerys watched Kinvara prepare for the divination to proceed. Already anointed with oils and her hair braided in two neat buns, Daenerys wrinkled her nose at the incense that the High Priestess set to burn around her. She watched Kinvara kneel at the fireplace in the corner of the room and scoop out a handful of embers from the blaze with her bare hands.

 

Striding over to where Daenerys lied, Kinvara paused to take in the ritual about to begin. The fire pit surrounding Daenerys was akin to a moat and so when lit, would surround her in a literal ring of fire.

 

“Your Grace,” Kinvara said. “The Lord of Light is unpredictable, but whatever he sees will be. Trust in his wisdom and you will never lose your way.” Daenerys nodded resolutely and took a deep breath.

 

“I am ready.”

 

Casting the embers into the fire pit, instantly a roaring blaze erupted upward and enveloped the Dragon Queen in its embrace. Above the roar, Daenerys heard Kinvara call out, “Āeksiot Ōño, ōños se ñuhoso, syt Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys!”

 

The curtain of fire around her danced and shimmered to a rainbow of colors. Gold, red, and blue folded and melted over each other like the layers of Valyrian steel. Kinvara loudly murmured an incantation that seemed older than the High Valyrian that Daenerys had learned.

 

Suddenly the altar room vanished and she was dropped into the void… 

 

Daenerys opened her eyes to find herself in a grassy field along the banks of the Rhoyne. A crowd of villagers ran by her, not noticing her or not bothering to care. Behind them was loud trumpeting of elephants, armoured with a carriage of riders and archers. The great beasts of war thundered down upon the hapless villagers… until a winged shadow passed over them and immolated them with a blast of fire.

 

“One fights for a cause, the other fights for sport,” a voice rang out.

 

The scene shifted and Daenerys saw a man and woman standing alone in a plain, undecorated room. Their faces were obscured by shadows, but the woman was clearly agitated.

 

“You don’t have to go…”

 

“I have to, my lady.”

 

“It was the king who…” 

 

“Yes, however this tragedy would never have befallen the realm had we not been so discreet about what we were doing. I must atone for my mistakes, as any proper lord should.”

 

“Two passed over with guilt, two may pass over again,” the voice spoke again.

 

The scene faded away and Daenerys found herself lying in a pool of green water. Next to her, she could see the visage of what appeared to be Jon, but he wasn’t moving, nor was she. A tugging on her heartstrings was felt along with a gaping hole. There was an ice-cold aura surrounding both of them.

 

In the background, she heard a shout from Melisandre’s unmistakable voice and felt like she was flung from a catapult. A searing pain erupted from her heart and made her feel like she was being torn in half. Blinking her eyes, she saw a face identical to her staring back at her… 

 

“For when ice and fire meet, thus old foes return anew,” the voice sang one last time.

 

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!” Kinvara called out. “Return from where the Lord of Light sent your soul! May you come back imbued with the fire that you never had before!”

 

Gasping for breath, Daenerys flailed like a fish as her eyes flew open. The intensity of the visions had knocked the wind out of her. Kinvara waved her hands over the dying fire pit to put out the flames. As she did, Daenerys felt her head clear and her breathing steady. Looking up at the High Priestess, she saw Kinvara look upon her reverently.

 

“For once, it seems that Melisandre is right,” Kinvara said. “You and your consort are Azor Ahai reborn.”

 

“What I saw…” Daenerys swallowed shakily. “Jon…” She stumbled and nearly fell if Kinvara hadn’t caught her.

 

“Well, now,” the High Priestess said. “How about a hot bath and a hot meal? The Lord of Light works wonders with fire in so many ways.”

 

“That would be most appreciated,” Daenerys paused. “For everyone who came to Volantis with me, please.”

Notes:

CastleColin: Fire and fury... and a little frostbite out in the snow. You be the judge on who’s the greater danger.

Longclaw: Well, Dany has more of her memories, plus visions of the past. All it took was for Aerys to burn down all of Volantis (the Mulan vibes were intentional; he's trying to send a message to the whole world of his commitment to the Targaryen words).

I bet y'all weren't expecting Osha there - just to clarify, she was given the Sansa rather than the Theon treatment, but she did end up having to sleep in the kennels. Ramsay is... well... a sick freak.

Chapter 41: Take Me Home Tonight

Summary:

1) The Ironborn begin their offensive.
2) Robert has something to say to his Hand.
3) Robb prepares for Jon's arrival at Winterfell.
4) Daenerys finally meets the Starks.
5) Catelyn reflects on how she treated Jon.

Notes:

Longclaw: The time has come. The Targareyns arriving at Winterfell!

CastleColin: The moment you've all been waiting for. But you probably already know.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Yara Greyjoy 

 

The Stony Shore was a sparsely populated region in the North with but a handful of fishing villages along its coast. A good place for the ironborn to practice paying the iron price as there were no lords in the vicinity to call upon for aid. As such, the heir to Pyke could raid and reave as she pleased.

 

“Is that all the plunder you got, Tris?” Yara Greyjoy stood leaning against the mast of her ship, Black Wind , as she questioned each of her captains on the loot they’d acquired from the fishermen they’d slain. Honestly, there wasn’t much value to be found where she was. The Stony Shore had no important centers of trade - it didn’t even have a proper port. But it served as a launching point for her to launch more ambitious raids on more worthwhile targets a bit further north up the coast. For now, she was content to consolidate her hold on the barren rocks of the North’s western coast and expand her supply lines back to the Iron Islands.

 

“Yes, my lady,” Tristifer Botley replied. “A set of silverware and a sack of copper stars.” Rummaging through the burlap sack he had with him, he then pulled out two iron goblets and a surprisingly good quality longsword. He laid out his prizes on the deck and stepped back to let her inspect them.

 

A faint smile stretched across Yara’s face as she nodded in approval at what he brought back. “Well done, Tris. The iron price has been paid for what it’s worth in gold.” She was being sarcastic. Gold would have bought a suit of armor and horse befitting a knight. Still, she enjoyed using her praises to toy with the men under her command. The daughter of Balon Greyjoy was considered the most eligible bachelorette among the ironborn, and many a reaver hoped to win her hand.

 

Not a chance of that happening anytime soon. She conceded that marriage would have to come eventually to secure an heir to House Greyjoy, but as long as she could do the finger dance, she’d dance to her tune alone. Now that meant setting her sights on something a little higher.

 

Assuming her usual commanding visage, she dismissed Tristifer with the wave of her hand. He noticeably deflated at her abrupt change of attitude toward him. Smirking to herself, she turned away from him and looked out over the prow of Black Wind toward the shore. After spending a few weeks plundering the meagre fishing villages, every last bit of treasure had been taken from every nook and cranny. Considering no Northern armies had been sent against them, she decided it was time to capture a proper settlement.

 

The only question was where to go?

 

Pulling out a rough map of the North, Yara studied it for possible targets. They couldn’t go too far inland or they’d be cut off from resupply and besides, ironborn were not frontline men-at-arms like greenlanders. That was a sticking point for her people as it reminded them that they weren’t as tough as they’d have their victims believe.

 

Thumbing the worn parchment in her hands, she traced her finger up the coastline until she reached Deepwood Motte. Of all the Northern castles, the seat of House Glover was closest to the sea, and its location in the Wolfswood would provide cover for an ambush. On top of that, the entire structure of the castle was made of wood with only a timber palisade for defense. Nothing that a few scaling ladders couldn’t overcome. However, the keep was likely to be fully garrisoned with enough hardened soldiers to make a quick, clean victory doubtful. More likely would be that her men would become bogged down in a protracted siege, which wouldn’t do as it would give time for reinforcements to arrive.

 

Frowning mightily, she hesitated before turning to the little landmass hanging just off to the side of the mainland near Deepwood Motte. The craggy rock in the sea known as Bear Island and the home of House Mormont. Once ruled by the ironborn until Theon the Hungry Wolf seized it from House Hoare. The island was used as a base for reaving in the North back then and could very well do the same for her now.

 

Salt spray splattering across her face, Yara wiped her face with the back of her hand and raised her head to look out over her small fleet. Twenty longships she had under her command with a total of four hundred men. All of her boats were pulled up on the shoreline while their crews were performing maintenance or counting their spoils. She sighed and groaned in frustration. Bear Island easily had as many warriors as she had, and all of them were no doubt battle-hardened. No doubt from years of training in case of ironborn raids.

 

Yara fingered the sword attached to her belt. Her father had permitted her to take however many men and ships she needed to capture all that she could. In that case, she’d return to Pyke and call up more men to assist her in taking Bear Island. At least another twenty ships would do.

 

Putting her fingers in her mouth, she whistled a loud, shrill tweet that grabbed the attention of all along the beach. Clearing her throat and spitting on the sand, she barked, “Back to your boats, boys! Raise the sails! We’re heading home to stash our goods before heading out for a bigger prize!” The men scrambled to their vessels, tossing their stolen valuables onboard and pushing the longships out into the surf.

 

Already floating in the shallows, Black Wind’s sails tacked to the south, gradually picking up speed as Yara stared resolutely onward. Yet in the back of her mind, her brother and the prospect of fighting him hung like a shadow.


Robert Baratheon

 

Each of his Kingsguards - that day, Boros Blount and his bastard Edric Storm both had the unenviable ‘honor’ of escorting him - giving their King a wide berth, Robert kicked the door to the solar of the Tower of the Hand. As always for the block of ice with gold shoved up its ass, Tywin Lannister didn’t flinch. Merely standing up and bowing. “Your Grace.” 

 

“Get up, you little prick,” Robert bellowed, ruddy face and glassy eyes proving that he had hit the cups after his morning sparring session. Said eyes shifted to the second occupant of the room, currently curtseying her King. “Got yer new bride ‘ere, Tywin? Plannin’ on fuckin’ her on your desk?” He felt gratified that a hint of a flush formed on Tywin’s neck. So I’m gettin’ to him, good. 

 

Lynesse Lannister was of sterner stuff, apparently. She barely flinched. “Your Grace. To what do we owe this honor?” To think this had been the vain, shallow woman that drove Jorah Mormont to poverty and criminality. Then again, from the glittering gold bands adorning her wrists and the ruby choker that sparkled in the light of the early autumn’s sun, her vanity certainly hadn’t changed. This woman’s a twin of Cersei… minus the being a loud, vicious cunt. 

 

In any case, he would rather let Renly handle such matters. The lad was always better at the underhand scheming. “You don’t know, dear lion’s wife? I’ll tell ye’. Why is it that my whoring slut of a Queen goes into labor with my child and my own fucking Hand doesn’t deign to tell me?!” The last were a deep bellow, mighty lungs of the Stag King shaking the very rafters. Occasionally, the mighty Demon of the Trident reared his head in the air.

 

“We didn’t wish to disturb your hunt, your Grace” Tywin said flatly. “Your mind is strained from the chaos all around. A calm few days in the Kingswood was assured to me by the new maester to do wonders for your constitution.”

 

“Hmph…” Robert snorted. Tywin’s words made sense. “Did you kill that oaf Pycelle?”

 

Tywin nodded. “It was done right after your daughter’s birth, your Grace.”

 

Finally allowing himself to sit, staining the finely upholstered chair with the copious sweat soaking his training breeches and gambeson, the King raised his feet to rest upon the table. Amused at how Tywin’s face twitched at the breach of etiquette. “So, what the fuck are we gonna do that your weak whore of a daughter gave me a girl babe?”

 

If Tywin was a cold fish, Lynesse was practically a block of ice in comparison. Nothing passed her beautiful, guarded face. “I see no reason for you to be worried, your Grace.”

 

“Oh, and why the fuck is that?” The horn of wine spilled on the carpet as he gesticulated with his arms. “Viserys Targaryen had a daughter as an heir, and the Realm tore itself apart to install a proper cock on the Iron Throne and I don’t fucking blame them.”

 

A ghost of a smile formed on Lynesse’s face, framed by her glittering jewelry. “House Baratheon was founded by a man of no birth marrying the beautiful, capable noblewoman, was it not?” Robert opened his mouth to retort, yet even in his drunkenness the lessons of the history of his house hadn’t been forgotten. “Argella Durrandon was the epitome of the House of the Stag. Princess Baratheon is her spitting image, if the songs are to be believed. Black of hair, fair of skin, and blue of eye.”

 

“I would suggest she be christened by the High Septon at the Sept of Baelor immediately. Have no doubt she is your heir.” Tywin likely had been planning it the moment he walked in.

 

“If you’re worried about lords doubting her legitimacy to rule, I’ll make sure the High Septon decrees her personally. That should quiet them down.” Her green eyes sparkled with a beautiful earnestness.

 

Barking out a single laugh, Robert couldn’t help but slap his knee. Tywin you tightass. Finally found a woman that is your twin, but with a cunt. How did Jorah Mormont stomach this cunt, the Stag King would never know. “Alright, you two have your wish. But Cersei is to provide me with as many children as she can until I get a boy that looks like Edric there.” He gestured to his Kingsguard bastard. “And if not, I’ll find a damned woman that will do it for me.”

 

As he stood, the two Lannisters stood as well. “Of course, your Grace. We are yours to command, and Cersei is yours to command as well.” At least when Tywin said the last part, Robert knew that he meant it.

 

“Oh.” Robert turned, eyes twinkling with a dark mirth. “Name the babe Lyanna. Princess Lyanna Baratheon.” Not waiting to catch Tywin’s reaction, the King smirked. That would teach Cersei a lesson - if she wanted to be a toxic slut, then he’d name her daughter after the woman who should have bared his children. But even the mere thought of her made him frown. Rhaegar… I wish I could kill you fucking again… The short uptick in Robert’s mood quickly vanished.

 

Stalking towards… seven hells, he didn’t even know at this point. The great Stag King, always ready for rivalry and showcasing his mighty skills, reduced to a neurotic brooder confronted with the fact that he had no responsibilities, and thus no power over anything once the revelry was taken away. Reality exposed to him. Gods, Robert wanted to take his new warhammer to something - just to end the damn monotony of his day.

 

“Your Grace.” The voice belonged to Baelish. What does the slippery cunt want now? “Finished your training session?”

 

“Aye.” If Robert could do anything, it was fuck, drink, and brag about his prowess. “Getting good at it, too. Right Blount?”

 

The portly knight didn’t expect to be called on it seemed, but he recovered. “Um, yes, my King. You shall be back to your top fighting potential in no time.”

 

“See, Baelish. Ned will tremble before my mighty warhammer.” He mimed striking down furiously.

 

Littlefinger only smiled. “You have clearly been working nonstop for days. Perhaps a little gift is in order - take it as a token of my happiness at the birth of the new Princess.”

 

His brows furrowed. “What gift?” Robert asked warily.

 

“She’s in your chambers.” At that, Robert had no reservations anymore.

 

The woman… likely a whore if Baelish had her brought here, was tall and long-legged. Dark brown hair with a pretty face. Sharp, but sensual - five traits out of the six he observed that Robert liked in a woman. “Where’d you get this one? Out of your usual stock?”

 

Chuckling, Littlefinger pressed his hands together. “You think me disrespectful, your Grace? You are the Protector of our Faith, I wouldn’t dare.” He gestured to the whore, who was silent. “This is a new acquisition of mine, but she has already proven popular. Lord Stauton himself paid for her to be his personal lover… at my establishment only, of course.”

 

This caused Robert to chortle. “I stole the lover of that fat oaf?” The irony of his words was clearly not something he could discern. “That’s better than even her. I’ll take it - what shall she cost?”

 

“No cost, my King. Just that you enjoy and keep your system in shape for the coming wars.” Unctuous as ever, Littlefinger bowed out. Leaving him with the whore.

 

Walking to the flagon of wine left on his table - properly tasted of course - Robert poured himself a drink. “So, who are you, again?”

 

The whore smiled invitingly. “I am anyone you want me to be, your Grace.”

 

Not that Robert cared, but she hadn’t answered his question. Quite irritating. “Answer the damn question.”

 

She sighed. “My mother named me Shae.”

 

Pretty, but nothing like my Lyanna. “You should know that I am a father today. Have a healthy little Princess, who could end up being your sovereign.”

 

“I am supremely glad for the Seven Kingdoms, and yourself, but I don’t think we’re here to talk about children.”

 

A chortle. “Bold, direct. I like it - everyone’s so… winding in this shit place. It’s fucking annoying, is what it is.” Downing the wine in one gulp, he grinned lustily and walked towards Shae. “You are a pretty lass, and the accent? Tyroshi?”

 

“Myrish,” she answered. “So, I take it you want something specific, my King.”

 

Robert grabbed her dress and ripped it in two, shoving her on the bed and enjoying the little gasp from her lips. The swell of her exposed breasts and trim stomach. “Yes, I do.” Without hesitation, he joined her on the bed.


Robb Stark

 

The air was bitingly cold with not a cloud in the sky to block the rays of sunlight that shone down over the wild, pristine beauty of the North. The wonderful piney scent of the Wolfswood could be smelled even when the wind blew toward the trees. Such were the observations of the young Stark lord as he walked down the Kingsroad toward home.

 

Robb Stark inhaled a deep breath of crisp, clean air as he crested over a hill to come into view of the imposing grey castle of Winterfell. His home which he had not seen in very nearly a year. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as a pang of homesickness hit fresh. Home, hearth, and where his family was. Although he had no regrets about accompanying his brother on his quest in Essos, he did miss his family dearly during their adventure. Jon was lucky to have found his true love, as cliche as that sounded, and have a family with her.

 

As he trudged down the dirt road toward Winterfell, a wistful smile ghosted across his face as he contemplated his own coming marriage. While Jon had married purely for love, he had sworn only to marry for an alliance to restore the Targaryen Dynasty. That meant his bride was to be the Golden Rose of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell. A lovely, kindhearted spirit as the singers sung of her, wedding her would hopefully get her family’s bannermen behind Jon’s cause. One hundred thousand of admittedly summer knights would prove decisive in unseating Robert and wrenching the Lannisters out from behind the throne.

 

Robb hoped that his marriage with Margaery with bear fruit even if they didn’t get off quite on the right foot. In many ways, his own marriage was much like his father’s - born out of wartime necessity for an alliance rather than the love match in his past life with the Volentene woman… one which turned out to be his undoing. There was none of that with the Tyrells. Perhaps a loving relationship could bloom between us. His mother once told him that even though she and Ned didn’t love each other when they first met, they persisted at building that love for every year after. His future with Margaery might follow in their footsteps.

 

Gods, he hoped so.

 

“Halt!” called a voice from the towering gatehouse. “Who goes there?”

 

Robb looked up at the guard on the battlements and smiled. “I am Robb Stark, firstborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and heir to Winterfell!”

 

The guard looked down skeptically. Robb was not riding a horse as was custom for a nobleman when out of his castle. That couldn’t be helped. He had flown in on dragonback after all. Since it would be unwise for Jon and Daenerys’ dragons to be revealed at this time, they had landed at a spot away from Winterfell near the Wolfswood to hide them from prying eyes. He was meant to come to the castle first in order to inform his family about Jon’s arrival with Daenerys.

 

“It’s not ‘Lord Stark’ anymore, lad. It’s ‘King’ Stark’ now.” Damn, how could I forget? “As for you being his son… ”

 

A loud barking was heard as Grey Wind bounded out from behind Robb. The grey direwolf had fallen behind while chasing a small elk. From the growling grimace on his snout, it was clear that he failed to catch it. The guard above paled at the sight of the fearsome predator.

 

Robb smirked. “This animal is my house’s sigil. Is that enough to convince you of who I am?” Grey Wind snarled as if to say let us in or else .

 

Not wanting to suffer the consequences of having actually barred a Stark out of Winterfell, the guard called out, “Open the gates!” There was a grinding groan as the chains attached to the massive wood-and-iron door wrenched it upward to allow Robb and Grey Wind to pass through. Almost as soon as they had entered the main courtyard, they were buffeted by an avalanche of two-legged and four-legged bodies.

 

The now enlarged forms of Lady, Nymeria and Shaggydog swarmed Grey Wind, yipping and licking him all over. The generous diets of fresh meat made the three wolves left in Winterfell look fat in comparison to their brother, who mostly ate dried horse meat out on the Dothraki Sea. Not one to be bowled over, Grey Wind playfully snapped back in a less-than-serious way of asserting his dominance as the alpha.

 

Robb, meanwhile, was flailing with Arya around his neck and Rickon around his legs. Sansa was close behind them, trying and failing to stifle her laughter at her oldest brother’s plight. Losing his balance, Robb sat down hard on the ground, bruising his backside.

 

“You’re back, big brother!” Arya squealed with delight. At least having the courtesy to get off him, she peppered him with questions. “Is Jon here? Where is Daenerys? Do they have dragons? Is their child a boy or girl?”

 

Rickon just embraced his brother warmly. “You’re finally home, Robb. Where were you all last year?” He had the wide-eyed look of youthful innocence on his face. Not wanting to divulge the truth just yet, Robb ruffled his hair.

 

“I’ll tell you later, pal. When Father and Mother hear as well.”

 

Slightly disappointed, Rickon nonetheless nodded in agreement before holding out a hand to help him up to his feet. Arya yanked hard on his other hand to pull him up, almost throwing him off balance again. He rolled his eyes at her. 

 

“For that, sister, I’m not answering any of your questions.”

 

Arya shrugged. “Fine. Jon will tell me. He’s always told me more about anything than you ever have.”

 

“Arya, enough! Would you please learn to control your tongue.” Rolling her own eyes, Sansa gave her brother a warm smile and a warmer embrace. “Welcome home, Robb. I hope you had a pleasant journey with Jon.”

 

“Aye, I did,” he chuckled. “Very eye-opening, in fact. Few lords such as myself have gotten the privilege to see so much of the world.” He then looked over at the wolves, who were busy frolicking around. “Grey Wind is hungry after a long trip back home. Rickon, would you mind feeding him?”

 

The youngest Stark shook his head before whistling for the wolves to get their attention. Leading them off toward the kennels, Grey Wind followed in hopes of getting the elk he wanted. They were out of the courtyard in less than five seconds.

 

“Robb!” A jovial, if weary, voice brought Robb’s head around to see his father standing on the scaffolding above the courtyard beaming down on him. The King in the North walked over to and down the wooden stairs to his son. Looking over his heir proudly, he and his son abandoned formality to embrace as any family would.

 

Pulling apart, Ned smiled. “Welcome home, my son.”

 

“Thank you, Father. It’s good to be home.” Robb smirked. “So, you’re now King in the North?”

 

“Aye, I am. ‘Tis only temporary until Jon takes the Iron Throne. After that, I don’t really know.”

 

“Well, I guess that means I’m Crown Prince for the time being. Was your newfound status useful in securing marriage alliances?”

 

“Plenty. In addition to your betrothal with Margaery, I agreed to one with Trystane Martell for Sansa, should she accept.” He gestured to Sansa, who beamed in delight and nodded eagerly. 

 

“I also agreed to betroth Bran to Meera Reed. Howland was insistent that it be done for Bran’s safety during the return of the Long Night.”

 

“Not to mention to calm the Northern lords down with all the southern alliances.” Ned beamed at him, clearly impressed. “None for Arya, Rickon, or Jon?” Robb was jesting at that last name.

 

Ned laughed. “Rickon is too young to be tied to a woman, and Arya is too wild for a man to be tied to her. As for Jon…” His expression darkened. “Walder Frey offered a betrothal with one of his many daughters.”

 

Robb didn’t need to be reminded why that would never do. Not when the old man had been a conspirator of the Red Wedding. His fists unconsciously clenched at the thought of his unknown wife stabbed to death in her pregnancy. That would not happen again this life around.

 

Arya, who’d been quiet the whole time, suddenly piped up. “Well, where’s Jon and Daenerys? I assume that they came with you on dragonback.”

 

Sansa sighed. “Arya, you know that they can’t just land in Winterfell with their dragons unannounced. They’d not only cause a fright, but also the North still remembers what the Targaryens did or thought they did to our family. Daenerys won’t be taken kindly to at first, and even less so if her first impression is one of intimidation.”

 

Arya pursed her lips. “Fine, but I get first ride on dragonback.”

 

“Alright, Arya, I’m sure Jon will give you a ride on his dragon,” Robb said. “For now, we should prepare for his arrival. He’ll be here within the hour.”

 

“Of course, Robb,” Ned agreed. “We’ll assemble in the courtyard when they come. Unfortunately, your mother won’t be able to attend as she’s left for Riverrun to warn her father about the impending war with Robert.” 

 

Robb blinked in surprise. So, that’s why his mother didn’t come out to greet him. Tilting his head in understanding, he exhaled in disappointment. She would miss meeting Jon’s new family and her first chance to reconcile with him after years of estrangement.

 

“I told her the truth about Jon,” Ned assured. “She’ll love Jon’s child as one of her own.”

 

Looking at Sansa’s confident smile, Robb relaxed in the knowledge of his mother’s change of heart. He knew that she’d adore little Rhaegon with all her heart.

 

That’s if Daenerys would let her. One thing he knew about his good-sister… dragons did not forget slights.


Daenerys Targaryen 

 

Swathed in a thick white cloak tight over her body, Daenerys kept the packed bundle of her son close to her chest. Errant memories of her past acclimated her to the snow and ice of even the early autumn of the North - of the home of her beloved husband. Cheeks flushed and nose slightly numb, the Queen nevertheless handled it with a veteran effort - though the close proximity of her King, sending shivers of a pleasurable kind through her, didn’t hurt the matter.

 

The same couldn’t be said of her companions. “How can any place be this cold…?” Missandei stuttered, teeth chattering in spite of the Northern style dress and cloak Ser Davos purchased from a merchant in White Harbor the previous day. “Is this what the Andals call the seventh and worst of all hells?” 

 

“On the contrary, my dear,” Davos laughed, handling it far better. “The hells are hot, not cold.” That was little comfort to the translator’s muffled curses, nor to Grey Worm, clad only in his Unsullied leathers and exposed to the cold - he took it more stoically though. 

 

“Feels like home,” Jon commented, tightening his arm around Daenerys. He pressed a welcome kiss on her head when Rhaegon cuddled closer to his mother. Seeking out her warmth. You’ll meet your family soon, little dragon… and so will muna. It truthfully bothered her more than the cold. Over half would be people she had no recollection of. “Does it feel like home, Jorah?”

 

Redemption clipped to his side, Jorah strode through the snow with his head held high. Clearly proud for the first time in years. “Snow is beautiful, aye, but nothing can compare with the forests and mountains of Bear Island… I hope I can see it one more time before I die - to have my family see my redemption.” Sorrow clouded his face.

 

“You will, Ser Jorah,” Daenerys offered kindly, nearly stumbling in the snow. But in no danger due to her husband. “Thank you, my love.” Landing in the middle of Winterfell with their dragons would have been far easier, but the questions wouldn’t. They seemed pretty happy in the massive cave complex deep in the Wolfswood, Sarogon and Aragon sleeping while the smaller dragons scampered and flew about. Ghost seemed almost sad to leave his brothers and sisters, but the prospect of returning to Winterfell and his fellow littermates was too appealing for the furball.

 

A hand caressed her cheek, spreading warmth there. “Of course, Dany.” While Davos continued to chat with Missandei to keep her mind off of everything, Jorah, Ghost, and Grey Worm kept a pretty effective perimeter around all of them, and Melisandre was lost in her own little world, she felt his hot breath against her ear. “I can’t wait to make love to you in my old room.”

 

Her shivers increased, breeches underneath her coat and dress starting to soak from a sudden arousal. Damn this man. Luckily for her composure, Rhaegon’s eyes fluttered awake. Lilac finding his mother as if she was an omnipotent being. Smiling, she leaned down to kiss his forehead. Imagining how his aunts and uncles and grandparents would fawn all over him… “Jon…”

 

“Yes, my dragon.”

 

She chuckled, trying to calm herself as the gates of Winterfell appeared in the distance. “I’m a little nervous about meeting your family,” Daenerys confessed - as the words came out, she felt a bit silly. “We got along in my lifetime and yours… but what if it’s different? That they find me an interloper?”

 

“Won’t happen,” he dismissed flatly.

 

“But the Northern Lords… they hate our family…”

 

Hand tilting her head to the side, Jon’s lips found hers. “Stop worrying so much, my love. They’ll love you and Rhaegon both, I’m sure of it. And if the Northern lords object… well…” He gestured behind them, back to where the dragons rested.

 

Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle. “Isn’t that what they said about our family? When you have dragons you can marry whomever you want?” She sighed happily. “I love you, Jon.”

 

“I love you too, Daenerys.”

 

As they approached the gatehouse, Dany could see the guards scrambling atop it. Heralds blowing their bugles in announcement, as if they were proclaiming the visit of a King… which in fact they were. The true King. Daenerys had never seen Robert Baratheon - oftentimes Viserys would paint him as a raging monster, nightmares of the little girl filled with a ravenous half-man, half-stag trying to devour her - but from what Jon told her he was merely a pathetic shell of a much stronger man. Wasting away the life he had gained by butchering their family. He will pay. She and Jon deserved the throne, if only because they sought power not for themselves but to benefit others.

 

“Open the gates!” bellowed the chief guard of the gate. Iron-plated ironwood doors swinging open with a groan. 

 

Jon turned to look at his companions. “Welcome to Winterfell.” But before he could enter, Ghost just whooshed past all of them. Barking and gunning for something in the distance, tongue lagging out. Daenerys managed to catch a flash of grey and black as the white direwolf collided with one… no, four others in a flurry of fur and growls. “Gods… I knew this was gonna happen.”

 

She grinned. “Remind me of anyone?” He only nodded - dragons and direwolves were more alike than one might think. At a gurgling from Rhaegon, Daenerys tickled his little nose. “Let’s show you your family, my sweet boy.” Rhaegon only smiled a toothless grin back at her.

 

Spread out in the courtyard - covered in a light, beautiful dusting of pure white snow that even seemed to awe the perpetually freezing Missandei - were the entire household of House Stark. From the lowliest stablehand to King Eddard Stark himself. Never having seen him in any of her lives, Daenerys nevertheless could pick him out in a heartbeat. Uncle that he was to Jon, he carried himself straight, strong, quiet but powerful. Just as her beloved. And his smile… as if light had returned to his world.

 

Robb stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest with a smile. And there were… Sansa and Arya! Dany would recognize them anywhere, but it was almost a breath of fresh air. So young, so innocent to the evils of the world and yet having the measured stare of growing maturity. Thank the gods… we’ll never let them be hurt as they were. Beside Arya was a tiny little thing, which had to be Rickon. He was utterly adorable. A slight dwarf… Tyrion?... completed the central retinue. But there, the smiles and overjoyed expressions faded. The rest of Winterfell - aside from a number of the guards and one rather proud man with a wispy white beard - merely stared. Neutral, guarded, dismissive. Greeting the bastard of their lord as if he were a King. It made her blood boil, but the squirming babe in her arm forced her to calm herself. 

 

There would be a time for that.

 

Wordlessly, Ned Stark emerged from the mass of people, approaching both of them. Royal as he was, Dany joined the others - having been briefed about the independence of the North - all bowed. Including Jon, no matter how galling it was for the true King to bow to anyone in Daenerys’ mind. But she’d forgive her goodfather in all but name. “Your Grace,” they said simultaneously.

 

“Prince Jon,” Ned said in return, nodding a little too strenuously… almost a shallow bow. 

 

Her husband smiled sheepishly. “I am but a bastard, your Grace. A royal title is… presumptuous for me to take.”

 

“And yet you’re not taking it,” the King in the North replied a bit firmly. “I’m giving it to you, non-negotiable.” The two merely stared at each other for a moment before Ned’s grey eyes softened and his arms extended. “My son.”

 

Jon smiled as well. “Father.” In an instant the two men were embracing warmly. Each laughing gingerly in a rare display of emotion for Jon… and Dany could guess for Ned as well. “I missed you.”

 

Visibly tearing up, Ned patted his back. “I missed you too, my son.” When they broke apart, the King in the North leveled his gaze on Daenerys and Rhaegon, smile widening if that was possible. “Is this her?” Quite normal considering the backstory devised between all of them through ravens, but far more loaded with all that only those closest to Houses Targaryen and Stark knew.

 

Nodding, Jon walked over to drape his arm around Daenerys. “Father, this is Danyelle, my wife… and our baby boy Raymund.” 

 

Daenerys almost swooned at the tenderness in his voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your Grace. My dearest husband has spoken so much about you.”

 

“Only good things I hope, gooddaughter.” Walking till he was face to face with Daenerys, Ned looked down to peer at the bundled form of Rhaegon. “He looks so much like his father it’s uncanny,” he breathed, awe about his face. “Hello, little one.” Cooing at the baby, Rhaegon giggled and smacked at his hand, drawing a belly laugh from Ned. “Welcome to Winterfell, gooddaughter.” He threw open his arms and hugged Dany tightly - careful enough to keep from squeezing the babe. Jon never wanted for a father’s love… And, in that moment, neither did Daenerys.

 

“Father, put my wife down,” Jon laughed, slapping his father’s back. “And I believe my Essosi retinue is in need of a warm fire and hot food.” Even Grey Worm was starting to weaken under the autumn snow.

 

“Oh, right… it rained for weeks but the weather took a turn for the worse.” Clearing his throat, he turned to the entire household. “My sons, Crown Prince Robb and Prince Jon, have returned, along with Prince Jon’s wife and newborn son. Tonight we shall feast in the great hall to celebrate this wonderful occasion! Dismissed!” The crowd began to filter out, going back to their tasks. Some happy to feast, others casting sullen looks Jon’s way. Each one added fuel to Dany’s inner dragonfire. “Ser Rodrik, please escort my son’s retinue to their quarters. They are our honored guests,” Ned said graciously, specifically looking at both a nervous Ser Jorah and a shivering Missandei. For the exiled knight and slaveborn foreigner, the gesture was greatly appreciated.

 

“At once, your Grace.” Unlike the others, it was obvious Ser Rodrik respected Jon greatly, and thus extended such respect to the motley crew of foreigners and former criminals that they had brought with them.

 

“May I hold him, Daenerys?” Dany’s eyes flickered back to Ned Stark, his words so low that only she could hear him. “If it isn’t too forward?”

 

She shook her head. “Not at all.” Gingerly, she handed Rhaegon to her goodfather, smiling. “I would be remiss if my son doesn’t grow up surrounded by his family.” 

 

Nodding, Ned rocked the boy with a gentleness that his rough exterior belied. “I’ve dreamed of this day for many moonturns, but my dreams didn’t do this justice.”

 

“Holding my son… no, they don’t,” Daenerys agreed.

 

Whatever moment they shared was shattered as Jon grunted, falling down in the snow with a plop. “BIG BROTHER!” A quick swivel of her head found Daenerys staring at Arya Stark atop her husband, squeezing the life out of him. 

 

“Oof… Arya… it’s good to see you too,” Jon choked out, recovering his composure. Unable to hold it in, Daenerys laughed merrily as little Rickon joined in, both mobbing their brother/cousin.

 

“Didn’t I tell you, goodsister?” Robb asked with a grin. “Arya would have him on the ground first thing. You owe me a gold dragon.”

 

“Fine Robb, you win.” At this point, nothing could dampen Dany’s mood. 

 

By now, Arya and Rickon had both let Jon up… only for Sansa to embrace him. Tears in her eyes. “Welcome back, brother,” she murmured, kissing his cheek.

 

It seemed as if a weight had been lifted from Jon… the last little brooding and angst from their family being seperated falling away. “I’m glad to be back. Now, everyone,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “This is Daenerys and Rhaegon… my wife and son.” 

 

While Dany would have imagined Arya to be first to mob her, it was Sansa that rushed over instead. “Sister.” The redhead was far more open and warm than the woman she had known - understandable, given that none of the trauma she had experienced occured in this world. But the soft blue eyes held none of the naivete that the young Sansa held. 

 

“Out of my way, stuffy skirt.” A sharp shove found Arya butting in, her own arms wrapping about Dany’s waist. “Where are the dragons?” she bluntly asked.

 

“Arya!” Sansa scolded.

 

The whole turn of events made Dany laugh, eyes sparkling with mirth. “It’s good to meet you too, Arya. I can take you to them now if you let me braid your hair.” Arya’s excitement dimmed a bit, causing Sansa to be the one now giggling - which coaxed a glare out of the younger girl until Dany hugged them both. “Would you like to see your nephew?” 

 

This was very, very popular among the two, who began gushing over everything under the sun. But as Dany’s eyes swiveled to where Ned held Rhaegon, she found both him and Jon in an intense discussion. Matching frowns close to ripping their faces apart.

 

Whatever happiness they had that day would clearly be fleeting.


Catelyn Tully Stark

 

Catelyn couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept at all for the past… two, three days. Time was difficult to tell in her posh chambers within the bowels of the Twins. There were no windows to let in sunlight or watch the waters of the Green Fork rush southward. Only her daily meals kept her aware of how the world outside kept moving on without her.

 

Lord Walder Frey had been a surprisingly gracious host for a hostage taker. The quarters she was given were reserved for only the finest of guests that stayed under his roof. But given her circumstances, the luxurious atmosphere was little more than a gilded cage. Her brother was not present to share her feelings, having been assigned a room further down the hallway from her. A sort of solitary confinement for both of them.

 

She turned over on her side in the silk-sheet laden bed that she currently lied in. As far as she knew, there was no escape for her or her brother. On their first day of imprisonment, she had inspected the walls for loose stones, only to find out there were none. Two guards were stationed outside the door at all times, and were rotated every few hours to stay sharp. Even while bathing, she remained under armed guard on the off chance that she had a knife hidden in her small clothes. The best that she could hope for was that her family would rescue her and Edmure before Walder decided against waiting for her father to answer for them.

 

Gods, she hoped that wouldn’t be the case. If Tywin found out that Walder had her and Edmure locked up, he’d pay handsomely for him to turn them over to Robert Baratheon. But when she thought about what happened at that dinner not so long ago, she wondered if perhaps that was already true. The way that the old lord of the Twins had ensnared them could only have happened if he had premeditated on what to do. He probably intentionally set them up to break guest rights, in order to give him an excuse for taking them as prisoners. After all, what band of musicians secretly carry crossbows and sing a song insulting their guests?

 

Catelyn prayed that Ned would come for her before she was turned over to the Lannisters. If not, then she hoped against hope that Jon would grant her that mercy despite how she had made him feel like an outcast for all of his life. Whatever he decided, she knew that his child would know all the love and affection from her that not once she gave him.

 

Finally feeling her eyelids drop, she prayed to the Mother to bless Jon’s new family with what she herself had neglected to do.

Notes:

CastleColin: Well, the gang's all here. At this point, Ned's family is so much more appealing than Robert's, don't you think?

Longclaw: Jesus, and I thought Tywin was bad alone. Him with the female version of him...

Lynesse is a matured version of the woman that destroyed Ser Jorah. Cold, calculating, but just as vain. Perfect woman for Tywin XD

For Jon and Dany, now they are surrounded by the loving family they so deserved... and poor Missandei. Not much cold in Slaver's Bay.

Chapter 42: Keeping Up with the Starks

Summary:

1. Benjen comes to visit the morning after the Free Folk settlement has a setback. Ygritte shares news with Theon.
2. Jon and Dany learn the latest Westerosi News and have a little time alone.
3. Arya continues her training, then talks to the 'Stupid Bull' while Jon and Dany put on a demonstration in the training yard.
4. Garlan and Arianne's time behind closed doors is interrupted.
5. 'Marcy' meets the Targaryens and Sweet Robin.

Notes:

Longclaw: Howdy everyone. Hope everyone is in good health and ready for Jonerys fluff :D

 

cmyatt01: Happy Monday! I’m super excited about this chapter, because we are finally getting into some of the major plot lines that Ruben and I envisioned when we plotted out this story.

I also wanted to say thank you to MyWishingGlass for taking the time to beta the Theon section for me! And please check out her story, Darkest Before the Dawn... maybe if we all remind her how much we miss the story she will update quicker (I know for a fact the next chapter is almost done)!

Please enjoy this current update! 😊

CastleColin: Hey all, we’re back! This longer than usual delay was intended for a back-to-back update this week. Hope it’s worth the wait.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Theon Greyjoy

Cold.

 

It wasn’t just cold, it was fucking freezing.

 

He should be used to the cold by now, having lived in the North for over ten years, and then spending moons beyond the Wall in the True North as the Free Folk called it. Now, for the last several moon turns, he had been living at the Nightfort, an ancient abandoned castle of the Night's Watch.

 

It was so frigid he wanted to ignore his duties and stay in bed with Ygritte… She always knew how to warm his tired, cold, aching body; even after seven months of fucking, he still got lost in her touch and her taste. He might have thought of her as only a bedwarmer when they started their tryst beyond the Wall. However, the more time that past, the more he realized he would never tire of her. She was far more than an easy fuck and way to say warm during the cold, blustery nights. She was perfect, from her flaming red hair to the thousands of tiny freckles that covered every inch of her slim, lithe body. He dreamed of taking her to Winterfell, introducing her to his family and claiming her as his under the Heart Tree. Maybe Tormund will give her to me…

 

Winterfell… Theon longed for Winterfell at times. He yearned for the people he considered to be his true family and the carefree days of his youth. Eddard Stark could have treated him as a prisoner or hostage, because that is what he truly was. Nevertheless, the man gave him a proper education, allowed him to learn swordplay and archery under Ser Rodrik, a true Master at Arms, and treated him as though he had Stark blood flowing through his veins. Now, the man who raised him to be honorable, the man he considered to be his true father, had entrusted him to oversee the settlement of the Free Folk refugees on the lands surrounding the ancient abandoned castle of the Night's Watch.

 

It was hard for him to believe that he once wanted nothing more than to leave the North… to run away from the Winterfell and the Starks, and return to the Iron Islands so he could prove to himself worthy to his Father. He wanted to prove that he was worthy of being the next Lord of the Iron Island and worthy of his love. He knew he would have done anything, including making innocents pay the Iron Price just to prove that he was not weak. Now he realized that was all a farce. He knew that the moment he was taken from Pyke he was dead to Balon Greyjoy.

 

Love. That was something else King Eddard and the rest of the Starks taught him. He knew that the Starks loved him as one of their own and he vowed not to let the King in the North down – to never break that trust again. He wanted nothing more than to prove to King Eddard, and to his brothers, Robb and Jon, that he was not the same man he was in his past life.

 

He swore to himself he would not make the same mistakes that lead to the deaths of so many innocents. He wanted them all to believe they could depend on him to be by their sides, now and always. Therefore, he spent his days helping them adapt to life on the south side of the Wall. He would assist in building sturdy wooden shelters, hunting in the forest and planting seeds. His days were long, cold and stressful, but each night Ygritte was there to warm his frozen body.

 

Ygritte is the best damn thing to ever happen to me. Theon thought as he pulled the furs up over his shoulders.  Just the thought of warming each other the night before sent all the blood from his head straight to his cock. He needed her again. What better way to warm up after a long day than to have his cock plunging in and out of her silky channel. However, when he reached out to pull her closer to his naked form, she was not there.

 

“Ygritte,” Theon grumbled as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

 

The room was empty. She was gone. He looked towards the small window, and noticed the sun was just beginning to light the morning sky.

 

Where the fuck did she go? Theon thought as he climbed out of bed in a panic, searching the floor for his breeches.

 

He quickly donned them, pulled his tunic over his head and rushed to grab Longclaw - only her new bow and quiver bought at Last Hearth as a gift from him were gone. Went hunting without telling me? 

 

“Hey Lordling!” someone yelled through the door. “Get yer ass out here! We needs to talk!”

 

“Tormund? What are you doing here so godsdamn early?” Theon questioned as he opened the door.

 

“Thank the fuck yer here,” His half-giant friend replied as he stormed into the room, warming his hands over the flame in the hearth. “We gots a problem, little Lordling.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“Someone burned the fields… Them crops you had us plant are alls gone.”

 

“What?” Theon breathed, mind racing.

 

“Aye,” the redheaded man confirmed, as he looked the younger man in the eye. “Ands it gets worse…”

 

“Worse? How the fuck could it be any worse? Winter is nearly here! We needed that grain!” Theon exclaimed as he ran his hands through his sandy brown locks.

 

“One of the tents caught fire as well… Oredill was able to escape from the tent, but his parents, Skadill and Gilya… they weren't so lucky.”

 

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! This is not fucking happening! Who the fuck would do this and why the fuck are you just now telling me?” Theon vented as he started to pace the floor.

 

“Calm yer self Lordling!” Tormund grunted, grabbing the Iron Islander and wrapping him in a bear hug. “The attack happened naught but a bit ago. I came to tell ya just as soon as we put the fires out and got little Oredill calmed down.”

 

“Godsdamnit, I gotta get down there,” Theon remarked, grabbing his boots and sword belt. He donned his grey and white fox fur cloak and followed his friend out of his chambers and towards the makeshift Free Folk settlement camp.

 

As they were walking, Tormund proceeded to tell the younger man things would have been worse if little Oredill had not escaped the tent he shared with his parents. That the child was able to alert the rest of the settlement of the attack, scaring the assailants into the woods surrounding the camp. He also stated the boy did not get a good look at the men, but stated they were wearing dark clothes and cloaks that blended them into the night.

 

Suddenly, Theon stopped. Bile rising and heart beating escalating. “Tormund… You said the attacks happened just before dawn and that whoever did this escaped into the woods.”

 

“Yeah… why?” he answered with a furrowed brow.

 

“Have you seen Ygritte? She wasn’t in our room and her bow and…”

 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout yer woman, boy,” Tormund stated as he put a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “She was already down at the camp when I came up to yer room. She was gonna take Oredill to see the healer before she went to go hunt in…”

 

“Tormund, no one should be in the woods until we know they are safe!”

 

“Listen here, little Lordling! Ygritte can take care of herself! I would feel better about her bein’ alone in the woods than you… Ands besides, she won’t be alone, she’s was goin’ with some of the other spearwives.”

 

“Still, what if those fuckers that attacked the settlement are still there, lurking and waiting for someone to come after them?”

 

“Then the Thenn’s will be happy to have some human meat for their stew,” Tormund deadpanned, bringing a smile to the young lord’s face.

 

Theon spent the next few hours helping to clear the scorched land and speaking the Free Folk. He wanted to know as much about the attack as he could, before writing to the King in the North, informing him of the attack and to request more seeds.  

 

“What in the seven hells happened here?” a familiar voice stated just behind him.

 

“Benjen,” Theon said as he turned around and embraced the older man. “Gods, I’m glad you’re here.” He then proceeded to tell the First Ranger of the Night's Watch all that Tormund had told him that morning and the two decided to go speak with the only witness to the attack.

 

The two men continued to discuss the attack as they made their way to the healer’s cabin. Once they arrived, the healer, an older woman with long salt and pepper hair named Amalla, ushered them in.

 

“The boy hasn’t said much. Just that he saw men in black running to the woods,” she stated sadly, as she led them towards the back of the cabin. It was then that Theon noticed a young boy, probably no older than five, with rust colored hair and freckles was asleep on a pile of furs. Gods, that boy could be kin to Ygritte.

 

Theon felt his heart constrict at the sight of the young child sleeping on the floor. All he could think about was how much this child’s life had changed so much over the last few moons and now it would be changing even more. He remembered the fear many of the Free Folk had about coming South - Their whole way of life would be changing. He did not know the boy’s parents, Skadill and Gilya, well, but he recalled them being loving parents, excited for a new start for the young family. Now his parents are gone… This child is now all alone in this shit world. Gods I hope that one day I will be able to teach my own son how to be an honorable man.

 

“Oredill,” Amalla stated, crouching down to the side of the makeshift bed and gently shaking the young boy’s shoulder. When he opened his eyes, she gestured towards the two men and continued, “Theon and his crow friend are here to talk to ya.”

 

“Hey there, Oredill,” Theon stated as the young boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes. However, instead of greeting him with a hello, a scream echoed off the walls.

 

 “It’s alright… Yer safe now little one,” Amalla murmured soothingly as she pulled the young boy into her arms. “I got ya. The bad men are gone now.” She continued, rocking the boy in her arms as she tried to calm him

 

“NO!” Oredill shrieked, pulling out of the healer’s arms and pointing towards Benjen. “He… He bad man!”

 

“Benjen isn’t a bad man,” Theon stated softly, crouching down to the boys level so he could look him in the eye. “Benjen is my friend. He is a friend to the Free Folk. He went with me and King Eddard to help bring y’all south and away from the ice men.”

 

“I’s knows wat I saw,” the young boy cried. “I’s saw peoples wearin’ black clothes and cloaks, jus like his!”

 

In an attempt to calm the child’s fears, Benjen excused himself, stating he needed to speak with Tormund. After the brother of the Night's Watch left the cabin, Oredill recounted the events from the night before. He stated he saw two men during the attack - an older man with short grayish-white hair and dark eyes, the second - a younger man with golden hair and piercing moss-green eyes. The younger man very loudly screaming that he wanted to ‘rid his lands of all the barbaric Wildling scum.’

 

After leaving the Amalla’s cabin, Theon found Tormund and Benjen sitting around a cook fire, drinking what appeared to be horns of fermented goat’s milk. He sat down on one of the logs and informed them of Oredill’s descriptions of the attack, the attackers and the words he heard the younger attacker proclaim.

 

Theon could feel a shift in the atmosphere after he revealed the new information. The air became thicker as Tormund stood from his log and began to pack around the fire.

 

After a few moments of tense silence, the red headed man stopped pacing, looked at Benjen and asked, “Do ya have any idea which ones of them crows could be behind this attack?”

 

“Those descriptions could be a number of different men,” Benjen confessed. “And I know it is not common knowledge King Eddard has allowed your people south of the Wall. But I promise you, I will do my best to figure out who is behind these attacks and how they learned this information.”

 

“When Mance agreed to bring his people South, yer King said we’d be safe here… That you crows wouldn’t bother us this far from Castle Black. He agreed to prevent a war and bloodshed because we all know the true enemy.”

 

“Aye, and as I said, I am not sure how they found out about the Free Folk residing here. The only ones with this information are the King in the North, Theon, Lord Commander Mormont, Maester Aemon and myself.”

 

“Well, you earned my trust north of the Wall,” Tormund stated. “But I don’t know this King Crow ya report to or if he and yer old Maester can be trusted.”

 

“I trust both those men with my life,” Benjen declared.

 

“Wells then I’s think it’d be best if ya get with them and fix this problem. I’s can only keep the Free Folk in this camp calm for so long. If there is another attack, I won’t be able to stop them from striking back.”

 

“I promise you, Tormund, war with the Free Folk is the last thing the Lord Commander and the King in the North want. We all know the dangers of what is lurking on the other side of the Wall. We all know that we need every able bodied person available to fight the true war when the time comes.”

 

It was late afternoon and Theon was exhausted by the time he finally made his way back to the Nightfort. He wanted nothing more than to eat a hot bowl of rabbit stew and then fuck his woman until they both collapsed in a sated heap.

 

When he did not see Ygritte in their room, in the courtyard or the kitchens, he began to feel fear rising within his gut. He feared that the crows who burned the crops and killed Skadill and Gilya were still prowling around in the woods. That those men had attacked his sassy spearwife and her hunting party. In a panic, he began questioning everyone within the castle walls if they knew the whereabouts of his woman. Finally, one of the other spearwives stated she had gone to the top of the Wall to think after they returned from their hunt.

 

Theon quickly made his way to the restored lift and took it to the top of the Wall. 

 

When he exited the iron cage, he saw Ygritte standing at one of the battlements, staring out towards the Haunted Forest. He walked up behind her, wrapped her up in his arms and rested his chin on her shoulder. “It is a beautiful sight,” he murmured as he looked off in the distance with her.

 

“Aye,” she simply replied.

 

He was momentarily perplexed by her simple answer. Figuring it was because of the attack he shook it off and continued, “Tormund said you took Oredill to Amalla this morning after the attack.”

 

When she answered with a simple aye once more, he knew something was not right. His opinionated wildling wasn’t one to be sullen and quiet.  “I was worried about you this morning, finding out you went out in the woods where those attackers were, only yer bow and arrows and a few other women to protect you.”

 

“A woman!” Ygritte snapped, pulling from his arms, turning around and smacking him across the face. “Is that all I am to you! A woman… Someone to keep yer bed warm and give ya babes!”

 

“What the fuck Ygritte, you know it’s not!” Theon retorted, stunned. “I love that you are capable of taking care of yourself! That you are a strong-willed brave spearwife… However, what type of partner would I be if I didn’t care about your wellbeing! The men who burned the fields and killed Skadill and Gilya… Godsdamnit Ygritte! I don’t know what I would have done if those men hurt you…” Then before he could stop the word, they rolled off his tongue. “Fuck, I love you!”

 

“Do you really love me?” she spat through gritted teeth. “Or are you just saying that because I’m carrying yer babe in my belly?” 

 

“What? My babe?” Theon felt all the air leave his lungs. Images of a tiny babe, with smooth pale skin, her blue-grey eyes and his sandy brown hair danced in his head.  

 

“You mean Amalla didn’t tell ya?” Ygritte questioned with a furrowed brow.

 

“What… No…” He took a deep breath and asked once more, “Ygritte, are you really carrying my babe?” 

 

“Aye.” 

 

“Marry me,” he begged, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. A babe, the woman I love is carrying my babe. “Marry me, Ygritte and be my lady for the rest of our days?”

 

Suddenly, Theon felt a stinging on his cheek where the feisty redhead slapped him once more. 

 

“You know nothing, Theon Greyjoy,” she declared before making her way to the iron cage.

 

Theon stood there dumbfounded and alone, at the top of the massive enchanted wall of ice, caressing his stinging cheek as the woman he loved, the woman carrying his babe in her belly walked away.




Jon Targaryen

 

Sitting in his uncle's solar, Jon squeezed his wife’s hands as they waited for him to enter the room. Ned had told them to go to his solar while he finished accommodations for Jon and Daenerys’ retinue. He’d join them as soon as he could.

 

The door creaked open and through the doorway stepped not the King in the North, but a slightly scruffy yet charming blonde-bearded dwarf.

 

“The Dwarf of Casterly Rock,” Jon said with a smile. He winked at Daenerys to remind her of when he reunited with the Imp when she met him in their last life. She laughed lightly and grinned back at him.

 

“The Bastard of Winterfell,” Tyrion Lannister replied without missing a beat. Chuckling, he then walked over to the table where the Targaryens were seated and sat down himself. “Of course, you’re no bastard at all, Jon Snow. You’re Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” 

 

He smiled generously. “It is an honor to meet you.”

 

“The honor is mine, my lord,” Jon thanked. Placing his hand over his wife’s on the table, he nodded to her. “This is my wife and queen, Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

Daenerys bowed her head. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Tyrion.”

 

“Of course! Where are my manners?” Tyrion mimed horror at his ignoring of her. “His Grace, Eddard Stark, told me all about you both. I must say it is truly a privilege to meet the last scions of Valyria in the flesh.”

 

“I’m glad not to disappoint, my lord,” Daenerys responded graciously.

 

As Tyrion opened his mouth to continue, the door opened again. Ned Stark walked into the room at a brisk pace, closing the door behind him. “I apologize for my tardiness. Missandei and… Grey Worm required extra furs in this cold.” He looked baffled at the Unsullied commander’s strange name.

 

Jon heard his wife stifle a giggle.

 

Shaking his head, Ned said, “I'm impressed at his gratitude for what you and your wife did for him. To be called a vermin ....” He trailed off as he took his seat next to his Hand and across from Jon and Daenerys.

 

“Well, there is much to plan for the wars to come,” she said. “Shall we begin?”

 

“Let’s start from the top and work our way down,” Tyrion said.

 

Jon and Daenerys listened attentively as Ned and Tyrion laid out the current situation in Westeros. Robert had uncovered his old friend’s alliance with the Targaryens, and was planning to invade the North to subjugate it under the Iron Throne. The Faith Militant had been reconstituted and were spreading through the Reach at an alarming rate. The Westerlands, Stormlands, and Crownlands were certain to back Robert while the Vale was a wild card. Tywin probably had made correspondences with lords that would betray the Starks and Tyrells for a grand reward - Jon already knew who would backstab his family.

 

“Well, my father would say ‘offence is the best defence’ when your back is to the wall,” Tyrion said grimly. “However, with the possibility of disloyalty from opportunistic bannermen, and the fact that the North is severely outnumbered, I would advise hunkering down behind Moat Cailin for the time being.”

 

Ned nodded in agreement. “Aye, the North can muster forty-five thousand troops at maximum. That’s only a third of what Robert could throw at us.”

 

“The quality of what Robert could throw is what concerns me the most,” Tyrion frowned. “The westermen possess the best arms and armor of all the Seven Kingdoms, the stormlords learned to walk with a goblet in one hand and a sword in the other, and the Vale’s cavalry can ride as well in the mountains as on open ground.”

 

"Could the armies of the Reach and Dorne not help?” Daenerys inquired. “Jon told me that marriage alliances are to be arranged with the Tyrells and Martells. Unite with them and that’s easily the same or more of the number of warriors that Robert has.”

 

Ned shook his head. “Tywin has recently married Leyton Hightower’s last unwed daughter, Lynesse. The Hightowers are behind the Faith Militant’s activities, and they are the wealthiest house in the Reach. The Tyrells need all the banners they can to retain their rule, otherwise Highgarden could easily fall into Lord Leyton’s lap.”

 

Jon exchanged a look with his wife over the news of Jorah’s ex-wife. The old bear would be in for quite a shock when he learned that he was now fighting the lady he once loved.

 

“Correct,” Tyrion said. “After all, the Tyrells were merely stewards of the Gardeners when Aegon the Conqueror raised them to their current status. There are still those that believe they have a better claim to the lordship paramount than upjumped servants. Who better to press a claim than the patrons of the Faith themselves?”

 

Jon exhaled. “So no help from the Tyrells in the foreseeable future? What about the Dornish?”

 

“Garlan Tyrell recently married the vivacious Arianne Martell,” Tyrion smirked. “A marriage to help heal the animosity between Dorne and the Reach. As far as the ravens have delivered messages, the match has proven fruitful. There is some grumbling among the latter kingdom’s marcher lords, but the former is happy to have one of their own win power in Highgarden.”

 

“How does that benefit the North’s situation?” Jon was puzzled.

 

“Simple. If the Reachmen swallow their pride enough to accept their former rival’s help, they can coordinate to pin down the Faith Militant while sending reinforcements to us. The Reach’s seventy thousand men with Dorne’s forty-five thousand can go a long way in taking pressure off the North’s forces.”

 

Daenerys chimed in. “In addition to our dragons, we have an army of our own back in Slaver’s Bay. A hundred thousand strong Dothraki khalasar and sixteen thousand Unsullied spearmen.”

 

“Impressive,” Tyrion noted. “Already in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. When can we expect the cavalry to arrive?”

 

Giving his uncle an apologetic look, Jon admitted, “Not for some time, unfortunately. The soonest they can come won’t be for at least a few moons.” 

 

“Very well,” Ned said. “It doesn’t look like the North will be going on the offensive anytime soon anyways.”

 

The conversation moved on as the four debated the plan of attack that they would eventually have to execute against Robert and Tywin. Tyrion suggested that instead of striking directly at King’s Landing, they launch a diversionary strike into the Westerlands to capture Casterly Rock. Daenerys was skeptical of that idea: no army had successfully captured the Rock in history and being a literal mountain, it was impervious to dragonfire. Tyrion revealed that the sewage system of the castle had been designed by him, and he’d snuck in some covert entrances to let whores in. Jon winked knowingly at her - she had forgotten Tyrion’s successful taking of Casterly Rock in their last life. Ned still looked unconvinced. The North had no navy on its western shores, so there was no way to ferry troops to Lannisport. He also pointed out that there may not be time to wait for the Targaryen army to return to do the job if Robert attacked beforehand.

 

“Perhaps the ironborn could be of help?” Jon suggested. “The Iron Fleet proved capable of taking Lannisport when it burned the Lannister fleet at anchor in the failed Greyjoy Rebellion.”

 

Ned tapped his fingers again. “Balon Greyjoy would never agree to an alliance with the North, not after losing his last surviving son as a hostage to me.”

 

“Jon wasn’t thinking of Balon,” Daenerys said. “He was thinking of Yara, Balon’s daughter and heir.”

 

Ned leaned forward in his chair. Before leaving Winterfell, Jon had told him of how in his last life, Yara Greyjoy had transported Daenerys’ army from Slaver’s Bay to Westeros in exchange for independence for the Iron Islands. There was a chance that something similar could be worked out again.

 

“Why would Yara Greyjoy be more amenable to the Starks than her father?” Tyrion asked.

 

“Call it a woman’s hunch, Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys smiled. “I believe that she can be persuaded to help in exchange for greater autonomy from the Iron Throne, similar to Dorne. The ironborn are a fiercely independent folk, but the promise of good plunder is their weakness.”

 

“Lannisport is a wealthy trade center,” Tyrion conceded. “There’s a reason the ironborn sacked it two dozen times in its history. But how are you going to contact Yara without her father knowing.”

 

“I have received reports from the Stony Shore regarding raids on its fishing villages. With any luck, Yara is leading them. We might be able to intercept her on her next raid, depending on where she lands,” Ned offered.

 

“A long shot,” Tyrion observed. “But one worth resorting to should the opportunity present itself.”

 

“I think we should address how to handle the Vale’s place in all this,” Jon interjected. “Having the Knights of the Vale on our side could tip the balance in our favor before our army in Slaver’s Bay can come.”

 

Ned tapped his fingers on the table. “Robin Arryn is currently here for fostering by invitation from Catelyn.” His voice caught a little on the name. Jon understood his uncle’s sadness. Catelyn had gone down to Riverrun with her brother to warn their father of the upcoming war, and he had returned home too late to see her.

 

“Lord Yohn Royce is here as well. He’s the most respected of all the Vale lords besides the late Jon Arryn. He could sway Lysa to support us or remain neutral at the very least.”

 

Tyrion pursed his lips. “Are you sure about that, your Grace? I told you that Littlefinger whispers in your goodsister’s ear. He’ll probably convince her to do the exact opposite of what you want.”

 

“Aye, it is a risk. But I believe it is one worth taking. Even if Lysa calls her banners, Lord Royce has enough influence to persuade some to answer to him instead. He doesn’t trust Lysa, given her eccentricities.”

 

Tyrion sighed. “Then you might as well send young Robin back with him. Mothers tend to be more reasonable when their child is in their laps.”

 

“Should Lord Royce be told of Jon’s true identity to secure his loyalty?” Ned raised a good question. Bronze Yohn Royce had no reason to support the Targaryen cause unless he came to know the last Targaryens for who they were, not what Robert, Tywin, and the Faith claimed.

 

“Yes, I believe so,” Tyrion replied. “Best make it a face-to-face meeting with Jon so he sees for himself.”

 

Jon yawned and stretched his arms. Noticing his fatigue from the long journey to Winterfell, Daenerys spoke up. “One last thing before my husband and I turn in.” There was a seriousness to her tone and eyes that betrayed no jest.

 

Ned and Tyrion raised their eyebrows.

 

“While in Essos,” she began. “I discovered that I have a twin brother. His name is Aerys, and he is a dragonrider just like my husband and I are. He desires me as his queen and wants Jon dead.”

 

Shock was written across the faces of the men seated across from her. 

 

“That is impossible,” Ned choked. “How could Rhaella have had another child that no one knew about. As your twin, he was born when you were.”

 

“I agree. That is an extraordinary thing. Another hidden Targaryen. However, Jon here is an example of just that,” Tyrion remarked.

 

“Precisely,” Daenerys said. “While Viserys and I were taken to Braavos by Ser Willlem Darry, Aerys was taken to Pentos by Jon Connington. He was on Dragonstone, bidding farewell after my father exiled him for his failure to kill Robert at the Stoney Sept. My mother had difficulty birthing Aerys and she feared the Baratheon forces would descend on Dragonstone before he could be born. So, she sent me and Viserys ahead of him.”

 

“Are we to expect this Aerys to throw his hat into the ring anytime soon?” Tyrion asked.

 

“For now, he’s still in the Free Cities,” Jon answered. He scratched the back of his head. “We’ll remain vigilant. He’ll cross the Narrow Sea eventually.”

 

Ned stroked his beard thoughtfully. 

 

Tyrion twiddled his thumbs.

 

“If that’s all my lords,” Jon finally spoke. “My wife and I need some rest.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. Daenerys rose from her seat and took his hand.

 

Ned and Tyrion smiled before turning to each other and starting to converse on other matters.

 

Jon and Daenerys crossed the room to the door and exited into the hallway. Jon felt a ball of frustration swell up inside him at what Tyrion and his uncle had informed them of. Things definitely weren’t going to plan. It was all falling to pieces and he felt powerless to stop it.

 

“Jon,” Daenerys said softly. “What’s the matter?”

 

He forced a smile. “Nothing, Dany…  Let’s go to my room.”

 

They walked in silence towards his chambers, side by side but eyes kept straight ahead. Every errant sound - from the creaking of the wooden floor, to his breaths, to the winter wind groaning against the castle walls - they all pounded in his ears like a raging storm. But each time he wished to speak, he couldn’t. What is there to truly say?

 

Wordlessly, he opened the door, allowing Daenerys to enter before he did - shutting it behind him. An overwhelming cold washed over Jon. The mighty Targaryen King suddenly desirous of warmth, of life-giving heat from the one he loved. “Dany…”

 

When he himself turned, Jon found his beloved already there. Arms opened wide to welcome his embrace. As if reading his mind of what he needed. “Jon, my love,” she cooed, accepting him to the crook of her neck. Jon inhaling the familiar spicy scent of the soft skin. “Gods, I love you.”

 

“I adore you,” he choked out, dropping kisses on her neck. Making her shiver with happiness. “I’m sorry, my love… for not seeing… fucking Robert… fucking Tywin…” Voice desperate, tortured with how the gods couldn’t grant them even a moment’s peace. How every advantage found them countered.

 

“Shhh…” One hand wrapped around his back, other in his hair, both stroked him gently. Dany’s touch more soothing than the softest of beds. “Let’s not worry about it now, my dragonwolf. We’re here, alone in your home… our home. ” She pulled back, gazing at him with those wondrous violet eyes. “I just want you to be my Jon. And I, your Dany.”

 

Smile curling in his lips, Jon’s heart skipped. The Young King unable to resist leaning forward to kiss his wife. Arms tight around her still trim waist while hers weaved into his hair. Their tongues danced together much as their dragons did, playing high in the air. 

 

Unfortunately, the compulsion to breath overcame their need for the other and they broke apart. He inhaled quick breaths, dropping his forehead on hers. “I love you, Dany.”

 

She seemed to melt further in his embrace. “I love you too, Jon.” Targaryen or not, he was more comfortable with his old given name… especially how adoringly Dany said it. Plenty of Targaryens with non-Valyrian names. Brynden Rivers and Duncan Targaryen came to mind. “You are mine, my King.” 

 

It wasn’t possessive to his ears, simply the deepest comfort. “Good - I’d be lost without you.”

 

Daenerys kissed his cheek. Eyes glowing with conviction. “You’ll never have to find out ever again.” Turning, she gazed at the small quarters. Boots clicking on the worn floorboards as she ran a hand along the dusty surface of the badly carved table. “Seems cozy.”

 

Jon shrugged. “Wasn’t big or fancy, but it was cool in the summer and toasty in the winter.”

 

She didn’t look convinced. “You were a Prince of House Targaryen, hidden as the baseborn son of a great Lord of an ancient bloodline.” The Queen’s face scrunched up in distaste at the threadbare sheets and far too thin furs. A servant had placed extra ones of far better quality on the table, though hadn’t bothered to actually remake the bed. That apparently did not improve her mood. “You deserved better.” 

 

Shrugging again, Jon leaned against the walls. “The best I could get from Lady Stark, it is what it is.”

 

Closing her eyes, Dany looked to be containing her rage. Her dragonblood. “I don’t know if I could ever forgive her, even with how she suffered in our pasts. You… I can’t be impartial with you, my love.” Taking deep breaths, she spotted something tucked in the corner. “And what’s this?” 

 

Seeing what she was picking up, Jon blushed a bright red. “Dany, no…”

 

Daenerys only grinned, holding up a trio of dragon carvings. Simple, but obvious what the wooden shapes were. “This I have to know.”

 

There was no escaping this. “Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar.” He chuckled in spite of his embarrassment. “I don’t know how many times I saved Queen Rhaenys from dying in Dorne.” Seeing Dany’s eyes soften started to bring him out of his shell. “My father made them for my third nameday.”

 

She smiled wide at that. “I have a feeling he wanted you to know who you truly were. The person you are.” Once again, she wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck. “I never did get to see your childhood chambers in my past.”

 

“Oh, because you never did see them in mine either.” They were too busy with the war and preparations, Sansa had insisted they stay in the Lord’s chambers.

 

Her smile changed into a sultry smirk… one he knew quite well. “You know, your sisters insisted on watching over Rhaegon. And it’s been over two moons since we…” Dany wiggled her eyebrows.

 

Jon’s eyes darkened. “Aye. What will we do with the time?”

 

The mischievous smirk only widened. “Oh Lord Snow, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m sure you don’t wish to speak to a lowly maid.”

 

Oh fuck… He was enjoying this. “Oh? You may be right… but someone as pretty as you can gain my interest.”

 

“And how would I do that?” Her words were innocent, but the look in her eyes were anything but. “Please don’t tell Lord Stark I was here and bothering his son, lest I don’t.”

 

“With those teats?” Jon’s hands ghosted down her curves, cupping her breasts “I’m surprised he hasn’t claimed you as I am about to.” He pulled her flush against him, drawing a gasp from Daenerys. “Are you a maiden?”

 

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, my Lord. No man has touched me before you.” Very true.

 

“Good.” Unable to resist, he roared in. Mouth nipping and sucking and tonguing the creamy column of her neck. Fingers desperately going for the skirts of her dress, seeking to make contact with her wetness.

 

When his touch hit her folds, brushed against her nub, Daenerys gasped. "Yes, Jon… oh my love…" Just the hint of contact ended all hope to keep up the charade. So he didn’t. Pulling away to a displeased pout, only to simply yank up her dress. Pulling it off her. 

 

Her smallclothes were already soaked. Breasts so deliciously full after feeding their child. Jon’s mouth watered. “Mine.” Sliding the offending fabric off, Jon counted himself the luckiest man in the world. Pushing her to the bed, tossing her on like a ragdoll and climbing on top of her. Assaulting her breasts with his tongue, drawing out the most delicious moans and muffled screams. It wasn’t enough… gods, it wasn’t enough. "I need to be inside you."

 

Dany’s violet eyes turned dark with complete lust. Hands frantic, she tore at his clothes. Rips and tears and buttons popping creating more work for the seamstresses as she bared Jon’s body. Jon hissed when she went straight for his cock, dainty fingers wrapping around his smooth, thick shaft. "Inside me now, my dragonwolf."

 

Growling, Jon pinned her to the bed and thrust inside her in one move. Catching her cries of pleasure with his own lips. The kiss grew languid and passionate while he rocked into her. Slow and gentle, in contrast to the frenzied lust of before. Jon wanted her, wanted Dany to know that they would always be together. 

 

Eyes opening, Dany locked them with his. The true King staring into the glittering amethyst pools that entranced him from the moment he laid eyes on her. No matter the power of the kiss, the rocking of her body as he thrusted into her tight heat - never did they break eye contact.

 

She was breathtaking, utterly spellbinding - what enchantresses were made of. Jon loved her - loved her more than anything. His love. His life. His everything. The mighty dragon that had won his heart, every second of lovemaking hoping to show her just how much he truly did. “I love you,” he whispered, head dropping to her ear. “I love you.’

 

Suddenly, he heard her rasping moan, back arching. “I… fuck… love you… too… oh Jon!”



Arya Stark

 

“Excellent work as usual, Arya,” Syrio smiled. “You are nearing the end of what I have to impart to you and your family. A fine bravo you will make, but never forget, a swordmaster never stops learning until he takes his last breath.”

 

Sweat dripping down her brow and her chest heaving from the exertions of having dueled three of the Stark Household Guards in turn, Arya could only nod and smile back at her water dancing master. She relished every minute of her training, hoping to be like Visenya or Daenerys in skill with a blade. Syrio had taught her another some of the advanced techniques in water dancing that week - passata sotto, flunge, and remise. Each one she had managed to perform fluidly in just four days of practice, which was a huge improvement to the three weeks it took for her to perform the parry and riposte.

 

Excusing herself, she staggered over to the barrels on the side of the courtyard and hopped up on one. Slowly recovering her ragged breath, she thought with some pride to how she had thrashed those green boys of guards. The last one wasn’t even gripping his sword properly. Still, Syrio had cautioned her against taking her talents for granted, for there would eventually be a foe that would put her on the back foot. Humbled by his advice, Arya resolved to always focus on improving her swordwork so that she’d never fall into complacency.

 

Lost in thought, she only heard the thud of a certain blacksmith’s leather boots when he was standing beside her.

 

“My lady.” Gendry bowed with the proper courtesy that Joffrey had never shown when he’d visited Winterfell. What I’d do for Gendry to be Robert’s son instead… not that Joffrey is Robert’s anyway. The bastard smith from Flea Bottom was a welcome addition to the Stark pack since he’d arrived the previous year. He’d made a good impression on her father and uncle when he’d reforged Ice into two superb longswords. Mikken found his expertise in the forges invaluable and her siblings enjoyed his numerous tales of his misadventures in King’s Landing. 

 

As for herself, she found herself attracted to him in a way that she couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe it was his chiseled face, rippling biceps, or robust torso… 

 

“My lady,” Gendry repeated, a confused smile on his face. “Did you not hear me?”

 

Cursing herself for fantasizing over his body, she snapped, “I’m no lady. How many times do I have to tell you that, stupid?” Curiously, he was addressing her in the accent of a highborn absent the muddled “m’lord’ of the smallfolk.

 

He only laughed. “Of course. You are a princess. Royalty is what you are, not nobility.” Rubbing a cloth over his hands to wipe some residual soot, he coughed from the smoke inhaled while melting down iron. “How is your training in water prancing going? I spoke with Syrio this morning and he said you’re his best student since leaving Braavos.”

 

“Water dancing , Gendry,” Arya corrected in an exasperated tone. “Are you deliberately messing the name up so as to annoy me?” She raised an eyebrow at him and tapped her fingers over the hilt of her training sword.

 

“That’s for you to decide, my lady.” Gods, she wanted to smack him. “By the way, you haven’t yet fought with a real sword, right?”

 

She pursed her lips and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “No, Syrio only allows training blades to be used. When he noticed my impatience to wield a true rapier, he told me that, ‘War is a matter of life and death. There are only absolutes which you should never test unless as a last resort.’ I scoffed at what he said at first, but now I know… ”

 

Arya let her eyes wander down the length of her training sword. “If I’m not careful, I’ll lose myself to shedding blood for purely its sake.”

 

Gendry gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened momentarily, but then relaxed under his touch. “Wise words, my lady. It is life that we should cherish.” Gazing at the towers of Winterfell, he smiled wistfully. “I never properly thanked you for welcoming me as part of your family.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she went to object, but he cut her off. “No, I’m serious. Your father may have given me stay here, but if you and the rest of your family had not opened your hearts to me, I would have felt no different living here than in the slums of Flea Bottom.” He locked eyes with her, gratitude shining in them .“Thank you, Arya Stark… for everything.” Bowing, he took her left hand and lightly pressed his lips to them.

 

So shocked from his show of affection, Arya didn’t realize that he’d called her by her name, which he rarely did. Eyes involuntarily watering, she felt like one of those stupid, foolish maidens that Sansa adored in the songs. Opening her mouth to speak, she only mustered a squeak. Embarrassment running through her, she struggled to find her voice before noticing Jon entering the courtyard from the corner of her eyes.

 

Roughly pushing Gendry away from her, face flushed beet-red, Arya hopped down from her barrel and strode toward Jon. Her ears were buzzing from Gendry’s kiss, and she figured a good spar with her brother would clear her head. How she hated feeling like a lovestruck maiden.

 

 “Little sister,” Jon greeted her warmly.

 

“Let’s duel, brother,” she said, ignoring his attempt at banter. “I want to test my skills against an actual swordsman.” She brandished her training sword to make her point.

 

Stepping back momentarily, Jon chuckled at her bravado. “Do you remember how I defeated five opponents in this very courtyard last year? Don’t you think you’re biting off more than you can chew? A year’s worth of practice is small compared to the ten years I had with Ser Rodrik.”

 

Glaring at him, Arya poked the blunted tip of her sword against his chest. “Duel, Jon. Now .” A cocky grin then spread on her face. “Or are you too much of a softie to fight your little sister ?”

 

Jon smirked back at her. Striding over to the rack of training weapons, he grabbed a longsword from it and twirled it as he walked to the center of the courtyard. Assuming a battle stance befitting a knight, he stood facing her head-on with his blade level with her throat.

 

Arya stood side-on to his chest with her rapier mirroring his sword. Deciding to go for a full frontal attack, she feinted left before springing into a flunge - her back foot pushing off the ground into a leaping thrust.

 

To her surprise, Jon barely seemed fazed by her deceptive opening. He smoothly sidestepped, allowing her to land past him, then slashed down at her head.

 

Just as quickly, Arya spun out of reach and countered. Her blade grazed his as it slid by, only to be knocked to the side. Dodging another swing to her head, she stabbed at his stomach. He spun his sword around to catch it in a lock of their blades.

 

 Unable to free her sword, Arya stomped hard on Jon’s foot, causing him to step back with a yell of pain. Tightening his grip on his sword, he smiled deviously at her. She internally shuddered at what he was thinking. Still as water….  Still as water… The mantra of the bravo repeating in her mind to calm her nerves.

 

Off to the side, Syrio and Gendry watched the duel with close intent. The water dancing master nodded with approval at her performance, while the blacksmith smiled encouragingly. Heartened by this, she raised her guard again.

 

Jon attacked with a chop to her head. But this time, he didn’t wait for her to counter him. Instead he pressed forward with steady, powerful strikes, not giving her any room to breathe. Arya’s parries became increasingly desperate. Jon’s blows were so violent that her sword arm shook each time he struck.

 

Finally, Jon made a mistake. He tried to side cut her abdomen, and she’d ducked under his blade. Going for a passata sotto, she leaned her body into an upward thrust. To her great frustration, Jon simply bent backward like a reed in the wind, and her rapier passed just above his chin.

 

Trying to stand back up, Jon’s foot swept her legs out from under her, and she fell hard on her back. Feeling the wind knocked from her lungs, she gasped for breath. Standing above her, Jon placed his sword at her throat. 

 

“Yield?”

 

Scowling mightily, she nonetheless conceded. “Yield.” She sat up wincing - her back was aching from her fall on the courtyard’s hard dirt surface.

 

Rubbing her lower back, Arya tried to push herself up but the soreness reared its ugly head. Knees giving in and sending her to the ground again - this time the thud aching less. Above her, circling like a hunting dragon, Jon grinned down at her. “Need a hand, sister?” 

 

“Shut up,” she shot back, glaring at him. “Nymeria.” Normally with a mind of her own, the direwolf thankfully obeyed her mother, trotting over. Arya grabbed onto her mottled grey fur and hauled herself up. Standing on wobbly knees. “There, told you I didn’t need your help.”

 

“On getting up, perhaps. But you certainly need help with fighting a proper opponent.” He glanced over at Syrio, who was succeeding in holding back a laugh, and to Gendry, who was not at all successful. “Or is it that you just can’t bear to get a strike on your big brother ?” 

 

Hearing Gendry nearly double over from that, if Arya’s look could kill he’d be obliterated into a thousand pieces. “Don’t make me rip your cock off, stupid bull!” she snarled. “And as for you, I’ll kick your ass up and down the battlements.” 

 

His smug grin never wavered. Is this the dragon in him? Cause it was seriously pissing her off, Targaryen Prince or no. “I sincerely doubt you could.”

 

“Let him be, Lady Arya,” a voice called out. “Given you’ve only had half a year or so of training, a different woman is needed to teach cocky little Jon Snow a proper lesson in humility.” Eyes turning, Arya found Daenerys walking into the yard, picking up a practice longsword from the barrel and twirling it around her wrist. “Unless you aren’t up to fighting a woman your own size at all, Lord Snow?”

 

Arya chortled. “It’s funny cause you’re so short!” she couldn’t help but add, stirring the pot. 

 

Beside her, Gendry was confused. “Wait, so his wife can swing a sword?” 

 

“Oh, she can according to Robb. And he says Jon is afraid of her.” At his glare sent her way - which only made Dany giggle - Arya grinned. “Poor Jon Snow, afraid of a girl half a head shorter than he is.” This was so much fun, especially when the brooding on her brother’s face grew so hard that he was close to crushing his own skull. 

 

Jon calmly walked to one of the barrels, pulling out a practice longsword to match the other. “I am afraid of no living being, let alone my own wife.” Spinning both his swords, he readied them. Waiting for Dany to make the first move.

 

“He’s really gonna fight her?” Gendry asked, slack-jawed. 

 

“What? You weren’t so opposed to me fighting him?” Arya replied, glancing up at the stupid bull queerly.

 

He could only shrug. “You look like a tough one. Your brother’s wife… she looks so sweet and gentle.”

 

The Stark girl watched as Daenerys took a fighting position, graceful and fluid to match her own particular power. Herself waiting for Jon to strike. Eyes smoldering with intensity. Gods, imagine her on a dragon. If there was any doubt left in Arya that this woman was both Jon’s preordained love and the mighty Dragon Queen of his past, it was gone now. Still, she grew impatient as the two merely stood there. Sizing each other up. “Would someone swing a damn sword already?!”

 

Her prodding seemed to do the trick. With a grunt, Jon charged, one sword parallel to his arm while the other lunged for Dany. A quick strike to end the spar before it started - but as Arya hoped, Dany twirled on agile feet out of the way. Her own sword charging forth at Jon’s shoulder… only for Jon’s backup to emerge. Steel clanging on steel as the two quickly separated. 

 

“Unbelievable,” Gendry murmured.

 

Arya simply watched, entranced. Daenerys was truly Visenya Targaryen reborn… inside, she fought the urge to jump up and down in glee.

 

Staring at his Queen, Jon’s eyes narrowed in concentration - Arya witnessing him advance at a far slower pace. More calculating as he furiously spun his right sword in the air. Clashing against Dany’s in a downward swing that whisked her blade to the left. A spinning wrist drew the left longsword out in a slash but Daenerys’ reflexes caught it. Letting the right slide off her blade with a screech while the steel flashed through the cold air. Parrying the slash as she took the initiative. Pushing Jon back, teeth clenching in a fiery grit.

 

All around the courtyard, people stopped to stare. Once again in disbelief at one of Jon’s sparring showoffs, but only this time with the petite girl rather than the ignored bastard. “The girl has the skill of a dozen masters,” Syrio commented. “That style… Valyrian with a hint of the North.” 

 

“Jon has good taste,” Arya chuckled, eyes sparkling as she watched them trade the initiative. Dany assaulting only for Jon to counter and seize the advance. Both fought similarly in what Syrio called a ‘Valyrian/Northern style.’ Intense, blunt attacks coupled with the agile slashes and parries, strength of a blizzard and movements of a flying dragon… yet they also had their own unique styles. Jon’s dual wielding focused on a bullheaded charge to expose weak points while Dany gave ground. Luring the enemy forward to tire them out before exploiting this. Arya’s mind analyzed all of the moves, committing them to memory. Who better to learn how to fight like Visenya from than Visenya reborn?

 

Blade darting up to block Jon’s attack, Dany rocked back on her heels. Hair matting her forehead as she twirled her practice sword around. Thrusting up at Jon’s exposed stomach - but her husband was ready for that. Lurching forward at her chest, the same move he had used to throw Arya off balance. The young Stark’s eyes were riveted at Dany’s response. How she fell back into the snow, only to roll to the side. Back arching and hip angling up to leap to her feet. Sword thrusting at Jon’s neck…

 

Just as he swung at her stomach…

 

Both blades hovered just an inch from each other, the entire crowd of servants, guards, and a trio of a smith, dancing master, and gleeful cousin watching with bated breath. Both Jon and Dany were breathing hard, swords only moments away from each striking a deathblow if on a proper battlefield. It was Jon that spoke first. “Draw?”

 

Chest heaving, Dany nodded. “Draw.” Swords falling to their sides, a smile formed on Jon’s face. Chuckling as he dropped his swords and hefted Dany into his arms. The happy couple quickly pressed their lips together.

 

“Ewwwww.” Awesome sword skills or not, that was something Arya truly didn’t want to see.



Garlan Tyrell

 

“Oh gods!” Ten perfectly manicured nails dug into his back. The woman below him scratching his pale skin, gasping out in pleasure as he pounded into her. “Don’t stop husband…” Arianne hissed. “Fuck me harder!”

 

Grunting, Garlan complied - nothing in this world could stop him from fulfilling his wife’s request. “Nngh… take it… shit…” Falling onto his forearms, he was essentially smothering her. Muscled, lithe form like a pressing weight upon her light brown complexion and petite figure. A study in contrasts for the Tyrell heir as he redoubled his assault upon her womanhood. Tight and simply soaking for him, it would be the only cunt that Garlan would ever seek out again, so deeply he had fallen for this Dornish goddess.

 

The scratching against his back grew excruciating, nails likely leaving small lines of blood on his skin… but Garlan only growled. Increasing his pace. Limbs and hips straining as he attempted to fuck her into the bed. Abusing the poor girl with an onslaught of pleasure. “Unh… unh… unh…” she babbled, starting to rasp.

 

Sounds close to choking, Garlan halted, green eyes seeking out the deep brown that her lids shrouded. “Arri?” In contrast to the growls of before, his voice was gentle. Sweet in spite of how his cock throbbed for release. “Am I hurting you?”

 

Lids fluttering open, at the sight of him she lunged like a panther, wrapping her legs around his hips to force him deeper - lips assaulting his neck. “Defile me, husband,” she husked into his ear, licking the shell. “Spill your seed into your Dornish whore’s tight, little cunt.”

 

Eyes darkening into a blazing forest green, Garlan crashed their lips together. Taking advantage of thier position to fuck her harder. To hit deeper inside her - Arianne screamed into his mouth, their battling tongues muffling the noise. No sense in serenading their guards with their furious fucking, though all had to know what the heir and his beautiful bride were up to. “You. Are. Mine!” he proclaimed.

 

“Yours,” moaned Arianne, her Tyrell husband feeling her submit to him completely. “Only yours… fuck!” With one deep thrust she shattered for him, triggering his own explosion. Cunt constricting around his length and milking his seed. Their climaxes rolling through them until they collapsed together, shaking in the aftershocks. “Mmmm…” He felt her tongue dart out to sooth the love bites on his shoulder. “Think your seed quickened inside me?” Arianne asked lazily.

 

Smiling softly at her words, Garlan pressed a gentle kiss to her nose - then her lips. “Perhaps… though we have time.” An errant finger tweaked a dusky nipple, making her squirm. “I don’t wish to share you quite yet.”

 

Arianne slapped his arm. “Cheeky bastard.”  

 

A knock at the door spoiled their lazy morning of sleep and making love. Sighing, Garlan looked at the door expectantly. “What?!” His bride burrowed deeper underneath him, hiding her form. While she still wore rather risque outfits once arriving at Highgarden, Arianne had added to her modesty for the benefit of the tastes of the Reach - and only awarded Garlan the privilege of seeing her bare form. 

 

“My Lord,” came the voice of the castilian. “There’s a raven from Horn Hill marked for you. I believe it urgently requires your attention.”

 

Groaning again, Garlan found his wife peering sympathetically at him. “Attend to your duties, Ser Garlan,” Arianne cooed, kissing his cheek… only for her to wince once he fully slid out of her cunt. “Oh, I miss you already, husband.”

 

The heir to Highgarden smirked, deliriously happy. Since their wedding in Sunspear, the traditional rivalry between Dorne and the Reach had melted under the intense passion of their marriage bed. Petite, exotic, and sultry, Garlan couldn’t get enough of his new bride, and neither could she with him. Horror stories of his friends and family stuck in unforgiving marriages of politics and territory often filled his ear at the constant feasts thrown in the halls of his childhood keep - oft he prayed for Margaery not to suffer the same in the frozen North, but never did he imagine that his inevitable political match would result in such joy. “I would hope that doesn’t change, Arri. Even when I am slow and reliant on a cane.” 

 

“I am glad that you aren’t at this moment, Gar,” she replied, using her pet name for him as he used his pet name for her. Garlan slipped out of the bed, looking back to watch her hungry eyes, trained on his nude form. “Perhaps you should come back to bed?” Arianne’s voice dropped back into the heavy Dornish lilt that so entranced many a man or woman.

 

Oh, what a delightful little minx I wed. Perhaps a Dornish girl or two would mellow out the stuffy Marcher lords and then they’d remove the sticks in their asses about the Daynes and Wyls feuding with them. “Unfortunately, I fear I could never emerge if I took you on that offer,” he replied, slipping on a dressing gown and moving towards the door.

 

“That’s the idea,” he heard her call out.

 

Opening the door, he found the castilian a bit put out. “Forgive me, my Lord, but this couldn’t wait for your attention.”

 

“Calm down, Mern. Show me the dispatch from the Tarly hardass.” Many different things had been said about Randyll Tarly and most were far more profane than the words Garlan used. Taking the folded sheaf of parchment, he nodded at the castilian. “Thank you, I’ll deliberate on it with Lady Tyrell.”

 

“Of course, my Lord. My Lady.” Faint blush on his cheeks from the tiny glimpse of the nude Arianne Tyrell swathed in the bedsheets like an expensive courtesan, he quickly made his exit. Garlan shutting the door behind him.

 

Furrowing his brows, Garlan scanned over the dispatch. Each line he perused further hardening the jovial mood from his face - joyful serenity of the night and morning of lovemaking simply evaporating from his face. Attentive and caring, Arianne seemed to notice this immediately. “Gar… what’s the matter?” She sat up in the bed, arm draping over her chest to hold up the light yellow sheet. Contrasting deliciously with her tanned skin.

 

But Garlan was in no mood for that. Not anymore. “Argh!” he snarled at reaching the end. “Damn grandfather to each of the seven hells!” The young knight resisted the urge to crumple the paper and toss it at the unlit fireplace.

 

The sheet dropped, revealing her ample chest that seemed to defy gravity - but Arianne’s face held none of the desire of earlier as well. Frowning, she leaped to the floor and took the dispatch from his hand. A hiss left her lips. “The Faith Militant have expanded their hold all the way to Horn Hill.” Her eyes narrowed in disgust.

 

“All the Honeywine river valley in their control, from the Mander to the Torrentine… at this rate they’ll be at Highgarden within the week… fuck!” Face red, Garlan kicked at a stool. Sending it across the room.

 

His wife glared at him. “Are you finished?’ There were only sounds of his breathing as Garlan regained his composure. “I’m glad to have a savage knight in the bedroom and the battlefield, but nowhere else.” Both of them in a standoff of wills, it was Garlan that blinked first, sighing. “Good, now…” The Dornishwoman grabbed her own robe off the ground, one of a shimmering gold - it was thin and only covered the top half of her delicious thighs, but its modesty was in that it wasn’t see-through like a similar robe in Dorne would have been. “How are we going to deal with this?”

 

Sighing again, Garlan plopped onto the bed, hands in his lap. As insatiable as she was as a lover and kind and charming she was as a Lady of Highgarden, in a crisis Arianne had the political mind of… well, someone close to his grandmother. Truly the perfect bride for me. “I would imagine my grandfather is behind this… or my Uncle Baelor. They’re trying to wrest control of the Reach from us, hoping I’m a weakling now that mother, father, and grandmother are gone.”

 

“A possibility, though your dolt of a father remaining would have been a better chance to move against our family.” One thing about Arri was that she never held back - it was something Garlan usually appreciated. “Either case, you’re not seeing the bigger portrait here.”

 

“And what would that be?”

 

She sat beside him, taking his hands in hers. “The Hightowers aren’t pulling the strings. Think, husband, who did your grandfather wed his last unmarried daughter to in the recent moon?”

 

Garlan blinked, eyes widening. “Tywin fucking Lannister… now it makes sense.” This is one of the lion cunt’s fucking plots… as to what I can’t be sure. “We must call the banners. Force back the Faith Militant till they die between our spears and Oldtown’s walls!”

 

“Only if you want a disaster,” Arianne chided. Her mind seemed to whir behind her eyes. “Have the household guard secure all fords, bridges, and roads along the Mander, and have Tarly do the same. We can’t force them back but we can stop the Faith Militant from advancing further. I’ll send a letter to Edric Dayne at Starfall for cooperation in that regard.”

 

“And the banners?”

 

She only smiled at him. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.” A hand moved to rest on his knee. “We shouldn’t worry too much about non-pressing matters beyond our control.” The hand inched upwards.

 

Oh, Garlan loved his new bride.



Myrcella Baratheon

 

“Where are you going, dear niece?” Tyrion slurred from his spot on the bed. He was lying spread-eagled across the blankets, likely drunk. Tommen, the orange tabby cat, was also sprawled out on top of him, fast asleep.

 

Myrcella looked back at him with the roll of her eyes. “Out, uncle. It’s getting tiresome cooped up in here with only you for company.” Before he could retort with one of his clever japes, she turned and walked out the door. Some days I really can’t stand him.

 

Light footsteps tapping over the floor, Myrcella’s skirts swirled around her ankles as she headed for the solar that belonged to the Lady of Winterfell. Brushing a golden lock dyed chestnut brown curled around her ear, she smiled at resuming her favorite pastime since seeking refuge in the North. The Northern Queen’s eldest daughter, Sansa Stark, had been warm and welcoming toward her with all the grace and poise of a proper and ironically southern lady. They had spent many hours together, sewing and drinking hot tea, while conversing about their lives before the chaos of the present. Much as she was embarrassed to admit, Sansa was better versed in courtly etiquette than she was. However, Catelyn Stark was apparently a more attentive mother than her own had been, most of Cersei’s focus and doting entirely on her older brother, Joffrey. She barely knew me or Tommen.  

 

Myrcella felt a little downhearted at her mother’s ignorance of her. She wondered how her mother was coping now that she was separated from all her children. Tommen was dead, she was in disguise, and Joffrey… well, she didn’t have a clue as to where he was now. Yet, strangely that was pleasing to her. Maybe it was because of the countless times he pulled her hair, or the time he’d slapped her when she got the last lemon cake, or maybe it was really when she saw him berate Tommen for being a ‘soft pillow head.’

 

Pushing the unpleasant memories of Joffrey out of her mind, she soon approached the door to the solar of the Queen in the North. As she went to open it, she could hear voices on the other side engaged in deep conversation. Curious, she pressed her ear to the door.

 

“Honestly, you weren’t that bad to Jon. My brother was much worse to me as he grew older,” a voice that was unfamiliar said.

 

“Compared to Arya, I was,” Sansa’s gentle, yet sad voice replied. “She was always the first to cheer him on at swordplay and greet him in the morning. I mostly followed my mother’s lead and ignored him. To discover he was actually a hidden prince… ”

 

This was intriguing to hear. Myrcella knocked on the door to the silence of the voices in the room. Whoever Sansa was talking to, she wanted to meet.

 

“Come in,” she heard Sansa respond after a pause.

 

Myrcella opened the door and entered the solar. Seated in two chairs in front of the hearth, its flickering flames welcoming in the cold, was Sansa and another brown-haired woman like herself. This lady appeared to be no older than twenty namedays.

 

Myrcella pursed her lips. “I had no intention of eavesdropping on your conversation, but I overheard something about ‘being a hidden prince’?”

 

“We were just talking about a childhood game that my siblings and I used to play,” Sansa said dismissively. The other lady deflated in her chair.

 

Allowing a smile to grace her visage, Myrcella sat herself down in another chair beside the roaring hearth. It was then that she noticed a wrapped bundle in the mystery lady’s arms. Upon a closer look, her heart went out in recognition of the fat, little infant squirming in the blanket.

 

“Marcy,” Sansa said. “May I introduce you to Danyelle, my brother Jon Snow’s wife, and their son Raymund. You may address them as Dany and Ray.” Dany beamed at the disguised Lannister bastard and held up her boy so he could garble a hello of his own to her. Oh, little Ray was unbearably adorable.

 

“Thank you, Sansa,” Myrcella reciprocated. Making eye contact with Dany, she cleared her throat and introduced herself. To her surprise, the latter curled her upper lip in a knowing smile and flashed her a conspiratorial wink. “What’s the matter?” She was puzzled by the enigmatic reaction.

 

“I know that ‘Marcy’ is not your real name, Myrcella, allegedly trueborn daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister,” Dany stated simply. “In truth, you are the bastard daughter of the queen and her brother, Jaime Lannister.”

 

Myrcella’s hand flew up to her mouth. “How… ? How… ?” If Dany knew, who else did now?

 

“She’s family,” Sansa assured. “The secret is hers to know as well the rest of the Starks. You need not worry. Your identity will be kept under wraps, regardless.”

 

"I deeply appreciate that… both of you,” Myrcella thanked with sincere gratitude. Having been a near victim of assassination by the man she believed her father, the girl doubted who she could trust anymore. The Starks were a happy family, and reminded her of how she had wished her own family was as close as the wolfpack. Only Tommen was she close with… Now he’s gone.

 

A tear slipped down her face, then another. Before she could stop herself, her grief at all she had lost and once held dear again poured out of her. Sansa and Dany watched in respectful silence as she released her pent-up emotions. Slowly, with shaky breaths, she composed herself. Looking over at Ray, she smiled wobbly at his infectious toothless grin.

 

“May I hold him?” she asked Dany. Gently, Ray was passed into her embrace, and just as gently, did she nestle him into the crook of her arms. The baby babbled and gurgled and tugged at her hair. She laughed and rocked him back and forth.

 

Sansa and Dany grinned mightily at how the little boy took an immediate liking to her. Then their expressions turned serious. They flashed silent looks at each other, as if trying to agree on something. With a deep breath, Sansa nodded at Dany and got a nod back. 

 

“Since I divulged your true identity to Dany,” Sansa began. Her tone was deadly serious. “It is only fair that Dany shares hers. But you must swear by the old gods and the new not to reveal it to anyone outside my family.”

 

Dany’s true identity. Myrcella was intrigued to know the secret. However, seeing the icy gaze in Sansa’s equally ice-blue eyes told her that it was not something to treat lightly. She understood completely. After all, Robert had tried to poison her when he found out who she really was.

 

“I do so swear by the old gods and the new.”

 

“I am Daenerys Targaryen,” Dany revealed. “Trueborn daughter of Aerys II Targaryen and Rhaella Targaryen.” She paused briefly. “My husband is Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Our son’s real name is Rhaegon.”

 

Myrcella gasped and her eyes widened in astonishment. “That’s impossible. The Rebellion…”

 

“Was built on a lie,” Sansa finished. “Rhaegar never kidnapped my aunt. She willingly eloped with him and they married in secret.”

 

Myrcella sat back, her head spinning. The baby in her arms wiggled as if noticing her discomfort. This was so much to take in. Meeting a Targaryen in person. Discovering her father’s rule was a farce. She didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or cry.

 

“If it makes you feel better,” Daenerys said, voice full of sympathy. “Your father, Jaime, is alive and well.”

 

That sparked her interest. “He is? Where is he? Why didn’t he come to Winterfell with you?”

 

Daenerys crossed her legs and folded her hands. “Ser Jaime is currently in Slaver’s Bay with the Targaryen army. My husband named him to our Kingsguard. He’s helping to lead the liberation of its slave population before he returns to Westeros.”

 

“Liberate slaves?” Myrcella blinked. That didn’t sound at all what the Targaryens were supposed to be like. Supposedly, they were godless, depraved tyrants with madness running through their blood. That was why she and Tommen were being sent to Casterly Rock - so they would be safe from the rumored Targaryen invasion.

 

Looking at the gentle waves and lovely, kind face of Daenerys Targaryen, Myrcella felt her preconceptions of the Valyrian house disappear. Although she was sure that the Dragon Queen had every intention of winning back the Iron Throne, she didn’t give the impression of bloodthirsty insanity.

 

As she went to ask further about her father, the door to the solar flew open. A scrawny dark-haired boy ran inside with an older man on his heels. The man was waving a thick wool overcoat as he chased the boy.

 

“I won’t wear that itchy thing!” the boy shrieked. “It scratches my neck and leaves it red! Bad enough wearing it on the way here! I refuse to put it on again!”

 

“Robin Arryn!” the man scolded. “Your mother specifically told you to wear this coat when you go outside, otherwise you’ll catch the chills.”

 

The two of them raced around the room until Robin tripped over the thick carpet and fell into Myrcella’s lap… on top of Rhaegon. The infant let out a piercing wail at the heavy mass of flesh and bone that pressed down on him.

 

“Robin!” Sansa stood up from her chair, a disapproving frown on her face. Striding over to where her cousin was lying on top of her nephew, she pulled him to his feet by the scruff of his neck. “Watch where you are going! You just fell on a baby, by the gods!”

 

Robin didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “I don’t care. I won’t wear that coat, not in a hundred years.” He folded his arms and stared at the floor in mute silence.

 

 Sansa sighed and looked over to the man, who was apologizing profusely as Daenerys gently extricated her son from Myrcella’s hold.

 

“Marcy,” Sansa said, switching back to Myrcella’s pseudonym. “This is Ser Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone and guardian of my cousin, Robin Arryn, heir to the Eyrie.”

 

Robin’s gaze passed over each person in the room quickly, but lingered on Myrcella for a moment longer than she took comfort in. She sweated silently, hoping he didn’t recognize her from when they both lived in King’s Landing. To her relief, he shrugged as if he didn’t care who she was.

 

“I am indeed,” the old lord affirmed. “Hello my ladies. I’m terribly sorry for young Robin’s outburst. He’s always been a challenge to manage. His father never really attended to teach him much of anything.”

 

“My father was a stuffy old man who bowed and scraped after the king,” Robin scoffed. “No wonder he kicked the bucket when he did. All that useless work.”

 

“Now Robin, the Hand of the King is a prestigious position that every good lord aspires to,” Lord Royce reprimanded. He groaned and rubbed his temples. Babysitting this stubborn, immature boy clearly didn’t suit him.

 

Noticing his frustrated fatigue, Sansa offered to help escort Robin back to his room to which the old lord gratefully accepted. As the two of them led the surly young nobleman out of the solar, Myrcella turned back to Daenerys, who had just rocked Rhaegon to sleep. Letting out her breath in a whoosh, she shook her head in bewilderment.

 

“If this is what family is like, then mine is somewhat tame in comparison.”

 

Daenerys giggled. “Oh, you have no idea.”

 

Myrcella smiled. Her father was alive. She was safe. Perhaps everything would work out for her once Robert was dethroned. After what befell Tommen, she was all for it.

Notes:

CastleColin: A little Star Wars analogy for those intrigued by Jon and Dany’s swordplay. Jon fights like Anakin Skywalker - Form V: Djem So. Dany fights like Obi-Wan - Form III: Soresu.

Longclaw: Ygritte and Theon always makes me laugh! XD

Lots of fluff that we needed, but there's still chaos over the horizon.

In regards to Dany's sword skills, she learned how to be a swordsman in her past life from Barristan, Jorah, and her bloodriders. Then after Jon became the Ice King (explained in a past chapter), she grew in skill just as we showed that Jon did with dual wielding. Her skill is comparable to Visenya Targaryen.

If we can get 30 comments then we'll update on Friday :D

Chapter 43: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Summary:

1. Aerys continues his assault on the Free Cities and pays a visit to someone he feels has wronged him.
2. The Boltons plan their next moves.
3. The Hand of the Southern King and his bride arrive at Harrenhal.
4. Jon and Dany leave Winterfell to journey North. Ned and Tyrion speak with Yohn Royce.
5. Benjen reflects on the attack on the Free Folk Camp.

Notes:

Longclaw: Here's the update as promised. As y'all are chilling at home during the Wuhan Virus scare (be careful and safe guys; we're all gonna get through this), us authors are here providing quality content to make the time pass us by :D

Unfortunately for our heroes, the family time has to come to a close.

CastleColin: The Targaryens aren’t the only ones with tricks up their sleeves. Everyone’s on a collision course.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bronn

Bronn

 

While one of the greatest of the Free Cities, Pentos existed as also the most vulnerable. Surrounded by enemies such as the Braavosi and Dothraki hordes, proactive attacks and sea skirmishing deterred the former while the latter was almost always vanquished through lavish bribes that the rich trading port could afford. As a result, the entity ruling over the former domain of the Andals hadn’t been touched by an attacking army since the Century of Blood.

 

Well, change bites ya’ in the ass when ya’ least expect it. Such advice had kept Bronn alive throughout his turbulent first twenty namedays and hadn’t failed to protect his clawing up towards advancement. Hand on his sword as the silver-haired King claimant followed him through the winding city streets, it wouldn’t fail him now. 

 

“I’m counting on you, Captain,” the sweet, seductive voice of Aerys Targaryen the day prior - a man that could charm the purse of a man and the dress off a woman… or burn them alive in a fit of rage. Least I’m gettin’ paid. Bronn tended to repeat that every time the King rattled him. “You’ll be known as Lord Bronn of Pentos if this works out. If not…” Only thing Bronn would be paid with if his knowledge of Pentos didn’t achieve victory for the royal armies was a sword to the back - if he was lucky.

 

But his correct assessment of the military acumin of the current drunk buggerer that was called the Prince of Pentos had heartened him - and more importantly heartened the King. Joined by the Stormcrows that he had in the city, the sentries on one of the lesser gates had been quickly killed. Blades to their throats and arrows in their backs. None had even made a sound as they were blitzed from front and behind. Hundreds of raiders passing through the particular gate, heading for their objectives.

 

“Your Grace,” whispered Bronn, holding up a hand. They had been trekking for an hour through the dark alleys, finding the garbage-strewn slums replaced with the manicured lawns and moonlight-glittered fountains of the wealth district. “I believe that’s the manse you’re looking for.”

 

Aerys had insisted on joining them, the great Blackfyre attached to his hip. None of the pleas from Lord Connington had dissuaded him, and from how he butchered whatever and whoever got in his way said to Bronn that he had something personal to take care of.  

 

Least I’m gettin’ paid.

 

Peering into the darkness, only scattered torchlight and the half-moon above to grant any illumination, Bronn watched as a smirk spread across his face. “That’s the one.”

 

“Prince’s manse is over there, your Grace,” cautioned Alyssa Snow of the Company of the Rose. All other sellsword squads that joined them had spread out to the other gates. Ready to open them at the crack of dawn to let in the rest of the army. Only Bronn, Snow, and Naharis’ Second Sons were with Aerys here… and only four dozen at that.

 

The King was in no mood. “Take half and kill him where he sleeps. I’ll take Bronn and Naharis there… That’s my target.” He pointed at the unnamed manse.

 

“Lost his mind?” Daario whispered to Bronn. The sellsword only shrugged - it wasn’t his problem.

 

Only a few guards waited outside the manse, easily taken out by Bronn’s dagger between the ribs as his gloved hand slapped over their mouths - muffling their grunts. Beside him, the second guard found his head clattering across the stone courtyard as Valyrian steel sliced through flesh and bone. “Storm the manse!” Aerys barked, losing the element of speed. “Take it down!” A loud roar boomed over the city… clear the attackers had already lost the element of surprise. Hope the gates have opened…

 

Even without stealth, trained fighters easily dispatched those inside. Bronn rushed through - everything was a blur, including his own sword. Nothing stopping him as they cleared through rooms, letting frightened servants scurry away while leaving those armed bleeding on the fine stone. A cry from up the stairs caught his attention - passing by three half-nude women of various skin colors run towards the door, he found Daario punching a portly man in silk robes and a perfumed beard.

 

“Please…” he babbled. “Don’t hurt me…” 

 

“Shut up!”

 

Bronn was about to enjoy Daario take another swing at the fat fuck when a booming voice stopped him. “Enough!” Voice completely recognizable, the entire complement of sellswords parted way, blades hanging to their sides as King Aerys stepped forward. The glint in his violet eyes even making Bronn shudder. Mad Targaryens… stories were true.

 

Least he’s payin’ ya. That was enough to keep his mouth shut.

 

Eyes flickering to the King, the Captain of the Stormcrows watched as Aerys stood tall over the pathetic merchant. “Who… who are you?” the man babbled, drawing a scoff from Daario and a shake of the head from Bronn. Gods, could ya’ be any more pathetic? Have some fuckin’ self respect. 

 

Aerys’ grin only widened. “You don’t recognize me, Illyrio Mopatis?”

 

“You’re… you’re the monster that burned Volantis.”

 

A laugh. “True, though I only partly burned it. The stampeding mobs did the rest.” He circled the poor merchant like a dragon cornering its prey… which he in effect was. “But tell me, don’t you remember me?”

 

“What’s e’ goin’ at, boss?” one of his men whispered in his ear. 

 

“Dunno,” Bronn shrugged, voice just as low. “But he’s the King so shut the fuck up before ye’ get us both killed.” The lad took his advice.

 

At another shake of the head, Aerys lashed out, kicking him in the stomach. Hard. “I don’t blame you. I certainly look different from when you supposedly served me, you fat piece of shit.” With both his hands, he hauled Illyrio up, face so red with anger that Bronn figured he had a nonzero chance of catching fire. “I know you were working with Varys. To use my sister as a broodmare! To put my idiot uncle on the throne while she was being raped by some horselord savage. To kill her when she stopped being of use!” 

 

Illyrio went absolutely white. “How… how could you possibly know those things?” Aerys smirked darkly and leaned in, speaking something inaudible into the merchant’s ear. 

 

“Shit, no woman like that deserves to be anything but worshipped,” Daario murmured to Bronn, flicking his tongue in and out to complete the sexual message. Bronn didn’t disagree, but preferred to be with ladies that wouldn’t result in his King killing him.

 

Whatever Aerys said, the pungent odor of piss filled the air - yellow droplets dripping from Illyrio’s underclothes. “You piss in fear now! After my twin sister suffered through terror, you cannot imagine at the hands of that pig usurper in the Red Keep! Our ancestral home!” Dropping the merchant on the ground with a loud thud, the King simply dragged him to the large courtyard… in the distance, something large and heavy slammed on the ground.

 

It wasn’t a hard guess for Bronn. Fuck… that monster’s gotten bigger! The King’s dragon… Rhaelyx, if he remembered correctly, rested upon the ground. Smoke trickling out of her closed maw. A growl left it and sent many a sellsword backing away in fear. “No… please… no… the city!” Illyrio begged for his life. “I’ll give you the entire city!”

 

“Different from your earlier message of defiance, and sending my envoy’s head in a box to me.” Aerys scoffed. “Ser Bronn.” 

 

The sellsword bowed. “Yes, your Grace?”

 

“Make sure a raven gets to King’s Landing under his seal. Write…” His lips curled into a reptilian smile. “Write that the great Daenerys Targaryen’s forces have secured Pentos for the three-headed dragon.”

 

“Aye, I shall do so at once.”

 

“But boss,” a Stormcrow trooper asked. “E’s Aerys Targaryen, not ‘da other…”

 

A punch to the face shut him up. “It’s called fucking deception, you fucking idiots,” Bronn hissed. “Am I the only one here capable of thinking?”

 

“It appears so, Captain.” A look at the King found him genuinely amused. But such only lasted a second or two, rage returning as he looked to Illyrio. Smoke already rising as the Targaryen forces secured and sacked the city. “Enjoy it, pig. Enjoy as your world crumbles to ashes. As the dragon rises back into its rightful place atop your bones. Rhaelyx!” He stepped back, Bronn once again seeing the mad glint in his eyes. “Dracarys!” 

 

There was a scream, then a blinding gout of light that forced Bronn to look away.

 

Least I’m gettin’ paid... 



 

 


Ramsay

 

Ramsay Snow

 

“Where is your brother?”

 

“How would I know?” Ramsay leaned against a support beam. Idly waiting for the last member of House Bolton - not that he was one - to make his presence known in the solar. “It’s not like he and I travel in the same circles, father.”

 

Muttering to himself, his father looked torn. Between the son he respects and the bastard son that better reflects House Bolton’s history. By all accounts Eddard Stark actually loved all of his children, including the bastard. Roose is stupid… Eddard is both weak and stupid. Ramsay sundered all blood and friendly ties long ago and never once regretted it.

 

Finally, the immaculate form of Domeric Bolton entered the solar. “Yes, father? You summoned me?” The heir to the Dreadfort never even acknowledged his half-brother. From the arguments they had ever since Ramsay arrived from scouting around Winterfell, several ladies that he and Myranda had added to their ‘collection,’ it was likely better that they weren’t on speaking terms. Ramsay rather didn’t want to deal with the annoyance.

 

“Why are you late?” Roose hissed.

 

“I had something to do.”

 

“By something you mean burning the midnight oil in the library,” Ramsay deadpanned, unable to help himself. “Meanwhile I was sparring when father summoned me.” He gestured to his filthy clothes.

 

Domeric glared. “Not all of us can think to butcher our way out of problems, brother.”  

 

“Enough,” their father announced, two final glares punctuating that moment of tension. “I want you to witness this, my son.” Standing, Roose approached Ramsay, motioning him to kneel. “I received a raven from King’s Landing, signed by King Robert and witnessed by Hand of the King Tywin Lannister.” Putting things together, Ramsay’s eyes widened. “Do you, Ramsay Snow, swear your everlasting fealty to House Bolton and myself as its Lord.”

 

Trembling slightly from the sheer surprise of it all, out of the corner of his eyes Ramsay saw Domeric dumbfounded, staring like an owl. “I so swear,” he said, the glimpse of his half-brother giving him a sinister confidence.

 

“Therefore I hereby proclaim you Ramsay Bolton, second trueborn son of Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort.” There was no emotion in Roose’s voice - all dispassionate, all business. “You may rise.”

 

Ramsay Bolton rose to his feet, so many things whirring in his mind.

 

“Father, what was this?” Domeric voiced his displeasure. 

 

“Adding further legitimacy to our cause. Better two trueborn sons than one son and one bastard.” A ghost of a smile. “Besides, I will need someone bearing my name with you gone from the keep.”

 

He blinked. “What do you mean that I’ll be gone from the keep?”

 

Pointing at the map displayed on the wall, Ramsay followed the invisible line to the marker for Moat Cailin. “Lord Stark is demanding all bannermen deploy for Moat Cailin, likely expecting war with Robert. I am sending you to escort our cavalry there, while myself, Ramsay, and Locke stay here and prepare the rest of our forces.” He held up his hand to any further words.

 

Sighing, Domeric bowed. Knowing he could not refuse. “I am at your command, father.” Turning, he was gone.

 

There was silence, both remaining Boltons taking stock of the events that transpired. “You know he doesn’t have the stones to be a proper Bolton,” Ramsay said, crossing his arms. While elated at his new name, such elation that he had was best hidden.

 

Sighing, his father pinched the bridge of his nose. “Takes after his mother that way. Yet he’s my heir, and let’s face it, being cultured and… restrained is better than whatever demon resides inside you.”

 

A rather shadowcat-like grin spread on Ramsay’s face. “How could I possibly take that as anything but a compliment?” He chuckled. “Every true Bolton has a demon inside them. How else did we manage to carve out a kingdom for ourselves, capture Winterfell twice, and nearly destroy House Stark twice? Third time’s the charm… that is if you have the stones my dear brother lacks.”

 

Roose’s eyes narrowed. “Watch yourself, bastard, lest you end up like your mother.”

 

Unlike what he had heard of the Bastard of Winterfell, the former Bastard of the Dreadfort didn’t honestly care about the woman that birthed him - she was… irrelevant to Ramsay’s current situation. Staying away from his father’s knife was relevant though. “Forgiveness for my outburst, father, but understand. We are on the cusp of crushing House Stark once and for all. The Bastard of Winterfell has returned with his wildling whore wife and son - we can kill all of them at once if we take the initiative.”

 

“And when do you believe the opportunity would appear? House Stark holds the strongest military force in the North, and while our men are better trained, numbers do mean something.”

 

Ramsay shrugged. “The opportunity will present itself, but we need to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

 

Pursing his lips, his father finally nodded. “I’ll find a way to get all able-bodied men to the keep without attracting attention.” Pressing his fingers together, the Lord of the Dreadfort’s lips curled into a ghost of a smirk. “We can’t kill all the Starks. If we are to legitimize our rule of the North, an heir with the blood of the Kings of Winter would help us cement it.”

 

“Lord Stark’s daughter is rather attractive.” Fiery red hair, slender figure, innocent eyes… Ramsay stayed up nights fantasizing of the games he would play with her. “But who gets her? Domeric, or myself?”

 

“There are two daughers of Eddard Stark that could do...”

 

“And the first to bear a son wins?” Ramsay grinned again. Now this is how to be a Bolton.

 

Whistling as he walked along the narrow hallways - built as to properly withstand any assault upon the keep by invading Stark bannermen - Ramsay had a spring in his step. Feeling content with the world for the first time in his life. Does that mean my ambitions are dead… absolutely fucking not. More to the point.. his every plan was coming together. All goals converging.

 

Take Winterfell, my brother “dying in battle,” my father being “killed by a Stark loyalist” perhaps a month later? Yes, the North would be easy to sweep into his own grasp soon after. I’ll have to take both Stark girls for myself, ensure that the only Starks left are of Bolton blood. They said Arya Stark looked like Lyanna Stark, a woman that the Crown Prince destroyed his dynasty over. Combined with the fire-kissed beauty of Sansa… oh, the fun he would have with them both.

 

Walking into his chambers, he spotted the disheveled savage chained in the corner. “Ah, dear Reek. How are you faring?”

 

Reek - formerly Osha - kept her head down. “I’s fine, master.” 

 

“Good.” She was essentially broken, but he didn’t trust her just yet. The chains were merely a precaution. “On the bed. Bend over it.” Wordlessly, she complied - ratty dress covering nothing just as he liked. “My father just named me a Bolton. With my new name we’re about to embark on a proper adventure, dearest Reek, and I am in the mood to celebrate.”

 

When he had captured the wildling, Osha had been a fiesty one to tame once she realized that seduction wouldn’t get her anywhere. Kicking, screaming, biting… Ramsay had his most explosive climaxes at that time. But now, she was too meek. Too pliable. A victim of my own success, I suppose. He would have gladly gotten one of the smallfolk that followed him like lovesick maidens from the songs - turning her from such into his plaything - but he was lazy. Too lazy to even get Myranda, as close to his… proclivities as any woman were.

 

“Oh well, looks like it’s just you and me.” Without warning, he grabbed a belt and smacked her ass… hard enough for even the cowed Reek to scream. Ramsay’s cock hardened immediately at the delicious sound. Hand raised to deliver yet another blow...

 


Tywin

 

Tywin Lannister

 

Wheelhouses were uncomfortable upon the broken roads outside the cities, no matter how plushly decorated they were on the inside. Jostling, every single bump or depression felt in their asses, Tywin reflected upon how the various people he knew dealt with the chaos - his reputation powerful enough to get past the point of displaying his riding skills. Robert liked to fuck his whores in the wheelhouses. Cersei fussed over her children and drank. For Tywin and his new bride… they worked. Laps and opposite bench covered in parchment, dispatches and figures both. 

 

And this moment what they saw wasn’t good news. “How much of Volantis was burned?” asked the Hand of the King.

 

Lynesse fished for a particular sheaf of the brown paper. “Doesn’t say, only an estimation. Death toll has to be in the thousands - burned to death.”

 

“Only thing that can cause that much damage is wildfire…” Tywin’s brow rose. “Or dragons.”

 

“Both Varys and Littlefinger’s whores said that the Targaryen pretenders have dragons.” Neither one of them trusted either Varys or Baelish more than they could throw them - and in spite of his strength, Tywin probably couldn’t hurl the fat eunuch far - but if both of them confirmed the information then it was likely to be accurate. “Fucking dragons, who would have thought?”

 

“Very strange things are happening, wife,” he replied. “My only saving grace is that Aerys didn’t get his hands on those reptiles… though his madness might have given us an opening.” Cold and aloof as always, Tywin nevertheless found himself easily able to share his thoughts with Lynesse. Unlike his darling Joanna, she was as much of a schemer as him. A valuable asset during these trying times. “We should send this to the Starry Sept. They can drive the populace into a frenzy with this.”

 

Nodding, the Hightower beauty patted his knee. “While I would add our own scribes and preachers to that effort, good idea, husband.” The twinkle in her eyes showed Tywin just how she would reward him that night. Far her elder as he was, their couplings left little to be desired for each of them. “Are we sure it was the Targaryens, between us? Their dragons haven’t been spotted anywhere else in the vicinity of Volantis.”

 

Tywin sighed. “Who else would have dragons? Unless Aerys had another brat I didn’t know about.” Much as they hated each other at the end, Tywin knew everything about his former friend.

 

Their continued labors were interrupted by a rap on the wheelhouse door. “My Lord.” Pulling open the shutter, Tywin saw the manticore sigil of Amory Lorch. “We’ll be through the gates momentarily.”

 

“Good. See to it then.” As the knight galloped away, he turned to Lynesse. “Ever been to Harrenhal, love?”

 

She laughed throatily. “Can’t say that I have. My father thinks it’s cursed and refuses to go.” By the amused glint in her emerald eyes, Lynesse didn’t buy into superstition. 

 

“Don’t discount it. Every noble house that has held Harrenhal from the Hoares on have ended up losing it only generations later. Often in the most gruesome ways.”

 

A shrug, dismissive and… ruthless. “Why break tradition then?” Oh yes, Tywin wished he had this woman during the Reyne and Tarbeck Rebellion. Even better quality for the mighty Old Lion than Joanna ever was. She would have whipped Cersei and Jaime into shape, no doubt about it. The more he thought… he could start the Lannister dynasty anew. 

 

Harrenhal hadn’t changed much since the fateful tourney that destroyed House Targaryen and paved the way for the second rise of Tywin Lannister. Massive, old, and still bearing the scars of when Aegon the Conqueror melted the very towers to destroy Black Harren, it never ceased to make Tywin grin at how the Targaryens fell - he wasn’t grinning now. Dragons conquered Westeros, and now dragons had returned. It was… sobering. 

 

Lynesse seemed to notice this and squeezed his hand. To a neutral observer, it looked like a doting wife comforting her husband - which it actually was, but theirs was no normal marriage. “You are a mighty conqueror, husband,” she said, voice like steel.

 

Tywin nodded. “In a way, wife. A smart conqueror.”

 

“The smartest.” Somehow that seemed to be why Lynesse was drawn to him - he had no complaints.

 

At the head of the keep was Lord Walter Whent, a frown on the old man’s face even as the dozens of bannermen under the bat sigil waited around the courtyard. My reputation precedes me, I think. Everyone seemed to treat him as if they were some long lost descendant of the Reynes. However, the sight of Lord Jonos Bracken standing beside the Lord of Harrenhal found the other riverman almost… calm. All is ready.

 

As the wheelhouse came to a halt, Tywin exited without the need of a footman, holding his hand for Lynesse to step out. Unlike the King he served, Tywin kept the formalities of chivalry - the form if not the spirit. Even though he was not his liege lord, Whent bowed all the same. Joined by his and Bracken’s retinue. “Lord Hand. I welcome you to Harrenhal.”

 

He nodded curtly. “Allow me to introduce Lynesse Lannister, Lady of Casterly Rock.” The Septas of Hightower taught the highborn ladies proper manners - Lynesse’s curtsey was flawless.

 

“Greatest congratulations on your marriage, Lord Hand. We shall feast tonight in celebration.” The man put on the biggest airs, but was clearly nervous.

 

He has every reason. Sharing a look with Lynesse, Tywin decided speed and shock was best over the subtle approach that Walder Frey was wont to do. He wouldn’t break guest right. “About that.” Behind him, the dreaded Mountain dismounted from his horse, joined by the two hundred of his personal band. All Whent guards trembled, while the Brackens remained calm. “Before we take guest right, I would like to know about the delays in your tax payments.”

 

Walter Whent blinked. “Ummm… Lord Hand?” He shifted on his feet. “Is this the proper place?”

 

“I think it is,” Lynesse stated, welcoming green eyes narrowing. “Harrenhal has paid its taxes directly to the Crown ever since you sided with the rapist Rhaegar Targaryen over his Grace, King Robert.”

 

“We were forced, my Lady.” Now Whent was sweating bullets. Probably knows this is going somewhere bad, but doesn’t know why. While Tywin loved exposing treasonous lords, he loved destroying them with false evidence more. Their initial confusion was better than even a woman’s cunt… well, most women’s cunts. “Prince Rhaegar had my cousin as his Kingsguard. Practically a hostage.”

 

“That could be forgiven, my Lord, but not siphoning off your taxes and funnelling them to the Targaryens in Essos.” Tywin certainly enjoyed how Whent’s eyes widened like an owl. “Perhaps that allowed them the coin to purchase the Golden Company and burn Volantis? The surviving triarchs would likely wish to have a word with you.”

 

“I am innocent of these wild charges, Lord Hand!” Whent motioned for his men, but Gregor Clegane simply putting a hand on the hilt of his massive greatsword cowed most of them. “Who dares speak against me?!”

 

The sound of commotion caused all to look behind the Whents. Apparently the Bracken men had drawn their own blades, disarming the Whent guards. “I won’t let you get away with your treason, my Lord,” stated Jonos Bracken, holding a longsword at Whent’s throat.

 

“You scum! And to think I invited you to discuss a marriage between your daughter and my son.”

 

With his own men joining the Brackens in securing Harrenhal, it was all very anticlimactic for Tywin. “I’ve heard enough of you. Take him away, Ser Gregor. Ser Amory.” Watching the screaming Lord Whent be hauled away with an inward smirk, Tywin found Lord Bracken approaching him. “Splendid work, Lord Jonos. The raven I spared for Stone Hedge wasn’t wasted after all.”

 

Likely considering that was the best he could get from Tywin Lannister, Bracken bowed. “The honor of removing traitors from their undeserved lands is reward enough for me… but…”

 

Everything after the word ‘but’ is horseshit. Tywin may have thought Ned Stark a fool, yet that statement was quite pithy and apt. When House Stark is eradicated from this world, I’ll appropriate that one for myself. It was Lynesse that answered the Riverman lord, however. “I believe I understand your motivation, my Lord.” Her voice could be syrupy sweet if need be, alluring and trapping any weaker man within its viscous quality - likely how she seduced Jorah Mormont, given there had to be no shortage of gorgeous maidens willing to throw themselves at him. “While you hold a loyalty to the Crown, you’d be remiss if the Riverlands fell to chaos once the traitors are removed?”

 

Jonos Bracken nodded sheepishly, cheeks coloring slightly underneath his beard. “Aye, Lady Lannister. I hope to find a manner in which my loyalty to the Crown can… compliment my loyalty to the lands that I was raised in.”

 

For Tywin, the key to being a good Lord was simply being able to discern bullshit. The key to being a great one is to know that nearly everyone will speak bullshit to you - only the closest blood and common interest bind two together, and only the latter most of the time. That saying was his own and he was proud to have realized it. Bracken had to realize that he and Lynesse saw right through him, hence the blush. I’ll play along. “My brother Kevan has a son that will see his tenth nameday in several moons. Only a year younger than your daughter Bess.”

 

“My lion and I would be pleased to secure a betrothal between her and the future Lord of Harrenhal,” Lynesse said, batting her eyelashes as she pressed against Tywin’s side. Enjoying that anyway, that was saved for their chambers - this was for show.

 

“And my bastard?” Bracken dropped the pretense, lulled into the alliance.

 

Tywin nodded. “Legitimized by the King as you requested.”

 

The bald man looked relieved, wiping sweat from his forehead. “May the Seven bless you, Lord Tywin. If we have leave to march on Raventree Hall once hostilities commence, then His Grace and Lord Walder have our fealty.” He looked less than delighted at having to answer to the Freys, but Tywin cared not. 

 

Lady Lannister wore the brilliant smile for the both of them. “We are most glad, my Lord. May the Seven bless you as well. Now,” she sighed, leaning further against Tywin’s side. “All this politics and traveling have left me famished. I believe my husband should take me inside for a hot meal.”

 

“But… is it safe for you…”

 

A held up hand stopped him. “These servants are now those of Kevan’s household. They’ll need to learn their place.” Tywin kissed the crown of his wife’s head. “Shall we?”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” she swooned. Once they were out of earshot, her scowl returned. “That idiot is eating out of the palm of our hand.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous mirth.

 

Such a look was familiar to Tywin - he saw it in the reflecting glass every day. “Forget the stallion. His sigil should be that of a pigeon. Dumb and controllable.” If only we didn’t have to suffer the stupid. “But Bracken is our fallback.”

 

Sighing genuinely, Lynesse peered up at him. “I did not lie when I said I was famished, my Lord Husband.” Tywin looked down as she bit her lip. “But after that quite thrilling display of subterfuge and power, I am not famished for food.”

 

A rare smirk formed. Perhaps the new Lannister dynasty would begin tonight.

 

 


Ned

 

Eddard Stark

 

“Please brother, take me with you,” Arya begged, clinging to her favorite brother’s legs. “I want to see the Wall at the edge of the world.”

 

Ned watched in amusement at his youngest daughter’s heartfelt pleas to accompany Jon and Daenerys on their journey to the Wall. They were to inspect the state of the Free Folk settlement in the Gift and aid in the transport of the remaining Free Folk beyond the Wall at a village called Hardhome. Mance Rayder had called all of his people there to await the Manderly fleet that Ned had ordered Lord Wyman to send on pretext of delivering supplies to Eastwatch. Jon was anxious to get the wildlings south before the White Walkers reached them, while Daenerys was eager to see her great-uncle Aemon at Castle Black.

 

All of Jon’s cousins bid him farewell after breaking their fast, but Arya clung on in insistence that he take her with him.

 

“Woah!” Jon struggled to keep his balance. “Sorry, Arya… but this isn’t something I feel safe with you going on.”

 

“I’m no damsel in distress!” Arya let go of him and stuck out her tongue.

 

“That’s the last thing that crosses my mind when I see you,” Jon sighed. “Look, the pack watches out for its own. That also means protecting the den as much as the members. I need you to help guard Winterfell, especially with your dancing skills.”

 

Arya pouted in response. “Alright, but you still have to give me a ride on your dragon.”

 

“Only if you still have that necklace I had Father give you.”

 

The Wild Wolf flashed the wood-carved red-eyed white direwolf strung around her neck.

 

“Good. A ride it is when I return.”

 

As his youngest daughter retreated back inside the walls of the keep, Ned laughed. “Just like her Aunt Lyanna. She always demanded to accompany Brandon and me whenever we went out riding or hunting.” He brushed the dirt floor of the courtyard with the toe of his boot. How many times had the She-Wolf thrashed him when sparring? Not once did he remember a time that she lost a duel to her brothers.

 

Jon raised his eyebrow while he shouldered his pack. “Oh, what about Uncle Benjen?”

 

Ned smirked. “Even worse. When dueling, he could barely get in more strikes than the fingers on the hand before she knocked him over. Best not to mention it to him.”

 

Chuckling, Jon agreed. “I’ll try my hardest not to.” His smile fell into a brooding melancholy. “I wish I knew her… him too.”

 

With a pained sigh, Ned drew Jon into his embrace. Eyes glancing at the crypts for but a moment. “I do as well. I didn’t know your father, but I’m certain both of them would have loved you.” They stayed this way for a several moments, neither willing to break their embrace.

 

Humming softly, the elegant petite form of Daenerys Targaryen walked out onto the courtyard. Catching her in his periphery, Ned broke the embrace, nudging Jon ever so gently. He didn’t lie - she is absolutely beautiful and devoted to him. With the former smuggler Davos Seaworth and the exiled Jorah Mormont beside her, Daenerys walked right up to Jon and kissed her husband lightly on the lips. “Are you ready to depart, my king?”

 

All worries seemed to melt away thanks to her. “Aye, Dany. I am ready when you are,” Jon smiled back. “How is our son?”

 

“Rhaegon will be fine. Missandei is quite the natural at handling small children. She and Grey Worm will do better staying behind. The weather here is too cold for them.”

 

“Your Grace.” Ned turned to face the weathered bear knight. Years ago, he had sentenced this man to die for selling men into slavery. Now this same man was part of the true Kingsguard. He could think of no greater chance of redemption than that.

 

“Ser Jorah,” Ned addressed respectfully. The old bear wanted to say more but was hesitant.

 

“I… I wanted to thank you for giving me a second chance at reclaiming my honor,” Jorah finally said. “I know I can’t undo what I did, but I swear on my honor, I will not dishonor the North again.”

 

“Thank Jon,” Ned said. “He was the one who persuaded me that you were worthy of redemption.” He clasped Jorah’s hand in a friendly squeeze. “So far, he hasn’t been wrong.”

 

“I won’t disappoint him.” Jorah’s face was one of resolve. “Thank you.”

 

Davos cleared his throat. “Well, if that’s all for happy goodbyes, I’d say we should probably get going before the next snows come in.”

 

“Yes, you better,” a familiar, snarky, slightly cynical voice agreed from behind. “Winter is coming, so dress warmly.” 

 

Ned rolled his eyes in slight annoyance as the stunted form of Tyrion Lannister waddled up to them. The dwarf, fortunately, wasn’t carrying a flagon of wine. Frankly, Ned swore that his Hand drank a half a barrel of alcohol per day. “Is there something of urgency to be discussed, Lord Hand?”

 

Tyrion yawned and stretched his stubby arms. “As a matter of fact, yes. I thought we agreed that we’d inform Lord Royce about Jon’s secret with Jon in attendance today.” He looked meaningfully at the hidden Targaryen king, who frowned.

 

Ned exhaled. “I’m sorry, Tyrion, but I just received a raven from my brother regarding conflict between the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk settling in the Gift. Jon wishes to take control of the situation before it spirals out of control. He agreed to us telling Lord Royce without his presence.”

 

“Very well,” Tyrion sighed. Turning to Jon, he smiled. “I heard that you were like Ser Arthur Dayne when I came to Winterfell. Able to wield two swords as the Sword of the Morning did. They say that you’re the best swordsman in the Realm. I watched you spar with your wife the other day. If you’re Ser Arthur, then she’s Visenya.”

 

He gestured to Dark Sister slung on Daenerys’ back and the twin blades on Jon’s belt - Daenerys blushed and leaned into her husband’s arms. Modestly, Jon shrugged. “Thank you, my lord. But it’s just from practice. Anyone can be as adept as I’m believed to be.”

 

“So they say, Jon Snow,” Tyrion winked knowingly. “Oh, a word of advice - Never forget who you are. The world will not. Wear it like armor -”

 

“- and it can never be used to hurt you,” Jon finished to the Imp's surprise. “I’ll remember.”

 

“Let’s go, Jon - it’s a long walk to your mount in the Wolfswood,” Davos said.

 

Ned and Tyrion watched as Jon, Daenerys, Jorah, and Davos exited the open gateway of Winterfell and didn’t move from their spots until the great wood-and-iron door shut behind them. The Red Priestess had left much earlier at the crack of dawn to “offer the dragons the Lord of Light’s blessings.”

 

Frankly, Melisandre of Asshai gave him the chills every time he set eyes on her.



Walking back to his solar, Ned’s mind was racing with how Yohn Royce would react to the revelation about to be sprung upon him. From their conversations, the Lord of Runestone was distrustful of Lysa and even more so of Robert ever since the North had gained independence. But would that be enough to convince him to partake in what technically amounted to treason? The Vale was still part of the Six Kingdoms and the Crown hadn’t done anything to dishonor House Arryn. Still, it was worth the risk according to his Hand. The Vale’s cavalry had proved decisive in smashing the Dornish host at the Trident, which opened a gap for Robert to reach Rhaegar. Only half of the Knights of the Vale had fought there. With their full might behind Jon… 

 

“Last chance to back out, your Grace,” Tyrion said as they reached his solar.

 

“If I look back, I am lost,” Ned said, echoing Daenerys’ favorite person motto.

 

“Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it,” Tyrion replied.

 

Ned wordlessly opened the door to his study and stepped inside with his Hand. Seated at the table, was the balding, stout right-hand lord to the departed Jon Arryn.

 

“Ah, your Grace,” Yohn Royce smiled warmly. “I’ve been waiting here for you for awhile now. You had Maester Luwin summon me for something?”

 

“How is Robin?” Ned asked as he and Tyrion sat across from him.

 

“Better behaved, thank the gods,” Lord Royce said with relief. “Your eldest daughter knows how to keep him in line better than his own mother. But tell me, what is it that you want to speak to me about?”

 

 Normally easygoing and amiable, when he wanted to, Tyrion Lannister was a miniature version of his indomitable father. “Lord Royce,” he began with an iron undertone. “What his Grace has to divulge to you is of utmost importance to his family and the Seven Kingdoms. He entrusts this information on the basis that you do not reveal it to anyone without his expressed permission.”

 

His eyes burning holes into Yohn Royce, he asked, “Do you swear by the old gods and the new?”

 

Sweating nervously and wringing his hands, Lord Royce swore. “I so swear.”

 

Ned took a deep breath and leaned across the table… From the look on Yohn Royce’s face, he thought the lord aged twenty years.

 

 


Benjen

 

Benjen Stark

 

“Any luck, Jory?”

 

The captain of the Stark Household Guard regretfully shook his head as he took a seat at the campfire next to the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.

 

“That’s a shame.”

 

Since Theon and Tormund had informed him of the Night’s Watch attacking the Free Folk residing in the Gift, Benjen knew he was caught between a rock and a hard place. The ancient order of black knights, as the singers called it, had clashed with the wildlings for as long as the histories had recorded. Now that all of the men, women, and children were to be brought south of the Wall in such a sudden turn… that was too much for many in the Watch to stomach.

 

There wasn’t much he could do at the moment. If he tried to protect the wildlings openly the next time they were attacked, he’d be branded a traitor. If he revealed that the Lord Commander had sanctioned the mission, a mutiny was sure to break out.

 

He really didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news after delivering such a successful report to Jeor and Aemon about the expedition beyond the Wall.

 

“I looked up, down, and all around the huts and tents by this old castle.” Jory tapped his foot on the ground where the Nightfort was nestled beneath the icy height of the Wall. “No evidence of an attack beyond frightened eyes and hushed voices.”

 

“Guess we just have to wait and see,” Benjen said ruefully. “Hopefully, we’ll be ready if my black brothers try something stupid like that again.”

 

“You sure about that?” Jory Cassel was a captain for a reason - he knew how to lead, and he knew how to lead men into battle. But this was a situation where diplomacy would prevail rather than strength of arms. Hitting men over the head wouldn’t help the matter.

 

“Definitely. Only a fool makes the same mistake twice when careless.”

 

Jory nodded and rolled a snowball in his hands. He threw it and watched it splatter on the muddy and frosty soil in front of him. He grunted and got to his feet. “I better check on Greyjoy. He’s been moping in his room ever since Ygritte spurned him.”

 

Benjen suppressed a laugh. Himself familiar with Free Folk customs, he knew that a wildling woman, especially a spearwife, would never marry unless the man who wanted her as a wife ‘stole’ her. Theon, obviously, had no clue how to claim a woman of that breed.

 

As Jory walked up the stairs to the sulking Theon, Benjen thought back to the letter he’d received at Castle Black from his brother. Jon and Daenerys had arrived at Winterfell and would soon be coming up to the Wall. He smiled at the opportunity to properly meet his nephew’s wife and maybe smooth out the mess with the Night’s Watch. By now, he was certain that Alliser Thorne was part of the raids on the Free Folk. Maybe he’d cease pushing for them if he learned Jon’s true identity? The bitter old knight was a staunch Targaryen loyalist as much as he was a wildling hater. Appeasing Rhaegar’s only surviving son would hopefully appeal to his long-held allegiances.

 

Yet, the description of one golden-haired, green-eyed young man who was also an accomplice to Thorne’s misdeeds troubled him. From what he’d witnessed back at Winterfell the previous year, Joffrey ‘Baratheon’ wouldn’t take kindly to a blatant threat to his foregone claim to the Iron Throne… 

 

Notes:

CastleColin: The lion, the flayed man, and the rogue dragon... what could possible go wrong?

Longclaw: Tywin pretty much found his match. Reminds me of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu, only smarter. Conflict in the Riverlands is close at hand.

So Jon and Dany are at the wall just when Thorne and Joffrey - not to mention Aerys - are stirring up trouble. Just perfect.

Chapter 44: Welcome to Winterfell

Summary:

1) Alysanne leads the Targaryen Army on Meereen.
2) Robb meets his prospective betrothed as the Martell/Tyrell party arrive at Winterfell.
3) Gendry forges new Valyrian steel long swords for Jon.
4) Oberyn meets with the King in the North.
5) Lysa receives messages from Baelish and Yohn Royce.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hope all of y'all are staying safe. Here's another chapter to make social distancing bearable :D

CastleColin: We’ll see Alysanne come into her own as a true Targaryen from here on. A fourth dragon to join the game of thrones. Also, a little tribute to Longclaw’s Empire story here. See if you can find it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 



ALYSANNE TARGARYEN 

 

The pounding of tens of thousands of marching feet echoed through the narrow canyon. Blocks of Unsullied quick marching in massive rows of spears and shields, standing ramrod straight and unmoving even with the blazing sun high in the sky. Trained to the extreme, they had the endurance to last hours in such conditions. 

 

Horse bucking underneath her, Princess Alysanne Targaryen wasn’t so lucky. “Ooof,” she gasped, hand moving to her heavily pregnant belly. “Please, calm down little dragon,” the legitimized Princess cooed, rubbing softly. 

 

“You shouldn’t be here for this,” warned her mother, riding alongside - screened by their Kingsguards, at least the ones left here by Jon and Daenerys. “The babe will arrive soon. You should rest.”

 

“Where I should be is at front with the army entrusted to me.” 

 

Ashara gave her a motherly look, one quite commonly used when disapproving of her actions from a place of authority. “I almost lost you when you were born, a very hard labor. If you’re like me or your departed Aunt Rhaella, then to risk anything in your condition would be obscene.”

 

Biting her lip, Alysanne shifted her gaze. Not wanting to argue with her mother, she instead looked out at the visage of the city of Meereen. Said to be the largest city in the world after Volantis… at least Volantis had been the largest, before Aerys dealt with it . The Great Pyramid towered over all, even the massive walls likely a hundred feet high. Suddenly lined with people watching her and her army advance into position. “I know you’re protective of me, mother, and I love you for it. But this is where I must be. I am a Princess of House Targaryen and I must be a dragon.”

 

Sighing, Ashara smiled at her. “You really are growing up, sweetling.”

 

Alysanne smiled back. “I had a great mother.” 

 

Passing by the front line of Unsullied, she was halted by the outstretched hand of Ser Barristan. “I wouldn’t go further, Princess. An archer could pick you off. All it takes is one arrow.”

 

She nodded, staring at the massive gate. “Do we have anything that can break through that?” Her eyes shifted to just below the sun, squinting. Barely able to make out a soaring dark shape against the bright hue of the sky - Ragnar was growing significantly, but there was no chance he’d be big enough to blast through those gates. He’d have to be at the size of Balerion the Dread. 

 

“No, my Princess,” replied the hardened knight. “I’ve been speaking with some of the senior Unsullied… they think an internal uprising would be best at this point. Hundreds of thousands of slaves assaulting the masters… not even a horde could stand against them.”

 

It wouldn’t. From what she heard about her sister’s past life, such a move would prove a war-winning move. “Then that is what we’ll do…” Alysanne was cut off as the massive gates - each flanked by an alabaster statue of a winged woman carved into the rock - groaned. Beginning to swing open. “Are they sortieing out?” Could they be that stupid?

 

But instead of freedman or slave soldiers - sellswords were usually what the cities of Slaver’s Bay used, but Aerys had snapped all of them up - only a single cataphract emerged. Galloping out to the cheers of the Great Masters lining the walls. “Well, well,” Ashara mused. “Seems the masters are sending their champion.” 

 

Instead of a lance as a Westeros rider would carry, he held a curved sword high, Alysanne having to cover her eyes as the sunlight glinted off it directly at her. “What is the point of this?”

 

“To put us off guard… or piss us off.” Barristan shrugged. “Or to show to their people that their best can defeat our best.”

 

Wordlessly, Alysanne dismounted her horse. “So he means to challenge one of my army to single combat?” I can’t say that they aren’t brave.

 

Leaping off his horse, the cataphract rider fished out his cock from his breeches. Pointing directly at Alysanne. “Ao nādrēsy līve māzigon se daor Targārien orvorta?” In lieu of answering his own question, he began to piss on the ground. Defying one of only four dragonbonded in the entire world and the entirety of the Unsullied legion and Dothraki horde. 

 

“Well, how infantile,” Ashara snorted. “Do these people really have that level of arrogance.” Her mother glanced up at the tops of the walls, where numerous blue-gold robed ‘Great Masters’ laughed at the entire spectacle. 

 

“They’ve been holding a city of seventy percent enslaved since the fall of Old Valyria,” Alysanne answered. “Such can give one an immense arrogance, but they underestimate me. “Unsullied, load the catapults!” Without hesitation the eunuch soldiers raced to comply with their Princess’ order. She couldn’t deny it - command was in her blood, and it sent a surge of dragonfire through her veins. Is this the same rush Aerys always felt? It should have made Alysanne feel bad, but her estranged husband and love always had a commanding presence. Jon and Daenerys proved that such strength didn’t correlate with madness.

 

Pushing his cock back into the confines of his breeches, the ‘champion’ cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed out a belt of High Valyrian. “What is he saying?” She heard Barristan ask her.

 

“I’m not sure,” Alysanne replied, eyes narrowing. “I don’t speak that particular dialect.” Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn’t pleasant.

 

“I do,” Tyene spoke up in an arrogant, sultry drawl. “Father and Mother took me all over the world. Picked up things.” At her grin, both Obara and Nymeria rolled their eyes. Fun over, she listened intently, snorting at some, snickering at others, but mostly disgusted.

 

Alysanne snorted herself, one hand blocking the sun from her eyes while the other pressed on her belly. Rubbing it, silently telling her little one to calm. Just a bit more, then we can rest. From Tyene’s expressions, it obviously wasn’t good. “Well, what is he saying?”

 

Pursing her lips, Tyene turned to the Princess. “Bastard Valyrian has a lot of special curses hard to translate, but it goes something like this. ‘Your army is one of men without cocks. Your guards are sister-fuckers,’” Jaime winced at that, “‘old men, and weak brothel whores…’ I’ve honestly heard better insults from my younger sisters, and they’re children.”

 

“I don’t doubt that.” The Princess pushed back a strand of hair behind her ear, staring at the man gyrating his hips in a mime of frantic fornication. “What else is he going on about?”

 

“Forget it, daughter. Let those of us not with child handle…”

 

Holding up a hand, Alysanne silenced her mother. “Please, muna. I want to know.”

 

Smirking, Tyene continued. “He finished by comparing you to a male slave child used in the brothel, and that if you think you are a general then you should take your cock out of your own asshole and strike me down… oh please let me kill this cunt,” demanded the Sand Snake.

 

“Best not risk any of our men,” Barristan warned, dismounting from his horse to approach Alysanne. “A death or serious injury would diminish your strength in the eyes of those in bondage. They wouldn’t rise as we hope them to.”

 

“Just burn the cunt with your dragon,” scoffed Obara. “My sister isn’t as powerful as she thinks she is.” Tyene responded with a rather lewd gesture that the Princess had seen her practice with Khovarro the night before. 

 

As the ‘champion’ let loose further curses, hearing the names of “Aegon,” “Daenerys,” and “brothel” in quick succession, Alysanne had enough. “Ser Jaime,” she announced suddenly, purple eyes turning to the Lion of Lannister himself. “People say you are the greatest swordsman since Arthur Dayne… other than my sister and nephew. Is that true?”

 

Coiffed blonde hair glinting in the sunlight - Alysanne unable to deny his golden beauty in that moment - Ser Jaime grinned. “I’ve heard that once or twice.”

 

“Would you like to be my champion?” It was close to an order, but the Princess wished to see his reaction. If he would try to sneak out of it or if he felt confident enough to win.

 

It wasn’t smart to bet against the confidence of a Lannister in their chosen skill. Patting the pommel of his sheathed blade, the Kingsguard chuckled and grinned. How many ladies has he made swoon with that grin? Likely a lot, since even Alysanne had to resist a tiny blush. “It would be my honor to force that idiot into the dirt.” Removing his helm, he handed it to Tyene, “Hold this for me, darling.” With a wink at the Princess. 

 

Once a Lannister always a Lannister. If Alysanne didn’t know he was on their side… nor saved Daenerys in the midst of an assassination attempt, such arrogance would have put her off. Instead… Why is Mother looking at me like that? As if she was shocked at something her daughter was doing.

 

Regardless, her gaze was directed back at Jaime Lannister. He began to simply walk out into the rocky field that seperated the Targaryen army from the gates. For some reason, Tyene still held the helm in her hands while glaring daggers at his back. “Take your horse, you dumb fucker!”

 

“Let him be overconfident,” Jaime shot back. “And present me! The name of the Lion of Lannister is feared the world over.”

 

Alysanne giggled as Tyene flushed a dark red. “Just do it, Ser Tyene.” A use of her title to mollify her.

 

Sighing, the Sand Snake complied. “Nyke rudhy Dārilaros Alysanne's kosh,” the feminine voice boomed across the void. “Ser Īaime hen Lānistor Lentor. Valar morghūlis.”

 

Once the Kingsguard had reached a safe enough distance away, the cataphract rider remounted his steed, seemingly laughing at the pretty ‘tourney knight’ he had to have thought they were sending at them. Anyone who knows his reputation would be scared. The Princess had seen Ser Jaime spar. Only Jon had ever beaten him, and he battled Daenerys to a surprising draw. She felt a surprising chink in her composure, fearing for the knight’s life… Especially as the cataphract charged against him, lance lowered and ready to skewer him. And Jaime simply stood there.

 

“Do something.” Alysanne felt her heart rushing, fear rising. “Stop doing nothing,” she shouted in a louder voice. Jaime did not heed her warning. The white charger bearing the cataphract grew closer and closer… the Princess let out a gasp just as he quickly drew his sword and spun around, falling to his knees and aiming right for the horse’s legs. 

 

The Valyrian steel slashed down in an arc… 

 

The rider flew off the crippled horse, crashing into the ground with a dull thud. Angling his sword downward, Jaime put the screeching horse out of its misery while turning towards the rising slaver’s champion. Helm having been knocked off, Alysanne was repulsed - stud piercings all over his ears, nose, and lips while his hair was parted like two ram’s horns. He snarled at Jaime and charged, unsheathing his curved blade and raising it high.

 

She was riveted as Jaime met the attack with a heavy counterblow, Brightroar fighting for House Lannister after hundreds of years. The curved blade was clearly out of its weight element, but the Meereenese fighter towered over Jaime, whose parries and strikes were matched by his opponent’s strength. Slowly, he pushed Jaime back, making him stumble. 

 

“Jaime’s taunting him,” she heard Barristan huff beside her.

 

“How?” The Kingsguard thrust up at the slaver’s head, but the man parried the blow with a battlecry. “He’s not as strong.”

 

The grizzled knight snorted. “A brawler rather than a fighter. Just wait, Princess.” As the curved sword slashed right at the join of Jaime’s armor, a flash of crimson appearing as the Lannister gave ground, Alysanne had a moment of doubt in Barristan the Bold’s words. But even Aerys had cuts...

 

Blood dripping to the ground, the poise and guarded features forming Jaime Lannister disappeared. In their place came a roaring lion, chivalry forgotten as he feinted to the right only to throw a furious left hook - blood and teeth flying out of the slaver’s mouth by the mailed fist. 

 

“Finish him, you cunt!” Alysanne heard her mother scream. Do it.

 

Firmly on the offensive now, the Lion of Lannister hacked and slashed, leaving deep cuts in the man’s stomach and chest where the parries were too weak to hold him back. Flipping the greatsword in his hand as if it was a wooden practice blade, Jaime ducked a weak swing before he just stabbed straight forward through the man’s throat. A gurgling stream of blood fountaining out before he withdrew, letting the man crumple into a sack of boneless meat bleeding upon the rocky ground.

 

The hushed murmurings so loud from the battlements that even Alysanne could hear them, she smiled smugly as Jaime picked up the man’s sword before turning to the gate. Fishing his own cock out and pissing upon the corpse. Ashara snickered, Barristan grinned, while the Sand Snakes all chortled. “Say what you want about the lion cunt, your Grace,” Shireen Baratheon said to the chuckling Alysanne. “But you cannot deny he’s got style…”

 

As Jaime threw his hands up, basking in the boos and jeers of the battlements, Alysanne grinned lightly. “Yeah, he does.” Returning to her, she was surprised when the Kingsguard bowed his head, holding out the man’s sword. “Ser Jaime?”

 

“A gift for you, your Grace,” he said. “Valyrian Steel, only to be in the hands of a proper conqueror. I have no use for it, but when Meereen is at your feet, you will have earned such an honor.”

 

Picking up the blade, Alysanne waved the lightweight, rippled steel. Easily chopping at the air. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.” She blushed lightly. Could I be as strong as Daenerys? There was no reason why not while she held… Starfyre in her hands.

 

The blade was curved, an elegant length with a black sharkskin grip and ruby pommel - colors of her house. She didn’t recognize it from any Westerosi or Essosi models that she knew of, but the design was perfect for Dornish swordplay - nimble footwork and blazing slashes.

 

Sword still in hand, she walked towards the gate. Seen by all. “Citizens of Meereen!” she began in High Valyrian. “ Free and in bondage, I am Princess Alysanne Targaryen. Sister and aunt of the Breakers of Chains.” Alysanne walked ahead of the rows of unsullied, emphasizing her baby bump. “I may look like a frail woman, but the blood of Aegon the Conqueror runs through my veins, and by the gods I shall finish what my King and Queen started and bring fire and blood to any man that holds another in bondage.”

 

She leveled Starfyre at the catapults. “Let the lessons of Yunkai and Astapor be heeded! Fire!”

 

Each siege weapon unleashed its complement on the city, hundreds of people screaming and dashing out of the way… only for the barrels to smash against houses and cliffs. Thousands upon thousands of broken collars falling upon the streets.


ROBB STARK

 

“Gods, Sansa!” Arya shrieked - his little sister always had a lesser tolerance for irritation than Robb did, and a year to grow only seemed to make her worse. “Just put something on!”

 

The older Stark rolled her eyes. “You can’t just throw any old thing on, Arya.” Least she stopped calling her ‘Arya Horseface.’ Hells, the two of them were spending more time together than he and Jon had as children. The knowledge that their entire family except for Jon and Bran was wiped out in the Long Night was… sobering. “This isn’t water dancing practice with Syrio.”

 

“Sisters, please,” Robb interjected in spite of his better instincts. “Sansa, I’m sure one of your fine dresses would work.” Even with their mother gone, their father had given orders for all of them dressed in their best for the impending arrival of the Martells and Tyrells - and by extension, Sansa and Robb’s prospective intendeds. To say Robb wasn’t nervous would be a lie, but he kept it inside while Sansa had been out of it for days.

 

“No.” Sansa shook her head. “It has to show the right image. That I’m a kind and gentle lady… Also, under no circumstances, I’m a maiden to be conquered.”

 

Arya scoffed. “Who the hells are you and what have you done with my sister?” Honestly, she looked shocked and so did Robb. That wasn’t like Sansa at all. “Weren’t you the one who was dancing in your chambers thinking of the dashing golden Prince that would sweep you off your feet and take you south?” Sansa simply sat on the bed as Arya continued. “Well, the Martell boy may not be golden but he’s a Prince… and probably dashing as well. You should be ecstatic.”

 

Sansa shut her eyes. “None of you understand.”

 

Before Arya could say something blunt and insensitive again, Robb wrapped an arm around Sansa’s shoulder. Easing her close to him. “What don’t we understand, sweet sister?”

 

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “It’s my fault. My stupid dreams and naivite that destroyed our family in the past.” So that’s it… Even Arya, normally the aggressive fighter, was subdued at that, biting her lip. “From what Jon told me, I fawned over Joffrey even when he hurt you, Arya. I took his side and it caused Lady and Nymeria to be taken from us. I took his side over and over until Father was dead at his hand and we were exiled and brutalized and raped…” Tears welled in her eyes. “My stupid, stupid dreams of going south and becoming the queen ruined everything!”

 

A gentle cry from the bassinet drew their notice… as it did Ghost, guarding the precious figure of the dragonwolf babe with his life. Unless one of the other direwolves relieved him, he remained by the bassinet. Robb sighed and rose, picking up his nephew and rocking him. “Sansa, would you like to hold Rhaegon?” Babes always cheer us up. 

 

Silent, Sansa nevertheless scooped up her nephew greedily when Robb presented him to her. Holding Rhaegon close and comforting him - it was a heartening image. “He nearly raped me even now…” the redhead softly said, not disturbing the child. “Only Arya and Nymeria being there saved me… that was the person I dreamed of being with? What if Trystane Martell is the same and I am only blinded by my dreams?”

 

Robb sighed. “We all make mistakes, Sansa. Gods, we weren’t prepared to deal with the game of thrones, summer children we were. But Jon and Dany gave us a second chance and I’ll be damned if we don’t take it. You know now what you didn’t, so here’s no need to worry that you’ll do the same as you did in Jon’s past.” Nor me… I won’t cause my family to be butchered and my house to be destroyed - even if it costs me happiness.

 

Nodding, Arya hugged Sansa, careful not to bother Rhaegon. “Come on, Sans. I think I know the best dress for you.”

 

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “Are you giving me fashion advice?”

 

“Hey, I have eyes.” Robb chortled at that.

 

“RIDERS AT THE GATE!” An hour later, Robb tried to mask his own nerves as the first riders that passed through the main gate of Winterfell… also trying to ignore Arya’s obnoxious snickers at how Missandei - on call here as a member of Jon and Daenerys’ household, since Jon was a Prince of the North - still wasn’t acclimated to the cold.

 

“Poor Missy,” Sansa whispered in his ear, standing right beside him. His sister had basically taken over the translator’s wardrobe, enjoying herself in dressing the former slave as a northern highborn lady. “No matter the furs, she still can’t… oh, gods, there are the Martells.”

 

While the sigils were apparent from the first rider, all could tell the difference between a household guard and the actual Princes. The finest thick wool dyed burnt orange, the suave, handsome figure that had to be Oberyn Martell had the van. Curved sword jostling at his side as he regarded the people of Winterfell with a smug gaze. His reputation is legendary. Behind him was a younger man no less well dressed, similar to Oberyn in look and coloring except for a mop of curly hair rather than the older Martell’s shorter cowlicks. “Looks like that’s your intended, sister,” he whispered back to Sansa.

 

The redhead was silent, but Arya couldn’t help but butt in. “Not golden, but otherwise it’s like a dream come true for you.” Their father shushed them before Sansa could glare at her little sister.

 

Behind the Dornish guards was a wheelhouse, likely containing Oberyn’s paramour… Robb was proven right when the Prince dismounted and opened the door, releasing a swarthy, slender beauty with a large nose and mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “That woman takes no prisoners,” Robb thought out loud.

 

“I like her already,” Arya grinned behind him.

 

Approaching them, with an overdramatic flourish Oberyn bowed to his father, the Starks bowing as well once the rest of the Martell host did. “King Eddard Stark, it is an honor to meet the man that did what none of the Seven Kingdoms has been able to do… win their independence peacefully.”

 

Ned Stark smiled tightly. “Welcome to Winterfell, Prince Oberyn. You and your family are welcome to whatever hospitality we possess.” 

 

“Good, good… ah, if this isn’t the beautiful Princess Sansa?” Brazenly, he approached Sansa and pulled her in for a hug, kissing her cheeks. “You have your mother’s beauty, dearest Princess.”

 

Even in her modest dress and simple, straight hair, Sansa hadn’t changed so much as to not blush at the attention. “Thank you for your kind words, Prince Oberyn.” Robb wanted to chuckle, but his attention was drawn to Trystane, who eyed Sansa as if struck by lightning. Rather reverent rather than the smug hunger that Joffrey had. A good start, I think. Sansa’s gaze remained stubbornly angled away from him.

 

“While I would love to continue this, I believe my niece’s good-family has arrived.” Releasing his sister, Robb watched the Martells take the opposite side of his father, awaiting the arrival of the Tyrells.

 

If the Martells were iconoclasts in the spirit of Andal domination south of the Neck, the Tyrell bannermen were almost stereotypical representations of chivalric knighthood to the point of lampoon. Guards in full plate armor abounded, flower banners fluttering in the chilly wind. Troops of knights sworn to House Tyrell surrounded the two ornate wheelhouses - gold-inlaid wood carved in magnificent shapes that made Robb roll his eyes - all led by the Knight of Flowers. Loras Tyrell, helmless and allowing his flowing golden curls to blow freely as he rode ahead of his family. He was unmistakably beautiful, piercing blue eyes and slender… the body of a tourney knight.

 

Would he be able to fight in a proper battle? Robb had his doubts.

 

Unlike the Martells, the Highgarden Roses allowed their guards to open up the first wheelhouse. From within the portly form of Lord Mace Tyrell emerged, followed by his older but still attractive Hightower wife. “Gods, he looks like a pompous goose.”

 

“Shhh!” Ned hissed at Arya, while it was clear that Prince Oberyn heard, the way he snickered. Robb grinned too, for Arya was perfectly right. Both Tyrells carried themselves haughtily, dressed as southern lordlings in a vibrant green brighter than any grass or leaves seen in the North. Vivid colors adding to the level of pomposity that he expected though the slender Alerie Hightower could pull it off better than the ale-bellied Lord Mace.

 

“Is that the Queen of Thorns?” Sansa breathed next to him - of course she would have her pulse on the high society of the south. “That is. Be careful, she has the skills of a viper if mother is to be believed.” Led out by her son - batting him away with her cane - Lady Olenna wore a gown of muted green, her head swathed with wool and silk. While relying on her cane for support, this was no frail woman. Her eyes were sharp, regarding everything as if plotting…

 

In an instant, Robb found his gaze drifting to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was eased down out of the second wheelhouse by a guard, fur-lined cloak held in place by a woman with the look of the First Men… but Robb had no eyes but for this goddess. Like Daenerys or his own sister, she had long, waved tresses but of a color of seasoned chestnut. Her lips were thin and curved into a gentle smirk, figure snugly fitted into her wool dress underneath the cloak. “Robb… that’s Margaery Tyrell…” he faintly heard Sansa tell him. “Robb? Robb?”

 

“Shut up, Sans,” Arya giggled. “Looks like he got hit on the head.” 

 

While he would have berated them, when the crystal blue of her eyes met his own riverine blues, his heart almost stopped. Is this how Jon felt around Dany? How my aunt felt around Prince Rhaegar? Her smirk turned into a more warm smile, then leaning in to whisper something to her lady in waiting… but that gaze remained as it was. Piercing, hungry, covetous. 

 

His siblings made their own conclusions. “Looks like we don’t have to worry about him liking his bride.” Surprisingly, the comment came from Sansa.

 

Arya was just as snarky. “Now we just have you to deal with.”

 

Loras dismounted his horse next, taking the initiative to escort his grandmother. The Queen of Thorns walking right beside her son. Obviously taking charge of the Tyrell delegation to Winterfell. As the four of them approached the Starks, they met formalities with deep bows and curtsies. “Your Grace.” Since none of them were under the authority of the King in the North, bending the knee wasn’t on the agenda.

 

"Lady Olenna," Ned began, "Lord and Lady Tyrell, it is a great honor to have your family join us and the Martells at Winterfell..."

 

“Enough with this horseshit,” she mumbled, drawing her grandson’s mirth but her son and good-daughter’s mortification. “Yes, yes, I know about the formalities. But we have business so let’s save it for when all of it is done. Now can I get inside before my joints freeze?”

 

“Oh, I like her the most,” Arya grinned.

 

“She is something,” Sansa replied. Robb was still drawn to Lady Margaery, who hung back slightly… as if waiting for something.

 

Ned, for his part, offered a smile. “But of course. If your family and the Martells would follow me?” He gestured towards the keep, which their guests took him up on.

 

Following his father, Robb noticed Oberyn stop in front of the shivering Missandei. “Cold, my dear?” he asked.

 

Regarding him warily, the translator couldn’t ignore the Prince of Dorne. “Yes… not used to… the… cold.” Her teeth chattered.

 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the striking woman beside Oberyn answered… Ellaria, Tyene’s mother, if Robb remembered correctly. “A recent arrival from Essos?” she guessed.

 

Since her cover was as a Naathi slave in Lys that Dany bought, freed, and took with her, Missandei only nodded. “If you wish, we can find someplace warm for you.”

 

Ellaria grinned, eyeing her lasciviously. “Very warm.” From behind, a plainclothes Grey Worm clenched his fists.

 

“Is it just me, or does Grey Worm fancy Missandei?” Arya whispered to Robb. 

 

“No, it isn’t.” Robb stopped counting the number of times the Unsullied commander gave Missandei intense stares while in Essos… or here. While Missandei seemed oblivious, those that did notice found it both sweet and intriguing. Didn’t know he had it in him. Luckily for Grey Worm, Missandei politely declined. 

 

Suddenly Arya clapped him on the back. “Heads up. The future Lady Stark approaches.” When Robb’s eyes found Margaery Tyrell walking toward him, his sister giggled. “Good luck, big brother.” With that, she dashed off… probably to the forge with Gendry.

 

Demonic little pixie… Steeling himself, Robb turned to the woman that would be his bride. “Lady Margaery.” He bowed, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss upon the back of it. “I know my father has already said so, but from me - welcome to Winterfell.”

 

Beauty almost radiant, Margaery beamed at Robb’s charm. “You are a gentleman, Crown Prince Robb. I believe you would be popular at Highgarden, especially around tourney time.”

 

“You flatter me, my Lady.” While absolutely gorgeous, the Prince of the North prayed that this woman wouldn’t be a complete airhead as many southern highborn maidens - and northern highborn maidens - could be. He couldn’t take a life of giggling and pretty dresses. Like Jon, Robb valued a woman clever as well as comely. “May I be of service?”

 

“Yes, Prince Robb. Could you see me to my chambers?” she asked innocently. “It is a great honor to have royalty as an escort.” When he extended his arm, she looped hers around it… only for a large grey furball to persistently nudge on her legs. “Oh, who’s this?”

 

Robb groaned. “Grey Wind… back into the keep.” The direwolf stared back at him. Tongue swiping over his mouth before looking back at Margaery. “Naughty boy.”

 

But the Rose of Highgarden seemed entranced. “Is this your direwolf? I had heard rumors that they returned to the North…” Margaery ruffled Grey Wind’s fur, which the overgrown puppy loved. “He’s so precious.”

 

“That he is.” Jon had told him once that the direwolves were good judges of character, hence Ghost taking to Daenerys almost immediately while Lady and Nymeria absolutely hated Joffrey. If Grey Wind took to Margaery, then perhaps she would pass muster for him as well… suddenly, his eyes were drawn to another woman. Walking from the Tyrell wagons with a sack thrown over her shoulder. While Margaery took his breath away, this girl gave her steep competition.

 

Still petting Grey Wind, the Tyrell beauty waved her over. “Come here!” She turned to Robb. “Prince Robb, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Talisa. Talisa Maegyr from Volantis.”

 

Talisa curtseyed, eyes looking over him… appreciatively. “It is the honor to meet you, my Prince.”

 

Stiffening, Robb would recognize that name anywhere. Oh fuck...


GENDRY WATERS

“So… Gendry? That is your name, if I’m not mistaken?” asked the Hand of the King in the North to the young, muscular blacksmith in Winterfell’s forge.

 

Seated on a wooden bench off to the side of the equipment scattered about, Gendry scowled in mild irritation at Tyrion Lannister’s playing dumb. His Grace’s bastard son had requested of him perhaps the most important job that a blacksmith beyond Qohor could have - the forging of Valyrian steel from scratch. He’d managed to recast the Stark ancestral greatsword into two longswords, but this was a task with no precedent in all the Seven Kingdoms.

 

“Yes, milord,” Gendry said through tight lips. “I am Gendry.”

 

The Imp smirked. “Good, just making sure. I brought you the translations you requested of that dusty old book that allegedly contains the secret to forging Valyrian steel.” He handed over a small stack of papers with the High Valyrian of the tome transcribed into the Common Tongue. “Thank the gods for that little green book. Without that, I’d never have gotten past the first page!”

 

Hopping down from the bench, Tyrion left the forge bidding the young smith good luck. Gendry just sighed in relief that the dwarf was out of sight and out of mind. When Jon Snow had approached him about making two brand new Valyrian steel longswords for him, he had suggested that Tyrion could help with deciphering the ancient words of the tome that he claimed held the lost secret of forging the prized metal. His own wife, Danylle, who was fluent in the Lyseni variant of Low Valyrian, already translated the basic words in the text.

 

Gendry took his advice and asked King Stark’s Hand. Tyrion translated the rest of the Valyrian smithing tome in two days with the help of a small green Valyrian-Common Tongue dictionary.

 

Now that the formula is ready, on to the forging itself. He picked up the papers lying on the table and parsed the lines.

 

According to legend, Valyrian steel was spell-forged in dragonfire, with fire magic lost since the Doom swallowed up Old Valyria. Now, looking over the instructions, Gendry ran his finger down the page outlining the steps needed to be followed to craft the swords requested by Ned Stark’s son. As far as he could tell, the formula was deceptively simple. That, he mused, might have been why the secret was ‘lost.’ Perhaps people expected such a convoluted, complicated recipe that they ignored the actual one when they found it.

 

At that moment, Mikken walked in. In his hands was a large chunk of iron that he’d carved out of the falling star that morning in the small yard just out behind the forge.

 

“Good morning, Gendry,” the old smith smiled as he put the iron hunk down on the table. “Are we ready to begin?”

 

“Yes, Mikken. We are actually going to try what has not been done for thousands of years - forge Valyrian steel from scratch,” Gendry replied with a wry grin.

 

“Jon Snow placed this order, right?” Mikken moved around to the furnace to light the fire inside it. “I am intrigued by his sudden interest in the enchanted metal. He always struck me as one more interested in wielding swords than making them.”

 

“Well, I’m glad he’s interested, otherwise I’d still be back in Flea Bottom.”

 

The two blacksmiths laughed heartily.

 

“Let’s get to work.”

 

The first step was the same as with forging anything else - heat the iron in the furnace until it melted. Mikken chiseled off a piece of the iron and put it in a steel ladle. Then with a pair of tongs, he lifted the cup-shaped container and put it inside the roaring furnace. When the iron was heated to molten hot, he removed the ladle from the furnace and placed it on an anvil.

 

Gendry inhaled deeply and read the next instructions on his papers very carefully. There was a warning written that improper execution of the spells could result in spontaneous combustion. Mikken watched him intently, keeping the pressure on. Sweating from the heat and nerves, he read the spell over and over again. He couldn’t be too careful with pronouncing the words correctly.

 

“What are you doing?” Arya piped up, having walked into the forge unannounced.

 

Gendry nearly jumped. “Seven Hells, Arry! Don’t startle me like that!”

 

The Wild Wolf merely rolled her eyes. “What are you doing?” She asked again. “It looks like something important given that you’re reading. I’ve never seen you read anything before.”

 

Ignoring the jest, Gendry replied, “Making Valyrian steel swords for your brother, Jon Snow.”

 

Arya looked to object, but then coughed. “Didn’t you already make two for my father and uncle?”

 

“I merely recast your father’s sword into new ones. Your brother requested that I make him a pair from scratch.”

 

“Brand-new Valyrian steel?” Arya breathed. “I’ve got to see this!” She hopped up on a stool off to the side to watch.

 

Picking up a knife from his workbench, Gendry cut his palm and bled into the ladle. A blood sacrifice was needed for the magic to take full effect. Clearing his throat, he chanted the first lines of the spell three times.

 

“Perzys letagon ānogar… ”

“Anogar letagon perzys… ”

 

“Perzys letagon ānogar… ”

“Anogar letagon perzys… ”

 

“Perzys letagon ānogar… ”

“Anogar letagon perzys… ”

 

As he recited the spell, the molten metal in the ladle shifted color from a bright orange to a blinding white to a rainbow swirl before fading back to white. Mikken’s eyes widened in amazement. Gendry heard the old smith whisper words of awe under his breath at the rebirth of the fabled Valyrian steel.

 

“Mikken, get the molds for the metal ready,” Gendry ordered.

 

Mikken pulled out the cast iron longsword molds and set them on the workbench. The molds happened to be the same ones they used to recast Ice into Frost and Winter Storm. Using his tongs, Gendry poured the molten steel into the molds.

 

“Hey, bull,” Arya asked. “I’ve been wondering… why does Valyrian steel have those rippling wave patterns on it? As far as I know, it’s not for artistic purposes.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Gendry agreed. “The ripples are an indication that the steel has been folded back on itself many thousands of times. That’s why Valyrian steel is so much stronger than castle-forged steel. It’s also why Valyrian steel is impossible to make without the necessary magic spells - folding the metal back on itself manually that many times is very impractical.”

 

“So, the spells do it for you instantly?” Arya inquired, leaning forward on the stool.

 

“In a sense, yes.” Gendry turned back to the sword molds, which were hissing from the intense heat of the molten steel nestled in them. Next was a rhythmic chant until the longswords were solidified enough to be picked up. Moving to the next spells on his papers, he refreshed his memory before moving to stand in front of the molds.

 

Slightly self-conscious with Arya watching him, Gendry moved his arms in a complex set of motions that was both rigid and fluid. Finishing with his arms facing palm-down over the molds, he locked his eyes on the swords and chanted.

 

“Lurugon naenie kostōba…” 

“Lurugon naenie ōños…” 

“Lurugon naenie qana…” 

 

After five minutes of chanting, the steel of the blades became dark as smoke, revealing bright white rippling waves etched along their length. Mikken and Arya clapped in appreciation of Gendry’s success. Modestly, he shrugged and went onto the finishing stages of his work.

 

Putting on a heavy pair of leather gloves, he gingerly took hold of one sword’s hilt and brought it over to an anvil. With a hammer, he pounded down the length of the blade on one side, then turned it over and did the same on the other. Each time the hammer made contact, the part of the rippling patterns it touched faded until dull. Finally he plunged the still-hot blade into the water-filled slack tub and said the final spell - “Korzion.”

 

Gendry passed the finished longsword to Mikken, who took it as if accepting a crown of gold. The first new Valyrian steel anything to have been made since the Doom. Arya jumped off her stool to get a closer look at Winterfell’s greatest achievement yet. Gendry, meanwhile, repeated the process for the other longsword still in its mold.

 

“Jon requested that you use these pommel heads,” Mikken said, producing a silver direwolf’s head and a golden dragon’s head.

 

“I’ll let you do the honors, Mikken,” Gendry said.

 

Smiling graciously, the old smith securely attached the intricately carved heads to the bottom of the hilts. Standing back to admire their work, Gendry and Mikken marveled over the two gleaming Valyrian steel longswords, their smoky blades razor sharp and rippling with waves. The roaring dragon head had blood-red ruby eyes while the snarling wolf head possessed ice-blue sapphires.

 

Arya was bursting with excitement. “Jon will love this! Oh, he will! All thanks to both of you!”

 

Gendry only breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the gods he didn’t burn himself to a crisp!


OBERYN MARTELL

 

“Finally,” muttered the elderly yet still sharp Olenna Tyrell as she seated herself at the table in the king’s solar of Winterfell. “A warm lodging. The wheelhouse did absolutely nothing to ward off the insufferable cold.” The Queen of Thorns leaned her polished cane against the table and drew in a deep breath of the warm air of the castle.

 

Smirking from his chair across from her, Tyrion Lannister clicked his tongue. “Winterfell is built over a chain of hot springs. You’re lucky that it is, otherwise you’d still be freezing your toes off.”

 

Olenna waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, pish. It is no coincidence that the Kings of Winter set up shop in this spot. When claiming the largest kingdom in Westeros, you must indulge your status accordingly.”

 

The Red Viper smiled inwardly as the two traded jests and parried jabs between themselves. It was almost as entertaining to watch Olenna talk as it was to talk to her. Leaning back in his chair, he coughed loudly to get their attention.

 

“So, Tyrion. I heard Ned Stark made you his Hand. How did that come about? House Lannister and House Stark aren’t exactly on the best of terms. If what I suspect of the alpha wolf is true, both families will soon be tearing at the other’s throats.”

 

“Well, that’s a long story,” Tyrion replied. “But in short, my appointment was both out of recognition of my political aptitude and gratitude for my testimony as to my repulsive nephew’s treatment of His Grace’s daughters.”

 

Oberyn’s face darkened. The near rape of Sansa Stark and attempted cutting down of Arya Stark reminded him only too well of what befell his sister Elia and her children. The Baratheons apparently were not very different from the bloody Lannisters.

 

Olenna tutted disapprovingly. “Well, I hate to be disappointed to know Joffrey Baratheon has not received his just desserts, but he still remains Crown Prince of the Six Kingdoms, hard as that is to swallow.”

 

Oberyn was surprised then to watch the Imp collapse into a raucous fit of laughter. Raising an eyebrow, he shook his head in bafflement. “I fail to see how the situation amuses you so dramatically, my lord. Rape and murder are not laughing matters. I have fought and slain many men and women in Essos, yet I have not stooped so low.”

 

A nod came in agreement from Olenna. “Yes, indeed. I do hope that whatever reason is the cause of your display of impropriety, it is a good one.” She folded her wrinkled hands on the table expectantly.

 

A tear was wiped away from his eyes as the Lannister dwarf heaved and coughed to a halting stop. His face was a mix of glee and smugness. “Oh, my dear Queen of Thorns, you have no idea how wrong you are. In fact, every word you said is wrong.”

 

Narrowed eyes flung thorns in his direction. “You have a slippery tongue that gets ahead of you Tyrion Lannister. There is hardly anything that gets past me if I can help it.”

 

“Oh, but you can’t in this case,” Tyrion smirked. “Joffrey is no longer Crown Prince, nor is he a prince any longer. He’s been shipped off to the Night’s Watch where his talents will serve the Realm more appropriately.”

 

Oberyn let out a laugh of his own and slapped the table. Maybe there was justice to be found in this world after all. If there was for Sansa and Arya, it wasn’t too much of a stretch there could be for Elia and her children.

 

Olenna, meanwhile, was at a momentary loss for words. “Well… that’s all good and done then for that blond-haired boy. He’d likely have been the next Aegon the Unworthy if he’d ever been coronated.”

 

“I’d see him more as the Mad King born anew,” scoffed Oberyn. “About him being a Baratheon, is that wrong as well?”

 

“Definitely. I myself have heard the admission of his true parentage by his true parents,” Tyrion said meaningfully. He watched his listeners lean in to better hear him. “Joffrey and his siblings are the bastard children of my dear sister and brother.”

 

Floored by the revelation, the more Oberyn thought of all the times he’d seen Robert’s children... They always did look like Lannisters . He could tell nothing about them that resembled a hint of their ‘father.’

 

The Queen of Thorns took the news more in stride. “Falseborn then, eh? Well, this does have precedent. Daeron the Good was rumored to have been the bastard of Queen Naerys and her Kingsguard brother Aemon the Dragonknight. Jaime and Cersei do fit such profiles. Joffrey, however, is anything but good.”

 

“I have no love for your brother, Tyrion,” Oberyn sighed. “Considering his failure to protect my sister and her children. But I see this not as a crime of malice but merely a negligent failure. Therefore I do offer my condolences as to his fate. I heard that he and Barristan Selmy burned to death in the White Sword Tower.”

 

“Another thing wrong,” Tyrion responded wryly. “My brother is indeed alive. He sent me a raven telling me he was leaving Westeros and would reunite with me in the North if he can. Ser Barristan is with him as well.”

 

“How do you know so much of what we’re so late on knowing ourselves?” Oberyn remarked, amused at the dwarf’s trove of secrets.

 

“I drink and I know things,” Tyrion quipped. “It’s self-explanatory.” Olenna merely tapped her cane on the wooden floor, pursing her lips.

 

As the Red Viper went to inquire about the two Kingsguards’ miraculous survival, the door to the solar opened and the King in the North stepped inside. “Forgive my tardiness, Prince Oberyn, Lady Olenna. I was seeing your nephew, and your son and gooddaughter to their chambers.”

 

“And not my granddaughter?” Oberyn heard his niece’s good-grandmother ask. “Is she supposed to wander around?”

 

A tiny grin formed on Ned’s face - completely opposite of the dour stick up his ass that Oberyn had on good authority assumed Eddard Stark was. “It seems as if my son and heir has taken charge of finding her suitable quarters.” That placated Olenna, leaning back with a… satisfied look about her. She has raised that girl well. “Your paramour, on the other hand Prince Oberyn, was seen chatting up several kitchen maids. Looked rather at home from my view.”

 

Ah, so it begins. With Ellaria, he would never have an empty bedchamber for the rest of his days. “She was born a bastard… makes her humbler than the average highborn. I would assume your own baseborn son would know that.” Oberyn watched Ned stiffen as he sat… making the Prince inwardly grin. So he is the cause of all of this. Doran was right. From Olenna’s raised brow, she noticed it as well, though she didn’t have the same inside information. “That does give me a question, your Grace.”

 

Leaning back in his chair, Ned poured himself a cup of chilled water. “So, down to business, I see. None of that customary southern horseshit… pardon my Valyrian.”

 

“We’re not some blushing maidens that would faint at the sight of a bare chest,” Olenna huffed. “Did you think I left my son behind to merely exchange pleasantries. Let’s get on with it.” Deciding to let the Queen of Thorns take over for now, Oberyn folded his arms and waited. “I’ve been seeing something amiss since I saw your son here. Now while I’m glad my Margaery can meet her betrothed, I did wonder where your bastard was?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean, Lady Tyrell.”

 

She narrowed her wrinkled eyes. “Two sons of the new King in the North, one the famous stain on Eddard Stark’s honor.” Oberyn found Ned’s glower only deepened at that. Normal level of shame… or something else entirely? How far had the King in the North gone to assist his nephew take the throne? His daughters may have gained access to Essos specifically, but as for updates on the North there wasn’t a single word. “They supposedly disappear north of the Wall so the King goes to get them personally… but now we find the King and his heir, but not his bastard. Why is that?”

 

Before Ned or Tyrion could respond, Oberyn opened his mouth. “Why it’s very simple, Lady Olenna. It seems King Eddard has deceived us.”

 

Ned paled while Tyrion peered at him. “And why would you say that?” asked the Imp.

 

You told Tyrion Lannister before me? Either he really hates his family or you’re very stupid. “Allow me to enlighten our Tyrell friend, your Grace. It largely concerns the fact that your bastard son is not your son.”

 

If Ned had been surprised before, the way he nearly choked on his water put this on a whole new level. “Prince Oberyn…”

 

“You seem to forget who my sibling was, King Eddard. I may be humiliated that I didn’t put it together earlier, but what would it have gained, then?”

 

“Can someone tell me what in seven hells is going on?” Olenna asked, annoyed.

 

“Well,” Tyrion mused. “The secret’s already out. I wouldn’t think the Queen of Thorns would blab considering how far she’s come already. Jon Snow is… or was in Essos. He has married Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

Knotting her brows, Olenna’s mind looked to be whirring. “Married to Daenerys… the dragons I’ve heard about…” Suddenly, her eyes widened. Barely breathing from shock. “That means he’s…”

 

Ned nodded. “Aye. My son Jon is really Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar and my sister Lyanna. Our independence, preparations of war… efforts at marriage alliances…”

 

“All to secure a proper base of strength for the coming Targaryen Restoration…” Oberyn smacked his thigh, laughing. “You give Tywin Lannister and my brother a run for their coin, your Grace. Master strategist.”

 

“It’s Jon that’s the strategist, Prince Oberyn. I try my best to keep up.” Sensing Olenna was still confused, the King in the North straightened in his chair. “Allow me to start from the beginning…”


LYSA ARRYN

 

My Lady Lysa,

 

I am pleased to hear that you agreed to foster young Robin with your sister’s family in Winterfell. However, as I previously notified you, Ned Stark has conspired with the Targaryen pretenders to usurp House Baratheon’s fair rule of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. I anticipate that your son will be used as a bargaining chip to get the Vale to support such treason. Regardless of whether he returns to you before Robert invades the North - a prospect I highly doubt - we must stand behind our king when he calls the banners.

 

I will be coming to the Eyrie within a moon turn to help you ready the Knights of the Vale for the wars to come.

 

Yours, Petyr

 

Lysa Arryn clenched the letter sent to her by her dear Petyr in her hand. She couldn’t care less about the Fat King or whatever her sister’s husband was up to with the Targaryens. All she wanted was her Sweet Robin back home where he belonged - safe and sound.

 

The main hall of the Eyrie, pristine and smooth from the marble that was carved out of the Giant’s Lance to form the castle, felt empty and hollow without her son. She never should have agreed to send him up to Winterfell - heck, she never should have gone along with Petyr’s plan to use him to win the Iron Throne. She sighed and tore at her hair. The idea of her son as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was just too good to pass up, and Petyr had admonished her for hesitating to agree with him.

 

“Would you settle for Robin to remain a mere lord? Or would you like him to be something more?” He had asked her.

 

Yes, she did want more for her son. More for him would mean more for herself. After all, her insufferably lucky sister got everything she hadn’t: the loving marriage, the devoted husband, the large family, and to rub salt in the wound - the queenship of a kingdom! That was why she didn’t bat an eye when Petyr suggested that she poison her own husband as part of his plan. Jon Arryn spent more time with Robert’s Small Council than he did with her.

 

A ghost of a smirk appeared on her lips. So ironic that his son and heir was not of his seed but her true love’s - Petyr.

 

“My lady,” said Maester Faroe. He shuffled into the hall nervously with a wrapped scroll in hand. The poor man had a dreadful fear of the Moon Door. He could barely walk past it without breaking into a cold sweat. Lysa liked that - he’d think twice before crossing her or Sweet Robin.

 

“Another raven arrive, Maester?” She asked.

 

“Yes.” He handed the scroll in his hand over to her and bowed before he left her.

 

Not bothering to check the sigil on the seal, she broke it open and read the contents.

 

Lady Lysa Arryn,

 

I am writing to inform you that Robin’s fostering with the Starks has ended. The boy is very homesick and asks for you every day. Also, the cold of the North does not bode well for his health. As of this letter’s delivery, we have left Winterfell and are returning to the Vale. We should arrive in a fortnight if the weather remains fair.

 

Yohn Royce, Lord of Runestone

 

Lysa allowed herself a huge smile as she finished reading the good news from her most trusted lord. Sweet Robin would come home to where he belonged, and once Petyr arrived at the Eyrie, they would have a serious talk about not putting her son’s life in harm’s way again. He’d understand. He’d always loved her. Nothing would go wrong. Nothing at all.

 

She stood up from her seat upon the high dais. Her servants would draw her a bath. From the stress over her son, she needed to soak and relax.

Notes:

CastleColin: The gang’s all here. What more can be said? If you couldn’t guess, the Empire tribute is Alysanne’s sword which is the exact same one that Daenerys wielded - Saracen.

Longclaw: Well... Robb's got himself an interesting little love triangle set up, lol.

Chapter 45: Reunions and Revelations

Summary:

1) Aerys receives a vision as he digests his gains.
2) Margaery spends some quality time with her betrothed.
3) A conspiracy is afoot in the Citadel.
4) Daenerys finally meets her great-uncle.
5) Theon and Jon share some wise words as a threat emerges.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi all. We didn't forget about this. We just hit a... conceptual roadblock for a bit but things are good now.

CastleColin: Hi everyone, we’re back! Very sorry about the long wait. We got preoccupied with other things. Anyways, enjoy the new chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Aerys Targaryen 

 

“Is there a problem?” Aerys demanded as he strode up to a quarrel between two of his sellsword captains. “If there is, just say the word and I’ll settle it for you.” He thumbed the pommel of Blackfyre to make his point.

 

A cocky yet nervous grin flashed at him. “No, your Grace,” replied Daario, rubbing the back of his head. “Just a little spat over this purse of gold here.” He held up a small leather pouch bulging with the coins inside.

 

A hand quick as a viper snatched it from him. Ser Bronn of Nowhere snorted in annoyance. “A little spat, you call it? This loot was in my stash and you fingered it. When I demanded you hand it over, you pulled out those obscene knives.”

 

“Oh, these?” Daario raised an eyebrow. “They’re Myrish. Want a pair of your own?” Hanging on his belt were two stilettos with golden hilts shaped like naked wanton women. The Captain of the Second Sons rubbed their breasts. “Always have a woman with you even when you don’t.”

 

As Bronn went to retort, Aerys cut in… literally. Blackfyre swung around in an arc so fast that neither captain noticed… until the coins spilled out of the purse onto the cobblestone ground beneath them.

 

Both men stood gaping as the coins clattered beneath them. Aerys sheathed Blackfyre and yanked the pouch out of Bronn’s grasp. “Next time I catch you two squabbling over plunder, your contracts are terminated. I won’t have my army fighting amongst itself when there’s greater glory to be won than this.” He waved the sliced purse in front of their faces.

 

Aerys glared at Bronn, who was perspiring heavily, and Daario, whose normally smug face melted away. “Do I make myself clear?” Two quick nods were given in response. “Then back to work, both of you.” He stormed off with not a second glance in their direction. Those arrogant, self-assured pricks are really starting to stick in my craw.

 

Pentos had been transformed into a sprawling army camp. Aerys’ massive sellsword army was housed in the various manses formerly belonging to the magisters of the city. Others were helping themselves to drinks and whores in the various taverns and brothels scattered about. He himself was heading to the manse previously occupied by the now immolated Illyrio Mopatis. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. It felt so good for that portly cheesemonger to get his comeuppance. One should know that you do not sell a dragon off like chattel.

 

Thinking back to Daario and Bronn, his scowl returned with a vengeance. While he was tolerant of the Westerosi captain - at least that one knew manners - the Tyroshi sellsword was infuriating at times. How in the world that Daenerys bedded that slick man, he hadn’t the faintest idea. Actually, he did have a memory, but he refused to linger on it. There are things about him not worth visiting.  

 

As Aerys walked into the altrium of Illyrio’s manse, he saw Rhaelyx curled up around the fountain, snoozing away. The rust-shaded dragon snorted out puffs of smoke through her nostrils with each breath. The pretender king grinned wickedly. He hoped his dragon was dreaming of burning men. He always felt in harmony with her when they both were seeing red and smelling blood.

 

Seeing Rhaelyx, however, reminded him of the other dragon he loved dearly, and who had abandoned him. His knuckles turned white as his fists clenched - his love for Alysanne mixing with a liberal dose of hate at her unfaithfulness. No matter, my Dragonstar will shine for me once again. As for her mother, well… parting is such sweet sorrow.

 

“My King,” Jon Connington addressed, emerging from inside the manse. The Hand of the King carried a flagon of wine in one hand and a slice of bread in the other. He offered the flagon to Aerys with a slightly trembling hand. “There are matters that we must discuss.”

 

Gulping down half the wine in one swig, Aerys wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is to discuss, Connington? I told you. Everything is going according to plan. Volantis is a smoldering ruin. Pentos and its ships are ours. Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys are next, and more importantly their fleets. By then, the Seven Kingdoms should be ripe for the taking. My bastard nephew and misguided twin will have initiated hostilities against the Usurper by then.”

 

He noticed a shadow fall over his Hand at the mention of Robert Baratheon. Connington still blamed himself for Rhaegar’s death because of his failure to kill the Swollen Stag at the Battle of the Bells. Normally hard-hearted, Aerys let a trace of sympathy bleed out. The Griffin’s disgrace would be avenged soon enough.

 

Stuffing his bread into his mouth whole, Connington chewed and swallowed hard. “I am referring to some of your captains, your Grace. They seem… unreliable.”

 

Aerys rolled his eyes. “Hiring them was your idea, remember?”

 

“Yes, but after seeing Daario and Bronn constantly snipe at each other since contracting them, I do not trust them to fight for you as much as fight against each other.”

 

“I took care of that just awhile ago, Griff. Point them at an enemy and they’ll do fine. Is there anything I haven’t yet?”

 

Connington pursed his lips. “Alyssa Snow… Can she really be trusted? She is a northerner and the company she leads was formed by men who rejected Torrhen Stark’s submission to Aegon the Conqueror.”

 

For once, Aerys indulged in truly merry laughter. “So stiff and stuck in the past you are, Lord Hand. What about the Golden Company? Bittersteel founded it to seat a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne, and here they are backing a Targaryen.”

 

“Yes, but...”

 

“Red or black - a dragon is still a dragon,” Aerys said matter-of-factly. “Besides, the Golden Company do not call themselves a ‘brotherhood of exiles’ without reason.” He waved his hand at a passing group of men-at-arms. “They all wish to return home to Westeros. Who they support matters little so long as who they support can fulfill their hopes.”

 

Connington sighed. “Well then, I trust your judgement, your Grace.”

 

“Never doubt a dragon, Jon Connington,” Aerys said sharply.

 

A sudden low growl drew the two men’s attention to Rhaelyx, who had awoken from her slumber and was lazily uncoiling from around the fountain in the center of the altrium. Aerys walked over to her and gently put a hand on her snout. The great beast purred in response and yawned, flashing her razor-edged teeth.

 

Aerys turned to Connington. “She’s hungry, Lord Hand. Got any meat worth her size?”

 

“Not that I know of, your Grace.” Connington paled at how Rhaelyx eyed him hungrily, her tongue licking at the lips of her jaws. “What does she eat, anyways?”

 

“Whatever she wants,” Aerys shrugged. A brief moment passed before a thought struck him. “What about that little bird of the Spider? The one you caught in Volantis and have been hauling with us ever since.”

 

“You mean Aran, your Grace?” Connington blinked. “He’s inside the manse under armed guard. You don’t mean… ?” His eyes widened in shock. “By the gods, you’re not really...”

 

“That little brat is an extra useless mouth to feed,” Aerys scoffed. “He’s served whatever meagre purpose you scraped up for him, Griff. This is his last service to the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms - dinner.”

 

As Connington went to protest, Aerys held up his hand. “You have a soft spot in your heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.” Tyrion Lannister always had a good wit about him. Nevertheless, that dwarf would be a snack for Rhaelyx when he got his hands on him. “Let’s be perfectly cold-blooded about this, Griff. That boy has seen all he needs to know about us to report back to Varys on all the Usurper needs to stop us. That I can not and will not allow. His family will just have to make do with mourning and moving on.”

 

“Now,” Aerys snapped his fingers. “Bring him out.”

 

Not needing to be ordered twice, the former Lord of Griffin’s Roost disappeared into the manse and returned mere minutes later with the scrawny young spy.

 

Aran looked at Aerys warily. He had heard enough of the screams of the condemned to know to keep his mouth shut around the dragonlord. The boy was tight-lipped and very still. Iron manacles were chained around his wrists and ankles.

 

“Here you are, lad,” Aerys said cheerfully, putting on a veneer of friendliness. “Drink up and drink hearty.” He thrust the half-full flagon of wine into the boy’s unwelcoming hands.

 

Aran hesitated. He brought the opening of the flagon to his nose and took a whiff. Looking back at Aerys, he kept his mouth shut.

 

“Come on, lad. The wine is not poisoned. You have the King’s word,” Aerys said. He grabbed the wine from the boy and took a gulp. Swallowing for dramatic effect, he thrust the liquor back into the boy’s grasp.

 

Aran took a cautious sip… and then another.

 

Smiling at the boy, Aerys was amused at how oblivious Aran was to his impending fate. So preoccupied was the lad on him that he failed to notice Rhaelyx, who was slowly and quietly creeping up from behind.

 

“Want to know something special about wine, Aran? Or about liquor in general?” He asked, keeping the boy’s attention squarely on him.

 

The messy-haired youth slowly nodded.

 

“Liquor is often called the ‘last drink before you die,’ Aerys said, glancing up to see Rhaelyx licking her chops and crouching low to the ground.

 

Aran furrowed his brow in confusion. He doesn’t understand… pity. “The reason being is that it’s the last thing drank… by the condemned.” Aerys grinned and spun the boy around.

 

Aran’s eyes widened in horror and he let out shrill scream as Rhaelyx roared and lunged with teeth bared. The dragon snatched him where he stood and chomped down on his body. The crunching of bones soon drowned out the boy’s fading cries.

 

Connington gaped in horror and retched at such a visceral sight. Aerys merely picked up the flagon that Aran dropped and took a swig. Fire and Blood. Indeed, this was what it meant to be a Targaryen. Dragons did not plant trees, they burned them.

 

Rhaelyx finished grinding Aran's corpse in her mouth and spat out the manacles. Swallowing her meal, she settled down again around the fountain to rest. On the floor of the altrium, the blood-stained iron chains reflected the blazing sun.

 

“You have my leave to go, Connington,” Aerys said nonchalantly. He shoved the now empty flagon and the confiscated half-empty coin purse into his Hand’s hands. “Get yourself another drink.”

 

“Yes, your Grace,” Connington managed to say. He staggered to the gate of the altrium and headed out into the streets. What a spineless excuse of a lord. And to think my father chose him as his Hand for someone vigorous and young. As with the sellswords, he served his purpose. Shaking his head and lightly snickering, Aerys settled himself down next to Rhaelyx’s head in the crook of her neck. “I should make you my Hand,” he japed. Sighing heavily, he patted her affectionately. “You’re the only dragon I have now, my dear. The only one who truly understands me. You think that was the first time anyone saw blood spilled?”

 

The dragon lightly snorted. “That’s what I figured.”

 

Aerys yawned and stretched his arms. He suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue. Resting his head against Rhaelyx’s armored neck, he slowly closed his eyes. Just a nap… just a nap… just… a… nap… 

 

A biting wind stung his face. The baking heat of Essos had turned upside down into a frigid cold. Aerys struggled to open his eyes. Something was frozen over them. When he at last tore away the sheen of ice over his eyelids, he gasped in astonishment.

 

He was standing in a huge valley nestled between two mountain peaks. One end was blocked by an avalanche of snow. The other end was behind him and open to the tundra beyond. What was in front of him made his blood freeze.

 

Corpses of men and beast stood in immaculate row upon row, their eyes blank and blue. Humans, giants, shadowcats, direwolves, and many more faced him, yet remained still as icicles. Thousands of them. All ready to sweep away any living being they caught.

 

“Impressive, isn’t it?” asked a rough, grating voice.

 

Aerys turned to his left to see his nemesis, the Ice King, ride up to him on the back of a giant ice spider. The creature’s eight gangly, barbed legs skittered along as it carried the former Jon Targaryen up to him. The Ice King leapt off its back and landed gracefully on the snow-blanketed earth.

 

“One dragon to another,” it remarked. Cold blue eyes stared into his intense violet ones. “The Army of the Dead. Only a fraction that you see and yet larger than the band of sellswords you parade about.”

 

“I know exactly what you are,” Aerys growled. “Doesn’t matter how many corpses you raise. I will destroy you, as is my destiny. Showing me this will not intimidate me.”

 

The Ice King shrugged. “Suit yourself. I am just giving you fair warning of what you are going up against.” His lip curled upward in a sly smirk. “And what you’re kin are very soon.”

 

“What in the name of the Seven are you talking about? Of course my blasted nephew and sweet sister are going to fight you. He will fail her again. I will kill him before he dooms this world to your evil.”

 

"They are already at the gates of my domain, Aerys Targaryen. Just on the other side of the Wall. A family reunion is in order. I’m sure you’d like to join us.”

 

Aerys stumbled back. No, not now. His plans would be ruined if Daenerys fell to her fallen husband before he got to her.

 

Noticing his panicked expression, the Ice King chuckled. “Not as tough as you think you are, uncle. Well, go on. Save her. Save her before I do.”

 

The White Walker waved his hand and beyond the Wall faded to black.

 

Sputtering and choking, Aerys sat bolt upright. His heart was racing and his chest was heaving. He had seen it. He had seen what he must face. But first, there was another of his nephew that he’d have to take care of first.

 

Looking over his shoulder at Rhaelyx, still peacefully sleeping, his eyes narrowed and he withdrew Blackfyre. Staring at the rippled Valyrian steel, he resolved to finish both of his nephews once and for all… whatever it took.


Margaery Tyrell

 

“Come in,” Margaery said cheerily, glancing through the looking glass at how Melissa was styling her hair. Rather than the elaborate designs that were so fashionable in the Reach, the Riverlander instead brushed it into a simple half-bun with streams of the chestnut brown curls flowing down the back of her neck and on either side of her face. It was beautiful, and Margaery was sure that Robb would enjoy watching it.

 

The door opened to reveal her grandmother - the thunking of the cane on the wood floor would have easily given it away. “She looks beautiful, Lady Blackwood, but please give us a moment.” Curtseying, Melissa gave one last smile for Margaery before leaving the two Tyrells in peace. “Good to see you preparing for your man.”

 

Margaery beamed. “Prince Robb seems like a wonderful man.”

 

“That might be so, but irrelevant at the moment.” While the great Olenna Tyrell had a passionate and fruitful relationship with Luthor Tyrell, everyone knew that affections came second to her cunning political strategy. “Our family has gotten along well with the Starks so far - especially your brother.” Loras was enjoying the chance to practice his sword play against Northerners, and had fought about half the guards in Winterfell in the last week. “But, there are matters that make it vital we secure this alliance.”

 

Quirking her brow, the Rose of Highgarden was slightly confused. “I understand, grandmother…”

 

Only to be silenced by a raised hand. “No, you don’t. None of us do… hells, even I barely understand…” She shook her head. “Garlan may be able to use his cock to tame his Martell viper for now, but the Starks will be harder to win over. You need to show Crown Prince Robb that you are as smart as you are beautiful. Make him love you, not just lust after you.” Seeming to sense a slight glassing over in Margaery’s eyes, her grandmother sighed. “You’ve fallen for him already.”

 

Biting her lip, Margaery nodded. “I don’t know how far yet, but I fancy him quite a lot.” While aloof in a way, Prince Robb was always by her side at formal functions, and spending time with her at informal ones as well - riding in the Wolfswood and sneaking a few chaste kisses had been her favorite by far. Besides his sisters, the only time he had ever been with another woman alone was when he sprained his ankle sparring and was tended to by Talisa…

 

“Nevertheless, you have to be smart about this. Never do anything to insult him or think you weak and airy… and never say anything bad about his bastard brother.”

 

“Of course…” Margaery winced as Olenna grabbed her wrists hard.

 

Her green eyes were wide. “Do not insult his bastard brother, do you understand me?”

 

Even an hour later, as she wandered the halls humming a song, Margaery was still confused at why her grandmother was insistent on that. I would never intentionally insult Robb’s brother… even if he is a bastard. Gossip among the ladies of the Reach was biting sometimes, but she herself shied away from the intense pious judgement of many - loving her brother, his… predilections and all really gave her an open mind about many things.

 

“Get back here, runt!”

 

“Chase me, Arry! Chase me!” Zooming past was the youngest of the Stark clan, holding a sheathed sword in his hand as he ran through the hallways. “Chase me!” He giggled as he ran, having a wonderful time.

 

Hot on his heels, almost knocking Margaery over as she shot by, was her future good sister Arya. Unlike Rickon, she was in no happy mood. “Chasing you isn’t the only thing I’m gonna do, you little shit!” They charged out of the keep towards the battlements in their little game of cat and mouse. It made Margaery chuckle. Reminds me of Loras and I hiding Garlan’s gauntlets before a tourney…

 

“Arya! Rickon! Stop acting like children…” 

 

Before Margaery could turn, someone did stumble onto her. She let out a yelp as he fell to the ground, somehow clutching onto her dress and making her swivel and fall on top of a rather muscular chest. A chest leading to the blue-eyed, auburn-haired Robb Stark. “Prince Robb,” she said rather evenly.

 

Rubbing the back of his head with a grimace, Robb’s eyes widened like saucers upon facing his betrothed. “Lady Margaery… um…” 

 

So he was as flustered as her at their… rather intimate position. Bodies flush, Margaery’s hips rather… strategically placed above his crotch. She fought a gasp, feeling just what her future husband was endowed with. Loras always says size matters, and he is big… The thoughts dissolved just as he began to haul her off him. Margaery quickly followed - she blushed a little, but at his owl-like look ended up giggling. “You ought to watch where you’re going, Prince Robb,” she said, quite amused.

 

Almost startled that he had run into her so abruptly, Robb Stark nonetheless composed himself. “Forgive me, my Lady…”

 

“Oh pish,” Margaery replied with a flick of the wrist copied from her grandmother. “No harm done, and I was looking for you anyways.”

 

He seemed surprised. “You were.”

 

Another giggle, Margaery straightening out her dress. “Silly Prince Robb, you do realize we are to be married.” Bold as Olenna had taught her, she closed the gap and wrapped her hands around his arm - not that she minded in the slightest. The kiss she pressed to Robb’s cheek was something she quite wanted to do. “I wondered if you could take a walk with me around the castle.” 

 

Batting her eyelashes rather obviously, she received a snort, and then a smirk from Robb. “You know such southern mummery doesn’t work on me.”

 

She laughed genuinely, pecking him on the lips as they nevertheless journeyed out of the keep onto the balcony leading to the battlements. “I know, but doing it to tease does charm, I’ve found.” He looked away, attempting to bite back a laugh. Oh, my Prince. You try to be as cold as the North, but you’re really as warm as springtime. His direwolf certainly was - Grey Wind had taken a liking to her, and unlike his master, the direwolf didn’t hide a bit of it.

 

As it always was with Winterfell, the courtyard was busy. Men carried baskets of iron ingots to the forge and exited with armor and blades, while the constant clatter of masons’ hammers rang out from the outer walls. When a rather loud banging made Margaery wince, Robb squeezed her hand. “Sorry about the noise.”

 

“Tis fine.” She used the excuse to lean further into him. He smells nice. “Nothing could be louder than a summer tourney back home… but I am curious. Why are you expanding the castle?” Even the old keep and broken tower, two things she remembered researching were in a state of disrepair, were close to being rebuilt. “Expecting an attack?”

 

Margaery felt Robb stiffen for a moment before answering. “We broke away from the rest of Westeros under… rather unpalatable circumstances. My father fears Tywin Lannister might take offense and attack. Not likely, but can’t be too careful.”

 

“Anyone would be fools to attack the North. Lord Size and Lord Winter lead your armies.” That provoked a genuine laugh from him, though Margaery studied the young Stark she was to marry. What are you hiding, Robb Stark? Was that what her Grandmother referred to? A secret being kept by the Starks - about the bastard? Either way, she was content to let him tell her at his own pace. “And I’m very sorry about what happened to the Princesses. Joffrey will burn in the Seven Hells for what he did.”

 

“Aye, I hope so.” Robb’s fist clenched in suppressed anger, passionate about his family - an endearing quality in any man. “Arya is the perfect girl to rush to your defense, while I’m glad Sansa was able to get her fantasies of Princes and Tourney Knights out of her head. I hate that the incident with Joffrey happened but am also happy she matured from the ordeal.”

 

Eying across the courtyard, Margaery watched as Trystane Martell tried to charm the Princess Sansa with his skilled knifeplay - while she didn’t seem discomforted by it, Sansa didn’t look interested in him either. “Much to Trystane’s disappointment, I figure,” she quipped.

 

That got a snort. “Sansa will fall for him, I think. Trystane seems like someone who can actually care for her, rather than just want her body or standing, but it’ll take a while for the feelings to develop.”

 

Both of them began descending from the battlements towards the courtyard below. “And will it take a while for you to develop feelings for me?” she asked innocently - giggling as he reddened. “Oh, Prince Robb. You are a fine leader and fighter, but with women you are hopeless.”

 

“I take offense at that.”

 

“Don’t, I quite enjoy it. Means you’re genuine.” She grinned, biting her lip. “Or is it just with me? That flatters me greatly.” He had no answer for her, which in itself was an answer.

 

As they continued walking, several of the servants and guards bowed as both she and the Prince passed them, the Lady Talisa emerged from the keep carrying a basket of herbs - ones she used in her dressings that were… quite effective in treating the wounds that cropped up around the castle. Waving at her friend, Margaery noticed her betrothed stiffen. “Something wrong, my Prince?” she asked, large eyes finding his.

 

“Um… no,” he stammered out.

 

She wasn’t buying it. “You’ve been this way before with Talisa…” A pit formed in Margaery’s stomach. “Do you fancy her?”

 

“No!” he immediately blurted out. “Not that… I… know what happened to her family. In Volantis, I mean.” Sighing, Robb looked as if he was going to spill a great truth. “My brother, Jon, he didn’t go to the Wall with me.”

 

The bastard… Was this what her grandmother was warning her about? “Why would you say he went when he didn’t?”

 

It took a moment for Robb to respond. “My father… he sent Jon to Essos. To verify if the rumors are true that the dragons have returned. That is where he met his wife and had his child.” Margaery hadn’t ever met Robb’s brother or the Lyseni woman everyone said he was married to, but the tiny babe was hard to miss. The Starks and his personal maid Marcy all doted on him with all the love and affection in the world. He was truly a cherished child of this family, much as Margaery had been, even if his father wasn’t a Stark like the others. “How does this relate to Lady Talisa?”

 

“Jon and Dany were at Volantis… when it was burned to the ground. The palaces one of the first targeted.”

 

Gasping, the Rose of Highgarden looked quickly at her friend before turning back to Robb. Mouth suddenly dry. “The… the Targaryens have reverted to their madness, haven’t they?”

 

She noticed Robb wince. “No… at least not the pretender King and Queen. There’s another pretender, a third son of the Mad King sharing his name.”

 

“Aerys? Aerys Targaryen? I thought the only surviving son of his was Viserys, and he was killed in Pentos.” That news was all over Westeros even before her mother informed her of the betrothal to the Crown Prince of the North. “You’re saying there’s a fourth Targaryen… well third?” Her family had fought for them in the Rebellion, but imagining the Mad King returning filled Margaery with dread.

 

But the Baratheon King could have ended up being a rapist… and I might have married him… Honestly, that was more revolting to her.

 

Robb nodded. “Aerys Targaryen, twin of Daenerys and uncle to Aegon the Pretender. It was he who burned Volantis with a dragon of his own and a sellsword army including the Golden Company. Malaquo Maegyr was one of those first that were burned alive… largely to send a message.” He looked at Talisa, something flashing in his eye. “I’ve wanted to tell her but haven’t had the heart to.” He sighed and angled his gaze to the ground.

 

Margaery covered his heart with her hand. “Don’t worry, I can tell her if you want?” Saying nothing, Robb only leaned forward, his blue eyes glistening with… want… desire… love? Blinking, Margaery didn’t hesitate to meet his lips with her own.




Samwell Tarly

 

Hugging the books to his ample frame, Sam nevertheless felt a lot lighter as he walked between the bookcases. His girth had decreased, waistline shrinking from gargantuan to merely wide - he hadn’t felt this good in years. Not just regarding his health either, turned out.

 

As he set his treasures down, the light clip of sandals upon the marble floors signalled the arrival of the reason for his better mood. The reason for his changes. Smile on his face, Sam turned to watch Sarella Sand enter their secluded little alcove deep within the great library where they would study together. “Sam, I didn’t find Archmaester Gladyn’s texts but I did find a copy of Grand Maester Yarwyk…” 

 

The dark-skinned Dornish bastard was cut off with a muffled yelp when Sam pulled her to him. Arms wrapping around her as he kissed her deeply. Elated as she melted into it. Her identity hidden behind a mannish disguise except from him, Sam had no idea how anyone could not notice how truly beautiful she was.

 

Eventually, she pushed him away. Hungry for air. “What brought that on?” she murmured, honey-brown eyes nevertheless sparkling with happiness. 

 

“Couldn’t help myself.” Sam blushed - some things didn’t change.

 

“Someone could have seen…” Sarella chided.

 

“Well…” His mother used to say he could talk till he lost his voice… except around girls. “If… if you weren’t so beautiful then I could control myself.” Watching her almost melt with joy… throwing her arms around him for another kiss in their undisturbed spot, Sam knew he finally said something that worked.

 

It was a relationship of shadows and hidden kisses. Marwyn - who Sam always figured suspected things - assigned them to a double sleeping cubicle so the hectic, drudgery-filled days at least were bearable due to knowing he could see his lady in the evenings. They hadn’t… taken each other’s maidenhead, though Sam could barely contain himself. Not much experience to temper his desire and her lithe, exotic beauty… Yes, he was in love. And hopefully so was she.

 

 After another round of kisses, she pulled her swollen lips back to look upon what Sam found. “What’s all this?”

 

A sigh. He would much rather lose himself in her than deal with the… topic at hand. “Marwyn got this assignment from the Conclave themselves. Research tactics on how to kill dragons. Request from King’s Landing by Hand of the King Tywin Lannister.”

 

Sarella muttered a few choice words under her breath about Tywin Lannister - nearly all of which would scandalize the ladies at the balls his mother would throw on occasion. “I really hope Daenerys Targaryen burns all of them to the ground.” She looked at him with fury… not directed at him. “Why do we have to do this?”

 

“Orders are orders. Best get it done.” And send a raven to Jon to warn him…

 

Sitting next to each other - Sarella eventually just leaning back and placing her dainty feet on his lap - Sam leafed through tome after tome. “Find anything?”

 

“So far, all I’m seeing is Rhoynish water magic and the device used to kill Meraxes.”

 

“Ah yes, the scorpion,” nodded Sarella. “My father told me that story well. Meria Martell had a cousin that took the black. They have those things there and he sold them one in exchange for all the prisoners in the Sunspear dungeon. We reversed the mechanics.”

 

“I wouldn’t think they are effective in killing a fully grown dragon. Hide too thick.”

 

She blinked. “But Meraxes…”

 

Sam shook his head. “Hit in the eye. Lucky shot. Even the neck or the skull would resist penetration.”

 

“How do you know?” 

 

Pointing to one of the books, Sam chuckled. “Diary of Lord Wiles Yronwood from the Conquest. Turns out they tried the same trick on Meraxes and Balerion earlier as part of an attack on Lord Tyrell’s host. Scorpions didn’t work.” Sarella huffed, admitting Sam was right - gods, she looked attractive.

 

As he went to lean in for another lip-lock, he noticed her eyes widen. Frowning in her sudden change of attitude, he turned around to see what she was gawking at… or rather listening to. Straining his ears, he heard hushed whispers on the other side of the alcove’s thin wall.

 

“Marwyn, the Conclave called for this meeting but three nights ago! You gave your word that you would be in attendance,” a youthful, reedy voice hissed in frustration.

 

A heavy sigh was heard from the eccentric archmaester as he replied in a calm, leveled tone. “Maester Yandel, I was just on my way to the Conclave’s solar. There is little need to remind me of a solemn promise which maesters as are we are sworn to uphold.”

 

“That may be the case. But you are the only one in the whole Citadel who has a link of Valyrian steel. The knowledge you possess of the higher mysteries may prove vital in countering the Targaryens’ dragons,” Yandel replied frostily. “Now, get on with it. After all, you do have a reputation for being late.”

 

The irritated maester’s footsteps retreated rapidly down the hall, echoing in the cavernous space.

 

Sam took a moment to digest what he’d heard. Apparently, Tywin’s request was too important to delegate to a single archmaester. The fact that the Conclave itself would meet to discuss the task proved the severity of the threat that Targaryens would not be taken to chance. More bad news for Jon.

 

Sarella’s honeyed, yet firm lilt brought him out of his thoughts. “Let’s go, Sam. Let’s go.” She tugged on the sleeves of his beige robes urgently as she scrambled to her feet.

 

“Sarella, what?” He asked as he clumsily got off the floor. Brushing dust off the front of his robes, he looked at her with puzzlement. “Where are we going?”

 

She looked at him as if he was daft. “After Marwyn, of course. We need to know what the Conclave will plan so we can warn the Targaryens when the time comes.”

 

“Alright, alright.” Sam stumbled after her out of the alcove and down the hallway after Marwyn. She was far faster than him and much quieter. Her gentle feet barely made a sound as she skimmed across the floor. He on the other hand landed heavily on the ground with each step of the foot. Guess some things never change even when you do.

 

As they crept behind Marwyn, keeping him just in sight, they heard his grumbling as he walked along.

 

“Marwyn the Mage, they call me?” He said to himself in a mocking tone. “Marwyn the Mad? Marwyn the Monstrous?”

 

He laughed bitterly. “Well, it appears that I’m not so useless after all. Magic does have a place in the world, unlike what those senile pompous fools think.” Abruptly he stopped.

 

Sarella halted dead in her tracks. Sam wasn’t so sure of his footing. He crashed into her, sending both tumbling to the hard stone floor.

 

“They may sing my praises now.” Astonishingly, Marwyn didn’t notice the disturbance behind him - ears not as good as they used to be. “But as soon as the task is done, it will be as if that never happened.” He shook his head and continued on.

 

Breathing hard from his fall, Sam noticed just how intertwined he was with Sarella underneath him. Not used to such close proximity in affection, he involuntarily blushed a bright red and hurried to extricate himself.

 

Sarella wasn’t fazed - Dornish ease with physical intimacy as a knight with a sword. Hurriedly pushing him off, she darted down to the winding stairwell, where Marwyn had just ascended out of sight. Looking back at him ambling after her, she huffed and waved her hand at him impatiently.

 

“Come on, Sammy.” She glanced up the stairs nervously. “I don’t know if the meeting will be locked in.”

 

Without pause, she raced up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Huffing and puffing, Sam marveled at her athleticism. Despite dropping a quarter of his weight, he still found it difficult to run for an extended distance. Still, he struggled on as fast as he could.

 

Fortunately, the stairs were not that high. Another two minutes passed before he reached the top of the staircase, only to find Sarella rattling the door handle fruitlessly.

 

She turned around with a grimace. “No good. It’s locked up tight and this is the only entrance to the Conclave’s meeting chamber.”

 

Sam frowned mightily then hesitated. His eyes wandered to his left to where there appeared to be a solid wall, but on closer inspection was actually a small hallway set inconspicuously around the corner.

 

“Sarella, down that way,” He said, pointing to the hidden corridor.

 

Not one to delay, she zoomed around the corner. He walked behind her more slowly. As he followed her down the hall, he noticed small holes cut into the wall on his right. Pale light shone through them, presumably from the candles used to light the Conclave’s meeting.

 

Sarella dashed back to him, breathless and flushed. “No use, there’s a door on the other side, and it’s also locked!” She looked especially pretty when she was all worked up. I used to think that angry women were scary.

 

Smiling at her, he directed her gaze to the wall. The holes in them were too small to peer through, but the voices of the archmaesters floated through just loud enough to hear. “We don't need to watch them. We just need to listen to what they have to say.”

 

Biting her lip, Sarella looked mildly embarrassed for not noticing what he did. Her tendency for action sometimes led her to overlook things. Nodding in assent, she crouched down next to Sam and pressed her ear to a hole.

 

“Seneschal Theobald, the threat of the Targaryens can not be overstated. Not when the Hand of the King makes a personal request of the Citadel to assist King Robert,” a sharp, elderly tongue declared.

 

“Gyldayn, I am aware of that fact. However, I must ask how much of your concern comes from a genuine assessment of the situation or paranoid fantasy from obsessively researching the House of the Dragon,” a younger, more refined voice replied.

 

“How dare you! I am the foremost authority on the Targaryens in all Westeros! My works on their house are famed for their comprehensiveness and attention to detail. If anyone knows the Targaryens as well as me, I have yet to know.”

 

A sterner voice cut in. “Enough! We can babble about who’s the more swollen intellectual another day. For now, the task at hands is as Lord Tywin ordered - how to kill dragons…  Marwyn, what do you have to offer?”

 

 The estranged archmaester scoffed. “For someone who holds such a low opinion of me, I’m surprised that you called on me first of all people, Perestan.”

 

“Perhaps my disposition toward you will become more positive if you come through on this assignment,” replied Perestan tersely. “Though I loath to admit it, your expertise in the higher mysteries now proves invaluable.”

 

“Very well,” Marwyn sighed. “As far as we know, the only way to slay a dragon is by drowning with Rhoynish water magic or shooting in the eye with a scorpion. As the former has been irretrievably lost to history, only the latter option remains. However, it is very unlikely to score a shot on a dragon’s eye, even with multiple scorpions firing at once.”

 

“Of course,” snorted Gyladyn. “Rumor had it that Rhaenys was the most careless of the conquering trio. The Dornish just got lucky with downing Meraxes.”

 

“Are there any unconventional means that you may have dug up, Marwyn?” Theobald inquired.

 

“Some. Dragons are not completely fireproof, despite what the legends say. Wildfire tipped scorpion bolts could potentially kill a dragon if launched in volleys. Apart from the eyes, the wings are the most vulnerable. If a dragon can’t fly, it can’t get away.”

 

“A down dragon is a dead dragon,” mused Perestan.

 

“Precisely,” Marywn agreed. “Ground the dragon and warriors can surround it and strike it down.”

 

Sarella clasped a hand over her mouth and looked at Sam with bugged-out eyes. He felt it too - a churning feeling in his gut that was forcing bile up his throat.

 

“Anything else?” asked Theobald.

 

“You all know how Brandon Snow asked his brother King Torrhen for permission to kill Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes in their sleep, yes?”

 

A round of murmurs was heard in agreement.

 

“It’s been speculated that Brandon planned to use weirwood arrows to do the deed. Weirwood is believed to have magical properties due to its sacrosanctity to the Old Gods. As such, it could penetrate a dragon’s hide as easily as a longbow can penetrate plate. Dragons are creatures of magic, after all, so it makes some sense.”

 

“Fighting fire with fire then?” Perestan remarked. “You know Marwyn, as do the rest of the Conclave, that we swore to eliminate magic from this world after the Dance of the Dragons. Summerhall is testament to that. This is hypocrisy of the highest order.”

 

“I agree with you on principle,” said Gyladyn. “But what choice do we have? If the Targaryens triumph, the Citadel will lose its authority on leading the Seven Kingdoms in knowledge and education. Magic is the only thing that we know on purely a theoretical basis.”

 

“He speaks true, Perestan,” Theobald said. “Very well, Marwyn. Your plans will be put in order. Contact the Alchemists’ Guild in King’s Landing and order them to increase production of wildfire. As for the scorpions, send the design to Lord Tywin for construction. Weirwood can be acquired from the Isle of Faces in the God’s Eye. The Faith Militant hates the faith of the old gods… they’ll jump at the chance.”

 

Gyladyn laughed. “They’d probably pay us for the honor.” A chorus of chuckles rang out. 

 

Sam was jerked back up to his feet. His mind was spinning from what he heard. Yet one word stood out the most… Summerhall.

 

“Sam!” Sarella whispered loudly in his ear. “Let’s go back down! Quick, in case they catch us on their way out.”

 

Hurrying down the stairs besides her, Sarella had a serious look on her face. “So there’s been a conspiracy in this Citadel against the Targaryens that’s been running for decades? Magic is the one thing that they can’t tolerate?” She turned to face him at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“What does all of that have to do with Summerhall? That place has been in ruin since Aegon V allegedly tried to hatch new dragons.”

 

Sam pursed his lips. “I think that has something to do with the conspiracy. Perhaps the conflagration of the castle was orchestrated by the Conclave so as to prevent him from succeeding?“

 

Sarella clapped him on the shoulder. “Brilliant deduction, Sammy,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “However, we need a record to definitively prove it’s true. Maybe there’s something in the restricted area of the library.”

 

Sam could only follow as she again raced down the hallway toward the library. Yes, he was falling head over heels for her. Head over heels also into the biggest secret of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

He prayed to the old gods and the new to protect Jon with all they could.


Daenerys Targaryen 

 

“I hope my brothers haven’t given you much trouble,” the grizzled and aging Jeor Mormont said as he escorted Daenerys and Jorah to his quarters in the Lord Commander’s Tower. He gave Daenerys an eyeful. “Considering your beauty and the vows of the Night’s Watch, many of them would be tempted to… ravish you.”

 

“I’m very well aware of that, my lord,” Daenerys responded. “But I’m no helpless maiden. My husband has been sure to see that I know how to defend myself.”

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” concurred Jeor, glancing at Dark Sister sheathed across her back. “Let’s save the details for when you meet Maester Aemon. He’ll be beside himself to have another of his family visit him.”

 

Daenerys and Jorah had entered Castle Black on pretext of Jorah paying a visit to his estranged father. Jon would reunite with them later, having decided to check on how the Free Folk were settling down near the Nightfort. Ned informed them that he left his ward Theon Greyjoy and household guard captain Jory Cassel to assist his brother Benjen with the task. Davos and Melisandre went with Jon - the Red Woman predicting ‘a clash of three heads’ in the near future.

 

Whatever that was… she wouldn’t dwell on it now. Not while finally getting to meet her great-uncle, who she hadn’t even in her past life.

 

Frankly, Daenerys was unimpressed by the state of the Night’s Watch’s main castle. The buildings were in disrepair, the training yard a mess, and all the men garbed in black looked shoddy to put it kindly. This was where Jon languished all his last life.

 

Well, no more. Her true sun-and-stars deserved better than to rot away at the edge of the world.

 

“Here we are,” Jeor said, opening the door to his quarters. “Castle Black is yours, your Grace.”

 

Daenerys walked inside, grateful for the warmth of the hearth. In the corner of the room, sat a very old, very frail man wrapped in black robes.

 

She knew instinctively, the identity of this old soul… 

 

“After all these years…” A contented sigh left the wrinkled lips of the ancient maester of Castle Black. “A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing. I am happy to have reunited with at least one of my kin before I die.”

 

Seated across from Maester Aemon in the quarters of the Lord Commander’s Tower, Daenerys blushed in shyness at her great-uncle. Next to the Targaryen patriarch, Jeor Mormont gave a half-smile at Aemon’s warm reception of his great-niece. Jorah sat nervously across from his estranged father, lips tight and hands folded in his lap. However, much to his relief, Jeor afforded him only a tight nod in tacit acknowledgement of his efforts to redeem himself.

 

“Thank you, uncle,” Daenerys said. “It’s a pleasure to have met you in the flesh. I have but a few members of my own house that I can turn to in my life.”

 

“The pleasure is all mine,” Aemon laughed lightly. “But tell me, is it true that the dragons have returned? Reports from the south claim that you and your pretender husband hatched six dragons in Pentos. Your name as the Mother of Dragons is known all around the Seven Kingdoms by this time.”

 

“Yes, uncle. Indeed, my husband and I do have six dragons.” Daenerys’ face steeled, although looking into her uncle’s cloudy grey eyes, she knew he couldn’t see her stern expression. “My husband, however, is no pretender. He is - ”

 

“ - the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?” Aemon inquired in a half-jesting tone. “I knew that long before you did, dear niece.”

 

Daenerys’ mouth hung open. “How? How? Uncle, my husband lived under the identity of Eddard Stark’s bastard son, Jon Snow, for as long as he lived. How could you possibly find out? Lord Stark never divulged Jon’s parentage to anyone.”

 

A thin smile spread across Aemon’s lips. “Rhaegar and I often sent correspondences to each other over the years. In High Valyrian of course, so that no one could read them.” A forlorn sigh left him. “The last one he sent me concerned his elopement with the She-Wolf and how that was the first spark in Robert’s Rebellion. He sounded almost like a man dictating his will - as if he expected to die soon.”

 

“The Usurper will pay for what he did to our family and what he cost the Realm.” Daenerys ground out through gritted teeth.

 

“I have no doubt that Robert’s time will come, Daenerys,” Aemon said, addressing her by name for the first time. “Yet remember that his moral standing does not elevate your own. All men and women carry the potential for corruption. Forget that and you’re little better than anyone else.”

 

Daenerys bowed her head, humbled. “I understand, uncle. I will remember.”

 

“Speaking of your husband,” Aemon started. “Where is Jon Snow? He apparently is not here with you.”

 

Daenerys pursed her lips. “He’s at the Nightfort to inspect the progress made with the Free Folk. He should arrive at Castle Black before nightfall.”

 

A knowing smile graced her uncle’s face. “Just like his father. Always putting his duty ahead of his pleasures, even small talk with his family.”

 

At that moment, Jeor Mormont cleared his throat with an audible hacking cough. “Sorry about that. The cold’s getting to me at my age.” Fixing his gaze on Daenerys and his son next to her, he cut to the point. “Let’s get down to business. I’m sure that the Targaryens came here for more than just a family reunion. So, may I ask what that is?”

 

Wetting his lips nervously, Jorah spoke up. “Their Graces are here to assist with… the transport of the Free Folk from beyond the Wall to the Gift. Something about preventing the White Walkers from turning them into meat for their army.”

 

Jeor raised his eyebrow. “You are willing to help them on this endeavor despite Bear Island’s history with the wildlings?” 

 

Jorah nodded firmly. 

 

“You are a changed man, Jorah,” Jeor noted appreciatively. “A long way from that stunt pulled with selling off poachers into bondage.”

 

Jorah noticeably blanched out of the corner of Daenerys’ eye. Changing the subject, she asked, “Ned Stark ordered that a Manderly fleet be sent to Eastwatch to prepare for the transport of the Free Folk. Has it yet left for beyond the Wall?”

 

“No, actually,” Jeor replied. “The winds haven’t been kind for the last few moons. With winter coming, sailing north of here is more treacherous.”

 

“According to the Citadel,” Aemon added. “Winter may come earlier than expected. Their predictions that winter will be upon us in six years have shortened to a mere two or three. Of course as rapidly as the climate of Westeros is shifting, it may come even earlier.”

 

Ice formed in the pit of Daenerys’ stomach. The plan she and Jon had worked out was based on the timeframe of their previous lives, where winter had come seven years after her marriage to Drogo and his initiation into the Night’s Watch. They had intended to retake the Iron Throne in the first few years, which would leave them hopefully enough time to consolidate their rule and unite the armies of the Seven Kingdoms. Now, that whole plan was in doubt.

 

The Ice King must know our course of action and is putting pressure on us. Inwardly, Daenerys felt a noose tighten around her neck. She had yet to tell Jon about the most recent memory of her past when it surfaced upon arrival in the North. The details were even more unsettling than that of Aerys. However, she couldn’t put it off any longer since they would be heading beyond the Wall. When he came to Castle Black, she’d tell him.

 

Jeor snapped her out of her brooding. “If no one minds, I’d like to have a walk with my son. We have much to catch up on.” He stood up, groaning slightly. The black cloak of his Night’s Watch garb dragged on the floor as he did so. Jorah followed his father out the door, a cold breeze blew into the room before being shut out.

 

Watching the Lord Commander exit his quarters with his slightly trembling son, Aemon smiled faintly. “I’ve known many a Lord Commander in my long time here. From Brynden Rivers to now Jeor Mormont. Rarely was there one who took time for simple one-on-one conversations with those they were close to.”

 

Daenerys’ ears perked up. Brynden Rivers, from what Jon told her, was the Three-Eyed Raven before passing the spirit on to his brother Bran. “You knew Bloodraven?” The Great Bastard of Aegon the Unworthy and Melissa Blackwood was famous for remaining loyal to Daeron II in lieu of his half-brother Daemon Blackfyre. His fame was enhanced by his personal slewing of the Black Dragon on the Redgrass Field.

 

“Oh yes, I knew him.” Aemon shifted in his chair and pulled his robes a little more tightly around himself. “He was always an enigma, even to the cleverest of men. One day, he announced that he was going on a ranging alone… He never came back. But before he left, he gave me his sword, Dark Sister, telling me that our house would need it again.”

 

“Bloodraven was right, uncle. I’ve bore Dark Sister myself since last year. Jon gave it to me as a wedding gift.” Daenerys smiled with unabashed joy, thinking back to how she had consummated her marriage with her dragonwolf. She patted the sheathed blade propped against her chair by her feet.

 

Aemon blinked his blind eyes, then chuckled. “So that’s why Benjen Stark was so insistent on sending the sword to Winterfell. Figured that his nephew would be the Targaryen to pick it up again.”

 

The door suddenly burst open as a very irritable Lord Commander stormed back in with a stern voice on his heels. Jorah kept a good pace behind as he carefully closed the door behind them.

 

“Jeor! I don’t understand your utter disregard for the fact there are at least four thousand wildling savages, by my count, that are now south of the Wall! If no action is taken, they’ll rape and pillage their way into the rest of the Seven Kingdoms!”

 

Jeor glared at the grey-haired, gruff, stocky man. “Ser Alliser, I am very well aware of the situation with the wildlings. What action do you propose we take? We have but one thousand men here at Castle Black, of which only six hundred are rangers. I’m not gambling our shortage of men on a foe that vastly outnumbers us when there’s the Wall to man.”

 

Ser Alliser snorted in contempt. “So what? We just leave them where they are? They’re barbarians, by the gods! When I first came across their rabble camp at the Nightfort on my way to the Shadow Tower, they attacked my group of men without provocation.”

 

“What do you expect when the Night’s Watch has clashed with them ever since this order was founded? Here’s my advice, Thorne - Stay away and don’t give them any more cause to stir up trouble than you’ve probably have. When Benjen returns, we’ll decide what is to be done.”

 

Alliser Thorne clenched his teeth and fists - hard. He looked about to launch a barrage of retorts until his gaze drifted over to where Daenerys was seated.

 

“I couldn’t help but overhear earlier when you walked into Castle Black…” His voice was faint and his eyes were dazed. “You… you…” His eyes widened in remembrance. “Rhaella… ?”

 

Blinking, Dany put on a mask. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You’re the spitting image of Queen Rhaella.” In his eyes, the Master-at-Arms of Castle Black was completely certain. 

 

Daenerys smirked. “You’re not that far from the truth, Ser Alliser. Rhaella was my mother. I am her daughter, Daenerys Targaryen.” From her time with Ser Barristan, she learned that Castle Black’s master-at-arms was a staunch loyalist of her family. Hence, why she revealed her true identity to him.

 

Alliser prostrated himself right then on the wood-paneled floor. “It is an absolute honor to meet you, your Grace. I was captain of your family’s household guard before the Rebellion booted me to the Wall.”

 

Daenerys looked on, half-amused and half-disgusted. Not once, did Ser Alliser look up the whole time he was talking. He was quite an example of ‘bow and scrape’ in her opinion. While she did enjoy praise, sycophants were another matter. Those sorts of people lacked dignity and responsibility to make good judgements.

 

“Thank you for your kind words, Ser Alliser,” she said graciously, adopting her queenly mask. “Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is that I am no queen - not while I have no dominion to rule in my name.” She found it hard to keep her tone level. After all, Alliser was responsible for killing Jon. The dragon did not forget easily.

 

As Ser Alliser went to reply, an ear-splitting roar broke the stillness around them. “What in the name of?!” He dashed to the door, almost wrenching it off its hinges as he ran outside to see what the sudden din was about.

 

Shaking his head at Thorne’s almost comical change of mood, Jeor calmly followed him to calm his men outside.

 

Daenerys felt a sudden heat in her chest and a tugging in her gut. She sensed Arogon calling out to her from where he was outside Castle Black. She stood up and snatched Dark Sister off the floor. Slinging the longsword across her back, her heart raced. Somehow, she knew her dragon’s distress had to do with Jon. With a grimace of determination, she strode to the door. Jon died once before at the Wall. He would not die again.

 

“Your Grace!” Jorah interrupted her thoughts. “I’m coming with you.”

 

She regretfully turned him down. “I’m sorry, Jorah. This is something I don’t want you to risk yourself on. Trust me.” She gave him a firm yet pleading look.

 

Jorah hesitated before Aemon spoke to him. “Listen to your queen, Jorah Mormont. She knows what she’s doing. It would be better for you to live to continue your redemption than die before it’s completed.” The old bear closed his eyes and exhaled.

 

“By the old gods and the new, be safe, Khaleesi,” Jorah wished her.

 

Daenerys smiled in affirmation before stepping out the door. Arogon was just a short distance outside the castle. She broke into a run for the gates.

 

Jon… I’m coming, my dragonwolf.


Jon Targaryen

 

Sighing deeply, the rightful King of Westeros ran a hand through his curly hair. Gods, how had he endured so many years at the Wall without Dany by his side? It was unbearable and he’d only been without her now for less than a day. “I’m not shocked that the Night’s Watch discovered the Free Folk here. The Nightfort was abandoned, but it was only a matter of time.” Benjen had briefed him on the raids, and it was just another headache to add to his growing pain.

 

Nodding, Theon gestured to the fort itself. “Used to be our camp was spread out, but since what happened the old, young, and weaker women have been housed within the walls.

 

“Smart. No sense in having those die that can’t defend themselves.” His uncles had warned him that Theon knew of his secret, so it didn’t shock him when the Greyjoy didn’t treat him like a bastard anymore. And yet… it was a bit interesting. Theon was still bold and a little cocky - testament to Ramsay Bolton not having mutilated him - but there was a newfound humility about him. Made it easier for Jon to deal with.

 

“Only wish my woman agreed. I hate seeing her put herself in danger.”

 

To this, Jon was surprised. “Your woman?”

 

“Aye, a spearwife. Fell for her north of the wall.”

 

Biting his tongue, Jon had to struggle to keep from giggling like a little boy. “Fell in love with a wildling spearwife… the arrogant Theon Greyjoy?” His efforts quickly failed as he did laugh.

 

Initially glaring, it seemed as if Theon understood why Jon would think in such a manner. “Believe me, it dawned on me very slowly. First it was just a suggestion to keep warm, like how I used to speak to Ros…”

 

“Yes, yes I know. She took you up on it cause that’s how spearwives are. Fierce and independent,” he smirked, remembering fond memories of he and Ygritte. Looking back now the entire thing was doomed to fail, but the woman always held a special place in his heart. Unlike Dany, his past experiences were happy ones… if tinged in tragedy and problematic circumstances, Ygritte being his captor after all. “So I assume she challenged you in the right places until you realized that’s what was missing in your life?”

 

Theon nodded. “Is that what happened with you and the Dragon Queen?”

 

Brows quirking up, Jon could only nod. “You don’t know the half of it.” The holes in his heart and soul that Dany filled… he couldn’t begin to describe them. Feeling that same brotherly connection to Theon as he had developed in the War for the Dawn - up until Theon and his ironborn reavers sacrificed themselves at the Oldtown docks to allow for the fleet’s escape from Westeros in the past/future - Jon threw an arm around his shoulders. “So, as someone who knows about wildlings, what’s the problem keeping you and your lover from being happy?”

 

Sighing, Theon ran a hand through his ratty bronzed hair. “She’s pregnant.”

 

Clicking his tongue, Jon smirked. “Wildlings value fertility. That should be a boon for you, not a detriment.”

 

“Problem is, she thinks I’m trying to control her. Turn her into some southern Lady when that isn’t my intention.”

 

“I understand. Did you marry her?”

 

“I tried. Asked and everything - was willing to take her to a Septon or a heart tree and… wait.” He knit his brows in confusion. “What’s japing you?”

 

Jon couldn’t help it. Even in this life with a wildling paramour and battle experience making him humble, Theon Greyjoy was still as thick as a rock. “You dumb cunt. You need to prove your loyalty and love the Free Folk way! Didn’t Tormund tell you…” Of course he didn’t. The ginger berserker was probably laughing his ass off at seeing Theon squirm. “Wildlings don’t marry, you have to steal her.”

 

It all seemed lost on Theon. “Steal her?”

 

Had he not seen it himself, Jon wouldn’t believe it. Tormund carrying two screeching Dothraki women from the Khalasar to his own tent had to have been the most comical jape of mine and Dany’s life. Each was pregnant with twins by the time Tormund nearly gave his life in protecting the Twins until Jon and Rhaegal burned it down. “It’s simple really. You pick her up and take her to your tent. If she doesn’t run away, fall off, or knock you out, and believe me she’ll try if she’s as tough as you say she is, then by the time you get her to your tent she’ll be frisky and wanting to fuck you into the ground.”

 

“You have to be japing me.” 

 

“By the old gods and the new, I’m not. The more you endure from her after you take her away, the stronger the marriage.” Jon watched as Theon’s mind whirred, eyes widening in revelation. “You’ll be fine, Theon. Just try to keep your limbs strong and don’t act all flowery. Call her a weak cunt in front of everyone, she’ll hit you good and only further solidify your marriage.”

 

“Fuck… Free Folk are complicated.”

 

“They live in the snow and ice. Hard lives breed hard people.” Only someone who lived among them, or at least adjacent to them, truly comprehended wildling culture. “Now, I’d like to see this spearwife who stole the heart of the Wintertown brothel’s best patron.”

 

A dreamy smile formed on Theon’s face, no doubt that he was a young lad in love. “She is perfect, Jon. Just as I said, tough inside and out, but deep down she has a free spirit that is completely devoted. Plus…” he grinned. “The slenderest body, legs that go from here to White Harbor, and the most beautiful fire red hair.”

 

Slender… fire red hair… no, impossible. Too much of a coincidence to be that.

 

“Oh, I don’t have to say any more… there she is.” Theon pointed out towards the outskirts of the Nightfort camp, where a hunting party was being gathered.

 

Peering out, Jon tried to follow Theon’s line of sight. Quickly coming across a group of spearwives. Several short and stocky ones, a tall one but anything but slender, and… Ygritte… There was no chance that Jon Targaryen would ever forget what Ygritte looked like. And she looked just as fierce and beautiful as when they first made love in the cave… “She’s your lover?”

 

Theon nodded, proud as ever. “Aye, Ygritte. Tormund may disagree because of his wife, but I’ve got the prettiest woman in the whole of the True North if I do say so myself.” He looked triumphant, especially as he was planning how to steal her.

 

“Um… yes, she’s very pretty.” This honestly was not what Jon would have ever expected to happen, and even his battle-hardened self was caught unprepared. Dany is going to burst out laughing… if she doesn’t have Arogon burn her alive with jealousy... Suddenly, Sarogon bellowed from the top of the wall, clearly agitated. Jon felt it in his soul. “Wait a minute…” 

 

The conversation was interrupted by a blaring horn. Sound echoing for miles upon miles and piercing through the cloudy skies and howling winds. All around the wildlings suddenly ceased their activities. Some scattering while others looked around in confusion. “Jon!” It was Benjen, running to them. "That’s not one of my men."

 

“Could it be the raiders?” Theon bristled to his right.

 

"I doubt they’d attack while your wife is..." Benjen stopped as the horn resounded once more. "Thank the gods," he chuckled. “Seems Mance is just…”

 

Ice filled Jon’s blood as the horn blared its mournful bellow once more. "Three blasts." One for returning rangers. Two for wildlings. Three for… “They’re here!” 

 

Benjen cursed under his breath while Theon paled - the ironborn had fought them north of the Wall and from what Ned Stark told him, they barely made it out alive. “All men to their posts!”

 

“It’s too early… we’re not ready…”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know, Theon…” Sarogon, come… Making sure Winter’s Wolf was properly tied to his waist, Jon watched as the grey dragon landed in the snow, kicking up clumps of the white substance. He was big… just slightly larger than Rhaegal when Jon had ridden the green and bronze dragon for the first time, but his head was pretty much the size of a man in length. Easily big enough to ride. 

 

Next to Jon, Theon withdrew Longclaw from its scabbard, the rippled steel flashing in the light of the sun. Jeor Mormont had given Ned Stark his house’s ancestral sword for the expedition beyond the Wall on the condition that Jon decide who would wield it afterward. That much was what the Greyjoy told the Targaryen king when he offered the sword to him.

 

Jon felt flattered that the Lord Commander still saw him as worthy of Longclaw, however he insisted that Theon should keep it. This life, Longclaw would have a new bearer in Theon Greyjoy as a sign of renewed trust in the Kraken of Winterfell.

 

“The dead likely can’t cross the Wall yet, but they can swarm the gate! If they’re about to…”

 

“Aye, seal the tunnel,” Benjen nodded. As Jon climbed atop the dragon, he cast his uncle and foster brother a grim nod. They knew what to do. Boy, sovegon! Sarogon roared and kicked off the ground, wings billowing clouds of snow as he ascended into the freezing skies. I can’t stop them myself, but I can slow them down. 

 

As they passed over the lip of the Wall, Jon’s ears were overwhelmed with the howl of the autumn winds - his mighty dragon surging towards the clouds. Each wingbeat forced more air against his face, forcing Jon to lay flat against Sarogon's warm scales. Fingers burning from how hard he clenched the spines. His body shook, but not completely from the electric apprehension of battle.

 

Memories slammed into his mind. Memories of the past, of the War for the Dawn. Jon in the same position he was in now, ascending to the heavens only on Rhaegal rather than Sarogon. With Dany by his side rather than alone… and yet when the battle ended, Daenerys hadn’t been with him. Lost forever to the Night King, or so he thought at the time…

 

No! I will not lose her to that monster. Not this time! And neither would she or Rhaegon lose him. “Sarogon, hold!” 

 

In an instant, the howling lessened. Sarogon beat his wings fast to hold position in the sky. His skin thrummed with low growls, Jon feeling the beast’s massive heart thumping hard from the same excitement and fear that coursed through his rider. Just below the cloudline, the gusts of wind occasionally blew flecks of ice and snow into his face, irritating but… sobering in a way. Eyes narrowing, he scanned the depths of the Haunted Forest for signs of the Army of the Dead…

 

Only nothing. Not that he saw nothing, but that there was - fighting them in every type of landscape he could imagine made Jon an expert, and the small telltale signs of the white walkers and their walking corpses were… absent. “Why would they blow the horn three times…” Jon mused aloud, completely confused. “The Free Folk don’t overreact like scared cats…”

 

‘Father… something’s wrong.’ Even Sarogon sensed it. 

 

“I know, boy.” Jon stroked his scales, lost in thought.

 

Until something faint reached his ears. A shriek, much like another memory only slightly deeper - powerful. Full of life rather than the malevolence of death, but it was unmistakable.

 

Jon reacted from instinct and experience. “Boy, right!” Sarogon bellowed himself, banking hard right just as a rust-brown dragon dove through the clouds, a tongue of dragonfire shooting out its maw.


 

Notes:

CastleColin: The three heads of the dragon may soon be snapping at each other. What skeletons has the Citadel been hiding in its closet?

LongClaw: Looks like Margaery has already fallen for her wolf, but the triangle is brewing.

The Ice King's manipulation is growing, and yet it may soon spark something that even he doesn't expect.

Chapter 46: Dance of Dragons

Summary:

1) & 2) A clash of three heads.
3) The Three-Eyed Raven takes flight.
4) Joffrey receives an omen from Melisandre.
5) Jorah is ensnared in Thorne’s gambit.

Notes:

Longclaw: Greetings! Took a bit of time to finish this chapter but it needed to be perfect :D

Announcement: This Tuesday is the anniversary of the final episode of GoT. Yep, fuck it, but I want to let all y'all know that I will be publishing a short story called "The Mystery Knight" set in the world of "An Empire of Ice and Fire" to commemorate the black day with some quality content with our favorite characters. Keep your eyes peeled for it!

CastleColin: Hello everyone! Sorry again for such a long wait. We wanted these next few chapters to be right on the mark.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Targaryen

 

Only just did Sarogon miss the tongue of flame, screeching in shock and terror as he banked away - wave of air and sound slamming into his back as the rust-colored dragon shot past. Wings unfurling so that the smaller beast could right itself. 

 

The rightful King of Westeros found his eyes glowing a brilliant ice blue. Heart pumping in time to the steady tempo of power. “Fast, boy,” Jon commanded in Valyrian, greeted by a jolting undulation as Sarogon beat his wings. “Higher!” The clouds above grew closer and closer, billowing in size. At another deep and foreboding roar, Jon looked back and saw the rust dragon climbing as well. Gunning for him.

 

Who the fuck are you? The Night King… he had no dragon yet and the fire from a wight was blue, not the dark red-orange of dragonfire.

 

Sarogon shuddered as he fled at a quick speed, a tongue of dragonfire lancing from the rust-dragon behind him. Just missing the tip of his tail. The Haunted Forest and snowy plains motionless beneath, Jon urged Sarogon ever faster. Keeping out of reach from the attacker as he thought his next move - hating himself for not practicing dragonriding more when he had the time in his past. He was nowhere near the rider as Dany had been, however natural he felt on dragonback. 

 

“Turn boy!” Jon yelled, gritting his teeth as Sarogon broke off to the left, trying to gain altitude in a shallow climb as he turned. Losing the stubborn rust-dragon... it had to be his uncle. The surprise arrival along with Daenerys from her past, the first major complication he had to face that he didn’t expect. How did he get a dragon? It was one thing seeing Volantis burned - it was another to see the dragon with his own eyes.

 

Suddenly Aerys Targaryen dove. Trading height for a faster speed as the rust dragon plunged. Cutting across the distance of Jon’s turn… Jon noticed it just in time to bank away, preventing an open maw from clamping down on Sarogon’s wing. But the move worked, Aerys bursting from below with the distance closed, dragonfire spewing from the rust-dragon’s maw. Jon’s eyes glowed a bright blue. “Suvion!”  

 

Spinning on his side, Sarogon unleashed a torrent of ice to break the dragonfire. Colliding in a blast of mist and smoke. Holding for several interminable seconds before the rust-dragon broke off the attack. 

 

“Good boy! Faster! Climb!” His mount roared as he flapped hard. Gaining speed.

 

But the rust-dragon was hot on his heels. Aggressive and determined, wingbeats snapping against the air as it closely followed. They zigged and zagged, gouts of red-orange flame meeting the hybrid’s ice. Each time Jon tried to break away did the attacker counter, forcing both into an eerie stalemate that lasted for what seemed to be time interminable. 

 

Sarogon was larger and held more power, but in their dueling climbs the sleeker opponent had the advantage. Before Jon could react a burst of speed shot the rust-dragon past Sarogon, the split second enough for it to turn. Diving right at the two of them with teeth and claws bared.

 

The rust-dragon sunk its jaw into Sarogon's back, Jon’s mind pulsing from the pain in their bond as the grey dragon bellowed a horrific roar - blood spraying. Talons sunk into flesh, but held there, air swirling around Jon as he felt them being rocketed down. Faster and faster… Hurling us into the ground! Boy, Dracarys! Sarogon released a burst of dragonfire point blank at the attacker, but the grip did not let up. If anything, it grew stronger, more unyielding. The ground looming closer and closer as the dive grew out of control.

 

Yelling at the top of his lungs as he held the spines tightly, Jon found the eyes of the other dragonrider. He wore black and red Valyrian plate, silver hair loose in the wind. Lean and powerful, he looked every bit a Targaryen dragonlord, regarding Jon with a look of both contempt and excitement. Goodbye nephew, Jon heard through the bond just as the rust-dragon released him and Sarogon. Mere seconds passing of an almost numb free-fall before all went white...

 

Coming to coughing upon the ground, Jon tried to heave himself up… only to grimace as he fell back on his side. The snow had broken his fall, but he nevertheless ached, even the slightest bit of movement sending pain from the bruises all over his body. Jon tried to move his legs to kneel, but only one was working, the other twisted into a grotesque shape. Ah, fuck...  

 

In the distance was the roar of dragons. Faint in his ears, which sounded like a steady drumbeat by his dulled senses. Sarogon… boy… fighting… A gentle, warm snout against his side killed that idea. He looked around, catching a flash of bloodred high in the sky even as he began to grow woozy. Blackness began to envelop him. 

 

Still, the battle high above was hard to miss. “Dany…” Such was the last before the darkness shrouded him.

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Each gust of wind, each wingbeat of Arogon’s, they all served to grow Daenerys’ fear. Her instinctive apprehension over her love. Amplifying the deep dread that something was actually happening. 

 

It was a mere thirty minutes after taking to the skies that she was proven completely right - much to her horror. Able to witness a mysterious rust-colored dragon almost drive Jon and Sarogon into the ground. Almost hearing a scream over the howl of the wind… turning out to be her scream as the grey dragon carrying her love never regained altitude. Crashing into the snowy ground…

 

Arogon growled. Muna… they live...

 

Reaching out her own connection, trying to feel the man she bonded with before the gods… He’s alive… Relief seized her heart but for the quickest moment before Dany found her gaze distracted. The still airborne beast began to gain altitude once more… perhaps for one more dive. Dany’s eyes narrowed, flashing a bright orange. “Girl, climb!” Arogon obeyed without hesitation.

 

Into the clouds Dany ascended. Snow and ice blasting her with their burning chill as Arogon ascended. Her mount’s mouth opened as she sucked in breath after breath, filling her lungs with the bracing air. Pulling high, feeling the speed lessen and lessen. A little more, girl, please… Now! In one fell swoop Arogon inverted, Daenerys holding onto the spines with every bit of her strength as she looked down at the rust dragon. Seeing a faint flash of silver hair. Is that… Aerys! Daenerys could tell on instinct alone it was the twin brother she had never known. The man determined to kill Jon… the one who abused her half-sister. You will die today for this! Such shrieked her inner dragon. 

 

Speed falling steadily, Arogon turned sharply. The force of the wind and the earth bringing him around in a narrow arc - just ready to plunge at the right command. A rather wolfish smile found its way to Dany’s tightened face, her dragon well-placed to plummet right into a perfect attack on the unsuspecting Aerys. “Ready, girl… DIVE!” Her roar was drowned out by the wind as she beat her wings and dove.

 

As slowly as speed had been given, in the dive it was nowhere near as slow. Air slamming into Dany, arms wrapped around Arogon’s spines and legs digged into the ridge of her back to simply keep from being ripped off her by the wind. Mouth open in a battlecry, eyes a dark orange from rage and power. Aerys and his dragon grew closer and closer. Ballooning in size until she was certain it was the same size as hers. 

 

By some coincidence of fate, Aerys’ gaze noticed her just as she hollered her command. “Dracarys!” 

 

Unfurling her wings to slow her descent, Arogon let out a stream of dragonfire directly on the other dragon. A perfect attack, enveloping the rust-colored beast in a cloud of flame upon its rear half. It shrieked in terror and pain, but the man upon her back was no novice dragonrider. In a last-ditch attempt to shake off Dany’s pursuit. A sudden wingbeat sending the rust-dragon into a rapid turn. 

 

Unexpected, Dany knew she was in trouble if she let Aerys get behind her. “Turn, girl!” And so Arogon gave up her hard-gained speed. Aerys forced such a trade as the both of them began to spiral to the ground. Where is he… Jon! Directly below was the grey-colored blotch in the snow of Sarogon… and her love. “Dive, girl!” she shouted in the Common Tongue in spite of herself. “To kepa!” Arogon knew though, and complied with a pained hoot. Breaking off the attack as she lost sight of Aerys.

 

With a hard landing she found herself scrambling off her dragon. Dany raced through the snow to where she saw the black-clad form of her beloved husband. “Jon! Gods…” Heart of ice, it began to warm as she felt his breaths - that was a relief, but the rest… He had a clearly broken leg, as well as many bruises and cuts. “Oh, Jon… my love.” She bit back sobs, seeing her mighty king look so broken and battered.

 

A roar drew her attention, Arogon lumbering in the snow to clash with the rust-dragon, the two of them assaulting each other with tooth and claw on the ground… almost in a sort of struggle for dominance rather than some battle to the death - Sarogon wounded and guarding Jon. Hand drifting to her sword strapped across her back, Daenerys watched as an armored figure with silver hair blowing in the wind emerged, walking slowly towards her. She narrowed her eyes. “Prince Aerys Targaryen,” Dany called out.

 

Aerys looked almost… happy to see her. “Daenerys… I have dreamed for years to finally lay my eyes on you.”

 

It surprised her, but she drew Dark Sister. Hammering her point home. “You almost killed my husband.”

 

“Regrettable, but necessary. You’ll know why soon enough.” But if he expected her to surrender… or join him, he would be dreadfully disappointed. “Put the sword away, Dany.”

 

“Not until I take off your head.” She did not back down when he drew his own blade, although there was a bit of surprise at seeing the legendary Blackfyre return from its exile. “I never knew you, but you are just as mad as our father. What you did to Volantis, to Ashara, to Jon…” To Alysanne… Daenerys didn’t know why she didn’t mention her name, but shrugged it off.

 

“Your husband tried to kill me with blood magic, but I’m willing to overlook that.” Aerys’ hold tightened on the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, ready to do battle against its twin. “I don’t want to fight you, sister,” he said simply.

 

Drawing back, Daenerys lifted Dark Sister in both hands. Torso angled to the side. “Then surrender. Bend the knee and proclaim Jon as your King.”

 

“That will never happen.”

 

She cocked her head. “Then I believe we are at an impasse.”

 

Daenerys almost noticed a flicker of grief in Aerys’ expression before it hardened. Violet eyes glowing bright with mad ruthlessness. “So we are.” Twirling Blackfyre till it pointed directly at her head, he suddenly erupted through the snow, crossing the distance with the roar of a winter storm. 

 

Dark Sister came up immediately, parrying the blow to the side while Dany gave ground. Darting to the right as a swing crashing into the snow, but Aerys held a surprising agility - swinging his blade to catch her thrust. Nearly knocking her over as he assaulted into her. Her twin’s strength putting her clearly on the defensive - Aerys thrusting his bulk and muscle hard in the opening salvo. 

 

The winds began roaring around them, gods displeased at the blades of the long dead lovers and the married dragon pair meeting each other in anger. Valyrian steel singing a mournful requiem as Blackfyre and Dark Sister clashed together. Only matched by the dragons roaring and snapping each other, Rhaelyx trying to take on Arogon in a flurry of snow and ice kicked off the ground while Sarogon struggled to push itself onto its feet and wingclaws - protectively huddling around his rider. 

 

Aerys twirled Blackfyre high in the air, leaping atop the large snowdrift to drive Dany off the high ground. “You are foolish, sister,” he remarked, voice almost soothing as his one-handed slash was bogged down by Dany’s two-handed counter.

 

Arms burning from the strain, Dany nevertheless met the bright violet eyes of her father’s namesake with her own - glowing a light orange of determination. “Was Alysanne foolish as well?” The glow grew brighter and darker, almost the intensity of dragonfire. “When you beat her? Raped her?”

 

It seemed to set him off. “DO NOT SPEAK OF HER!” Bellowing in rage, Aerys ducked to the right, avoiding her counter and bashing her in the stomach with Blackfyre’s pommel. Pain stabbing through her, Dany cried out as she fell into the snow - only by some miracle holding onto Dark Sister. Just able to block a swipe before rolling out of the way of a furious lunge, blade punching deep into the drift. She leapt on her feet and slashed with Dark Sister. Blades meeting once again, Aerys stumbled in the snow before batting aside Dany’s sword with a swing of his. Jerked the twin dragon-hilted bastard sword upward to which the Queen dodged. 

 

Gods… he is good… If not at Jon’s caliber, close enough. A manifestation of what Daemon Blackfyre must have been, able to defeat the greatest knights upon the field of battle… but she had no intention of being one of them. Dany aimed a slash for his upper back only for a skillful parry. Her eyes burned hot, determined on finishing this once and for all.

 

Suddenly a sharp pain burst within her skull. Ears popping with a whistling scream that brought Dany to her knees, mouth open in a silent shriek. Resigned to Aerys striking her down right there if she didn’t manage to see through the utter agony that he had been brought to the ground too, clutching his head with the same bellowing cry of pain. 

 

And that was when she heard it, a great push in her mind that both shattered all walls of her memory and froze even the mighty blood of the dragon into ice.

 

"We meet again, my love.”

 

Her past returned with a fury. Dany recalling the most shattering chaos and evil that she had endured in the past now gone… not as gone as she had expected… or hoped. “No… you can’t have come…”

 

“Oh, but I did.” In the distance, a dark, swirling cloud of snow and ice began enveloping the Haunted Forest. “I have finally found my love again.”

 

She tried to scream in rage, but the pain was too great. “I… I will never be yours… Jon, I love Jon…”

 

That weak fool? The one who let you die in his past? Did you really think I would leave you with him? That I would not make you mine again as we were?" 

 

No… no… Through the agony, Dany could spot the most malevolent of evils. A pair of glowing violet eyes, dead of all warmth but glowing with the bitter cold of ice.

 

The Ice King… Jon...


 

Brandon Stark

 

“Summer, sit.”

 

The silver grey direwolf leaned back on his haunches and swiped his tongue over his mouth.

 

“Good boy.”

 

Bran ruffled behind his wolf’s ears in approval. He had taken care to train Summer every day since coming to Greywater Watch. Jojen had told him it was necessary to form a strong bond with his direwolf for warging to succeed with Summer. Warging, or skinchanging, as the young crannogman had called it, was the ability to enter the mind of an animal and control its actions. Like Bran, all greenseers were wargs but not all wargs were greenseers.

 

Meera smiled behind Bran and ruffled his hair, causing him to blush. The daughter of Howland Reed had a place in his heart and he wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Yet, he was hesitant on whether to act on his affections for her. Their noticeable age difference made such an act awkward for him to consider.

 

“Bran, could you try warging into Summer again? Maybe you’ll last a little longer this time.” 

 

She spoke softly to him with a warm sisterly tone. She reminded Bran of how Sansa would talk to him on days when he was feeling down. Although, Meera was trying to encourage rather than comfort - his first few times warging were very unsettling. Being inside Summer’s mind was like riding a horse without saddles and stirrups. It felt like he would fall off at any moment.

 

Steeling his nerves, Bran gave Meera a half-smile before facing Summer. Taking a deep inhale, he let out his breath in a slow whoosh and locked eyes with Summer. 

 

Focus… Concentrate…  

 

Bran’s eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites showing. He felt like he’d been immersed headfirst in water, and the world faded to black… 

 

When his sight cleared, he saw his body in front of him, still as stone and held upright by Meera. Looking down, he found himself in the body of Summer. It fascinated and unsettled him.

 

Clad in his literal wolfskin, he walked forward on four legs and looked up at Meera, who giggled and ruffled his fur.

 

“You look cuter as a wolf than as a boy,” She teased. He cocked his head and licked her hand. It felt strange to inhabit a body that couldn’t talk like a man, yet still could think like one. Now that he thought of it, were animals really as dumb as people believed?

 

After a few more minutes of frolicking around in the grass, Meera called out to him, “Alright Bran, time to come back to your own body. Remember, a warg can’t stay out for too long or he won’t be able to come back at all.”

 

Not wanting to remain a canine for the rest of his life, Bran stopped and closed his eyes.

 

Focus… Concentrate… 

 

He gasped like a man who’d just surfaced from underwater and his eyes flew open. Leaving a host body was apparently more abrupt than entering. He shivered and rubbed his shoulders, trying to calm his beating heart and steady his ragged breath.

 

Meera hugged him tightly - warmth spread from his face down to his… well, he didn’t want to linger. “You’re doing great, Bran.” She smoothed his hair out. “I had my reservations, but you’re quite a natural at skinchanging.”

 

Bran felt a surge of pride at his progress. Along with warging, his training with Bloodraven in greensight was going well. However, the mystic man was becoming more and more on edge with each meeting. His lessons were becoming increasingly rushed and rigorous. 

 

‘The Ice King knows the time draws nearer than we expect. There is no luxury of several years before the final reckoning of this world.’

 

‘Bran, more than ever, the fate of us all rests on your shoulders.’

 

‘You are the last watch of the Three-Eyed Raven.’

 

‘Ensure the protectors are returned…’

 

Protectors…?

 

‘The original song of ice and fire…’

 

Frankly, that was a heavy burden to place on a boy just over his tenth nameday.

 

“Bran… Meera… ,” Jojen’s monotone came from behind them. Walking stiffly up to his sister and her betrothed, he gave a small nod toward her. “Father wants to see you.” Without looking at her, he turned to Bran. “Come with me, the Three-Eyed Raven awaits.”

 

Squeezing his hand, Meera headed inside the wood and thatch keep of Greywater Watch to find Howland. Bran gazed after her lithe figure from behind until a clearing of a throat brought his attention back to Jojen, who had an almost smile upon his lips.

 

“You love her, don’t you?”

 

Bran barely opened his mouth before Jojen interrupted.

 

“No matter. Follow me.”

 

As he followed Jojen into the godswood, Bran couldn’t shake off his annoyance at how Jojen was so cavalier about his feelings for his sister. Did Jojen feel any emotion at all? Howland was a man of few words, yet he conveyed genuine feelings like any other. His son, on the other hand, might as well be a tree if he didn’t walk and talk.

 

Stepping in front of the weirwood, he reached out to touch the heart tree’s bleeding face… until Jojen’s firm hand stayed his.

 

“Not this time, Bran,” the crannogman said. “A greenseer will not always have a weirwood by him, so he must learn how to use his sight without it.”

 

Reluctantly, Bran pulled his hand back and instead focused his stare on the weirwood’s face. Staring deeper, he let his mind empty and his breath slow. His eyes rolled again back into his head and his vision faded to black.

 

In an instant Bran found himself soaring high above the wall, wings flapping. The body of the raven cawed, starting to bank down as if on instinct. Bran could feel a pulse of energy… a pull guiding him to some specific location…

 

A roar proved his instincts right.

 

The dragon of Aerys Targaryen ascended from the ground, rider atop his back as it gunned for… Bran stilled in the air, milky eyes catching the army of the dead in the distance. Looming malevolently almost three miles off. On the ground from where Aerys took off, there was the white-clad, silver-haired form of who had to be Daenerys Targaryen. She frantically dragged a still form… Jon!

 

In the distance, great tongues of flame enveloped the front ranks of the army of the dead. Wights by the hundreds immolated in a split second… but it wasn’t enough. Aerys would never be able to destroy all of them with a mere one subadult dragon. They would force him off, force him back…

 

But it wasn’t Aerys that the Ice King desired…

 

The Raven’s gaze shifted to his master’s fallen brother and goodsister, one barely conscious as he was loaded onto the bulk of Arogon. The other, the last of the pain crippling her mind shook off, burned with vengeance. Eyes a dark orange as she neared the point of no return. Of uncontrollable madness. “Soves!” With a roar, the beast took off in a puff of snow. Behind, Sarogon followed quickly, urged by his mother and the agony of his fallen father.

 

“No!” Bran screamed wordlessly. Already seeing an immense cloud of snow and ice force Aerys to break off - dragon trailing blood through the air as she fled desperately - undoubtedly a worse fate waited for Jon and Daenerys… “Jon! Dany! Turn back!”

 

“They can’t hear you, dearest brother.”

 

The voice filled Bran with dread. Familiar kindness mixed with an ancient malevolence plucked from darkness itself. “Begone, demon!” he snarled.

 

A chuckle. “I don’t think so, Bran.” Images suddenly flooded his mind. Of dozens of White Walkers hidden among the wights. Dead flesh keeping them out of sight as each readied an ice spear. “Smart, isn’t it?” An ambush, with Aerys having flushed them here and the wights being the bait.

 

“JON! DANY!” But the one that had been his brother was right. Neither could hear his psionic cries. Dragons climbing ever faster as they raced into a dive. Vengeance and hate coursing through Daenerys Targaryen. A fire which made her powerful… yet also threatened to be her undoing. “RUN!” But the dragons curved in the air, beginning their descent…

 

“Watch him die, and watch her become mine again…”

 

Head pounding… frantic, Bran suddenly realized there was only one way he could save them. He had to warg into the dragons… utilize a power he had only recently managed to unlock, only enhanced to something far more massive. Multiple things…

 

He had to try.

 

In an instant his mind was detached from the raven, thoughts a blank as he picked out the diving dragons.

 

Focus… Concentrate…

 

“Ahhhh!” A sudden pulse of pain forced him out of their minds. Bran could feel their fire, their immense will and ferocity. Like a wall to his efforts, without the spiritual blood connection that he and Summer had. Shutting out the pain, he tried again. 

 

Focus… Concentrate…

 

The minds of the dragons forced him out once more. Crying in frustration, Bran gritted his teeth and assaulted the dragons’ minds. Leaping with the fury of a wolf into the din… suddenly feeling a surge of energy course through him.

 

“I am here, Bran Stark,” he heard Brynden Rivers boom in his mind. “Use my strength… save them…” all grew faint as Bran felt the fire start to surround him...

 

Falling… falling… the whoosh of wind slamming into his snout woke Bran. Eyes finding the ground growing ever closer. The Dead growing ever closer from two different perspectives. Almost as if he was inhabiting two minds… It worked! Bran was in dragonskin, and for a moment he lost himself… savoring the feeling.

 

A glint far down - reflected in the slivers of firelight left from Aerys’ attack runs - focused his mind again. Bran could see it all. Daenerys screaming a battlecry at the top of her lungs, the Ice King eager to see his love returned to him, the walkers ready to spring the ambush. NO!

 

With two mighty roars, Bran broke off the dive. Banking hard to either side just before a flurry of spears shot past them through the air. 

 

Flapping hard, feeling the ache and strain of the wingbeats as he struggled to regain altitude, Bran heard Daenerys’ voice scream through the bond. “Stop it, girl! What are you doing?!” 

 

It was in High Valyrian, but through the bond of the dragon Bran understood it. “Queen Daenerys… listen to me…”

 

He heard a gasp. “Bran, is that you?”

 

Her past… Dany must have remembered his voice from her future. “Yes… the Ice King was going to ambush you.” Bran felt her fear. “Go, Daenerys. Just go!” Everything faded to white again, the last thing Bran heard being the voice of Bloodraven.

 

‘The protector resides beneath you…’


 

Joffrey Waters

 

Eight moons spent at this frozen dumping ground for the scum of the earth... 

 

Eight moons shut away from where I rightfully belong... 

 

Eight moons the future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms will remember to punish those who dared cast him out... 

 

Joffrey Baratheon, as he still foolishly believed himself to be, sat slumped against a stone wall at the side of the training yard. He watched listlessly as Qhorin Halfhand barked at the men gathered around him to disperse and get back to work. The earth-shaking roar that they had all heard earlier was enough to frighten even himself. Even now, he was still trying to still his nerves.

 

No matter. Whatever that noise was, it hadn’t sounded again. There were more important things for him to focus on - like getting out of this dead-end service . Whoever said that the black order was honorable and glorious? This filth was barely a step up from Flea Bottom.

 

I’ll get my throne and my respect back, if it’s the very last thing I do. The Night’s Watch was no place for the Crown Prince of the Realm. He should be back in the glittering court of King’s Landing, surrounded by adoring maidens and bowing servants galore. Instead, he was stuck in a run-down shack of a castle forced to empty out privies and clean laundry.

 

Joffrey glowered up at the scaffolding above the courtyard, where Jeor Mormont was deep in conversation with a younger man that bore a similar resemblance. His own son, I suppose. The title of Lord Commander should be his. Even in exile, he was still heir to the Iron Throne.

 

His thoughts drifted back to his mother and the sting of her betrayal. She told him that he’d be sent to Pentos until the whole mess with the Stark peasants was dealt with, and then he could come home. Pulling his cloak around himself tighter to ward off the cold, it seemed that was a barefaced lie. His weakling brother Tommen likely usurped his inheritance. A softie like him never upset their father.

 

 “Hurry, Ser Davos! Jon needs Maester Aemon!”

 

Looking up from his corner, Joffrey watched a petite, young woman with brown locks half-carry and half-drag a battered young man with raven curls through the courtyard toward the Lord Commander’s Tower. The woman’s violet eyes were wild with panicked urgency - quite the opposite from the grizzled, grey-bearded older man who was struggling to keep the bruised figure between them on his feet.

 

“Milady, please calm down. Jon will be alright. A twisted leg is easier to heal than a gaping slash across your che…”

 

The old man faltered as the small, yet fierce woman glared daggers back at him. Wordlessly, they hauled the injured man between them up the steps to where the Mormonts were standing. A cursory glance from the Lord Commander at the new arrivals saw him promptly usher them into his quarters and shut the door behind them. He then walked briskly off, presumably to procure some medical supplies for the beaten and bloodied man.

 

“Joffrey Baratheon, I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

 

The falseborn prince blinked at the sudden swoosh of flowing red robes that danced in front of his eyes. Raising his head up, he could only gape at the second woman he had seen since arriving at the Wall. Clearly not of Westerosi birth, she possessed a beauty that straddled the regal grace of a queen and the flirtatious playfulness of a maiden. Her long lustrous hair was a flaming red to match her eyes, whose scarlet glow seemed to flicker like flames themselves. Yet for all her comeliness, the teasing smile upon her lips grated him like sandstone.

 

“I couldn’t care less what you are.” Joffrey spat. “You look like a whore whose place is in a brothel in the slums of King’s Landing.”

 

The woman tutted disapprovingly. “Not very dignified of you, your Grace . A king would be wise to address his subjects with courtesy, lest he invite more knives at his back.”

 

Joffrey snorted in derision and kicked at her feet. “What does it matter to you? And who in the Seven Hells are you anyways?”

 

The red hue of the strange woman’s eyes seemed to burn brighter. “I am Melisandre, a Red Priestess and servant of the Lord of Light.” She unclasped her hands from her waist and held out her right palm. A moment passed before a flame flared into existence just above her snow-pale flesh.

 

Joffrey stared in wonder at the magic he’d witnessed. The maesters mentioned such about the Red Priess of Volantis, yet never had they touched upon the mystical elements of their practices. Such phenomena was not to last, however, as Melisandre extinguished the flame as soon as it breathed life.

 

“As for your first question, your Grace.” Her piercing eyes bore into his. “Your lack of etiquette matters not to me but to you. Prideful vanity upsets the will of the true Lord. I will not reap the consequences of your ego. If you are the king you claim to be, you will ignore my advice at your own peril.”

 

“You really are an empty-headed fool.” Joffrey couldn’t believe what he was hearing from this nobody. Who was she to tell the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms what was right and wrong? The king was always right! This woman was no more than a mummer. “For your information, I am king and my word is law. My word is the truth. I refuse to listen to anyone who questions me. I… am… the… king!”

 

He only just stopped himself from screaming out the last part. Thorne had a tendency to give him a kicking whenever he called attention to himself. Fortunately, the cranky master-at-arms was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

 

A shift in Melisandre’s feet mirrored the cock of her head to the side. She sighed and shook her head regretfully. “Some men can’t be helped, especially those who fail to learn from their sins. Joffrey Baratheon is soon to join them… again.”

 

“What is that nonsense supposed to mean?!”

 

Melisandre turned stone-faced, an eerie reminder of his Grandfather, Tywin. “Any man who says ‘I am the king’ is no true king.” Without further word, she turned her back on him with a flourish of her robes.

 

Head whirring with confusion since Melisandre spoke to him, Joffrey remained fixated on the last thing she said. Any man who says ‘I am the king’ is no true king. Uncanny that he felt a sense of deja vu when that was the first time he’d ever heard those words. The way she looked like his Grandfather also didn’t help the matter.

 

Pushing open the door to the common hall, he gritted his teeth and braced himself for yet another meal of bland stew and hard ale. What he’d give for a proper stew of auroch-and-greens washed down with a goblet of sweet Arbor gold or full bodied Dornish red. As he went to get his grub from the stewards, he noticed a group of three huddled around a table in the back in deep conversation.

 

Trying to act inconspicuous, he walked casually up to them from behind to get within earshot. Thorne’s gruff tongue was distinct over the loud whisperings with the other two black brothers. Apparently, they were in disagreement over something regarding the Lord Commander.

 

“Thorne, are you certain you want us to go through with this plan? This is a flagrant breaking of our oath to the Night’s Watch.”

 

A sarcastic laugh answered him. “Bowen Marsh, you Old Pomegranate, if you weren’t the Lord Steward, you’d realize the wisdom of my words. Jeor Mormont’s refusal to take action against the wildling savages that somehow got past the Wall is in and of itself a breaking of his own oath. We are the shield that guards the realms of men, and right now, non-men have slipped past us. The Old Bear must be speared and skinned.”

 

“I must concur with Ser Alliser, Marsh,” the third voice chimed in. “If this continues with impunity, soon all the Seven Kingdoms will be overrun with Thenns, Hornfoots, and all the rest of the undesirable lot. Furthermore, I happen to know who’s behind this mess in the first place.”

 

“Besides Benjen, you mean?” Thorne asked. “I figured he had something to do with this as I haven’t seen him much since he returned from his ranging north.”

 

Joffrey’s ears perked up. Now this was an opportunity if he guessed. ‘Protector of the Realm’ was one of his titles, and thus he was responsible for eliminating any threats to his crown. Whoever let the wildlings onto his lands would suffer dearly. A smirk formed on his lips upon the memory of him hacking two of them to pieces while a boy called… Oredill? … screeched for him to leave his parents alone. Well, there was more where that came from.

 

“Aye,” the third man said. “The First Ranger’s bastard nephew - Jon Snow. I overheard his name while passing by the Lord Commander’s quarters. Said by that wee lass with purple eyes and chestnut locks. From what I heard, she’s his wife.”

 

The room became so silent you could hear a pin drop. Joffrey’s fists unconsciously clenched and the blood rushed to his head. A Stark bastard in my presence. He remembered all too well how Ned Stark banished him from one of his kingdoms and how his daughters humiliated him. Not to mention how his halfman uncle ratted him out to his father. 

 

Well, vengeance was at hand.

 

Thorne exhaled slowly and spoke very slowly. Almost as if he was trying to hold back something. “Wittlestick, whatever doubt I had about doing this - not anymore. We take out Mormont, Snow, and Stark when he returns to Castle Black. Marsh, are you in, or not?”

 

A brief moment’s pause before Bowen Marsh nodded his head. “On one condition then. I will not do the actual killing.”

 

Thorne grinned and raised his tankard of ale in a toast. Tipping its contents into his mouth, he sputtered at the sound of Joffrey’s voice in his ear.

 

“I want in as well, Thorne.”

 

The master-at-arms wiped his mouth and nose, and glared at him. “I think not, stagspawn. Wolves and bears hunt stags and not the other way around.”

 

Joffrey stood his ground. He refused to be cowed by this frozen knight any longer. “I am a lion as much as a stag. The Starks will pay for landing me up here.”

 

“Let the boy join, Ser Alliser,” Wittlestick said, giving Joffrey a sympathetic glance. “At least he’s more motivated than Old Pomegranate here.” He slapped the Lord Steward on the shoulder.

Marsh scowled at the jest but merely shrugged at Joffrey. “Also, you told me that he performed quite well when you raided the wildling camp by the Nightfort.”

 

With a grunt of grudging acknowledgement, Thorne stood up from the bench and thrust his face at Joffrey’s. “Alright, lionstag, you may help… Under my orders, you hear me?”

 

“Aye, Ser.” Joffrey could stomach this one moment of self-degradation. Getting revenge on the Starks was worth the stooping below his position. Soon, he’d be back in the capital where he belonged and the Night’s Watch would be but a forgotten memory.


 

Jorah Mormont

 

“I didn’t think there would be somewhere colder than home.” Jorah mentally scolded himself for that comment - how mundane and obviously awkward to discuss the weather. It reminded him of his first conversations with Lynesse, how tongue tied he was. Lady Lannister now…

 

A grunt from beside him. “Got too used to the south, did you?”

 

Jorah sighed, tension added to the awkwardness. Escorting his father, the Lord Commander, to speak with Jon in his sickbed was the first time they were alone to talk since Jeor had left for Castle Black. Much had happened since then. None of it for the better but recently. “I suppose a man can grow acclimated to anywhere.”

 

“And such wouldn’t have happened had…” Jeor trailed off, merely scowling and looking away.

 

“Had what?” Seemed to Jorah nothing would improve until all was in the open. “Since I married a southern maiden completely unsuited to being the Lady of Bear Island?” Even as they climbed the rickety wooden stairs, he kept close behind the Lord Commander. “A woman that betrayed me as easily as one would a rat? I believe I’ve endured enough punishment for that.”

 

It was his father’s turn to sigh. “Aye.” His single eye found Jorah, blue gaze wary instead of cold. “Best we stop dancin’ round this.” Pulling Jorah into an alcove, the man was as hard as when Jorah had been but a boy. Crossing his arms, the scowl returned. “Son, you should never have come back.”

 

Jorah scowled in return, grasping his stubbly chin. “I had no part in this. Their Graces took me into their service and I will follow them to the ends of the earth if need be. To Winterfell they went, and King Eddard pardoned me of my offense due to my service in his nephew’s stead.”

 

“I’m not talkin’ about the King’s Justice, son. I’m talkin’ about your honor. Your worth as a Mormont.” For once, Jorah managed to see a flash of pain in Jeor’s remaining eye. “How could ya’ do it? Bring shame upon our family? All for some southern tart that’s now butcherin’ the south astride Tywin Lannister’s cock?”

 

Agony filled the disgraced Mormont of Bear Island - he carried the sigil of the bear into battle, but it always seemed to burn him otherwise. Because of this… Honestly, Maege would’ve likely not even allowed him into the protection of her hearth and home - the hearth and home once his. Jorah’s aunt was… even harder than his father if one could believe that. “I can’t explain it father, other than the foolishness of a young lad presented with a beautiful maiden.”

 

For a split second, there was a look of sympathy in Jeor’s eyes. “Aye, greater men have fallen for much less affection from a maiden.” But the sympathy wasn’t long-lasting. “Nevertheless, my son, you may have the right to return to the North. I accept the determination of the King that sentenced you, but don’t think for one moment that you’ve earned it.” He poked Jorah in the chest, as if he was a child again. “You haven’t - I don’t know how you could, but I know you haven’t.” It was as if each poke was a shard of ice stabbing through Jorah’s torso.

 

Before either of them could say something else, a bawdy singing came from further down the walkway. A voice that didn’t seem much to Jorah, but was quite familiar to Jeor. By the grimace on his face - not one of irritation or disappointment but pure loathing - the Lord Commander was not pleased at this. Face tightening as the rather… profane version of the popular ditty The Dornishman’s Wife belted out drunkenly in the high voice of a man starting to come of age. Jorah swore he heard that particular rendition before, but couldn’t place it or the voice.

 

“Who is…”

 

“Joffrey, that little insect.” 

 

Jorah’s eyes widened. I knew I recognized the song. It was one Robert Baratheon sung while drunk during the feast at the conclusion of the Greyjoy Rebellion, right before he proceeded to bed the beautiful wife of a minor Dornish Lord. Seemed the lad had learned it from his father. “The former Crown Prince?” Apparently his reputation for being a cunt spanned both Kingdoms and lifetimes. 

 

“I thought I assigned him to re-hay the horses. Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the alcove. Blinking, Jorah followed - perhaps he’d get lucky and get a punch in for what he tried to do to the Stark sisters.

 

Turned out Joffrey was stumbling drunkenly along the wooden path, a tankard of ale in his hand as he continued the singing. Until the Lord Commander sidled up to him, that was. “Steward Baratheon, you little shit!” There was little of Robert in the short blonde boy’s features, unless one counted the insufferable arrogance. “Why the fuck aren’t you in the stables?!”

 

Laughing, Joffrey took a swing of the ale, ignoring Jeor. This made Jorah narrow his eyes. “Do you have a death wish, boy?” 

 

“Whatever do you mean, Mormont scum?”

 

Jeor seemed taken aback by his brazenness. “I should have you flogged for your insolence.” Blinded by his ire, Jeor didn’t seem to notice what was off about all of this. Jorah moved his hand to his sword - there was no way the boy would be this brazen… not even one of Joffrey’s reputation. Not here, not with many moons of getting his ass handed to him at every insult. Something’s wrong.

 

“If you must know, Lord Commander,” he sneered, suddenly coherent and sober. Another thing that set off Jorah’s tension. “I was asked to deliver a message from Master-at-Arms Thorne.”

 

“And what could that fuckin’ be?” 

 

Listening closely, Jorah swore he could hear the sound of floorboards creaking over the howling wind. His eyes widened. “Father!” 

 

But it was too late. “Death to traitors.” Grinning madly, in an instant Joffrey pulled his dagger out of his cloak - the blade stabbing through the Lord Commander’s abdomen before the older man could even comprehend what was happening.

 

“No!” At his father’s grunt, blood dribbling from his mouth, Jorah drew his blade only to hear the scuffle of running feet. Redemption quickly clashed with the short sword of Bowen Marsh, Jorah’s skill more than a match for the older man’s fury as he parried and kneed him in the stomach. Marsh went down with a grunt of pain just as Wittlestick entered the fray, blows furious but far more precise.

 

Redemption glinted in the low torchlight, Jorah matching every blow until a sharp pain stabbed into his side. The bear knight crashing to his knees right next to his gurgling father, blood pooling out of his wound onto the floorboards. “Stupid bear,” came the leering voice of Joffrey, his green eyes the color of glistening wildfire as he raised the knife. Ready to strike the final blow.

 

“Stop.” The voice belonged to Alliser Thorne, gruff and bitter… as if the man had any other tone. “I want him as a witness.”

 

Beside him, Jeor reached out to his son. Grasping his hand as he choked up more blood. “Be… honor… Mormont…” The old bear’s last words were silenced when Thorne drew his blade and embedded it right in the Lord Commander’s back. Killing him instantly. 

 

“Shut up, old man.”

 

Jorah lashed out, his anger exploding. “I’ll kill you!” He managed to wrap his hands around Thorne’s neck and squeeze for several seconds before the others hauled him off. Beating and kicking him with fists and boots. 

 

Thorne rubbed his neck. “Save it, Mormont. You’re gonna witness proper justice being delivered. Bring him in!” Wittlestick and Marsh hauled him by his arms and dragged him into the room where Jon was waiting. In his groggy mind, Jorah wondered where the other guards were… until he realized he was the assigned guard for the King. Bastards took me on the switching of the guard… 

 

Time was not wasted as Thorne and Joffrey hauled the sleeping form of the King out of his bed. His senses were dimmed due to the intense pain in his side, but Jorah could see Joffrey kicking Jon repeatedly, the vilest of profanity out of his mouth. “Get off!” Thorne hissed, hauling up the groaning King by his hair. “Do the deed and be done with it.” 

 

“Fuck you, bastard,” Joffrey screamed, suddenly plunging his dagger into Jon’s stomach just as he did to his father. 

 

Dropped to the ground, Jorah watched as Marsh and Wittlestick advanced on Jon. 

 

“For the Watch.”

 

“For the Watch.”

 

Two other wounds joined Joffrey’s in the King’s gut.

 

Walking right up to the bound Jon, Thorne had a sneering smile on his face. “This is what you get when you dishonor a Targaryen Princess, bastard.” 

 

Jorah tried again the writhe out of his hold, but Wittlestick punched him in the ribs. Pain shooting from him as one of the bones was undoubtedly bruised. 

 

“Any last words before I send you to the Seven Hells with your uncle Brandon, grandfather, and whore of an aunt who brainwashed Prince Rhaegar?” Thorne continued.

 

Expecting the lad to erupt in fury at the insult of his real mother, the coughing, wincing Jorah watched through barely coherent eyes as Jon raised his head. All had been so sudden, and only now that things neared the end did Jon arrive at his full wits. Eyes glowing a muted orange - not from uncontrollable rage, but a steeled determination. “Get it over with, Thorne. Sooner it’s done, the sooner I can kill you.”

 

The Master-at-Arms snorted. “You’re just as mad as Aerys said your whole damn wolf family was.” Spitting in Jon’s face, Thorne drew his dagger back. Words different from the call of the others. “For House Targaryen.” Jorah cried out as the blade plunged true…

 

Jon buckled, mouth pursing as the knife embedded itself right into his heart. Blood began to flow out of it, soaking his sleep shift. Only moments passed before the mighty Targaryen King slumped to the ground. Eyes blown and breathing stopped, Jorah finding the man that finally brought purpose back to his life unceremoniously dead.

 

“Tonight… now, now my reign begins,” Joffrey murmured, his lips curling into a half-grin, half-sneer. The boy was clearly consumed with madness.

 

Chuckling, Thorne moved to Jorah. Grabbing the bear knight by the hair and pulling him up. “Remember this, Mormont. I want you to tell your fucking Starks what happened here.”

 

“Fuck… you…” Jorah breathed. “The Queen will kill you all.”

 

“Not fucking likely, now that I’ve set her free,” proclaimed Thorne. “Goodbye, Mormont. Give your father one last hug for me.” And at that moment Jorah’s vision went black as Wittlestick slammed the hilt of his dagger upon his head...

Notes:

CastleColin: History repeats itself, doesn’t it? Maybe, maybe not. Who knows how Melisandre’s ritual will work this time?

Longclaw: Bran develops his warging powers, but Bloodraven has a prophecy for him. What could "the protectors" mean? Next time you'll find out :D

Chapter 47: The Protectors

Summary:

1. Sansa spends time with Robb, Margaery and Talisa. Later she takes a stroll through the Godswood where pleasant company finds her.
2. Dany speaks with Jon's murderers before Melisandre performs a ritual.
3. Eddard goes to the crypts to visit his sister and reflect on messages he recently received. While down there, something unexpected occurs.
4. Jojen gives Howland a cryptic message before digging up the past.

Notes:

cmyatt01: This is a big chapter. When Ruben and I started this journey, we knew we wanted Jon's death and resurrection to have a meaning/purpose and while reading through the comments something like this was suggested. We took portions of what that person suggested, and this is what we came up. Thankfully Longclaw and Colin liked this unique idea (I will say, it is something I have not seen in a fic before) and I hope that you like this.

Longclaw: Alright people, there have been some reviewers who say that the storyline and style has changed from Reuben's original and it irritates them. I want to make it clear, we are following his and cmyatt's outline and planned story arc. We are committed to what they planned, if in our own style. It is our honor to be able to do this, but we are unique writers with our own styles and both Reuben and cmyatt knew that when they added us as co-writers.

CastleColin: After Jon’s resurrection, EVERYTHING changes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sansa Stark

Sitting in her mother’s solar, Sansa gently blew on her cup of tea, parting the steam wafting up. Taking a cautious sip, she savored the tangy, slightly bitter flavor as she took in her companions doing the same. Except for Robb, who only drank ale and occasionally wine. Presently, he was quaffing down a large mug of barley brew imported from Bear Island. Her stomach lurched at the thought of it. The first and only time she’d tried that stuff, it burnt the back of her throat and churned her stomach for the rest of the day. Hard liquor was not for her.

 

Northern in heritage, but southron in taste. She didn’t let it bother her though. Water Dancing with Arya and Syrio made her feel the wolfsblood in her veins.

 

Setting her teacup down on her saucer, Margaery broke the silence. “Lady Talisa, my betrothed told me you’re from Volantis. I’m curious to know why you came to the Seven Kingdoms.”

 

Sansa noted the emphasis on betrothed and the Tyrell beauty’s grasp of her brother’s hand as she said so. She smirked at Margaery’s discrete possessiveness. Apparently, the Volantene woman was competition for Robb’s affections. That couldn’t be helped. Talisa had a charm to her that admittedly rivaled Margaery’s. There’s a reason he fell for her in the past… some things never change.

 

Whether or not Talisa sensed a budding rivalry, she didn’t show it. Instead she smiled graciously and spoke openly. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see the world beyond my home. Don’t get me wrong, I love Volantis. It’s a vibrant city full of life. But I wanted to make a difference beyond just marrying to fill my family’s coffers.”

 

Sansa saw Margaery’s face brighten. “Like me,” she said. “I’ve always had an interest in helping the smallfolk back at Highgarden. Some of my relatives frown at me for intermingling with people below my stature, but that’s the duty of the highborn, is it not?”

 

“Some highborns,” mused Sansa, trying to steer any potential ire towards a more deserving party. “I couldn’t see Queen Cersei or the former Prince Joffrey intermingling with those of a lower station. Robert perhaps… but not in the way a man should.”

 

Margaery laughed merrily. “You couldn’t be farther from the truth. When the King last visited Highgarden, the brothel of Desmera Flowers made off with all of his coin. Unfortunately, no men benefited from that.”

 

Robb, who had been quiet the whole time, unlike his usual boisterous self, gently freed his hand from Margaery’s and looked Talisa in the eye. It was awkward for him to be in the presence of a woman who he’d led to her death, especially when she was completely oblivious. Still, he tried not to gulp in anxiety, and attempted to break the ice with her.

 

“You seem to have quite the skill at healing and medicine, my lady. I’ve noticed you aid Grand Maester Luwin in treating the sick of the castle. I’m also impressed how you’ve even gone into Wintertown to do the same. Even Luwin rarely does that.”

 

Sansa’s keen eye noticed a slight sheen of perspiration on her brother’s brow. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Please, Robb. You won’t die talking to her.  

 

Talisa smiled courteously… or was it flirtatiously? Margaery’s eyes narrowed, so Sansa assumed it was the latter. Robb took a sudden interest in his ale.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really,” the Volantene beauty replied after a pause. “Just from reading dusty medical tomes and a lot of practice with patients.”

 

Robb finished his drink and set his empty mug down. The alcohol seemed to have fortified him, for he then spoke without a tremor off his tongue. “I beg to differ, my lady. Your skills are special to me. I do not know many highborns that preoccupy themselves with manual labor. If I may ask, why did you decide to become a healer in the first place?”

 

Margaery leaned forward in her chair, eager to find out. Sansa took another sip of tea, keeping her eyes on Talisa, who’d suddenly become very still. Her teacup clutched tightly in her hands as if it were a precious jewel.

 

 From Talisa’s body language, Sansa guessed there was a very personal reason behind her choice of work.

 

Moistening her lips, Talisa spoke in a shaky voice. “When I was a little girl, my younger brother and I were swimming in the Rhoyne. I don’t know how, but I got separated from him. When I found him, he was floating face down in the water, motionless.” A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t wipe it.

 

After a shaky breath and a shakier sip of tea, she continued, her companions respectfully silent and attentive. “I pulled his body onto the shore… His heart wasn’t beating. I was so scared. My father would punish me terribly if my brother died on my watch. In my paralysis, I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. But then, a random slave man pushed me aside from out of nowhere.”

 

Talisa looked hard into each of her listeners’ faces, and for a brief moment, was a reflection of Sansa in the Red Wolf’s eyes.

 

“You must understand. A slave who forcibly touches a noble, especially a lady, is almost always punished by death. Yet, that man saved my brother’s life. He breathed air into him and pumped his chest to revive his heart. At that moment, I didn’t care that he’d broken the law. All I felt was gratitude.”

 

Margaery opened her mouth in a silent ‘o,’ awed by such a revelation. Sansa, however, was less optimistic about the tale’s end. By Robb’s sober expression, he was too. When he returned from Essos with Jon and Dany, he’d shared with her the horrors of Slaver’s Bay he’d seen. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to picture Volantis in a similar light.

 

“My father didn’t care what happened when I told him,” Talisa said hoarsely. “All he could think about was that I’d been pushed by a slave. The man who I owed a debt to was flogged and sold off, never to be seen again.”

 

Sansa felt an overwhelming well of sympathy in her. She wanted to reach out a comforting hand to Talisa, but was seated too far away. Margaery pursed her lips and shook her head disappointedly, while Robb clicked his tongue in disapprovement.

 

“From that day forward,” Talisa finished, eyes slightly red and tearing. “I vowed not to live in slave society again or use my class to oppress others… That’s why I am a healer, and why I came to Westeros.” She lifted her cup to her lips and drank the last drops of tea.

 

“By the old gods and the new, I’m so sorry,” Margaery offered. She looked embarrassed to have picked a scuffle with Talisa, now that she’d learned about her past.

 

Not common for highborns to admit their mistakes. Humility was not in a lord or lady’s vocabulary, unless you had them pleading for mercy from the headsman. My mistake, it appears. Thinking badly of Jon. Idolizing the image of Joffrey… had the gods not taken mercy on them all by sending back Jon and Dany through the future version of Bran… No, I will learn from this… I will change.

 

“Sansa… Sansa!”

 

Her pensive haze evaporated, eyes flickering back to her future good sister. “Oh… what did you say, Margaery?”

 

“Just changing the subject and we want your response.” She ended up smirking. “What do you think of young Prince Trystane?”

 

Had Sansa been drinking her tea, she would have spit it out. “Wha… why do you ask?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t pretend to know,” Margaery smiled slyly. “Just that the spare of House Martell hangs around you half the day, trying to impress you with knife tricks and what else. Honestly, it’s cute watching as he hasn’t appeared to have found a place in your heart yet.”

 

Sansa, honestly, found Trystane endearing and comely. But after her experience with Joffrey as well as what he did to her when she did indulge his vanity - let alone what happened in her past from what Jon and Dany told her - she wasn’t going to open herself to her betrothed so carelessly.

 

Half-smiling back at Margaery, she responded, “Trystane is an improvement over Joffrey, by a hundred leagues. He’s polite, humble, and humorous where Joffrey’s rude, arrogant, and crass. I think the Martell prince is a good match for me. Of course, he does still have to prove he’s worth the commitment of ‘binding flesh and soul to til death do part.’ ”

 

“Spoken like a true septa,” Margaery laughed.

 

“He’s regaled me with tales of his travels in the Free Cities. I remember his favorite ones were in Volantis, where ships bearing exotic goods from the Jade Sea grace the docks. Unfortunately, since the city was sacked and razed…”

 

“Wait, WHAT?!” Talisa interrupted, her eyes bugged out in shock.

 

Margaery glared at Robb, who paled and bit his lip. You didn’t tell her, brother? Sansa tsked-tsked under her breath. He told everyone in the family, except Rickon who was too young to fully understand, but not the one person who’d be affected the most.

 

“Someone tell me, now . I want answers,” Talisa demanded, her dark eyes flashing. 

 

Robb probably wanted to keep his mouth shut, except for Margaery digging her nails into his palm whilst in her iron grip. Wincing from the pain, he moistoned his lips and spoke up.

 

“If you hadn’t heard, the Targaryens recently hatched dragons for the first time in a century. One of them, Aerys, twin brother of Daenerys Targaryen, plundered Volantis with the Golden Company. He then burnt the city down with his dragon. An announcement to the world of his newfound power, and a warning to all who’d oppose him… The Old Blood… including Malaquo Maegyr… were his first victims.”

 

Robb averted his gaze from Talisa while he spoke, the pressure too much to bear. But he didn’t have to see her face to know her reaction.

 

Lip quivering and hiccupping, Talisa muttered an excuse to leave, then bolted out the door. Her sobs echoed in the hallway behind her.

 

As Robb made to follow her, Margaery’s hand gently stopped him. “Leave her to mourn, my Prince. She needs time to herself to process her grief.” He nodded stiffly and eased himself back down into his chair.

 

Margaery gave Sansa an apologetic look. “If you don’t mind, my Princess, could you leave us? Privacy needed between almost newly-weds.” Robb’s cheeks reddened until Sansa waved her hand at him in a not-like-that gesture.

 

“Not at all, Margaery,” she said, standing up from her chair. “And feel free to drop the formalities. We’re practically family already.” The Rose of Highgarden smiled brightly, pulling Sansa in for a hug. 

 

Over an hour later, Sansa sighed as a bracing wind rampaged through the godswood. It could freeze a bear alive, but the wolfsblood in her veins pumped hot. Sansa had always been the more Southern-inclined of her siblings but since Jon came back from his past, his revelations had changed her. Less of the dreams of the south and of the ways of the Andals remained in her soul, the inner wolf and First Man emerging more and more.

 

Approaching the heart tree, the sight of what was a frightening visage to the young girl ended up making Sansa smile. Her heart soared. Marry a southern Lord - or Prince - she might, but Sansa Stark’s spirit would always belong to the North. Like Jon’s mother… from what father says about her. Had she lived, would Lyanna Targaryen have liked her? She’d probably prefer Arya. Everyone comments how they resemble each other…

 

“Princess…”

 

Sansa yelped, jumping as she turned… only to reveal the chattering teeth of Prince Trystane of Dorne. Bundled up in his furs and thick Dornish cottons, and still looking as if he was slowly turning to ice. “Prince Trystane - you gave me a fright.”

 

He had the grace to look apologetic, which he seemed to be - while a tint of genuine amusement clouded his expression. Not at all like Joffrey Sansa had to admit - on Trystane it looked both charming and handsome. “Forgive me, Princess. I just… I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow warily. 

 

“My uncle and his paramour keep telling me about the old gods, yet I never did listen when they ever told me of them.” He shifted his feet, shaggy hair twisting underneath his hood. “I was hoping to find some answers here, but since I found you, I was wondering if you could teach me about the gods of your people.” Trystane pointed to the weirwood. “And that rather… frightening looking tree.”

 

Honestly, Sansa did not expect him to speak in those terms. It was rather… endearing. He actually is trying. Joffrey likely would have given up by now and tried to summon her to him at once. But she didn’t want to think of that slug. “I’d be delighted to, Prince Trystane, follow me.”

 

Before either of them knew it, over thirty minutes had passed as Sansa regaled the Dornish Prince with tales of the gods - of northern legends and the history of Winterfell. They talked about the godswood, of the proper etiquette and even the rather… arcane practices of sacrifice and blood offerings to the gods that most Lords eschewed publicly but practiced in private. “Is that why the Boltons skin their captives?” Trystane asked after a rather lurid description of a ceremony Sansa heard her grandfather Rickard had performed. 

 

Shuddering, she shook her head. “No, they are just sadistic.” 

 

“Terrifying to think about, though us Dornish aren’t much different. One of my ancestors killed a Reach invader by filling his bed with scorpions.”

 

“Scorpions?”

 

Trystane chuckled. “I doubt you’d see them up here. Basically an insect that crawls around and stings everything it comes across… wait.” Before Sansa could react, Trystane took her hand in his. “Like this.” He trailed two fingers up her forearm, another finger poking her pale skin.

 

At the third time she couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it,” she giggled, trying to writhe out of his grasp. “That tickles… yeep…” Catching a root buried underneath the snow, Sansa fell back, tugging the still attached Trystane with her. She grunted as she hit the snowy ground, grunting again when the Dornish Prince landed upon her. “Get off…” Sansa wriggled, attempting to remove herself. “Prince Trystane, I need to get up.” No answer. Her ire was raised. “I’m not asking again…” 

 

Finally looking up, her voice trailed off at seeing Trystane simply staring down at her. His dark brown eyes wide as they regarded her for what seemed like the first time with an expression of… rapture? Finding him like this, Sansa couldn’t help but take notice at how attractive the Prince was. Shaggy hair, bronzed skin, the toned muscles of someone who took their swordplay lessons seriously. And the eyes… 

 

Without warning, Trystane leaned down and kissed her on the lips. Sansa’s eyes flying open, fear stabbing through her system until she realized… he wasn’t deepening it. His hands were simply pressed into the ground, not roughly groping her as Joffrey had almost done. A perfect, chivalrous knight as she had dreamed of kissing her, if not fair and blonde. Warmth seeping into her, she closed her eyes and reciprocated the kiss.

 

But he pulled back, much to her displeasure. A blush adorned his cheeks. “Forgive me, Princess Sansa. I did not know what came over…”

 

Sansa interrupted him, wrapping an arm around his head and pulling Trystane in for another kiss.


Daenerys Targaryen

 

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys, eyes were scrunched shut. Fists clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing as she sought to calm the fire in her soul. Gods, she wished to hold Rhaegon in her arms. Or rub her hand through Ghost’s fur, both of them relaxed her greatly.

 

‘Muna… kepa will be alright after tonight.’ 

 

She looked up at the Wall towering above - almost able to make out the dark forms of both dragons. Thank you, girl. Arogon hooted a split-second later, joined by Sarogon not moments later. Dany managed to smile, accepting the affection of her dragon children. Love you both. Soon, she hoped to cuddle her beloved son in her arms and get to work on a little Princess with Jon. He will be saved.

 

“We’re ready, Daenerys,” she heard Benjen tell her, dressed in his armor and black cloak. “They’re tied up, but if they try anything I’ll gut them where they stand.”

 

“No need, uncle.” Dany patted Dark Sister strapped to her back. “I’ll take care of it myself.” She rolled her head, breathing in. “Time to get this over with.” I need to finally see the faces of the men who killed my Jon. From what she knew, two of the men were the same, and one of them was an enemy of her house regardless.

 

Trussed up like turkeys in the prison cells, the four conspirators stared back at her warily. She stood cold-faced and resolute on the other side of the bars, her eyes betraying no hint of the raging fire burning within her. “I will ask this once, and only once. Why? Why did you kill your Lord Commander and a bed-laden man?”

 

“A dragon. A real live dragon,” was all that the round and red man could mutter to himself fearfully. An elbow slammed into his gut from the younger, but still wrinkled man on his left. 

 

“Shut up, Marsh!” He hissed.

 

Daenerys smirked. When she’d found Jon lying on the floor of his room, his eyes blank and three gaping stab wounds in his chest, she’d shrieked to high heaven. Arogon had answered her distress by landing unchallenged in Castle Black’s courtyard, roaring at the top of her lungs. The men of the Watch scattered in panic as she paced the scaffolding overlooking them, screaming for whoever was responsible to show themselves or all would burn.

 

In the pit of her stomach, she knew the culprits, but it did nothing to temper her rage when the turncoat Thorne pronounced his and his accomplices’ guilt. The sight of one Lannister-looking boy among them only added tinder to the flames. She wasted no time in ordering the four traitors tied up and thrown in the ice cells. None of the black order questioned being commanded by a woman. Not a wise thing to do when there’s a dragon breathing down above you.

 

“Patience, Wittlestick,” said Thorne, surprisingly calm in the face of the Queen’s wrath. “A simple explanation will clear this misunderstanding.”

 

“What is there to misunderstand, Ser?” Daenerys demanded. “Betraying your commander and breaking an injured man’s guest right? I see nothing to dispute that.”

 

Thorne chuckled dryly. “Old Jeor betrayed his oath to the Watch when he refused to take action against the wildling scum that somehow crossed the Wall. His death was mere justice dispensed. As for the Stark bastard… well, he claimed to have married you. As a lifelong loyalist of your family, I could not allow that stain on your honor, Daenerys of the House Targaryen.”

 

A collective gasp from the other three men slumped on the floors was heard. Wittlestick and Marsh stared at her with wide fearful eyes, no doubt thinking she’d burn them alive like her father.

 

Oh, they would burn. Just not by her hand.

 

The golden-haired boy, however, glared at her in blind fury. “YOU?! I thought I’d put you out of your misery when I sent that useless Faceless Man moons ago!”

 

Daenerys’ own eyes widened in stunned belief. Of all people who... She’d nearly lost her life and her baby Rhaegon to that assassin… on the order of one who’d just murdered her husband. Steam poured out of her ears and red clouded her vision, but she forced herself to remain stoic. Cersei’s bastard would be sent screaming into the Seven Hells for eternity.

 

“Joffrey Baratheon ,” she said, gratingly. “At last, we finally meet. I’m sorry we won’t have time to get acquainted, but you’ve lost that privilege. The crime you committed is the pinnacle of dishonor, especially when the victim is blood of my blood.”

 

“If you mean Stark mutts are as filthy and rotten as dragonspawn, I wholeheartedly agree,” Joffrey sneered at her. Even bound up, the bastard showed no hint of guilt or remorse. “Mark my words, you’ll get what’s coming to degenerates like you!”

 

Marsh and Wittlestick both elbowed him in the ribs to silence him. Don’t wake the dragon.

 

Sneering back at Joffrey, Daenerys let herself indulge in a bit of gloating. “Fortunately, your father thinks otherwise, bastard . Your assassin met the sharp end of his sword. Oh, by the way, he looks much more comely than you.”

 

“I look nothing like Robert!”

 

“No, you look like Jaime Lannister.”

 

Joffrey sputtered like an idiot. He opened his mouth to protest. All that left his throat were frog-like gasps and chokes.

 

Daenerys smirked smugly at his reddening face.

 

“I knew there was something wrong with you the moment I saw you,” Thorne snorted. Slamming his own elbow into Joffrey’s gut, he winded the boy. “You’re no Baratheon, you’re worse - a baseborn lionspawn.”

 

Locking eyes with Thorne, Daenerys blew his worldview out of the water. “And Jon Snow is no bastard, Ser Alliser. My husband is the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Blood of my blood.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I believe you fought for my brother at the Trident all those years ago, yes?”

 

Thorne didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He just deflated against the wall he was leaning against and stared off blankly.

 

Marsh and Wittlestick gasped and struggled for breath as the singers’ tale of Robert’s Rebellion was ripped to shreds.

 

Joffrey snapped. Yelling obscenities, he flailed and thrashed around on the cell floor. The curses flying from his mouth would’ve made a septon slap him hard .

 

Daenerys calmly turned away from the iron bars of the cell and sighed in weariness. Benjen put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier. I… gods, Lya would rip out my liver and make me eat it if she knew I let her son die like this.”

 

“If we look back, we are lost,” Daenerys said. “Things will only change for the better if we persist in moving forward. Whatever your sister might think of your failure, dwelling on it won’t help you.”

 

“Aye, spoken like Lya herself,” Benjen agreed. “She never was one to let her mistakes stop her.”

 

“Neither will we.” Although she never bore a witness, Daenerys knew how to bring Jon back to the living. She only prayed R’hllor would again answer the Red Woman's call… 

 

“Are you sure about this, Lady Melisandre,” Dany asked, her eyebrow raised. Not that she didn’t trust this woman - after all, she and Bran found the ability to send both her and Jon to the past in two different lifetimes - but this was… unlike what she had imagined. “You can simply resurrect him, no?”

 

Hands clasped together, Melisandre nodded. “The dragon has three heads, your Grace. But each of those heads must have a protector. A shield if I can describe it.”

 

Dany was confused. “A shield?” 

 

“Yes,” She confirmed. “An old prophecy, three heads of a dragon, born of salt and smoke and guarded by three shields as they charge into the night to bring the dawn.” Already, Benjen and his guards were dragging the conspirators out. Most were trembling, Joffrey thrashing and kicking, trying to scream obscenities through his gag. Thorne, however, was stoic. Accepting his fate as decided by House Targaryen. Dany didn’t know whether she hated him or Joffrey more. “It is a rather well known prophecy except for that of the shields… one of the books Lord Tyrion showed me at Winterfell piqued my interest in that part.”

 

“Is that where you got the idea for this?”

 

Melisandre smiled. “Do not fret, your Grace. I have seen in the flames that the Prince who was Promised will warm your bed tonight, regardless of the success of the ritual.”

 

She cast her a dark scowl. “For your sake, I hope you are right.” Gods, even one moment without Jon was agony, and Dany knew he would come back. Why must my beloved suffer so? Daenerys wished she could ask the gods themselves that question.

 

"Make sure they're tied nice and tight, Edd." Scowling darkly, Benjen seemed itching to bash any one of the conspirators that so much as twitched funny. To no one’s shock, Joffrey responded to the removal of his gag by spitting at Dany’s good uncle. Benjen replied with a furious right hook to the chest, the former Crown Prince crying out at the crunch of ribs. “Anyone else want to be a little bitch?” Benjen snarled.

 

One - Marsh, she vaguely remembered - was visibly shaking. "This isn't right." He simpered in fear. "That woman is a witch! Red magic is an abomination!"

 

"Aye, but so is killing your own Lord Commander." Benjen’s knife glinted as it flashed against Marsh’s throat. “And my nephew, breaking guest right to kill a wounded young man in his bed. You’re pathetic.”

 

Wick Wittlestick was equally pathetic in Dany’s opinion. "Please, tell my father that I died fighting the wildlings."

 

Shaking his head, Benjen was on a roll. “I’ll tell them you shat your pants as you burned like the traitor you were.” He shifted to Joffrey. “Anything to say, cunt?”

 

Face twisted in pain, Joffrey nevertheless flickered a murderous gaze between both Benjen and Dany. “I should’ve raped and killed those two Stark bitches while I had the chance!” Looking at his filthy trousers, it seemed even through his agony the boy was enjoying that particular thought.

 

Fists tightening, Dany nodded at Benjen - who gestured to the battlements. A split second later an arrow whooshed through the air. Embedding it in Joffrey’s shoulder with a tiny puff of blood… the only sound truly being when the pathetic former Prince started screaming in pain. “Gag him again,” Dany ordered, the Night’s Watchmen obeying the Valyrian beauty without hesitation. 

 

Thorne just waited silently, staring ahead aside from a few flickers towards the fetters being tossed about the ground. "Anything to say?"

 

Pursing his lips, the man seemed to be at loss for words for once. Dany’s revelations from before utterly destroying his entire worldview. "Nothing to the brother of the Usurper's dog," Thorne finally choked out. “You think you’re so fuckin’ noble, protecting the true Queen, but you’re not. That Stark whore caused the rebellion. She was responsible for the death of Rhaegar… For all of it. And that will always be on your House. The pride of House Targaryen, snuffed out because of Lyanna fucking Stark didn’t want to marry her betrothed!”

 

Benjen advanced to punch him again, but Dany stopped him. “Stop, uncle. He will suffer in the flames for his treason.” Whereas her words had given him pain before, now Thorne sighed. Resigned to his fate. Daenerys signed as well, steeling herself. “Bring the King.” Out of Maester Aemon’s quarters - accompanied by the man himself - the stretcher bearers brought Jon’s cleaned and styled corpse. Aemon grim but leaving a hand gripping Jon’s own, refusing to be apart from the only family he had left. Daenerys knew the feeling only too well.

 

Passing the still form of his nephew, Benjen approached Dany and Melisandre with a cold expression. "I'm not comfortable with this." The whole cult of R'hllor made little sense to him, and Jon growing up was never… unburnt.

 

“She brought him back before,” Daenerys answered grimly. “She brought him and I to this world. We have to trust her." Inside, Dany didn’t know whether she was trying to convince Benjen or herself. She willed with all her strength that this would work. 

 

Jorah had less hope and more cynicism. “This better work, or I’ll kill you myself,” he hissed at the Red Witch. Seeing his father die in front of him left the wounded man - nevertheless still here - quite bitter and Dany didn’t blame him.

 

"Oh, it will work." Davos had the most confidence out of all of them. "I have seen that woman do things out of nightmares, and heard others from people as far as the North. I may not know about how this stuff is done, but she does - I’m sure of it."

 

Perhaps hearing someone optimistic was what Dany needed. It gave her the resolve to continue, even after finding Jon’s body in the midst of the unlit pyre. “Go…” she ordered Melisandre in a low voice. “Start it.”

 

Stepping out from the cluster, into the ring of no man’s land separating the pyre from the entire Night’s Watch looking and gawking at the shocking turn of events, her red eyes seemed to pierce the very souls of the condemned men - even the still moaning Joffrey. "We are gathered in the Land of Ice, present in the remnant Magic of the Long Night and the Age of Heroes to herald the return of Jon Targaryen. True King of Westeros, the Hidden Dragon and Prince who was Promised" 

 

Dany closed her eyes. No matter what his titles or his destiny, to her he was simply Jon. The man she loved. 

 

Grabbing a torch from one of the stewards, Melisandre began a chant in High Valyrian. Reciting long memorized texts from holy books Dany was not familiar with, the particular dialect rather crude compared to her refined language. Walking towards the prepared pyre, all watched her closely, red hair whipping behind her in the chilling wind. "Lord of Light, we ask you to bring your new form back to the land of the living. To awaken the Shields of the Three-Headed Dragon, so that they may have protection and guidance through this time of evil." She stopped, looking up at Thorne, Marsh, Wittlestick, and Joffrey. “I offer to you blood for blood. A life for a life. Only death can pay for life.” All of them trembled except for Thorne, but only Joffrey still writhed and tried to escape. It was futile. "With this fire I proclaim you reborn!"

 

Covered in tar and pitch, the fuel went up into a conflagration almost instantaneously. Dany fought off a wince as the flames engulfed Jon’s body first, heat warming the cold skin to scorching temperatures. Her heart relaxed when his flesh was untouched. Unburnt… why did I worry? Gods, this man and their beloved son could cause the Mother of Dragons to feel weak as a maiden. 

 

Screams left three of the traitors, licking flames finally reaching them. Their flesh cooked while still alive, starting with their legs and working up. Weak as he was, Joffrey screamed the loudest, the former heir to the Iron Throne meeting the undignified end of burning alive as a common criminal at the Wall. Only Thorne remained silent, his will strong even in the face of the condemnation of the Targaryen Queen. 

 

Daenerys knew it was time - they needed this bit of flame. Girl… dracarys… Shriek piercing the din, bellowing over the roaring of the inferno, Arogon swept down from her perch atop the wall. Loosing a burst of red-orange dragonfire right upon the pyre. Immolating the four condemned in seconds, their screams cutting out as the heat billowed out.

 

But that heat was ignored by Dany. It wasn’t until she could see twin orbs flashing violet within the flames did warmth return to her world.


Eddard Stark

 

A cold draft passed through the caverns, wind howling from the autumn storm outside. Even bundled up in the thickest furs, Ned shivered… or maybe he shivered as his eyes scanned the letter for the third time. Reading it once led to reading it a second time to make sure his eyes didn’t deceive him, while that time found him wrapping his cloak tight around his chest and racing for the crypts.

 

Truth be told, he had expected the worst at seeing the twin towers sigil of House Frey. His regard for the Late Lord Walder had already been almost nil before Jon upended his entire world. Knowing what transpired in the… future of the past… But what Lord Walder wrote had been worse than he ever expected.

 

King Eddard Stark,

 

Seems I have a little answer to the whereabouts of your wife and goodbrother. They are here, enjoying my finest guestrooms to think about certain slights they made against my House and my home. While the ultimate fate of his son and heir lies with Lord Hoster, I believe we can come to a good resolution on your wife.

 

I propose a trade. You sign over all rights to Moat Cailin and the lands surrounding it to House Frey - you can keep the damned swamps, I couldn’t care less - and your wife will be returned to you unharmed. This is a rather generous offer and I suggest you heed it… for her sake.

 

Lord Walder Frey

 

Crumpling the letter in his fist - resisting the urge to simply tear it up - Ned hunched over. Almost feeling a pain stab through his gut. Oh Cat… what have you done…? No, as foolish as she was in the past, this was not her fault. Walder would have found some way to pull this off if there was a gain involved. Tywin has something to do with this, I know it. Apparently the Lion and his confidants didn’t tell Varys everything that they were doing.

 

Sorrow and pain twisting his face, Ned stood straight and journeyed deeper into the crypts. They had been first discovered when Bran the Builder constructed the castle - likely the reason they constructed it here - and to this day neither Ned nor generations of Starks before him knew how far they went. Many legends came out regarding the crypts… ironically many of them involved dragons. How Jacaerys Velaryon’s dragon Vermax laid eggs here when his rider flew to Winterfell to forge the Pact of Ice and Fire. How a dragon escaped from Valyria resided here, heating the hot springs that made life here possible. All apocryphal probably, but there was a sort of reality to them. Ned hid a dragon in this very castle for over a decade.

 

Two dragons, rather. And one was still here.

 

Somehow Ned trudged right in front of a very special sarcophagus. One he hadn’t been to since Robert was here. How could he? What could he say to her after all the mistakes of his past and the perfidies he could never take back? Only the wind answered him, to which he found quite apt.

 

Wordlessly, Ned placed his hand upon the tomb of his sister. Her final resting place, safe and comforted next to their father and brother. But not with her love… It haunted Ned, sometimes. The emptiness that Lyanna perhaps felt in the afterlife, earthly remains separated from Rhaegar by thousands of miles. He hated Rhaegar for years, blaming him for what happened… but it faded. Lyanna… was it truly a crime to love her? 

 

“You always were the most loved of all of us, Lya,” he finally murmured.

 

It had been a while since Ned actually talked to his sister - praying she did hear him from beyond the grave. But now he did, finding a call in his soul to do so. “Your grandson is here, Lya. He’s beautiful.” A smile found its way to his lips. “Looks just like you, but with his mother’s coloring. I think you’d like that about him.” Rhaegon truly was the light of his family’s lives right now. Not a moment passed without one of them attending to the little Crown Prince. “He’ll be a mighty Targaryen one day, just like his mother and father… and grandfather…” 

 

Suddenly Ned found tears overtake him. Trembling as he removed another, shorter letter from his breast pocket. Slowly, he placed it against the sarcophagus. 

 

Goodfather

 

The traitors at the Night’s Watch, joined by Joffrey, made history repeat itself. Jon was killed, and while Melisandre prepares to revive him as she did before, I ask you not to inform the rest of the family. I don’t want them to worry or feel grief as before.

 

Dany

 

The sorrow and guilt simply poured out. “I'm sorry Lyanna. I’m so sorry,” Ned sobbed, the Quiet Wolf letting out his frustrations in the solitude of the crypts. “I failed… I only wanted to protect him... I’m so sorry.” His cheek fell to the dusty stone of her sarcophagus, weeping years of pent up sorrow. Of the weight of what the future had told him, of the horrors and tragedies that happened because of his foolish decisions. Of how he hurt Jon so greatly...

 

There was no telling how much time had passed when Ned felt a wet snout press against his leg. A low whine sounding out before it was replaced with two sharp barks. Looking down, he saw his daughter’s direwolf Lady staring at him expectantly. “Father!”

 

“Are you down here?!”

 

“Lady called, she must have found him.” Moments later, around the corner came Robb and Sansa, his son bearing a torch as they approached. “There you are.” Sansa gave him a quick hug. “We were worried when you didn’t show up for dinner.”

 

She looked so much like her mother it made his heart hurt, but Ned also saw a lot of his mother in Sansa’s cerulean eyes - compassionate, strong-willed… all it took was the hand of reality to push aside the fantasies she had grown up with. “Needed some time to think.” He looked at Robb. Knowing they deserved to know. “News of your mother.” 

 

Unfurling the letter, Ned handed it to each of them - watching as their expressions turned from surprise, to sadness, to a deep anger. “I’ll rip his head off myself,” Robb snarled. 

 

“I have no doubt you will.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll all discuss it in my solar with Rodrik and Tyrion… I want you to be present with me as well. Arya too.” It’s time they learned.

 

Hand ruffling Lady’s hair, grounding her, Sansa ended up looking at the sarcophagus. “That’s Jon’s mother… our Aunt Lyanna.”

 

Despite it all, Ned smiled wanly. “Aye. Someone I loved most dearly.”

 

It looked like she needed the distraction. “What was she like? Does Jon take after her?” In spite of all the changes, the family never did really talk about her. Even Robb looked interested, angry that he was.

 

Ned sighed. “He has the same wolfsblood, but no… I think Jon took a lot after his father.”

 

“Did you ever meet the Prince?” Robb asked.

 

“No, I never had the pleasure. Gods, I wish I did.” Any man that Lya loved was worth his friendship. “But Arya… just like her. Wild, free, fierce - a perfect northern beauty…”

 

Suddenly Lady started barking loudly. Not the simple calls of attention but an echoing roar, Ears drawn up in alert. “Lady… down girl…” Sansa chided but the direwolf wouldn’t budge - instead racing to the sarcophagus, paws scratching at the stone as she kept barking. “What’s gotten into her?”

 

“I don’t…” Pausing, Ned heard something between the barks. Wordlessly pressing his hand against the stone… A faint pounding vibrated through the thick slab. As if something alive was trying to get out. Or undead… “Gods, not a wight.” Not my Lya…

 

Robb’s eyes widened. “A wight, now?!” Sansa paled behind him.

 

Ned’s reaction was swift. “Who knows what got over the Wall after I left?” If Mance could get over, perhaps the Ice King sent a minion as well. “Here,” he drew out Frost, handing it to Sansa. “Get ready - Robb, get this slab off with me!” 

 

“You’re letting it out?” Sansa cried as the two Starks began heaving on the stone. Lady still barking like mad. 

 

“If we don’t kill it, it could escape!” Ned yelled back. “One, two, three, heave!” The stone bulged a bit - a tiny crack exposed… resulting in a panicked scream echoing through the crypts. “Fuck me… One, two, three, heave!” At another push, the lid gave way and fell to the ground, splitting into three. Ned almost jerked back as Sansa charged, sword held high… “Wait!” 

 

There was no sound but heavy breathing - and Lady’s now soft whines - Frost falling to the ground as the three stared in shock. 

 

It had been eighteen years since the corpse of Princess Lyanna Targaryen was interred beneath the stone. Eighteen years of rot and decay… but instead of a pile of bones or rotted flesh emerging, gasping before them was the flawless form of a young woman in her prime. Face red as she struggled to suck in what air she could.

 

“By the Seven…” Robb murmured, so shocked he could barely stand. 

 

Having gone white as a sheet, Ned slowly stepped forward. Hand trembling as he reached out to the distressed maiden. It had been so long, but there was no way on earth or heaven he would forget that face. “Lya… Lya is that you?”

 

Feeling her tense as he cupped her cheek, a pair of grey eyes were soon meeting his. “Ne… Ned?” Her voice was hoarse, but it was his sister’s. “Why… are we in the… crypts…?” At the murmured words she passed out. Body limp and weak.

 

She was in Ned’s arms in an instant. “Robb! Get Maester Luwin, now!” Not again… not this time, Lya...


Howland Reed

 

Stew bubbling in an iron pot suspended by a wooden tripod over a roaring fire, Howland Reed inhaled the savory scent of rabbits and herbs wafting up with the hissing steam.

 

“Is it ready yet, Lord Reed?” asked Bran, sitting impatiently on a fallen log by the fire. “I’m starving!” Lying by his side, Summer whined in agreement after which Bran’s stomach growled noisily. The young greenseer turned bright red as Meera and Howland laughed heartily. Even Jojen permitted himself a slight chuckle.

 

“Call me Howland, Bran,” Howland smiled as the laughs receded. “My family has always been close to yours in spite of the space between our homes.”

 

The crannogman gingerly ladled the boiling stew into four bowls and passed one to each of the three hungry mouths before taking up his serving. Dipping his spoon into their dinner, he watched Bran dig in eagerly. Meera was more restrained in her pacing, while Jojen slowly slurped each spoonful.

 

Tipping his bowl back to his mouth, Bran greedily sucked down the last of the rabbit stew. Meera rolled her eyes in playful disgust as her betrothed belched loudly. Jojen smirked and continued eating, not taking his eyes off the moon overhead.

 

I hate spoiling this moment. Peace and quiet would be a luxury not afforded to them soon - he could feel it in his bones. “So, Bran,” he started. “Jojen told me that you warged into their Graces’ dragons earlier today to save them from the Ice King and this… Aerys.” The revelation of Daenerys’ long-lost twin still disturbed him, even after Bran had told him some moons ago. The Ice King being Jon from a different past? Well, that was self-explanatory. He’d seen the wolf-shaped mark on Bran’s arm when Meera showed it to him. A Stark to a Stark.

 

Bran swallowed hard and put down his bowl. Summer immediately began licking the inside of it for any residual rabbit meat. “Aye, Howland. It was a very close call. The Ice King would have succeeded in trapping Daenerys if Bloodraven hadn’t helped me. I found myself drawn to the Ice King more than I felt anchored in the minds of the dragons.”

 

It is the mark. The White Walker’s imprint on Bran’s arm apparently served as a psychic link between them. Jojen’s warning echoed inside him - Meera would be responsible for protecting Bran when the Long Night returned. Now, he better understood why. Needing no words to respond, he merely nodded in sympathy.

 

 A gentle hand brushed Bran’s shoulder. “Don’t dwell on it, Bran,” Meera said. He smiled back at her comforting gaze and relaxed his posture. Jojen, however, was less reassuring in his perception of Bran’s near-death experience.

 

“The Ice King may try to bind you to him again,” he stated bluntly, staring at Bran. “Take extreme care the next time you warg.” He finished his meal and passed his empty bowl to his father.

 

Draining the last of his stew, Howland took Bran and Meera’s bowls to stack on his and Jojen’s. He stood up from his log and removed the cooking pot from its tripod. Upon taking it down, he yawned and stretched his arms. “Well, the hour of the bat is but a few hours off. I think it’s time for bed. Meera, please watch over Bran tonight in case his mind strays from his body.”

 

“My watch begins,” she jested.

 

Summer bounded to his feet and followed his master away from the campfire. As the trio headed inside the keep of Greywater Watch, Meera’s voice carried back on the night winds. “Summer, no howling at the moon. We all need a good night’s rest, including you.” The direwolf growled low in protest.

 

Jojen lingered a while longer, his semi-blank stare aimed at his father. “Something on your mind, son?” Howland asked as he went to put out the fire.

 

“The hour of ghosts, Father. Tonight. Be ready,” Jojen said cryptically. Turning away, he followed his sister inside without further word.

 

Howland sat on his hammock in the ‘lord’s chamber’ some time later digesting what his son meant. He was no green dreamer like him or greenseer like Bran. Heck, he wasn’t even a warg. Maybe that was why he could better relate to his daughter. She took after his lady wife, Jyana, who’d passed a decade ago. Not a speck of magic on her, but as adept with net and trident as he was.

 

Getting up, he walked over to a small wooden chest in the corner of the room. Lifting the lid up, he peered inside at the sword he’d not laid eyes on since the Tower of Joy. Reverently, he removed it from the trunk and slowly drew it from the scabbard. The silver-white hue of the blade shone even in the black of the night. The name he knew… Dusk .

 

The ancestral hybrid Valyrian steel/fallen star blade of House Dayne was a greatsword, passed down through only the knights of Starfall deemed worthy to wield it. Yet the last Sword of the Morning had melted it down and recast into two longswords to complement his dual swordplay. Ser Arthur Dayne had danced his way through Ned’s band, each sword a mere extension of his arm. The Lord of Winterfell would have met his end in the Red Mountains had he, a scrawny crannogman, not stabbed Ser Arthur from behind.

 

Howland grimaced. He was no believer in the Seven, but he believed in honor, and he had dealt the most chivalrous knight of the Realm a most dishonorable death. May the old gods and the new protect his secret for as long as he breathed.

 

He thought back to the Lady Ashara, who had wept understandably when her brother’s body was presented to her. Although Ned tried to tell her that Arthur deserved to rest in Starfall, she insisted that he be buried alongside Rhaegar, who had been his closest friend. As for his swords, she had no need of them. There was no male heir to her house and besides, she was no longer safe in the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Alysanne. He remembered the Targaryen bastard of the Mad King. She looked much like Queen Rhaella with a touch of her mother in the color of her hair and the tone of her skin. The circumstances of her birth were tragic like Jon’s. Perhaps more so, as her unmistakable Valyrian visage meant she and her mother had to go into exile, less Robert’s wrath found them.

 

Did Ned tell Jon of his other aunt?

 

Hefting Dusk in his grip, he swung experimentally at the air. Perfectly balanced, as all swords should be. Its twin, retaining the name Dawn, was in Ned’s possession until he gifted it to Jon for his quest in Essos. He felt that Dusk would soon reunite with Dawn. But when?

 

On a whim, he raised his head to the window and looked up at the stars twinkling against the pitch-black. The moon was nearing its zenith. A pale white glow cast a faint light over the swamps. The hour of ghosts is at hand.

 

Whatever Jojen said to be ready for, he was.

 

He expected Jojen to be at the Heart Tree in the middle of Greywater Watch… the massive weirwood being the foundation of what kept the floating keep atop the waters of the bog. And he was right… in a sense. His son did rest there, but it wasn’t where he wished to go. “Father,” Jojen greeted.

 

“Son, what is it that you want at the hour of ghosts?” By the position of the moon, it was there.

 

He smiled cryptically - just as he was fond of doing upon the night over a year before. When Jon Targaryen and Daenerys Stormborn were brought back from the lands they once lived in. “We still have some time, then. Follow me.”

 

Confused, Howland nevertheless trailed after his son, the two of them pushing their way through the dense vines and bushes deeper into the Godswood of the keep. Jojen said nothing, even with the questions Howland was peppering him with. Some fathers would beat their sons if they were so unresponsive, but the Lord of Greywater Watch knew of Jojen’s greensight. Encouraged it even, despite the eccentricities it caused. Meera made up for it in any case.

 

Speaking of Meera, they emerged into a clearing the furthest away from the water in the most solid part of the floating island. Both she and Bran held shovels in their hands, caked with dirt. “Took you long enough,” Meera hissed, frustration evident on her face.

 

Jojen ignored her ire. “Did you retrieve them.”

 

“Yes, we did,” Bran replied quickly. “Was pretty hard to get out of the ground.”

 

Suddenly Howland knew exactly why they were here - out of all the places on the castle grounds, here. “Son… why did you have Bran and Meera dig them up?” He looked hard at his son, both Meera and the Stark boy confused.

 

The boy looked at him with a small smile. “Bran confirmed it to me… what Bloodraven told him. The Protectors come soon. I sought the blessings of the Old Gods, and they told me the time through my connection with the Heart Tree.”

 

“Excuse me,” Bran called out. “What are the protectors? Why did Bloodraven tell me about them.”

 

All eyes fell on Howland, whose skin grew ashen at the thought of all of this. How… poignant it was that he had held Dusk in his hands not minutes before. “It… it is an old prophecy of the First Men.” Passed down by runes, he remembered to this day how exactly his father taught him all those years ago. “It concerns the ones who would vanquish the night, that ‘each would have a protector, a guardian brought from time forgotten but not unknown.’” He shook his head. “It’s nonsense.”

 

“It’s not nonsense, father” Jojen replied, pointing to the large metal and ironwood chests hauled out of the boggy soil. “The heart tree showed me… it showed the vision of whom you buried here.”

 

Bran seemed to peer into the distance, as if remembering something. “I saw you… moons ago in one of my visions. You buried two bodies here. Who were they?”

 

Howland closed his eyes. “No one important.” It just was impossible…

 

“The protectors,” the younger Reed answered. His eyes suddenly flashed white for a split second, as did Bran’s before they returned, both almost staggering back from the shock of it all. In the distance, the guttural barks of a dozen lizard lions echoed into the void of night. Almost as if they were spooked… “The time is upon us.”

 

Just at that moment, a sudden banging shook Howland out of his skin. Meera and Bran both jumped back, while even Jojen flinched… clearly he hadn’t predicted something so voracious to happen. Howland snapped out of it first. “Get them open! Now!” This can’t be… I can’t believe it… 

 

But it was true. Rusted locks easily broken apart with a bash of a dagger, the hinges groaned as the Reeds and Bran threw them open. Groans drowned out by gasps of air as not emaciated corpses but two living, breathing men burst out. Clawing at the surface as they sucked in whatever breaths they could. 

 

“Howland,” Bran asked. “Who are they?”

 

The Lord of Greywater Watch could only stare in shock. It was possible. It had happened. “Prince Rhaegar,” he breathed.

 

Clutching his head in his hands, the silver-haired Targaryen stared out around him. His eyes barely open in a squint. “Where am I?” he murmured. “Where the fuck is Robert?”

 

Given his last conscious sight likely was the young Demon of the Trident swinging his warhammer down upon him, Howland didn’t begrudge Rhaegar’s anger or confusion. “Your Grace… you’re at Greywater Watch in the North.”

 

“North?” asked the Sword of the Morning. “Greywater Watch… House Reed.” The knight’s eyes widened in recognition, hand going toward his neck. That’s going to be an awkward conversation…

 

But Rhaegar only had one thing on his mind. Almost as if the mere mention of the North drew him to what mattered the most. “Where’s Lyanna? Where’s my child?” 

 

 

Notes:

CastleColin: They’re back. What more can be said?

Longclaw: Alright? Who expected that? For Lyanna, Rhaegar, and Arthur to come back from the dead? When Cmyatt told me about it, I knew I had to continue the story so we can get to this!

Ironically, Lyanna and Rhaegar are basically the same age as Jon and Dany. Quite awkward, lol.

I have fun writing Sansa when she's exorcised of the Dan Weiss personality.

Chapter 48: Returning Souls

Summary:

1. Dany helps Jon feel alive after his resurrection. The 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is chosen.
2. Lyanna learns what has happened over the last eighteen years and is introduced to her new family members.
3. Rhaegar and Arthur make plans to leave Greywater Watch.
4. Robert spends some time between the sheets with his favorite bedwarmer. He then visits his newborn daughter and puts Cersei in her place.
5. Hoster Tully hears from Walder Frey.

Notes:

CastleColin: Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Arthur have returned and have a lot to catch up on. But a family reunion is also long overdue.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jon Targaryen

 

“Oh Jon…” Sliding his lips down her heated skin, Jon reveled in his wife’s breathy moans. They made him feel alive, a raging fire filling him from his toes to his eyes. Coaxing another moan from his Valyrian goddess as he peppered her neck with kisses. “Please, my love…”

 

“What do you want, Dany?” he asked, voice hoarse with love and desire. If only she was here last time… The darkness that almost consumed him upon his first resurrection would have been far easier to banish with Daenerys writhing bare underneath him. “Tell me what you want, Khaleesi…”

 

He knew exactly what calling her by that name would do. “Gods…” Daenerys pulled them to the furs, naked bodies intertwined in the very room Jon had slept in for over a year in his past. “I want you… all of you…” Her fingers clawed at his back, hips bucking into his member. Begging for him inside of her. Needing him inside of her. “Please…”

 

Licking down her neck, Jon wrapped a mouth around her pebbled nipple. “Why?” He sucked as if he was but a babe - knowing it drove her wild. 

 

“I… I…” Jon felt her hands in his hair, Dany’s voice halting. Unable to truly speak as the pleasure overwhelmed her. “You’re alive…”

 

Already lavishing the other breast with his attention, Jon looked up. Finding her tone less of lust, more… mournful. Sad. It was reflected in her glistening violet eyes. “Dany.” He rolled onto his side, pulling her into the crook of his neck. “I am alive. She brought me back.” The moment his eyes opened among the flames, it may have been unlike what he experienced but the warmth of the flames fought back the darkness. Ghost, Sarogon, and Arogon fought it even harder. But Dany… she destroyed it completely - and he understood her fear. “You’ll never lose me…”

 

But the tears already marred her face. Blazing trails down her cheeks. “How do you know that, my dragonwolf.” Arms snaking up to him, Daenerys cupped Jon’s cheeks. “You are everything to Rhaegon and me. Melisandre won’t be by our side always, and we can’t lose you. Rhaegon can’t grow up without his father. I can’t live without my…” 

 

Interrupting her, Jon crashed their lips together. Hoping to drown her fear in the heat of their passion. “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips, groaning as Dany wrapped her arms around his torso. Lust returning with a vengeance, writhing atop the furs and groping his sweat-soaked skin from the crackling hearth with a frenzied, desperate desire. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too… oh gods…” Legs clenching his hips tightly, Jon watched in slow motion as Dany swung him around, straddling him. Astride his crotch. Daenerys’ long, silver locks tumbled about her creamy shoulders. Loose strands draped over her face - they didn’t hide the dark violet of her eyes, the half-reverent, half-hungry quiver in her mouth. Taut hips, firm breasts… Daenerys was pure sin.

 

His sin.

 

Slowly, his hands moved up. Ghosting over her skin, making Dany shudder and hum underneath his palms. “You’re a goddess…” Jon choked out.

 

Still swathed in an obvious hunger, Dany nevertheless smiled at his praise. “You think so, my King?” His hands were soon covered by hers. Soft and delicate, they were also strong. Stilling his movements. “Does my King truly think that of me?”

 

“Yes… fuck… you are perfect. Breathtaking.” In truth, it would take him days to tell her all the wonderful traits of hers that he had fallen hopelessly in love with. “My wife.”

 

She suddenly growled, yanking his hands and pressing them to her pert mounds. “Keep them there,” Dany snarled, a dragonness’ command not one to ignore. Without warning she reached down for his cock and impaled herself on it. As a hiss escaped Jon, she bit her lip. “That’s it… worship your goddess-wife, Jon Targaryen…”

 

Worship you… Nothing sounded better to Jon. He rocked up as deep as he could go, hips straining with not a little burn to elicit the gasps and roars of pleasure from her. Skin soaked with sweat but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered to Jon but the pleasure of his beloved wife. The woman he would travel through a thousand lifetimes to protect.

 

Chuckling rather sultrily, Daenerys’ hands covered his yet again. “You’re my husband, Jon Targaryen.” She raised herself until only his tip still pierced her lips… only to slam down. Breasts bouncing underneath his hands. “Mine.” 

 

“Yours…” he groaned, eyes fluttering half shut before he forced them open. Forcing himself to watch the utterly breathtaking sight above him. To see his cock disappear into its wet sheath, the walls of the Dragon Queen melding around and milking his cock like a vice. Even after birthing Rhaegon, she was unbelievably tight. 

 

Again she bounced, faster and more desperate. “Mine. Mine. Mine!” Her tone was frantic, possessive. “No man or god will take you away. No one!” Fire in her eyes, Daenerys angled herself differently and slammed down. Hitting deeper inside her and making them both moan.

 

Unable to stand it, Jon abandoned her breasts for her waist. Before Dany could complain he yanked her down flush against him. Their lips connecting in a mash of teeth and tongue. Her entire body seemingly melted into his as Jon rolled atop her. He stabbed into her mouth, matching his hips slamming hard into her cunt. Catching her screams of pleasure.

 

Daenerys wrapped her legs tightly around him, joining with her hands digging into his ass to urge him deeper. Fuck… Jon never knew he could go so hard, so fast… so deep… But somehow he did, the tip of his cock kissing her womb and it made her moan filthily - coming undone only seconds later. “Daenerys…!” His long spurts of seed followed momentarily.

 

Hopefully the first of many that night. If he had to put three babes inside her belly to assuage her fear and sorrow, Jon was up to the task.



“A dragon! A damn giant dragon!”

 

“A dead man back from the flames!”

 

“Jeor Mormont dead and betrayed!”

 

Jon looked at his wife apologetically as the men of the Night’s Watch yelled at his uncle over all that happened in the past day. Benjen stood at the front of the common hall, trying in vain to quiet his agitated brothers. Amusingly, Maester Aemon sat serenely in his chair off to the side, seemingly oblivious to the commotion around him.

 

“We should have stayed in our chambers,” Dany whispered in his ear, nipping the earlobe lightly. Jon looked down at his wife with a smirk.

 

“SILENCE! SILENCE, THE LOT OF YOU!” Benjen finally bellowed. 

 

Normally gruff, yet mild-mannered, the First Ranger cut a fearsome figure as he towered over the hall. The black brothers’ raucous shouts died instantly as Benjen glowered spears at them. Having gotten a semblance of order, he sighed deeply before clearing his throat.

 

“I know you all want to know what in the Seven Hells was going on in the past day… heck, the past year if I ask myself. I’ll explain as best as I can. I ask that all of you wait till I’m finished before throwing another question at me.”

 

Loud grumbling aside, the Night’s Watch nonetheless held its tongue while Benjen told them of the expedition beyond the Wall and the accord brokered with Mance Rayder to allow the Free Folk to settle in the Gift. He described in graphic detail the skirmishes with wights and the grave threat they presented should they ever cross the Wall.

 

If his uncle thought the men would be placated, Jon mused, he was sorely mistaken.

 

“So you’re responsible for Jeor’s murder then, aren’t you, Stark?” said Donal Noye. The one-armed smith glared equally sharp spears back at Benjen. “You didn’t bother to tell us of your fool’s errand, and the Lord Commander died for it.”

 

A chorus of “Ayes!” rang around the room.

 

“The mission was sanctioned by Mormont himself,” Benjen retorted. “He knew the risks of letting the wildlings cross the Wall, so I feel the blame is misplaced. Besides, if I had said anything, would the mission have been allowed at all?”

 

“Why let those filthy savages onto our lands?!” Rast shouted. He stood up on his bench and pointed an accusatory finger at Jon’s uncle. “We are the shield that guards the realms of men, and you, the First Ranger, betrayed our sacred oath! The punishment for such treason is the gallows!”

 

Rast’s inflammatory rhetoric seemed to spark a fire. A few men moved to apprehend Benjen, brandishing daggers in their hands. Benjen stood defiant, his hand instinctively going to Winter Storm sheathed on his belt.

 

Jon felt Dany tug on his arm, turning to see her reach for Dark Sister resting against their bench. His resurrection may have solved some issues facing them but daunting tasks remained. Aerys was still out there, having escaped the clutch of the Army of the Dead to parts unknown, Daenerys still beating herself up for letting him flee. The wildlings at Hardhome were their most pressing concern, and that required securing the aid of the Night’s Watch… which seemed to be falling apart. Hence, Dany’s worry. But Jon shook his head and gently took her hand in his, nodding toward her great-uncle, who suddenly came to life.

 

“My brothers, please calm yourselves. Hot heads are no solution for boiling blood. Anger clouds even the most honorable man’s better judgement.” Aemon Targaryen spoke in a firm, clear voice - his ancient, frail appearance hiding the inner steel within him.

 

Rast scowled at the maester’s chiding words, but seeing his fellow watchmen heed the Targaryen’s warning, grudgingly stopped. 

 

Benjen shot Aemon a quick thank you as the men put down their knives and sat back down. Castle Black’s maester had always been well-respected by the Night’s Watch for openly sharing his wisdom with any struggling man. It was that deference that convinced them not to send Benjen the way of Jeor Mormont.

 

Aemon chuckled softly. “Benjen Stark, I was wondering if you’d stop giving yourself all the credit and allow your brother his due.”

 

Jon watched his uncle flush at Aemon’s sly reprimand for not mentioning Ned on the expedition. Dany smirked at her great-uncle deflating Benjen’s ego.

 

“This isn’t the first time I bailed you out, First Ranger.” Aemon permitted himself one last jape at Benjen’s expense before addressing the Watch.

 

“Eddard Stark, the King in the North, personally accompanied his brother to meet with the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The mission was in fact his own from the very beginning. Lord Stark is known for his sense of honor and duty, first and foremost. He would not have entertained such a dangerous undertaking unless he believed it in the interest of his people.”

 

Aemon’s eyes were watery and misty grey, but in the moment, they shone bright as falling stars.

 

“Complacency and closed minds have felled stronger and smarter men. Whether or not you believe the Others have truly risen, I assure you, there is something out there that can’t be ignored. We are the Night’s Watch and this is our duty to the Realm.”

 

The impact was like a bucket of cold water. The men in the hall sat chastened and silent. Jon squeezed Dany’s hand as they watched Benjen stand awkwardly at the front of the room.

 

Finally a grunt was heard as Qhorin Halfhand spoke up. “If Ned Stark believes it, so will I. Benjen, we need a new Lord Commander, and like it or not, it will be you. You led us into the mess, you will lead us out. All agree?” The ranger swept his arm out at the men around him. After a brief hesitation, Pypar and Edd affirmed.

 

“Aye!... Aye!... Aye!...”

 

Slowly, each man voicing his support, Benjen was chosen by acclamation as the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

 

Jon and Dany smiled broadly at Benjen’s newly elevated leadership. Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see a faint smile on Aemon’s face as well.

 

Hesitant from initial shock, Benjen composed himself and accepted in a loud, authoritative tone. “My brothers, I thank you for entrusting me with the awesome responsibility of leading us through all the nights to come. I promise you, on my life, Jeor Mormont’s death will not be in vain. The Others will fall before us, fire and steel awaiting.”

 

He locked eyes with Halfhand. “Ser Qhorin, I name you First Ranger of the Night’s Watch. You are the most able among our rangers and thus, worthy of the honor.”

 

Qhorin bowed his head in humble acknowledgement. “You owe me for this, Stark.”

 

“Not by half,” Benjen japed.

 

Waving his hand, the new Lord Commander dismissed all except the rangers. As the builders and stewards made to leave the common hall, Pypar hesitated. “Ser, if I may ask?” He swallowed nervously. “Who are the two newcomers?” He motioned to Jon and Daenerys, still sitting quietly off to the side, respectful of Benjen’s authority.

 

Benjen raised an eyebrow at Jon, silently asking if he wished to share his and his wife’s identities. Jon went to shake his head, but Daenerys whispered in his ear. “Arogon kind of blew our cover with resurrecting you. Tell them.”

 

Sighing at his wife’s stubborn insistence, Jon got to his feet, facing the packed huddle waiting expectantly for an answer.

 

“Men of the Watch! I am Jon Snow, bastard son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, born Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the Lady Lyanna Stark,” Jon proclaimed to the wave of bugged eyes and hanging jaws.

 

“And I, his lawful wife, Daenerys Targaryen, trueborn daughter of King Aerys II and Queen Rhaella Targaryen,” Dany declared, standing beside him.

 

Outside Castle Black, Sarogon and Arogon roared in unison.


 

Lyanna Stark Targaryen

 

Head pounding, the only daughter of the late Rickard Stark groaned unconsciously at the incessant throbbing in her temples. Eyes shut tight, she raised her fingers to her head and rubbed hard. But something else brushed her face first - something thick and… wet?  

 

Gasping at the slimy feeling on her cheek, her eyes flew open and her hand involuntarily reached out to push whatever it was away. A whine met her ears in response to which she turned to see a furry white snout with red eyes staring back at her.

 

“How are you feeling, Aunt Lyanna?”

 

The She-Wolf’s head snapped to the side to take in the sight of a petite young girl looking at her inquisitively. Lyanna Targaryen felt a sense of deja vu wash over her. Dark brown locks, sparkling grey eyes, and a fearless ‘I’ll dare anything’ smile. This girl reminded of her younger self so much it was uncanny. 

 

“I… I’m feeling alright. Just a slight headache.” Lyanna rubbed her temples hard and took in her surroundings. She was lying in a large bed underneath thick furs in a room that she faintly remembered as her father’s chambers. A toasty fire flickered in the hearth and a crisp, cold breeze was blowing in through the open window. As she moved to prop herself up, a jolt of pain coursed through her side, and she cursed under her breath.

 

The girl was immediately at her side. “Let me help,” she said, gently assisting Lyanna in lying back down on the pillows. The fluffy white creature next to the bed cocked its head and swiped its tongue over its lips. The girl noticed and giggled. “Ghost likes you, Aunt Lya.”

 

Lyanna nodded slowly, still in a daze at seeing someone so much like her. Eyes returning to the white furball staring intently at her, she blinked in recognition of its four-leggedness. “Is that a direwolf?” In all her life, she had never seen one in the flesh.

 

The girl beamed proudly. “Yep, my brother Jon’s. I have my own direwolf too. Her name’s Nymeria. I got her last year when she was only a pup.”

 

Lyanna forced a smile in response. Truthfully, she hadn’t a clue what this energetic lass was talking about, but she kept an expression of interest. “Well, I’m happy to hear that. I’ve always wanted to have a direwolf myself, Lady… ” She trailed off, not knowing the girl’s name.

 

An annoyed look shot her way. “I’m no lady,” said the girl. “That’s not me and will never be.”

 

Just like me. Lyanna remembered how she was once adamantly against marriage, sewing, or anything ladylike. Until she met her dragon… Swallowing down her grief at the memory, she asked, “Who are you really, then?”

 

That bold, infectious grin lit up again. “Arya Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark - King in the North, and your niece.” She scratched behind the direwolf’s ears. “Ghost already introduced himself. He likes to hang with me when Jon isn’t around.”

 

Ned? A king? Lyanna could only nod in response. So much had changed since she’d… died. Ned was married with children and apparently the North was now independent of the Iron Throne. So many questions were swirling in her head, she didn’t know where to start.

 

At that moment, Ghost trotted to the door and scratched it. Arya rolled her eyes and followed him. “He wants out now.” Her stormy orbs pierced Lyanna’s. “I should be going too. No one’s to come in here until Father says,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.

 

Yes, Arya was definitely like her. Lyanna smirked mischievously back as Arya opened the door to let herself and Ghost out. Then a thought struck. “Arya,” she called - to which her niece turned in response. “How… How long has it been since - ”

 

“ - the Rebellion?” Arya finished with a raised eyebrow. “Eighteen years.”

 

“How long?!” Lyanna gasped in astonishment. But Arya had already left the room with Ghost.

 

Lying back numbly, Lyanna was in shock. Eighteen years? She had barely reached her eighteenth nameday before birthing her son. She sat up, suddenly frantic. Where was her son? Last she remembered before the darkness embraced her was begging Ned protect him. Promise me. Promise me, Ned.

 

The door opened again, and two men stepped inside. One bald and garbed in thick grey woolen robes. Luwin. Lyanna would never forget Winterfell’s maester, who indulged her craving for books and tomes of every subject from the Dawn Age to the Age of Heroes. The other man was much older than she last remembered, with a somewhat scruffy beard and a world-weariness about him, but she knew him immediately. Ned.

 

Eighteen years… If there was anything that truly made it real, it was seeing her older brother so much older, while she retained her youth.

 

Upon seeing her awake and alert, her brother blinked and shifted awkwardly. Avoiding his sister’s gaze, he nodded to Maester Luwin to attend to her.

 

The kindly maester, also much older than she remembered, knelt by her bedside. Seemingly lost for words, he eventually mustered a smile. “Lady Lyanna… I… I do not know what to say. When Lord Stark brought you up from the crypts, I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

 

“Neither do I,” she replied. Lyanna didn’t know what had brought her back from the dead, but she was happy to be home again among her loved ones.

 

“Well, no matter how you returned to us, my lady, I’m very grateful that you have.” Maester Luwin placed a comforting hand on hers. “Winterfell hasn’t been the same without its Winter Rose.”

 

Lyanna blushed. Affection wasn’t something she was normally comfortable with.

 

All the while, Ned stood in the background, silent and observant. The Quiet Wolf. She remembered how he could be so discreet that people would forget his presence. Brandon was the opposite - brash, impulsive, and plain wild. It was that hotheadedness that led to his doom, and to an extent, hers as well.

 

Guilt welled up in her as Luwin inspected her body. Gently pressing his hands on her torso, then down to her legs. A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it clean.

 

“Have you been feeling any discomfort, my lady?” Luwin asked.

 

“A headache and some pain below my ribs,” Lyanna admitted. Her usual boyish bravado in shrugging it off was dissipated in light of her extraordinary circumstances.

 

Luwin pursed his lips. “When I attended to you while you were asleep, I found that your body was in more or less the same condition it was all those years ago. Lord Stark told me that you’d died from birthing fever, so I’d say you’re experiencing some lingering symptoms.”

 

Lyanna could only listen to what the elderly maester said. It was all so unfathomable. Resurrected at the same age at death, yet carrying a physical reminder of how she’d passed.

 

“Other than that, you seem to be in excellent health. However, I suggest you remain bedridden for at least another day for your post-birthing pains to fade. I shall come back on the morrow to check on you.” Luwin glanced to Ned, still standing quietly in the corner. 

 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Luwin smiled. “Until next time, dearest Lyanna.” With a twinkle in his eye, he closed the door behind him.

 

Sister and brother looked at each other, not knowing what to say. “Lya…”

 

At the tremor of his voice, Lyanna’s eyes filled with tears. “Ned…” Before either knew it they were wrapped in a filial embrace - holding each other tightly.” Oh, brother…”

 

“I missed you, Lya… every damn day,” Ned choked out. 

 

The two siblings shed tears on each other’s shoulders. After a while, they both drew back with deep, shuddering breaths.

 

“Eighteen years, Ned,” Lyanna remarked. “It’s been so long…”

 

“Aye, it has. Not a fortnight went without paying my respects to you.” Ned sat down heavily in a chair pulled up by her bedside. He smiled wanly. “So much has changed since you, ah, left.”

 

Lyanna averted her eyes, unable to meet her brother’s gaze. She noticed he’d been careful to avoid saying ran away .

 

“Lya,” he said gently. “Don’t let guilt consume you. I remember every word of what you said when I found you in that tower. Whatever your mistakes were, they’re in the past. We can only focus on moving forward now.”

 

“You’re too kind, brother,” Lyanna said. Shifting slightly on the bed, she remembered Arya sneaking into the room without permission. “I presume you are married now with children of your own?” she said, suppressing giggles.

 

Ned’s face brightened at the mention of his children. “Five - three boys and two girls. My youngest daughter, Arya, reminds me so much of you. She has your beauty, courage, and proclivity for the sword.”

 

Flattered, Lyanna continued, “Their mother?” She wholeheartedly agreed that Arya was a chip off the old block.

 

Ned’s face darkened at the mention of his wife. “Catelyn Tully, Bran’s betrothed. I married her to fulfill the betrothal agreed to by our father and Hoster Tully.” His gaze dropped to the floor.

 

Try as she might, Lyanna couldn’t stop her guilt from welling up again. At least, she had married the man she loved. Her brother seemed to have been trapped in a loveless marriage because of her mistakes. Honourable fool he was, Ned wouldn’t hesitate to uphold the vows of others.

 

“I’m sorry,” she eventually said. “You never got the chance to find your special someone.”

 

“No, no,” Ned mustered a half smile. “I grew to love Catelyn and she did with me - enough that I could call her Cat in the bedroom,” he added mischievously.

 

Lyanna smirked at the nickname. Just like mine. “Where is she? I’d very much like to meet her.” She had only met Catelyn once, at the Tourney of Harrenhal, when Bran introduced her to his bride. While polite and proper, Catelyn did give off an air of pompousness that was unbecoming.

 

“She’s down at Riverrun visiting her family.” Ned suddenly took great interest in his wolf’s fur cloak. Twiddling his thumbs, he abruptly changed the subject. “Would you like to meet your nieces and nephews? They've been quite eager to see you since last night.”

 

“Of course. What are their names?” She asked.

 

“Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. But Bran’s presently fostering at Greywater Watch. Howland remembers the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

 

The fateful day when she fell for Rhaegar and he for her. Lyanna gulped. “And Jon?” She added, remembering Ghost’s master.

 

Her brother froze up so as to be ice. A full minute passed before he even blinked. He inhaled deeply and gently grasped her hand in his. “Lya,” he said, his voice impossibly soft. “Jon is not my son. He is yours - Aegon.”

 

Ignoring the spasm that shot up her belly, Lyanna sat bolt upright. “My son?! Where is he?! Tell me, NOW!” She grabbed Ned’s shoulders and shook him senseless. Her eyes were wild and her face ferocious as a wolf.

 

“Woah! Stop!” Ned panted as he extricated himself from her iron grip. “Calm down, Lya. I’ll tell you everything.”

 

Impatient, Lyanna leaned back as Ned caught her up on all that had passed in the Seven Kingdoms: The North’s independence, Robert losing control of his rule, and the movement for Targaryen Restoration. But all she could think about was her son, who Ned had claimed as his bastard to protect him from Robert’s wrath. Her wolfsblood boiled at how her son had been degraded and abused, but her heart warmed when she learned of his marriage and newborn son.

 

I’m a grandmother. Oh, how she wished for this day eighteen years ago. “My son’s wife, Daenerys - Viserys tried to marry her off to a Dothraki khal?” She was baffled. That wasn’t at all the sweet innocent boy she knew when she saw the prince at Harrenhal.

 

Ned sighed. “Yes, unfortunately. Daenerys told me he’d gone mad with rage and hate in exile, and was desperate to reclaim his birthright.”

 

“And Jon saved her.” Lyanna was so proud of her son for all he’d done in her absence. Leading a Dothraki khalasar, freeing slaves in Slaver’s Bay, and if true - hatching dragons. A longing to see him overtook her. “When will he and Daenerys return from Castle Black?” 

 

Ned hesitated. “Should be in no more than a fortnight. Maester Aemon probably wants as much time with his great-niece as possible.”

 

Lyanna never met the Night’s Watch’s ancient maester, but Rhaegar had spoken highly of him. The advice received from his great-uncle helped him bear with his father’s growing paranoia and sadism.

 

Rhaegar...

 

Her heart ached for her beloved. “I only wish Rhaegar was here to see his son,” Lyanna said sadly. Looking up, she saw Ned’s jaw tighten and a flash of bitterness in his eyes. Her eyes narrowed. “Brother,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t blame Rhaegar for my mistakes. He only eloped with me because I wanted to. He loved me deeply, but he wouldn’t force me to marry him. Not like Robert.” Her teeth grinded at the name of her betrothed.

 

Ned looked to protest, but just sighed. “I never knew Rhaegar - it made it easy to…” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgave both of you. It just hurts to remember.” He stood up from his chair. “I’ll be leaving now. My children want to meet their aunt.” Leaning over, he kissed her forehead before walking out of the room.

 

Barely five minutes passed before the door flew open and Ghost bounded into the room. Behind were four boys and girls of different heights. The tallest - a stocky young man - met her eyes and broke out in a white smile. “She’s awake!” Ushering the other three in, the pack crowded around their aunt.

 

Lyanna studied four out of her five nieces and nephews. All but Arya had the classic Tully looks - dapper and noble rather than the wild stoicism of the Starks. Each except Arya had various shades of auburn hair, but Lyanna could sense something. All of them, even the prim and proper Sansa - had an air about them. The smell of wolfsblood, distinctive and powerful. Did Jon work this into them? She figured Arya and Rickon always had it, but that all of this was owed to her son.

 

“Aunt Lyanna?” The eldest - Robb - said hesitantly. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

 

Hand gently rustling Ghost’s furry head, Lyanna snorted playfully. “There’s no need to be so formal, Robb. Call me Aunt Lya.”

 

His awkwardness seemed to dissipate. “Alright, Aunt Lya.” He shuffled his feet. “Gods, what shall I say?”

 

“You could start by introducing me to this cute little button, right here,” she laughed, pointing to Rickon.

 

He huffed. “I’m not little.”

 

“Yes, you are,” all of his siblings said in unison. Gods, just like Bran, Ned, Ben, and me. 

 

And so it went, the long lost She-Wolf of Winterfell falling into her role as a dear aunt to the Stark clan. Chatting with Robb and Sansa about their budding betrothals, Rickon about her travels in Dorne, and Arya about her swordsmanship - her heart warming at how her beloved boy encouraged his cousin.

 

“Jon gave me a sword and everything! I’m on my way to being a master Water Dancer.”

 

Chuckling at her niece’s exuberance, Lyanna eased herself till she was fully sitting up. Feeling a sense of calm and belonging for the first time in a long while. Since Rhaegar left her in the tower to fight his war - a much longer while given all Ned told her. “Tell me more about this Water Dancing.”

 

That did the trick, Arya’s eyes sparkling as she explained all about her dancing master and even acting out her various forms much to the amusement of the other Starks. “It feels so amazing to finally be learning and becoming what I’ve always wanted to be, Aunt Lya. Not a boring Lady sewing all day and bearing heirs all night.” She curled her nose in disgust, looking as if there was a bad taste in her mouth.

 

Lyanna giggled. “Oh Arya, I was exactly like you at your age - only having a brother willing to help me evade the ban on my training.” She gave Robb a fake glare, the heir to Winterfell rolling his eyes. “But as with I, there will be a man that comes into your life and makes you learn to love being a Lady… except with swordplay and except for sewing,” she hastily added.

 

“His name is Gendry!” Rickon piped up, wanting attention and to be helpful. “She loves him very much!”

 

At her little brother’s disclosure, Arya grew a beet red. “You little beast!” Robb managed to get in between the two of them, her nephew shooting Lyanna a look as if to say Don’t ask .

 

Nodding, Lya looked close at Arya. “Tell you what, when I get the all clear from Maester Luwin, I’ll teach you how to fight like a proper northern female warrior.

 

Arya’s eyes lit up again. “Promise?” At her smile, the little girl threw her arms around her still resting aunt. “You hear that Sansa? She’s gonna teach me! I’m gonna have two teachers!”

 

Eyes finding her seated older niece, for the first time, Lyanna noticed a bundle in her arms. How did that… Her mouth went dry as the bundle moved - something telling the She-Wolf exactly what that… no, who that was. “Sa… Sansa?”

 

Biting her lip, Sansa rose. Walking towards her aunt as she gingerly held the precious bundle. Swaddled in the softest wool it seemed. A quick repositioning found a sleeping babe poking his head out of the bundle, tufts of silver hair topping his head. There was no doubt who this was. “This is Rhaegon,” Sansa put it out there, smiling. “Would you like to…”

 

Lyanna didn’t deny herself one moment. “Give him to me…” Arms reaching out frantically, in a split second, the babe - Rhaegon - was nestled in her arms. Almost surreal for her, at that instant her grandchild’s eyes fluttered open. Looking up at the strange new woman gazing down at him with his kepa ’s eyes. His pure amethysts a different shade than Rhaegar’s, but only slightly. He must get it from his mother…

 

“Aunt Lya? Are you alright?” Robb asked gently.

 

Softly stroking Rhaegon’s cheek, the babe giggling happily as he started squirming in Lyanna’s hands, the Targaryen Princess didn’t know how she felt. Joy at holding the first bit of her beloved son in her arms? Love for her grandbabe, as much a product of the love of Jon and Daenerys as Jon had been of her and Rhaegar? A surreal feeling of never having even held Jon as she held Rhaegon? Sorrow at all the years lost and that Rhaegar couldn’t be here? 

 

As Lyanna began to tear up, she brought Rhaegon to her cheek - gently rocking him. “I love you, little one. Grandmother is here. She’ll never leave.”

 

Perhaps she felt all of that.


 

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

With a clunk the chest smacked atop the hull of the small boat, causing the vessel to bob in the brackish water. Another rustle came as the hooded figure tossed a sack inside - the boat attempted to drift off, but the rope tying it to the floating keep’s jetty stayed nice and taut. 

 

Lips tight in a dark, brooding frown, Rhaegar Targaryen resisted the urge to put an end to his misery and just dive into the water - letting it drown him. It was an instantly fleeting thought, and the guttural bellies of lizard-lions in the distance made him wary. If he was to die again, it wasn’t going to be as reptile chow.

 

Dead again… Even hearing everything from Howland, from the young boy supposedly Eddard Stark’s son, Rhaegar still barely fathomed the fact he was here, eighteen years after that fateful day on the Trident. When he allowed himself to stop, he could still feel the might of Robert’s warhammer slam into his chest. Rubies scattering off his breastplate as he fell into the water, heart and lungs pulverized and Lyanna’s name on his lips.

 

Rhaegar stopped, letting out a strangled breath. “Lyanna…” She was dead according to Howland. Elia dead. Rhaenys and Aegon dead. His mother dead. Viserys dead. A brother he never even heard about burning down cities in Essos. All his loved ones suffering because of him…

 

Shaking it off, he resumed his packing. Stocking the boat with supplies he would need when he reached shore. His beloved had always spoken about taking him and their family to the North - it wasn’t how the young… fuck, he was still the same age supposedly, Rhaegar imagined it, but there was a perverse irony in it all. And the North rested the only two people left in his life that mattered a damn.

 

He heard the clop of boots on the ground before even turning around. “I know it’s you, Arthur.”

 

Behind, the Sword of the Morning let out an audible sigh. “What are you doing, your Grace?”

 

“I’m not a fucking Prince anymore,” Rhaegar shot back, dropping his sword into the boat. “That honor belongs to those of House Baratheon… and what do you think I’m doing?”

 

“Well, I see you supposedly packing a boat to go out alone into the world on foot, but the Rhaegar Targaryen I know isn’t such a fucking idiot.”

 

Arthur never cursed - he had to be quite angry. Knowing that an angry Arthur would never leave him alone, Rhaegar turned and met him in the eye. Stripped of his Kingsguard armor, he looked less formidable but never less noble and chivalrous. Traits he had died with, while Rhaegar didn’t. “Say it, Arthur. Just say it… that I’m a godsdamn failure that doesn’t deserve this second chance.”

 

The Kingsguard’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t say that because it isn’t true.” 

 

“Horseshit.” He stepped away from the boat, pacing as he was wont to do while stressed. “You still have to feel the damned knife to your throat… Seven Hells, the lord of this keep put it there.” Arthur still bore the scar on his neck - one he managed to cover up with a collared gambeson but there nonetheless. “Your mark is at least born of honor and duty. My fucking mark?” Rhaegar lifted up his tunic, revealing a jagged, ripped series of tears on his strong chest. “A herald of shame.”

 

Seeming to open his mouth to argue with him, instead Arthur changed the subject. “So where are you going to go, Rhaegar?” If he wouldn’t handle being called his royal title, he didn’t object to the informal use of his name. “To die? To kill Robert? Tywin? Or to your son and sister?”

 

“Where else? If they both are at Castle Black, then I can go there and finally find a purpose that I won’t fuck up.”

 

“And what purpose would that be?” Arthur asked sarcastically. “To take the black like a weak little bitch too blinded by self-loathing?”

 

Rhaegar let out a dark chuckle. “You’re probably the only person left in this world who doesn’t loathe me.” The things Howland said… any man would be horrified at such a slander of his reputation but Rhaegar knew he brought it on himself. “The world thinks I’m a rapist, most of my family died in the most brutal ways possible, and my son…” Rhaegar choked back a sob that threatened to shatter his brooding facade. “The boy and my sister probably hate me… fuck, I would too.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

Both men turned to see Bran Stark standing there, staring at them. “How long did you hear for?” Arthur asked.

 

“Long enough to know what a horrible mistake you’re making, uncle.”

 

It took a moment for Rhaegar to realize that Lya’s nephew was speaking about him. “I’m not your uncle, Bran,” he muttered, hoping the boy would go away. He looked too much like a Stark… reminded him of all he lost. 

 

But the boy was stubborn, just like Lya. “You are my uncle, by marriage and love if not by blood, and Jon and Daenerys love you, as does your wife.” 

 

“My mistakes left Daenerys to live on the filthy streets of the Free Cities while being abused by the sweet babe brother of mine that turned into a monster… while my son…” Gods, he had always imagined Lya having a girl and loved that babe in her belly from the beginning, but knowing that she gave birth to a son now grown… “He grew up a bastard, a motherless bastard abused and degraded his whole life.” Strong as he was, powerful as he was, the agony simply couldn’t hold back the tears that fell from Rhaegar’s cheeks. Drawing in Arthur Dayne, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 

Bran walked closer to Rhaegar. Waiting until the former Prince composed himself. “I know, uncle. Everything was a horrible situation and things spiralled out of control. Our family was hurt greatly from it, but no one that knows the truth can hate you, least of all your blood.” The boy was wise beyond his years… was that because of the greensight?

 

Hells, with the chaos the Realm was in thanks to Robert and Tywin, Rhaegar wasn’t surprised that the Starks grew up the way they did. The North was hard as it was. “You saw him through the weirwoods? Talk about me?”

 

“I’ll admit that I saw some snippets before following you,” Brandon blushed, suddenly a bit awkward. Nothing near his brash namesake, who Rhaegar regretted not getting to know better when he had the chance. “Once I know where to look it gets… easier.” 

 

“So what did his son and sister say?” Arthur seemed curious too, and probably figured Rhaegar needed to hear this - the knight was always his best friend.

 

Bran nodded. “Jon talked with Daenerys about you… how they named their son after you, uncle.” Rhaegar blinked, surprising him greatly. I am a grandfather? “Aunt Lyanna loves you too, by the way.”

 

His eyes widened. “What did you say?” Rhaegar just couldn’t imagine…

 

Arthur was equally flabbergasted, though his wits recovered quicker. “The force that brought us back? The magic… it brought Princess Lyanna back as well?”

 

“Aye, she’s at Winterfell with my father and siblings… and your grandson.” Bran pursed his lips grimly. “And in great pain, missing the one man she ever loved. Thinking him dead for good.”

 

 Unable to control the vice his heart was clenched in, Rhaegar grabbed his last remaining saddlebags and headed for the boat. “Where are you going?”

 

“To Lya. I can’t let her be alone,” he called back, only for Arthur to yank him back. “Do not try to stop me Arthur or you’ll regret it.”

 

“Really?” He patted Dusk at his hip, one of the ancestral swords of House Dayne finally returned to its rightful owner. “You can try.” The veiled threat worked, the two of them sharing exhausted, calming smirks. “I’m not going to stop you, Rhaegar. Fuck, I’m joining you in this, but not now. You need sleep, a horse, and a proper escort.”

 

“I’ll go with you.” They both turned to Bran. “I want to meet my aunt… and I’ve learned all I can here.”

 

Smiling softly, Rhaegar reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You look like a Tully and sound like a Stark,” he chuckled. “We all want to see your aunt, Bran, but the two of you are right.” Yawning, it only emphasized the fact. “How can a person who’s been dead for eighteen years feel so tired?”

 

Bran had an answer. “Simple, because you weren’t supposed to be dead, and so didn’t rest.” Rhaegar couldn’t fight the logic in that. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your rooms.”

 

Looking back at the swamp, Rhaegar pictured his beloved. Pictured his last child. Pictured his sweet sister that he never met. 

 

Feeling the call of the dragon.

 

I’m coming. 


 

Robert Baratheon

 

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” Labored breaths were panted into the air of the bedchambers - balcony doors thrown open for whatever breeze was forthcoming from Blackwater Bay. “Take it, you whore,” Robert moaned. He needed any form of coolness. Rutting into the amazingly tight pussy like a man possessed, any extra overheating and he might find his heart stopping. 

 

Screaming into the empty chamber - likely giving the Kingsguards outside quite an earful - Shae wrapped two legs around his hips. “Gods… fuck me, my King…” She bit her lip, spurring Robert on as she rolled her crotch around his cock. “Give me your seed,” the whore whispered in his ear like a wanton harlot. “I need it.”

 

Robert hadn’t known such a desirable woman since Lyanna. Never someone as wild and carefree as the she-wolf that took his heart - that he started a war for. This must have been what she would be like in bed. “Yes! Take my seed, whore.”

 

“Please!” Shae sunk her teeth into his meaty shoulder, spurring him on.

 

Delightfully slender and supple, the Essosi whore was a wonder to fuck. And the latest rounds of strenuous training left Robert in the best shape he had been in in years. Still his gut spilled over his waistline but his muscles firmed, back and legs toning. No longer would he let his bedmates ride him… he could rut into them like the bull Stag he was. In the prime of his life, ready to sire more children and destroy the Targaryens once and for all. “You’re far tighter than that blonde bitch,” Robert growled, referring to Cersei. 

 

Shae’s walls clenched around him. “Your Queen… is a fool… for straying from you… my King,” she gasped out, Robert growing ever harder inside her. “Her… loss… my… gain… oh, my King!” She screamed out her climax, frantically meeting his thrusts.

 

Gritting his teeth, Robert thrusted several more times into her vice-grip only to spill his seed deep inside her. Heart beating out of his chest as he collapsed to the side. Taking Shae for the ride.

 

Most whores that Littlefinger procured him would simply drain him till he was spent and then leave… not that Robert cared either way. But Shae was different - unlike the others she pulled up the covers to drape over them before cuddling into Robert’s side. An intimacy he had never felt before… let alone from his wife.

 

Perhaps that’s why he had effectively stolen her from Littlefinger’s employ. Housed her in the Red Keep, made her his woman. Robert could already see a light assortment of feminine touches around the room. Would Lya have done this?

 

“What is on your mind, my King?” Her accent was pure sex, but in this moment she sounded like a caring, compassionate wife. Hand idly stroking his chest.

 

Clutching his easing heart, Robert sighed. “To think I had dealt with the Targaryens already… only for the dragonspawn to crop up again… like rats. And my best friend...” 

 

Ned’s betrayal still hurt.

 

Shae hummed. “Dragons are hard to kill… even for the Demon of the Trident. You have many armies, while theirs are all the way in Slaver’s Bay.”

 

“Don’t forget the North, and the Reach and Dorne.” Robert held up his palm, wriggling his fingers. “Armies spread out all over the place. One in the Westerlands, one in the Crownlands, one in the Reach, one wherever Renly puts it, and the fifty thousand sewer rats Slynt promised.” He pressed the fingers into Shae’s bare back. “Doesn’t hurt much… but…” He held up two fists. “North,” Robert swayed one. “Reach/Dorne/Savages,” he waves the other, only to slam them into the mattress. “See?” 

 

Her olive eyes peered up at him, eyelashes batting innocently. “But you have great strategists such as Lord Tywin planning your wars. Why do you worry?”

 

That deserved a snarl. “If Tywin didn’t own half the Kingdom I’d have him executed too.” Ned may have been a traitorous wolf, but Tywin was the snake ready to sink its fangs into his back. “He wants me dead… him and that cunt wife of his.”

 

Silent for a moment, Shae simply rested her head upon his chest. “A lion preys upon the stag, ambushing it and sinking its teeth into the prey’s flesh… but when the stag knows the lion is there, all the predator gets is run through by the horn.” She looked up at him again. “Know when he strikes.”

 

---

 

His lover’s words were still on his mind the next day when Robert arrived at his Queen’s chambers, gruffly pushing past the hulking mass of Boros the Belly to enter. There she was, breastfeeding little Lyanna Baratheon. Many would kill to see Cersei Lannister - one of the Realm’s great beauties - in such a position. Robert felt nothing but disgust. It should have been her… it should have been Lya… His face twisted in sudden sorrow.

 

Cersei must have noticed him. “What is on your mind then, husband?” The last word was spat out. 

 

“I just realized,” Robert murmured… “I forgot what my Lyanna even looked like.”

 

A sudden laugh. “Gods… that woman has been dead for eighteen years and she’s still haunting my life.” Pulling the sated babe from her teat, she covered up and tucked her in the crook of her arm. “And even my beloved child - the last one I have - even she serves as a reminder of that wolf whore that…”

 

Smack echoing through the room, Robert felt his hand sting as a bright red handprint formed on Cersei’s face. “Watch what you say about her,” he growled. “She was a better woman than you’d ever be.”

 

Cupping her affected cheek, suddenly her attention shifted to the crying Lyanna, disturbed by the shouting. Cersei cradled her babe in her arms, softly rocking her. “Such a slap… in front of your child? I consider it an honor.”

 

“Speak one more word about my Lya and I’ll honor you again.” Why did I come here? He came for his babe. “It should have been her. Someone that loved me.”

 

“And it should have been Rhaegar, a proper king,” Cersei hissed back. “Face it Robert, you’ve lost. You lost your best friend, you lost your kingdoms one by one… how soon till Renly decides he wants the Iron Throne and kills you?” She chuckled. “Honestly, I pray for that day. And that I live long enough to see it.”

 

Grinding his teeth, Robert simply stepped forward. Yanking his babe from the malignant lioness’ arms. “You are a horrid harpy, Cersei. Just like your father - sometimes when you open your mouth, his words come out. Though I wonder whose words they were when you said them to your brother fuckin’ you.” He smirked at Cersei’s face, flushed with anger. “I will not let you destroy Lyanna as you did your bastards.” 

 

“You can’t take her from me!”

 

“Oh, but I can. I found two bastard daughters of mine in the Vale and the Riverlands. They can be her governesses and raise her to be a proper Baratheon rather than a lion cunt.” Cradling Lya in his large arms, a thick finger tickled her nose. The sweet, innocent babe giggled and squirmed at the attention - for once in his life he felt fatherly pride and love. “Odd… I think back and it was never going to ever work out between us. Pity - would have been easier had it did.” Turning, he made his way out.

 

Cersei wasn’t done. “Robert! You’ll never be rid of me!” 

 

He didn’t look back. 

 

“ROBERT!”


 

Hoster Tully

 

The Lord of Riverrun had always been a stressed man. It was hard not to be. The Riverlands was the most troublesome of the Seven Kingdoms - Brackens hot-tempered, Freys mercurial, and Mootons fanatically pious. The list went on and on. But what was to be expected when the Riverlands was the historic battleground of Westeros?

 

Edmyn Tully must have been so proud when Aegon the Conqueror raised his family up. Hoster now thought the Targaryen just wanted someone else to handle the trouble for him. After all, the river kings had been gone for centuries and thus, Aegon could’ve easily claimed direct rulership for himself.

 

Such was in the mind of the head of the House of the Trout as he stared at the unopened letter lying on his desk. The twin towers seal only further soured his mood. For crying out loud, half of all correspondences with the Old Lord Frey involved a betrothal between Edmure and one of the weasley old man’s many daughters. The amount of silver offered as dowry was so ridiculously large as to be called bribery.

 

Seven Hells, this better be important. Hoster ripped the envelope open and yanked out the letter. The bottom tore, but he didn’t care. He suspected it had to do with his son… and for once, he wished he was wrong.

 

Lord Hoster Tully,

 

Seems I have a little answer to the whereabouts of your son and daughter. They are here, enjoying my finest guestrooms to think about certain slights they made against my House and my home. While the ultimate fate of your daughter lies with King Stark, I believe we can come to a good resolution on your son and heir.

 

I propose a trade. You cede the lordship paramount of the Trident to House Frey - you can keep Riverrun, I couldn’t care less - and your son will be returned to you unharmed. No reparations of gold dragons or silver stags are necessary.

 

I have corresponded with Hand of the King Tywin Lannister on this arrangement, and he has agreed on behalf of the Crown. This is a rather lenient judgement of your House and I suggest you heed it… for your son’s sake.

 

Lord Walder Frey

 

Hoster read each line slowly, parsing each word on his lips silently. When finished, he snatched a cup of wine and gulped down the contents. Honestly, he half-expected as much. When he’d sent Edmure to Winterfell to uncover the truth behind the North’s independence, he was prepared for a graphic description of Prince Joffrey’s actions against his nieces.

 

If Edmure returned at all. What transpired instead only the Seven could concoct.

 

Whatever Walder claimed his children did that warranted the loss of House Tully’s rule, he disbelieved every word. That Troll of the Crossing had a terrible reputation for honesty, unless he could skim a little off the top of the pot. Stooping so low as to say Robert himself supported this treason was the last straw.

 

House Frey will be taught their place. Hoster grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped a quill in an inkpot, and began to write… Time to call the banners .

Notes:

CastleColin: The bond between dragon and direwolf transcends death - and the Sword of the Morning is its defender.

Chapter 49: A Balancing Act

Summary:

1) Alysanne's rule is challenged by the Sons of the Harpy.
2) Arianne reckons with a rising Faith Militant and receives an unexpected raven.
3) Talisa treats Missandei and 'Wylla.'
4) Theon steals his wife.
5) Benjen prepares at Eastwatch for the expedition to Hardhome.

Notes:

CastleColin: Hello everyone. Hope y’all are staying safe and away from danger. Unfortunately, our heroes don’t have that luxury and must plunge into the thick of it.

Longclaw: Plenty of awesome stuff in this chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Alysanne Targaryen

 

“Hold still, your Grace.” Nimble fingers weaving through lush brown locks, Shireen expertly braided Alysanne’s hair in the style of Westerosi nobility. “Almost done. You look regal already.” Tying off the last knots, she stepped back to admire her work. “Have a look, your Grace.”

 

Peering at the mirror, Alysanne smiled wistfully at the waterfall braids the Lady Baratheon had done for her. So reminiscent it was of her wedding day when Aerys was still the dashing, kindhearted prince she grew up loving. A part of her longed for her husband, but deep down she knew that was a foregone hope. If I look back, I am lost. Her sister’s last words of advice before they parted resonated. What she shared with Aerys was gone, through no fault of her own. But there was no going back.

 

Do not look back when the only course is forward. Her lips curled up a little more. A mantra of her own to follow.

 

“I’m impressed, my lady,” Alysanne complimented. “I believe I chose my handmaiden well.” 

 

Shireen blushed in modesty. “It’s nothing special, really. I often helped my mother with her hair in the morning. Even the day of her death…” She trailed off, sniffling slightly. A soft hand rested on her shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry.” Offering her condolences, Alysanne was reminded of how she lost Aerys, or rather, how he lost her. “You have my leave to go.” Shireen nodded in thanks and left the solar.

 

Getting up from the vanity table, Alysanne made for the bassinet by her bed. Tucked under a silk blanket was a sleeping babe, quiet and serene.

 

“My precious,” she cooed as she gently took her son into her arms. Prince Daemon Targaryen was born only a moonturn ago in the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Already, he was the spitting image of his mother - tan complexion, violet eyes, and dark brown hair, albeit lighter than hers. At Alysanne’s gentle rocking, his eyelids fluttered open, staring up at her. He reminded her so much of his father that it both warmed and pained her heart.

 

Muna loves you, little one.” She tickled his nose to a fitful of giggles. Daemon writhed and squirmed in his mother’s embrace. “You want to play?” He stopped fidgeting and locked eyes with her. Alysanne laughed. “Oh, so do I. But muna has work to do. Play will have to come later.” Gently, she put him back in his bassinet and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “ Muna will return to you shortly, little dragon. Be a good boy and stay out of trouble.” Daemon yawned and stretched his tiny arms.

 

 “I don’t think there’s much trouble a babe who can’t yet crawl can get himself into.” Alysanne whirled around to see her mother standing in the doorway. Ashara smiled at her daughter cuddling her son. “Motherhood seems to come to you quite naturally, my dear.”

 

The Dornish Dragon blushed. “Mother, I was just coming to the council meeting. You didn’t have to come up.” Giving the now asleep Daemon one last peck, she walked over to her mother. Exasperating as it was, Ashara Dayne’s overprotectiveness couldn’t be helped. She’d spent seventeen years keeping her daughter and the boy she considered to be her son, hidden from Robert Baratheon before having to hide her daughter from her surrogate son.

 

“Motherly love, Alys,” Ashara said simply. She brushed her hand through her daughter’s braided locks. “You look radiant. Now, come along. Best not to keep your advisors waiting.” Taking Alysanne by the arm, mother and daughter headed down to the audience chamber. 

 

“Six Unsullied, fifteen freedmen, and two masters .” The report was dropped unceremoniously, accompanied by Mossador’s scowling glare across the table. “The deaths have spiked in the last fortnight, Hidzhar. Your ‘kinder, gentler hand’ has clearly failed to appease the insurgents.”

 

The former master wrung his hands. “It’s a difficult situation, to be sure. But please, you can not expect some resistance to the new regime.” He glanced at Alysanne, who was watching him closely. “Especially when it has removed the very foundation of Meereen and the rest of Slaver’s Bay.”

 

Some?! ” Mossador slammed his hand on the table. “How soon till the Sons of the Harpy start killing the Dothraki outside the walls? If you know anything about the horselords, it’s that bloodshed is to be met with bloodshed.”

 

“Enough, my lords.” Ser Barristan’s authoritative tone cut across. “I thank you for your insight. However, Princess Alysanne must make the final decision as to the dilemma we face.”


He fixed his stern gaze on her. “Your Grace?”

 

Alysanne folded her hands and pondered. Since asserting her rule as Princess of Meereen, she had taken on two advisors - one from the masters and one from the freedmen - to assist her in reforming the city into a free labor society. The men she had chosen had polarized views on how to go about it, reflecting their class background.

 

On her right hand, the groomed and refined Hidzhar zo Loraq hailed from one of the Great Masters’ oldest houses. His family was among those she had spared, having treated slaves humanely and protesting their abuse by their former compatriots. When Alysanne had demanded justice for the one hundred and sixty-three slave children crucified on the road to Meereen as a warning to her army, Hidzhar and his father were some of the few that identified the perpetrators - though she had Barristan and her mother confirm their stories with the freedmen. 

 

The city center was now graced by one hundred and sixty-three corpses of slavers. Such a grisly sight proved difficult in persuading some of the masters to support Alysanne.

 

On her left hand, the rough and tumble Mossador hailed from the crowds of the freedmen. His knowledge of the former slaves’ needs greatly aided the distribution of food and the allocation of housing. The Unsullied patrols benefitted from his familiarity of Meereen’s layout, though the alleys proved hazardous in light of the Sons of the Harpy. Mossador’s most significant accomplishment was in instituting a wage system for the freedmen to support themselves by their own labor.

 

Hidzhar and Mossador clashed on how to handle resistance to the new order. The Sons of the Harpy added kindling to the fire. Alysanne kept that in mind and expected no easy resolution as she gave her opinion.

 

“My lords, I believe that, considering the frequency and precision of these attacks, the insurrection is not some simple rogue element. The Sons of the Harpy must have backing from powerful sources. Recalcitrant masters, mayhaps?” She looked on meaningfully as Hidzhar paled and Mossador glared black.

 

“Your Grace, I beg to differ,” Hidzhar said. “As Mossador said, two masters were among the slain. If what you say is true, the Harpy’s Sons would not slaughter one of their own.”

 

“Horseshit,” Mossador scoffed. “Those two masters were guilty of complying with Princess Alysanne. Any who does is a traitor in their eyes.”

 

Standing alongside her daughter, Ashara concurred. “Mossador is correct. The interests of the slavers are deeply threatened by the defection of masters. Your Grace, I believe a harder hand is necessary to quell these rebels.”

 

Barristan frowned. “What form would that take, my lady? The Princess is walking in a viper’s nest as it is.” Honorable and chivalrous, the knight of the Kingsguard was hesitant to resort to brute force.

 

“What was done at Yunkai and Astapor, Ser Barristan. Kill them all,” Ashara stated simply.

 

Before Alysanne could respond, Hidzhar interjected. “No, my lady, that will never work. If outside forces are involved, the Sons of the Harpy will resurge, regardless if all the masters are executed.” He shot her a pleading look. “Your Grace, you do not want your reign bathed in blood.”

 

Mossador hissed. “You’re craven, Hidzhar. You can’t let go of the old world and embrace the new. What other alternative does her Grace have to deal with irreconciliables?”

 

“The current course - the Unsullied patrol the streets and arrest those caught in the act. Trials can be held publicly instead of with only a few witnesses.”

 

Barristan hummed in agreement. “The Princess would not look good as a butcher. This arrangement will show her as a just ruler who doesn’t kill arbitrarily.”

 

“Trials are a waste of time,” Mossador argued. “All the masters understand is force. They’ll see this display as weakness.”

 

Hidzhar turned to Alysanne. “Your Grace, you left three legions each in Yunkai and Astapor to keep the peace, and there hasn’t been any news of rebellion there. Ten legions you have here, plus Dothraki. I have faith the same will work here.”

 

“The garrisons are able to keep order because all the masters are dead,” Ashara countered. “The councils there would have no authority otherwise.”

 

Mossador sized up Barristan. “Chivalry is an empty word here, ser. There is no honor in death, only death.” The Kingsguard narrowed his eyes. “Only tyrants deal in absolutes. Princess Alyssane does not.”

 

The argument intensified, each of the four raising their voices until shouting at each other. Squeezing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw, Alysanne felt a fire erupt under her chest. 

 

“SILENCE!”

 

The chamber became dead silent by command of the dragon’s roar. All eyes stared at Alysanne catching her breath. She took a steady inhale and composed herself. “Thank you, my lords,” she said plainly. “I found your counsel invaluable. I shall meditate on it, and give you my decision on the morrow.”

 

Spinning on her heel, she skimmed across the polished marble floor to the stairs. Daemon would be missing his mother, and she was eager to hold him. Her little dragon was much needed comfort after such a grueling meeting.

 

After a happy hour lying on her bed watching her son try and fail to crawl around, she placed him in his bassinet to nap. She felt refreshed from spending down time with him. With herself in a better mood, she returned her focus to dealing with the Sons of the Harpy. While she appreciated her mother and Mossador’s point that the insurrection was loathe to end in the absence of a harsh crackdown, she conceded that Hidzhar and Barristan were correct in that restraint would win over those currently ambivalent about their new circumstances.

 

Alysanne felt torn. She wanted to be viewed as a fair and just ruler, but if impartiality didn’t stop violent dissent, what was she left with? Feeling constricted, she stepped out through the doors into the terrace garden adjacent to her bedchamber. The sun was setting in the late afternoon, casting a golden glow across Slaver’s Bay. Somewhere out there, Ragnar was on the hunt. Her dragon roosted on the apex of the Great Pyramid when he came back for the night.

 

“Your Grace, may I enter?” Alysanne would recognize that cocky lilt anywhere. Smiling behind her, she beckoned Ser Jaime into her chambers. The Lion of Lannister looked dashing in his Kingsguard armor, a new set of plate and scale recovered from Valyria. Brightroar was slung over his back, its five-foot blade too long to be sheathed at the waist.

 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Alysanne smirked as she walked back into the room. Pouring some wine from a pitcher, she offered a goblet to the blonde knight. He accepted it gratefully and knocked it back in one go.

 

“Actually, the other way around, your Grace.” Ser Jaime laid down his goblet. “I spoke with Ser Barristan. He said you’re at an impasse with the Harpy’s Sons. I don’t pretend to be an expert in politics. All I’ve learned was how to fight.”

 

“Your solution is just to keep hitting with a sword until the trouble stops?” Alysanne teased. She sipped her wine, savoring the tangy flavor. Orange she guessed.

 

“Tell me what you know, and I could suggest something better than what I’d do.”

 

Alysanne sighed. She didn’t want to rehash the debate, but she found herself pouring out everything she’d said and heard earlier that day. Venting at the Lion of Lannister with the classic Targaryen fury for minutes on end. Ser Jaime listened attentively with his eyes on her. When she finished, he chewed his lip and looked deep in thought. “From what I heard, you’re caught between two extremes. Your mother wants you to give fire and blood, while Barristan wants you to show the Mother’s mercy. Am I missing anything?”

 

“That about sums it up,” Alysanne admitted.

 

He shrugged. “I’d recommend not following your mother’s advice, pardon me.” He chuckled before his face sobered. “Your father played that game to the Seven Hells and well, you know how I earned the title of ‘Kingslayer.’ ” Alysanne shuddered at the memory of Ser Jaime’s darkest secret. It wasn’t in the least difficult to believe when her own husband went sadistic, though he was at least not an idiot. That made him more dangerous...

 

“But I’d also not suggest Barristan’s approach, much as I respect him.” Ser Jaime clasped his hand in a fist. “A king or queen must recognize when to strike fear when his or her subjects defy him or her. That goes the same for princesses as well, especially those with power.”

 

“So, what do you suggest?” Alysanne crossed her arms. Jon and Daenerys entrusted her with the Bay of Dragons, and she was going to deliver.

 

Standing, Jaime paced around her, as if giving a lecture. “You wish to have the harpies killed off while not appearing to dish out violent measures. Placate both sides.” He looked directly at her. “Establish a clandestine force to infiltrate the Sons of the Harpy. Slaughter them at random while also finding out what structure they have.” It was a mystery that vexed the entire Targaryen governing apparatus. “Once determined, the leadership can be eliminated quietly and their minions picked off to the last man.”

 

“The Unsullied can do that.”

 

Ser Jaime shook his head. “The Unsullied are not trained for bushwhacking. The insurgents take care to attack them only at night in tight alleyways where they’re weakest. Recruit from the freedmen - they can blend in easily and fight dirty.” He smirked. “Hells, I’ll even train them and lead them.”

 

Alysanne considered Ser Jaime’s proposal. Discretion would allow her to maintain her stature as an honorable ruler, and this specialized force could eradicate the insurgency without excess casualties. Tempting as it was, she couldn’t help but feel the arrangement undermined her vow to do better than her estranged husband.

 

“Devious, ruthless, and ingenious.” She locked eyes with the Kingsguard. “I don’t like it, but it just might work.”

 

Ser Jaime bowed his head humbly. “Thus is the game of thrones, your Grace.”

 

Swallowing her misgivings, Alysanne steeled her resolve. No longer was she a pawn of her husband. She was now a player in her own right. The Bay of Dragons would rise from the ashes of Slaver’s Bay.

 

Fire will reign.


Arianne Tyrell

 

Gazing out at the serene flow of the Mander, waters sparkling as it made its way towards the Sunset Sea, Arianne Tyrell couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful the land of her husband - her adopted land - was. While Dorne had an even greater beauty in places, the scorching deserts and barren mountain ranges couldn’t compare to the land of plains lush with life. She loved her homeland, but the young maiden in her reveled in such a stunning visage as was Highgarden.

 

Which only made it more irritating to know that just a dozen miles south, the forces of the Faith Militant were gathering. Not moving or ravaging as they had across the Honeywine Valley closer to Oldtown, but a menacing force nonetheless. Additionally, they brought troublesome Lords to the gates to needle and beg her husband for aid in the absence of her good-father, Lord Mace… or the real ruler of Highgarden - Lady Olenna. 

 

And no one drew her ire more than Lord Randyll Tarly. “I do not care how many forces your friend Edric Dayne can provide among the Stony Dornish Houses.” His bitter visage seemed never to smile, and Arianne pitied his wife. Gods, she fought a swoon whenever Garlan gave her a bright smile. “None of them could hold a candle to the knights of the Reach.”

 

“I would remind you, Lord Tarly, not to insult my ancestral home,” Arianne stated, crossing her arms. Along with her husband, the three of them walked the battlements deep in a discussion that followed them from the Lord’s solar. “The Faith Militant have all of Oldtown to marshal behind them, as well as the bannermen of House Hightower.”

 

“Lord Leyton march against his grandson? Bah.” Tarly dismissed it. “Perhaps if Lady Olenna were here, she’d realize the folly of leaving a boy smitten by a…” he trailed off.

 

Garlan raised an eyebrow though. “A what, Lord Tarly? Do you refer to my wife?” The Lord of Horn Hill said nothing, even he knowing when he went too far. “Lady Arianne has my counsel and my house would not have betrothed her to me if they did not trust House Martell to keep up its end of the alliance. I’d remember that if I were you.”

 

Arianne wanted to pin him to the ground and fuck him till he couldn’t take it. The knight had a tendency to be kindhearted, but the steel came out when they needed to be. Tarly is just jealous that House Stark picked my brother to marry Princess Sansa rather than his son. “But to placate you, I will call the rest of our banners. The Warrior’s Sons haven’t reined in their smallfolk levies and it worries me.”

 

“And Horn Hill?”

 

“Half our bannermen will move to your keep, while the Dornish will reinforce Highgarden if that’s what you prefer?” Arianne said sweetly, smiling softly. I’m doing Edric a favor. No sane Dornishman would want to deal with this sour cunt.

 

Brows furrowing, Randyll merely bowed to his liege’s heir and walked away, Tarly retinue going after him. As soon as the stern Lord of Horn Hill disappeared around the corner, Arianne felt herself drawn into her husband’s embrace. “Gods, I had to struggle to keep from smacking him in the mouth.” Garlan’s hold on her tightened. “What he insinuated about you…”

 

Arianne sighed, enjoying the embrace. “It’s alright, husband. I’m not some cloistered maiden.” She looked up at him, eyes meeting. “Dealing with people far more crusty and devious than Randyll fucking Tarly have given me a thick skin in matters of politics.”

 

“Still, you are to be the Lady of Highgarden. There is no reason for anyone to doubt your loyalty to the Reach.”

 

Letting herself fall back into his hold, Arianne bit her lip. Regardless of the feelings she’d developed quite rapidly for Garlan and the beauty of the Reach, she was still Dornish at heart. Randyll had a point, there was no mistaking her for a Dornishwoman, and did that truly mean she wouldn’t adapt to properly lead the Reach alongside her husband?

 

The Valyrian Targaryens weren’t of Westeros. The Rhoynish weren’t of Westeros. And yet Aegon Targaryen and Princess Nymeria were seen as quintessentially Westerosi in the histories. Perhaps she could be the same… “I still miss my homeland, but you are my husband and I love you. I am a Tyrell first.” Arianne reached up to cup his cheek. “But if you put aside the traditional enmity between our Kingdoms, then you’d make me a happy wife,” she remarked sweetly.

 

He chuckled. “For you, I’d move mountains. The marcher lords or Faith Militant may resist, but the former will bend and the latter will break.” Garlan closed the distance and kissed her. Lips parting as they began to battle their tongues passionately. He really can’t get enough of me… There had been better lovers of both sexes in her past, but no one could top her knight of the Reach in terms of ardor or love. Pulling back for air, Garlan raised a brow. “Starting something?”

 

Her eyes sparkled. “Is it working?”

 

“It always works, but now? After this morning?”

 

“Why not?” She bit her lip, pouting. “You still haven’t gotten me with child.” That did the trick as Arianne knew it would, Garlan growling and crashing his lips back on hers, their hands shifting puriently across their clothes. She started to tug on his tunic, pulling him towards the keep and their chambers… though the way it was going they would need to duck into the first empty room available...

 

The clearing of a throat drew Arianne’s attention, breaking their kiss. Huffing, she saw the stooped form of Maester Lomys shifting his feet - waiting out the loving embrace of the current heir and heiress to the castle. “Yes, Maester Lomys?” Arianne asked with a bit of a bite to it, irritated at the interruption. Her chest was rising with hurried breaths and his fair skin was flushed. “What is it that you need?”

 

Old and frail, Lomys still retained a sharp mind. “Forgive me, my Lady, my Lord, but a message has arrived from Oldtown.”

 

Garlan blinked. “My grandfather? Uncle?”

 

“No, it bears the seal of the Citadel… and House Martell.”

 

That caused Arianne’s eyes to widen. “My father, in Oldtown?” Her mind wracked itself with reasons for him to be there as she snatched the scroll, unfurling it. “Oh…” She calmed down. “Thank you, Lomys.” He couldn’t be here for this. “You may go now.” The old Maester bowed and hobbled away - he seemed to deal with her rather well, for what woman could be more intimidating than Lady Olenna. Chuckling at the thought, Arianne turned to her husband. “It’s my cousin Sarella.” 

 

“What would she be doing in the Citadel?” Garlan asked with confusion.

 

A sardonic grin appeared on Arianne’s face. “Studying to be a maester has something to do with it.” She truly enjoyed his look of shock. “What? My uncle raises many interesting daughters.”

 

“I’ve heard,” Garlan mused, having met the youngest ones at Sunspear during their wedding. “So what does she say?”

 

Furrowing her brows, Arianne scanned the script. “Looks to be co-written… by her and Samwell Tarly.”

 

“Lord Tarly’s heir?”

 

“Former heir, my love,” she reminded him. Randyll’s disinheritance of the poor boy irked Arianne greatly, but Samwell seemed to get lucky by being sent to the Citadel on the patronage of Prince Robb Stark and Prince Jon Snow rather than rot away at the Wall. “Now shush, let me read.”

 

Dearest cousin,

 

Oldtown is a true mess. The Faith Militant and the Most Devout run the city with only the barest of supervision from House Hightower. Lord Leyton seems to condone their actions, and if they supply him with the masses for his armies he leaves them to their devices. The Citadel has its protection, but we do not dare leave it… especially me.

 

There is something we need to speak of. If you can find some excuse to come to the Citadel, Samwell and I will find a way to come in contact with you and Ser Garlan.

 

Please hurry,

 

Your cousin Sarella.

 

At the end of the scroll, Garlan ran a hand through his light-brown hair. “This… complicates matters.”

 

“I suppose a visit to your dear grandfather wouldn’t be out of the question, and the Faith Militant can’t hope to block such a peaceful endeavour and risk the ire of Lord Hightower. And if you just happen to wish a tour of the Citadel…” Arianne knew Sarella to be one not prone to folly or impetuousness, and was determined to have Garlan see her way forward.

 

Only an hour later, Ser Igon Vyrwel was marshalling the household guards for a progress to Oldtown - and Lady Tyrell was showing her appreciation for her husband’s right choice on the bed, astride him. A reward she enjoyed greatly herself.


Talisa Maegyr

 

Teeth chattering in spite of the many layers of furs, the frizzy-haired Naathi scooted closer to the hearth. “In all m-my t-tra-v-vels in Essos, nev-v-never have I ex-ex-perienced this season c-c-called winter.” She breathed heavily through her nose and out her mouth, wincing at the stinging cold of the surrounding air.

 

Talisa brushed a loose lock out of her face and turned to her tray. Resting atop was a kettle of boiled water and two mugs, along with an assortment of dried herbs in small pottery jars. “Hmm… Ahhh… No.” Delicate fingers danced over the jar lids until she found the ones she needed for her patients. “Here it is.”

 

Taking a pinch from each, she dropped the herbs into a mortar and began grinding them with a pestle. Humming softly to herself, she looked at Missandei - the poor thing freezing to the bone - and the silent, stoic man sitting next to her. Grey Worm’s face was set in a firm gaze, but his eyes betrayed tenderness - his hand held Missandei’s quite tightly.

 

“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms, my lady,” Talisa asked. Inspecting the herbs ground up in the mortar, she took another pinch from a jar to sprinkle in. “Chills, shivering throughout your body, and incessant teeth-chattering.”

 

Missandei’s speech was almost incomprehensible. “Ch-ch-chills st-st-started when I arr-rrived at White Harbor… Now just got worse.” She huddled deeper under her wool and furs, and Grey Worm put an arm around her.

 

Talisa pursed her lips. “You came to the North barely a moon ago, and this is still summer.” She raised her brow perceptively at the shock on Missandei’s face. No-nonsense in matters of health, she put forth her diagnosis rather bluntly. “Winterfell is heated by underground hot springs, you’re practically in the hearth, and wrapped in more furs than a sheep in wool. Lady Missandei, I think you’re coming down with the Shivers.”

 

“What Shivers do to Missandei?” Grey Worm asked, his iron gaze piercing and hard. It was clear he cared deeply for the Naathi woman.

 

“If left untreated, her arms and legs will convulse uncontrollably.” Talisa continued to grind the herbs into a fine powder. “If her lips turn blue and she coughs up blood, she will die.” Removing the pestle to find the powder like a black sand, she picked up the kettle and poured hot water into the mugs.

 

Missandei just seemed to shrink deeper into the furs, while Grey Worm remained undeterred. “You heal her, Lady Talisa?” He clenched his jaw, clearly trying to hold back tears. Talisa knew the reputation of the Unsullied - her father purchased a century for her family’s household guard - so she wasn’t surprised that Prince Robb had bought one of his own.

 

She was surprised by his acquisition of the Naathi translator - Missandei stunned when she shared that she was fluent in nineteen tongues.

 

“Fortunately I can, Grey Worm.” Talisa smiled assuredly at the Unsullied warrior. “She has not shown signs of any severe symptoms.” A tight nod was given her way.

 

With the mugs in hand, she poured half the herb powder in each, then stirred vigorously with a small spoon. When the water turned a dark brown shade, she passed the remedy to both Grey Worm and Missandei. “I am not in need of drink,” Grey Worm said as Missandei hurriedly blew on hers.

 

Talisa gently, but firmly pushed the mug into his hands. “Please, I insist. The herbs will prevent the Shivers from afflicting you too.” She watched the Unsullied take a cautious sip, while Missandei gulped it down, not caring about a burnt tongue.

 

On her next breath, some color returned to Missandei’s cheeks and her teeth stopped chattering. Grey Worm, also seemed to have been invigorated by the potency of the herbal tonic. Their grateful expressions warmed Talisa’s heart.

Collapsing onto her bed, the Volantene healer closed her eyes and tried to rest. Grey Worm and Missandei’s gratitude was still on her mind a half hour later. Her lips curled upward. It was part of the joy of treating people’s ailments - the renewal of hope. Just like the happiness her patients expressed when they told how Prince Robb bought them to buy their freedom.

 

Talisa was attracted to the Northern heir on sight. He was quite the lady’s sight with a strong build, bright blue eyes, and a ruggedly comely face. His altruism in freeing Grey Worm and Missandei endeared him to her ever more. Unfortunately, he was a betrothed man. Lady Margaery made little secret of that when they’d shared tea… 

 

Tears sprang to her eyes and she buried her head under her pillow. What Robb had revealed about Volantis devastated her. Her home destroyed? Her whole family perished? Grief overtook her and she cried softly. As much as she despised her father’s support for slavery - the arguments over it had shook the Maegyr manse - he still cared for and raised her. Without his love and attention, she never would have been able to pursue her dream as a healer.

 

He was not perfect, but he was my father. Talisa mourned and missed him regardless of his faults.

 

A gentle knocking stirred her from her misery. “Lady Talisa,” a soft voice echoed. “May we enter?” Drying her tears and straightening her skirt, Talisa walked over and opened the door. Standing in the hallway was a young girl straining to hold up an older but still young woman leaning heavily on her.

 

Instincts kicking in, Talisa immediately rushed forward, taking the older lady’s other arm and guiding them inside. Shutting the door with her foot, she helped bring the hobbling woman to rest on her bed. The apparent medical emergency suppressing the storm of mixed feelings within her.

 

“Thank you, my lady,” the younger woman said. “Grand Maester Luwin thought that you could help with Lady Wylla’s abdominal pains.” The chestnut-haired girl smiled brightly, her emerald eyes shining just as much. She curtsied proper in greeting and respect. “I’m Marcy, her handmaiden.”

 

Talisa reciprocated the courtesy. “Then I thank you for bringing her to me. I’ll do my best.” Luwin had taken her as an assistant when she introduced herself to him. She smiled back and addressed Wylla. “My pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

 

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” Wylla chuckled. “I’m just a bastard relative of the Starks meeting with a trueborn from one of Volantis’ most distinguished houses.”

 

Talisa averted her gaze to avoid showing her melancholy. She didn’t want to spoil this lady’s jovial mood. Forcing herself to tend to her patient, she marveled at how minimal the cramps and muscle spasms actually were.

 

Wylla tossed her dark brown locks back and watched Talisa press along her belly and ribs. “How am I, my lady?” She inquired, fixing the Volantene with steel grey eyes. “I do hope there’s nothing serious.”

 

“Your abdominal muscles are in good shape.” Talisa removed her hands and stepped back. “Slight stiffening under the ribs, but I’d say your pains will fade soon, so long as you refrain from sudden movements and bending over.” She patted Wylla’s clasped hands. “Tell Grand Maester Luwin I told you’ll be fine.”

 

Marcy squealed in delight. “Oh, thank you so much!” She grabbed Wylla’s hand. “Come, let’s tell Luwin the good news.” 

 

“I’ll come with you.” Talisa took Wylla under the other arm. 

 

The woman was almost the same age as she was, but her grey eyes… Talisa had seen the same stare in men and women much older. One that endured every hellish nightmare fate could deliver. What has she endured? “Prince Robb told me about you, while he was keeping me company on my sickbed.”

 

Talisa blushed, thinking about how Robb thought of her. “He did?” 

 

“Aye, that you were a wonderful healer.” 

 

“Thank you.” She blushed again, oddly glad she made an impression other than as the poor orphan in a strange land. It eased the tempest in her heart, betrothed man or no.

 

Together, Talisa and Marcy helped to guide Wylla back to her chambers. As they progressed down the halls, Talisa felt isolated. Volantis was gone. She couldn’t go home, even if she wanted to. But she’d made her choice long ago not to return.

 

Where is my home, now? Remembering how the Starks welcomed her when no one else did since coming to Westeros, her isolation gave way to belonging. Could Winterfell be her home?

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Wylla and Marcy chatting amiably, she smiled faintly. Yes, maybe it could.


Theon Greyjoy

 

“Are you sure this will work?”

 

“Trust me, squid-man, it will work.” Tormund bellowed out a laugh. “If ye’ want a proper spearwife like Ygritte for a woman, this is the only way.”

 

Theon trembled, holding the rope in his hands as he pictured actually doing this to his beloved. The ironborn had such a tradition called salt wives, but those were never done willingly. Traditionalized rape it was, and he shuddered to think of even trying that on Ygritte. “She’ll resist,” he murmured.

 

Rolling his eyes, Tormund pounded the Stark ward on the back, staggering Theon. “Aye, that’s the damn purpose, but if yer’ strong enough and show her that ya’ won’t give up, Ygritte will come quietly with a smile on her face.” The ginger wildling’s lips split into a knowing grin. “And the fuckin’ afterwards… best in your prissy southern life, I’m tellin’ ya. Now go get it!”

 

Inhaling a deep breath, Theon nodded. “Go get it. Aye. Go get it!”

 

“That’s the fuckin’ spirit! Now get out of my sight and don’t come back till yer’ spearwife walks bowlegged!” He may have been crude, but damned that Tormund knew how to give someone a proper motivation.

 

Rope in hand, the ironborn ward stormed through the Free Folk camp, legs trudging in the snow with a determination as strong as both his native and adopted lands. As one of the southerners to accompany King in the North Eddard Stark and his party north of the Wall - friends and essentially brothers with the two that rode dragons - the sight of him drew idle curiosity from the residents. Even moreso to the few that knew of his and Ygritte’s growing problems. While the newly modest Theon that was accepted into House Stark had brought about, the old arrogant Theon couldn’t help but bask in it. Only this time, he was partaking in something he could truly be proud of.

 

Theon identified the fire-kissed hair of his beloved immediately upon spotting it. Catching her profile as she enjoyed a mug tea with the other spearwives, chatting about something or other. Truth be told, Theon couldn’t care less. Ahead was the woman he loved - the mother of his child. And he, Theon Greyjoy, was going to steal her.

 

The other spearwives noticed Theon before Ygritte did and slowly backed away, amusement on their faces as they gave him looks of ‘what took you so long?’ Sullen and morose, Ygritte didn’t notice Theon till he was standing right over her. Smugness written all over his face. She looked up and her eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Eying her over, Theon noticed that her furs still stretched flatly over her stomach - with only a hint of a swell showing. He smothered the fondness and love he felt at that moment. It would come later. But his paternal instincts showed enough to determine the babe would not be affected.

 

At the lack of reply, Ygritte huffed. “If you think you can just walk up to me and expect me to fuckin’ fall into yer’ arms like some southern maid…” She suddenly shrieked as Theon shoved her to the ground. The tea spilled on the snow, Ygritte pinned to the ground as Theon leapt atop her. “You fucking shit!” Ygritte screamed, though Theon could detect a hint of astonishment.

 

Happy astonishment. 

 

“Don’t care what you have to say, Ygritte,” Theon said nonchalantly, pinning her arms behind her back. “I’m taking what’s mine.”

 

“Like fucking hells you’re not!” She snarled and writhed beneath him, one hand breaking free before he could tie it up and clawing at him. Raking down his cheek - Theon hissed, making her laugh… but his grip was too tight, grabbing the free arm and pinning it down again. “Fucking cunt!”

 

He managed to bind the wrists tightly together, immobilizing the arm. “No, that’s what I plan to do to your cunt, Ygritte.” She still kept bucking, likely at the reddened cheeks she bore as her fellow spearwives laughed and jeered at Theon’s comments.

 

“Whooo!”

 

“Fuck her good, southerner!”

 

“Show her what you squid-boys can do!”

 

“Wanna steal me too?” came one, only for a murderous glare from Ygritte to send her away, still laughing. 

 

As Theon bound her legs together, the lack of urgency began to dissipate from Ygritte’s movements, her struggles weakening and her face showing no hint of fear. Occasionally she’d mutter “fucking cunt,” once more, but even when Theon hefted the slender spearwive over his shoulder - careful not to put pressure on her swell - she kept quiet with the jeers of her sisters fading in the background.

 

A quiet lover hoisted on his shoulder, Theon strutted through the camp. Proudly showing off his prize to the smiling and cheering crowds of Free Folk, all while Ygritte said nothing. Quiet as a mouse. Not saying a word even as Theon reached his own tent, tossing her inside and climbing in.

 

Once he shut the flaps to keep what warmth their furs and body heat could convey, Theon took in his wife. Wife… While he intended to marry her under the heart tree at Winterfell, by Free Folk custom she was his and he was hers… forever. “Ygritte?” he asked, her back turned towards him. Wordlessly, he untied her legs and arms, but her face was still unreadable. “My love? Was that not what you wanted?” Still nothing. “I stole you as Tormund said I should… is that not enough…”

 

Before he knew it, it was Theon’s turn to be tackled, a hungry tongue plunging into his mouth as the spearwife claimed what she hadn’t had in many weeks. “You bastard!” Ygritte tore at his clothes. “You fuckin’ beautiful, sexy cunt!” Before long, he was bare to the world. “Fuck… all mine.”

 

Theon’s eyes glassed over as he watched Ygritte frantically tear at her furs. Seeing the fire-kissed beauty strip for him. “Gods… I love you…”

 

She hushed him. “No, now is not the time.” Her voice dropped into something loving. Tender. Intimate even. “You finally learned somethin, Theon Greyjoy, and made this spearwife the happiest Free Folk in all the damn lands.” Her fingers wrapped around his cock, making him groan in pleasure. “Now is time fer’ you to enjoy your reward.” 

 

The Stark ward could only nod as the wild beauty mounted him…

 

Hearing the dragons roar above, many of the Free Folk had to fight to keep from fleeing at the sound - it was terrible at first, but some looked up in awe at what came their way. The mighty beasts of the Valyrian gods. The ones that touched the skies.

 

Ygritte was one of them. Her eyes eager with excitement as she held onto her new husband’s side. Their ‘wedding’ had been the day before, and Theon simply basked in it all. Making love all night, after they tore away from each other’s naked bodies for Jon and Daenerys’ arrival, Ygritte made sure to tell him that in no uncertain terms was she to leave his sight or arms unless absolutely necessary. Wildlings didn’t mince words or gestures or hold any subtlety. If she was a claimed woman, she would be one and claim him as well… not that Theon minded at all.

 

He wanted to show off his beloved to his foster brother and goodsister.

 

Unlike the last time Jon was here, where he took care to land his dragon some distance away, the two Targaryen royals circled low over the Nightfort before landing right in the center of the camp where Theon waited. Grey and red dragons tilting their heads back and roaring loudly. And they’re not supposed to be fully grown? The beasts were almost as big as Winterfell’s keep it seemed, but he heard Jon once say them merely “half-grown.” Unbelievable. 

 

Jon dismounted first, walking from his dragon to Daenerys’ to help his wife down. “I like him already,” whispered Ygritte into Theon’s ear. “Southern King with respect.”

 

“Always did,” Theon whispered back. “Never was arrogant… I suppose I can see that now for the good trait it is.” He and Jon… they weren’t always close. But his foster brother still treated him right and Theon was determined to make amends. Thus, he nodded compliantly when the two Targaryens arrived before him. “Your Grace.”

 

Their eyes lingered on Ygritte for a longer moment than anticipated, Jon’s… almost awkward while Dany’s were curious. But it lasted only a moment. “Free Folk don’t kneel?” The King asked. “Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

 

“Damn fucking straight!” he heard Tormund bellow, leading to both royals to chuckle. 

 

Ice broken so to speak, Theon stepped forward. “Welcome, Queen Daenerys. Jon has said… much about you.”

 

“Only good things, I hope,” grinned Dany, looking up at Jon with love. “Now, I’ve also heard from him about your lady here.” Her violet eyes narrowed at Ygritte, for once the spearwife was actually looking… intimidated. She towered over the petite Targaryen but anyone could see how the Dragon Queen was her house’s sigil personified. “So, Ygritte, is it?”

 

“Yes, your Grace.” 

 

“Do you love my husband’s foster brother?” A silver eyebrow rose questioningly. 

 

“With everything in me.”

 

At that, her expression softened. “Good.” Daenerys wrapped her arms around Jon’s arm, as if claiming him as her own. “Shall we head somewhere to talk.”

 

“Benjen and the Manderly fleet have prepared at Eastwatch - the White Walkers march, so the evacuation from Hardhome must happen soon.” Theon nodded, motioning for them to follow him, Ygritte, and Tormund to the castle itself. It was decided… he wouldn’t be going north again; instead he’d stay behind to oversee the Nightfort.


Benjen Stark

 

The smell of salt and sea spray was strong as the 998th Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch gazed out at the assortment of ships bobbing at the docks. Crowded beneath the mammoth height of the Wall besides the bleak Bay of Seals, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was busy with ship traffic. Galleys patrolled for smugglers en route beyond the Wall, while carracks set off for the Free Cities to procure supplies not found in the Seven Kingdoms. A new cargo of recruits for the Watch was herded on shore - the wandering crow barking at the men to move faster.

 

Benjen sighed in sympathetic resignation. Yet more men swearing away their lives. He raised his goblet of hot spiced wine to his lips and drained half its contents. He hacked as it worked its way down his throat and burnt in his chest, the potent alcohol invigorating him in the cold.

 

“This is sheer madness, ya know that?”

 

The scowling visage of Cotter Pyke greeted Benjen as he raised his head from his wine. Eastwatch’s commander was a bold figure, with a tongue as rough as his scraggly beard and a temper as hard as his rusted sword. Yet, he kept a tactfully deferential tone as he approached the Lord Commander.

 

Benjen had no fondness for the ironborn, but he took care not to show it. Among the Night’s Watch, it was wise not to play favorites. “I understand your concerns, Cotter.” Fixing Pyke’s iron stare with one hard as his, Benjen steeled his resolve. “But the wildlings are more of a threat should they remain on the other side of the Wall.”

 

Uncouthly, Cotter scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about hauling barbarians into greener lands - Seven Hells, the ironborn are wildlings on water and they’re part of the Realm. No, Lord Commander, I’m talking about sailing the Shivering Sea when winter is nigh upon us. The winds are harsh and the tides unforgiving.”

 

“It’s a risk that I have to take,” Benjen said. He finished his wine and put away the goblet. “If you saw what I did…” Shivering at the memory of the wights. “A storm is but a summer downpour.”

 

“By your command, Lord Commander.” Cotter frowned at the surly mob entering the castle. “Just remember yer headed for a watery grave.” He walked briskly out to the courtyard to brief the new recruits.

 

“Much as I hate to agree with that hardass, he’s right.” Qhorin stepped around the table to join Benjen looking out at the moored fleet. The new First Ranger smirked at the sight of Cotter dressing down an unkempt young lad that spat at his feet. He frowned at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon and the rough swell of the sea. “You’ve got more chance at meeting the Drowned God himself than crossing paths with the walking dead.”

 

“We’ve discussed this, Qhorin. It’s now or never. The seas will only get worse from here on, so this is our only window to reach Hardhome before the dead do. Besides, the Targaryens will assist us.”

 

“I suppose you’ll want me to get the men for this suicide mission, then.” Qhorin bowed his head and left Benjen where he stood.

 

Walking on the docks inspecting the ships flying the merman of House Manderly, Benjen felt a sudden melancholy swell within him. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. The Night’s Watch was behind him, the title of Lord Commander was his, and Jon had returned from the dead. Jon.

 

He shook his head. That was why. He’d failed to protect his nephew from Thorne and his accomplices. He chuckled darkly. How was he to know if Jon had come back just for him to fail again? Lya would beat him half to death if she knew any of this.

 

Heavy bootsteps thumping rang in his ears as a heavyset man in a sea-green cloak and plate waddled up to him. “Benjen Stark!” The immense man enveloped him in a bear hug that swallowed him whole.

 

“Gods… Wendel, let me go… you’re suffocating me!” Finally releasing him, Ser Wendel Manderly stood back and broke out in a toothy grin. “Congratulations on yer promotion, Lord Benjen. I always knew that Starks would rise, no matter where.”

 

“Thank you, ser,” Benjen smiled back. “I must say, I’m surprised that Lord Wyman sent you up with the fleet my brother ordered.”

 

Walrus mustache twirling, Wendel rubbed his bald head with a gloved hand. “Father says I need to get out of the kitchen and make myself useful. Sailing’s one of the few things I enjoy when not eating.” He spread his arms wide. “So, here I am, at the end of the world.”

 

Both men shared a hearty bout of laughter. The Manderlys always had a boisterous humor even when their japes made no sense. Quite the contrast to the stern, brooding Starks.

 

“Since you’re the captain,” Benjen said, looking at the sails flapping in the wind. “Are we ready to cast off?”

 

Wendel sucked air between his teeth. “As ready as we can in this godforsaken weather. Supplies stocked, maintenance done, route charted… Just need yer landlubbing crew.” He grinned wickedly.

 

“I’ll get them aboard.” Benjen clasped Wendel’s meaty paw in a crushing handshake, wincing as he withdrew his hand from the vice grip. He watched the Manderly knight lumber up the gangplank and disappear on deck of The Trident .

 

Qhorin at his right hand, the Lord Commander stared resolutely at the hundred rangers lined up before him. Behind him, the banners of House Manderly flapped atop the ships’ masts. If there was any cocksure man, the grimness of their purpose was sobering.

 

“Men of the Watch,” Benjen announced in a solemn, yet firm tone. “We’ve gathered here for a mission unprecedented in our time. To rescue those we’ve fought as sworn enemies from the greatest threat the Realm will ever know.”

 

He paused and walked down the line. Pyp was nervously biting his lips and fidgeting. Edd, glum as ever, stared morosely back. Rast snorted and yawned.

 

Benjen reminded himself to keep an eye on that one.

 

“I know your doubts, and I know your fears.” He continued, his rough lilt drowning out the howling wind. “I can’t promise you all the Free Folk will accept you. I can’t promise you all will return alive. But this is our duty, our honor, and our oath. You swore yourselves to the Night’s Watch. Now, the Realm calls upon you to protect it. Do you stand together?”

 

Opening his mouth, then snapping it shut, Pyp wet his lips before affirming. “Aye!”

 

Eyes glazed and back slouched, Edd jolted to life. “Aye!”

 

Shrugging his shoulders, Rast raised his head. “Aye!”

 

“Aye!... Aye!... Aye!...”

 

Up and down the line, the rangers declared their fealty as Benjen looked proudly on.

 

“You may as well go down as the most famous Lord Commander of all,” Qhorin whispered.

 

Giving only a smile in return, Benjen nodded in agreement. Jon… Daenerys… This is for you.

 

He smirked. And you, Ned.

Notes:

CastleColin: The Lion and the Dragon make for a dynamic duo, don’t they? What could be in store for the Night’s Watch?

Longclaw: I really had fun writing the stealing scene, lol. Instead of becoming a proper man after getting castrated, Theon does it by getting his love. Dany sizing Ygritte up was a must - just imagine the teasing she'll subject Jon too XD

Chapter 50: The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary:

1) Aerys plots the next stage of his conquest.
2) Tywin makes preparations for battle against the dragons.
3) Samwell and Sarella receive a visit from the Tyrell heirs.
4) Rhaegar arrives at Winterfell with Bran and the Reeds.
5) Jon aids in the evacuation from Hardhome.

Notes:

CastleColin: Sorry for the delay. We had personal matters to put in order and wanted to get this chapter just right. This is the moment we've all been waiting for since the Protectors returned.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Aerys Targaryen

“Milk of the poppy, your Grace?” A trembling hand snatched the bowl and poured the sticky white mixture down a raw throat. The wooden dish was hurled across the room to hit the wall with a smack, staining the polished bricks. Gods, I despise the taste.

 

It did numb the pain wracking his head and chest, though.

 

Aerys tossed and turned on the silken sheets, delirious and aching. His fever broke only the day before. Trying to get some much needed rest was constantly interrupted by Connington’s nagging. He had half a mind to feed his Hand to Rhaelyx if woken again with just an hour’s sleep. “Get out of my sight, Griff,” he growled. He kept his head turned away so he wouldn’t see Connington looking at him as if he were a crying babe.

 

Wetting his lips anxiously, Connington faltered before daring. “Your Grace, next time you feel the need for such an urgent task, I beg you not to go off on your own. Not that you’re incapable of handling your own. Just that there are many who would try and strike you down if they saw you.”

 

Aerys really couldn’t believe his Hand was such a simpleton. “I’m very well aware of that, Lord Hand.” He pointed a finger toward the door. “Now, get out.” Not needing to be told a third time, Connington left his king to his thoughts.

 

The sun was shining through the open windows of the manse, and a warm summer wind was blowing, but Aerys only felt cold. What he saw beyond the Wall rattled him to the core. The Ice King was an entirely different foe than the Night King. Where the latter was a rage-driven mortal soul, the former was a calculating demonic force. He knew he was being baited when dared to save Daenerys, but in his hubris, dismissed the severity of the threat.

 

Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Never again would he make that mistake. An ice spear thrown with fearful speed very nearly ran Rhaelyx through her neck. No, only on his terms would he again fight his fallen nephew.

 

Nephew. His fists unconsciously clenched at his thwarted victory. By shock of ambush, he’d driven Jon into the ground. If only his twin hadn’t interfered, the false dragon would now be ashes buried by the snow. His ribs hurt, but that didn’t compare to the hurt of Daenerys’ rejection and if he was honest - hatred.

 

Aerys would never forget the biting scorn in his sister’s eyes. Everything he’d done for their house, she threw in his face. He offered her love, and she gave him contempt. Jon was to blame for corrupting her with the Stark follies of honor, naivete, and weakness. Had she grown up with him, she would never stray from their words. Fire and blood.

 

Thinking of Alysanne’s innocent naivety, it was certain that he’d manipulated her too. But if his bastard nephew believed them his, he was dead wrong. A half-dragon always falls to the pure dragon.

 

Aerys swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Unlike Jon, he wasn’t going to wallow in his brooding. As a true Targaryen, he took action and never looked back. If I look back, I am lost. Looking ahead, the campaign in the Free Cities was far from over. Although his ribs were still sore, his headache had calmed enough for him to get up. Grabbing Blackfyre, he fastened it to his waist and exited the bedroom.

 

He found his Hand in the dining room hunched over the table. A large map of the Free Cities was spread across the surface and covered in dispatches. Connington didn’t notice him enter until he was looking over his shoulder at the papers littering the dining table. “Oh! Your Grace… shouldn’t you be in bed?”

 

Aerys roughly pushed his Hand aside to get a better look. “I’ve wasted in bed too long, Griff. Now, tell me what my army has been up to in my absence.” If Bronn and Daario were quarreling over more gold sacks, he’d take their heads and take their men. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince at least had the good sense to stay far apart from each other.

 

“Overseeing Pentos as ordered, your Grace.” Connington picked up one of the dispatches and read it before tossing it back among the pile. “There is, ah, a difference of opinion over who gets the city. You promised Pentos to Ser Bronn if he delivered on capturing it, but the Tattered Prince insists he get it since his men bore the brunt of the actual fighting.”

 

Aerys rolled his eyes. “That was the latter’s fault for not keeping his men quiet. I’m not going to reward his mistakes. He’ll have to settle for another prize - Lys, perhaps. The pleasure houses there are to die for.”

 

“I tried to offer an alternative,” Connington said, eyes glued to the map. “He won’t budge, and the Windblown are unwavering that his demands are met.”

 

“Demands?!” Aerys cackled incredulously. “No one makes demands of a dragon. If I didn’t need those worthless ingrates, I’d feed them to Rhaelyx for their audacity.” Mentioning her momentarily chastened him. He reminded himself to check up on her later that day.

 

“Then, I suggest renegotiating with Ser Bronn,” Connington replied flatly. “He seems less stubborn and more amenable.”

 

“Fine, fine, I’ll do so.” Times like these convinced Aerys that his Hand wasn’t totally useless. Scanning the map of western Essos, he moved his finger over the Three Daughters - Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh. He needed their fleets to cross the Narrow Sea and their wealth to pay his sellswords.

 

“Myr is our next target, Lord Hand,” Aerys declared, jabbing at the black dot marking the city on the Sea of Myrth. “Little more than a moon’s hard march from here. We should have enough ships to take Tyrosh after.”

 

Connington hesitated, then handed him one of the dispatches. “That’s easier said than done, your Grace. This was one of many Magister Illyrio received since Volantis fell. Your enemies are no longer complacent.”

 

Aerys snarled upon reading the parchment. He ripped it in half and crumpled it up. “The Archon of Tyrosh has the balls to announce the restoration of the Triarchy. Does he think a three-way handshake by decrepit masters will stop me?”

 

“It will not. Prince Daemon swept them from the Stepstones and had he not held back, the Disputed Lands would no longer be disputed.” Connington made eye contact with Aerys and held his gaze. Strange; he normally lowered his eyes after a few seconds. This display of guts only meant something serious.

 

“But they will not wait for you to pick them off. The Triarchs plan to attack Pentos with full force in the next fortnight.” He held up his hand as Aerys went to retort. “So far, you won because you had the element of surprise. You no longer possess that advantage. They now know your army and your dragon. I strongly advise not to march on them.”

 

Rubbing his jaw, Aerys pondered Connington’s words. The Golden Company was the finest army in Essos, barring the Unsullied and Dothraki, and bolstered by his sellswords, was a match for anything this side of the Narrow Sea. Rhaelyx gave unparalleled mobility and firepower with her flight and flames, yet her brush with death soberly reminded that she wasn’t invincible. All it takes is one lucky shot.

 

The Triarchy would take no chances against a Targaryen dragonrider. He was outnumbered and outgunned. The Pentoshi fleet was only thirty ships strong. The Tyroshi fleet alone was easily four times that number. As for land forces? The imbalance was probably less skewed, but still not in his favor. His thirty thousand men would be dwarfed by tens of thousands of marines wading ashore.

 

The victor brings the foe to the field; he is not brought by him. One of Connington’s rare words of wisdom rose to the surface. “Then we will wait for them to come to us.” He stared resolutely at the map. “Let them march, let them sail, thinking they will score an easy victory!” His blood burned with hatred for the slavers, those that had nearly killed Daenerys in their shared past life. “And while they gloat proudly we will infiltrate the brothels, the forges, the hovel upon hovels of slave quarters spreading the message of the Dragon King. That if they fight for me, they win their freedom.” Aerys slammed his fist upon the table. “And then we will show the fucking Triarchy what happens when the dragon wakes. Make ready the army, and let it be known that all deserters are dragon food.”

 

Connington bowed and strode out of the manse. The king’s will was subject to no delay of any kind. Aerys bent over the map again. Drawing Blackfyre partially from its scabbard, he cut his thumb on the Valyrian steel. He pressed his thumb on Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh - marking them in his blood.

 

From Three Daughters to Seven Kingdoms. The world will know its true master.

 

Fire will reign.


Tywin Lannister

Normally stoic and patient, the Old Lion couldn’t stop fidgeting as he stood in the receiving area of the Guildhall. The Gallery of Iron Torches was cast in an emerald radiance - its black marble walls reflecting the glow of the flames. Tywin tapped his foot on the polished floor impatiently. He had been waiting for a near half-hour for his audience with Grand Master Hallyne, but the old pyromancer apparently didn’t grasp the enormity of the situation. Perhaps that was to be expected. The Alchemists did have a lingering fondness for the Targaryens due to the patronage enjoyed from Aegon the Unworthy and the Mad King.

 

But the dragons no longer rule, the lions do. If the pyromancers got cold feet, he’d roast them like never seen even under Aerys. The lit torches at least meant they recognized the importance of a visit from him.

 

“Ah, good evening, Lord Tywin,” a raspy voice reverberated around the chamber. Shuffling out from behind a black marble column, a pallid man with a wispy white beard greeted the Hand of the King. Bald with hands soft as clay, Grand Master Hallyne looked as threatening as Varys, but Tywin refused to throw caution to the wind. The Master of Whisperers proved the least intimidating men were often the most unpredictable. Hallyne coughed and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his black robe. “I apologize for my tardiness. My acolytes must be watched while making the substance . Would be very unpleasant for Visenya’s Hill to blow up.” He chuckled darkly.

 

Not having time for japes and eager to return to Lynesse, Tywin merely smiled. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. This is a matter of utmost importance to the survival of the Realm. As the alchemists are not an open book like the maesters, I prefer to entrust this project to you.” Tucked under his arm was a stack of papers the Citadel had sent him via raven - their research on dragon slaying.

 

Taking a torch from the wall, Hallyne motioned for him to follow. “This way, if you will, Lord Tywin.”

 

The corridors of the Guildhall were tight and winding. Hallyne held his torch aloft to guide them to the vaults at the back of the warren of twists and turns. Tywin felt the hairs on his neck stand up. He swore he could tell that the wild eyes of his former best friend were glaring gleefully at him. After all, he came to the place that made Aerys’ greatest delight. It was all the Mad King could do to turn him into a candle for betraying him in his greatest need. Tywin did his best to shrug it off. Nonsense to dwell on the possibilities of the past.

 

Hallyne stopped at a barred wooden door. Putting his torch on the wall, he strained to remove the iron bar. Heaving from the exertion, he inserted a key into the lock and twisted. “Wildfire, my liege. Jars of it. Have a look. But I strongly advise not to touch any of it.” He drew back from the doorway to let Tywin inside the vault.

 

Swallowing, Tywin stepped into the stone chamber. Upon the shelves lining the walls were large tightly sealed jars containing a faintly glowing green gelatinous mass. Perfect. Just what was needed to bring the dragons to their permanent end. “You’ve exceeded expectations, Master Hallyne. I am thoroughly impressed on how quickly you fulfilled the Citadel’s order. It seems that my request was somewhat redundant.”

 

“It is our honor to assist in such endeavors, Lord Hand,” Hallyne replied matter-of-factly. “However, what you’ve seen is only a fraction of what we’ve stored over the years. King Robert will have all the wildfire he desires for his crusade against the Targaryens.”

 

Tywin was careful to parse the Grand Master’s oily tone. He knew sycophants trying to curry favor when he heard them, and he remembered the alchemists’ fanatical loyalty to Aerys lasted right up until Jaime ran his king through. “That remains to be seen, Hallyne. I hope, for your sake, your loyalty is untainted by any nostalgia for the old days.” He fixed the lead wisdom with a steely look of warning. The slight quake of the pyromancer’s boots was internally satisfying to see.

 

Hallyne wet his lips nervously and clasped his hands. “His Grace will not be let down, my lord.” Clearly eager to change the subject, he pointed to the papers under Tywin’s arm. “I presume that is also what you wished to discuss with me regarding… defensive measure?”

 

“Yes, designs from the Citadel for a specialized ballista called a scorpion.” He passed the schematics over to Hallyne, who immediately began thumbing through them. “Normally, I’d delegate this task to the Street of Steel, but the capital has been on a knife’s edge ever since Volantis burned. I can’t risk the populace falling into a panic if they think the Crown believes the threat is as serious as it is.”

 

Of course, that was a severe understatement. Pentos had recently fallen to Daenerys Targaryen, and she had the audacity to send a raven to King’s Landing to proclaim it. He had no clue if that was an implicit threat of invasion, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Varys’ latest report was that Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh had reunited under the Triarchy. By now, the Targaryens were a threat that even the other side of the Narrow Sea could no longer ignore.

 

Hallyne absent-mindedly nodded, his eyes glued to the scorpion designs. “I see here that weirwood is marked as the material for the bolts.” He snickered. “If the Citadel thinks bleeding-faced bark can slay a dragon, who am I to say otherwise?”

 

“Doubt is a luxury we do not have,” Tywin said firmly. Truthfully, he was also skeptical of whether allegedly sacred trees were blessed with any sort of killing power. Then again, human sacrifice was sometimes performed in godswoods, so mayhaps the old gods did have a thirst for blood about them. He coughed into his sleeve from the dust. “I’ve arranged with the High Septon for the Faith Militant to procure the wood from the Isle of Faces on the God’s Eye. Expect the shipments within two moonturns at most.”

 

“As you say, Lord Tywin.” Hallyne bowed deeply. “If that is all, I must attend to my acolytes. I wish you luck in the wars to come.” Pulling up his hood over his scalp, he removed his torch from the wall and slunk off into the shadows.

 

Tywin breathed a sigh of relief. By now, he’d decided the Guildhall was his least favorite place in the city: it reminded him too much of his former best friend. Mood brightening upon the thought of Lynesse’s sly smile, he strode back up the corridor to the exit only for Hallyne’s voice to echo behind him.

 

“When you dance with a dragon, never let the dragon lead. Remember that well, mighty lion.”

 

Even when he returned to the Red Keep, Tywin could still hear the Grand Master’s laughter ringing in his ears. He wondered if Hallyne was mocking him with a sadistic pity, as if he was some witless fool who didn’t know what he was doing. He shuddered at the prospect that the crafty pyromancer was right. Aerys reached the bottom of the Seven Hells after his resignation as Hand, and he never witnessed the full horrors of the king’s final days. Varys said that Viserys was just as mad as his father and if Daenerys was as well… 

 

“Ser Loch. Ser Clegane,” he said, addressing his guards in turn. “You’re relieved of duty tonight. Have a drink or two.” Rarely did he extend such generosity to his rank-and-file, but Lynesse clevely advised him to whet his subordinates’ appetites now and then. A little here and there to bind them to his person without indulging them into complacency.

 

The Hightower beauty had been his wife for less than a year, and already she’d won his heart in a way not even Joanna did - a partner just as cunning as he was. Tywin was no fool to discount a woman’s mind, just that most women in his family so far had been dullards or fools. Perhaps she was the silver lining in Jaime’s suicide and Cersei’s infidelity. Now, House Lannister would have heirs worthy of the name Lannister .

 

“Thank you, my lord,” Amory said. Gregor merely grunted in assent and followed the manticore knight toward the kitchens.

 

Walking briskly into Maegor’s Holdfast, Tywin wasted no time in heading down the hall to the Queen’s chambers. Opening the door, he found Cersei lying listlessly on the bed. Her eyes were staring vacantly, her golden tresses scraggly, and Lyanna was not in her arms. He paid no heed to his granddaughter’s absence. Robert needed to learn how to be a true father to his children. Good that he spent time with his daughter rather than whores.

 

“Cersei,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Are you feeling alright?”

 

“Does it look like I feel alright, Father ,” she hissed with unrestrained venom. She raised her head to look him in the eyes with piercing intensity. “Thanks to my fiendish husband, I’ve lost all my children, bastard or not. You told me to do my duty and use the weapon between my legs only on him.” She laughed bitterly and clicked her tongue. “The king is too busy fucking his new mistress to bother.”

 

Tywin fought not to roll his eyes. That Myrish or Tyroshi wench had captivated Robert the moment Littlefinger pawned her off on him. Whores loved to ingratiate themselves with the king, but this one was getting too close for her own good. Robert would do well to remember who is his queen. He was having recollections of his father Tytos’ last mistress.

 

“I’ll make sure that she remembers her place. I won’t have Robert repeat the mistakes of your grandfather,” Tywin said. Pulling up a chair, he sat down at his daughter’s bedside. “However, I’m surprised you, of all people, should be troubled by the king’s neglect. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about his poisoning, would you?”

 

Cersei’s emerald orbs dilated and her lips tightened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

Tywin sighed. “I taught you many things, Cersei. But never did I teach you how to lie, which is why you’re not fooling me.” As she went to protest, he held up his hand, warning her not to interrupt. “I won’t press you for details as I have a clear picture of why you did it. Whether Robert knows, I can’t say. He does, however, suspect your involvement. You always were close to your brother’s bastards.”

 

Cersei’s eyes flashed, but before she could retort, the door flew open. Robert strode in bouncing on the balls of his feet and humming a jig. “Tywin! Good you’re here. Got some great news from the North!” A big grin was plastered on his face. For once, it wasn’t because of drunkenness.

 

“It had better be Ned’s renunciation of his collusion with the Targaryens.”

 

Robert’s face soured at the mention of his former best friend. “Gods, you know how to spoil a good mood. No, Lord Lion. Ned’s still feeding the dragon, but this is a close second.” He smiled mischievously at his wife.

 

“Well, spit it out,” Cersei spat.

 

“Apparently there was a mutiny at the Wall. Some wildlings got over it, and the Lord Commander was too slow in dealing with them. A few rogues in the Watch stuck him with the pointy end.” Robert paused for dramatic effect, enjoying the spectacle he was making.

 

“I fail to see how this benefits the Realm,” Tywin remarked. “No Lord Commander, and the Night’s Watch falls to pieces.”

 

Robert waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they got a new one soon enough. You’ll never guess who it is!” He paused again to savor the tension. Cersei was clenching the blankets and her teeth in impatient agitation.

 

Tywin sensed what Robert was building toward, but he waited. Better Cersei hear from her husband than him if what he suspected was true.

 

“Benjen Stark! That’s right, Lord Hand. Coincidence or what? The Starks have been rising higher and higher ever since Joffrey’s stunt at Winterfell.” Robert rubbed his hands together gleefully. “That falseborn pretender your daughter hid under my nose got what was coming!”

 

“WHAT HAPPENED TO MY SON!?” Cersei shrieked, unable to stand it any longer.

 

“Turns out Benjen doesn’t like beheading. He burnt the traitors at the stake. Your bastard roasted like a pig on a spit, just with no apple in his mouth,” Robert laughed heartily.

 

The King would’ve lost his eyes and lips had his Hand not held his Queen’s hand. Tywin struggled to hold Cersei down on the bed as she screamed profanities and thrashed about. A pillow flew at Robert’s head. He casually leaned to the side, letting it strike the wall.

 

“See, I told you it was great news. Look how happy my wife is,” Robert snickered. “Have a good night, goodfather.” Whistling, he turned and breezed out the door, likely for another round with his whore.

 

Hours later, a feminine hand brushing down the still fit chest of the Lord of Casterly Rock finally gave Tywin the sense of calm he had desired all day. “While the former Crown Prince sounds like a liability, I can understand why my gooddaughter reacted so,” Lynesse purred, curled against his nude form. They had just finished a session of torrid coupling, and while it left him exhausted, she was dated and content. I still have it in me. “My mother surely would have for any of my siblings.”

 

“My daughter’s grief is her own damn fault,” Tywin grunted, not inclined to be charitable. “Had she just bore Robert’s brats then none of this would have happened.”

 

“I sense that had Aerys Targaryen simply betrothed his son to Cersei, none of this would have happened,” Lynesse responded, earning a chuckle from him. He wasn’t one to believe in the stories and songs of great knights his mother used to read to him, but damned if this devious minx wasn’t always destined to be his other half. “I don’t think now is the time to smile, my lion?” Still, a twinkle in Lynesse’s eyes belied a similar mindset.

 

He kissed her forehead. “Nothing, just I feel the time is soon at hand. Essos is banding against the Targaryen pretenders, the Riverlands are fracturing, and your family is ready to strike against the Tyrells while the Thorn Bitch is still dallying in Winterfell.”

 

“Don’t be overconfident, my lion,” Lynesse frowned. “Garlan married Doran Martell’s daughter. Degenerates they may be, the Martells of Sunspear are not to be underestimated in their deceit.”

 

Tywin reflected on that. “Mayhaps you’re right, but your father and brother can throw waves of the Poor Fellows at them as meat shields. I can’t find it in my heart to care.”

 

“Nor I.” Her face darkened. “But that is not what ire’s me the most.” As she spoke, Lynesse’s hand started to drift to his cock. Stroking it back to life as if it was far younger.

 

“And…” Tywin groaned at her movements. Head falling against the pillows, he could hear the laughs of the Fat King or Aerys that a girl had bewitched him, but he didn’t care. “What would that be?”

 

Lynesse straddled him, eyes blazing with anger and lust. “Roose Bolton. He…” She moaned wantonly as she eased down on his cock. Bewitched with the mighty lion and the power he held. Power he shared with her. “He has not yet attacked.”

 

Gritting his teeth, Tywin grabbed her hips. “No… he has not.” Gods, it had been twenty years since he last recovered this quickly.. “The Starks are more… numerous.” He bucked up into her.

 

“Yes, but they… oh fuck…” She clenched around him. “Are… more vicious…” Lynesse bit her lip, rolling her hips. “They burned… Winterfell twice… they can… do it… again…” Tywin cut her off, pulling her down and kissing her. Rolling them over to fuck her in earnest.


Samwell Tarly

“Where have you two been?” A sour Marwyn, sandals tapping on the stone floor in annoyance, was a rare sight to see. Unlike most of the other archmaesters, he was always a friendly face to Sam… Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried his patience by being almost tardy. Not on this day.

 

“Forgive us, Archmaester,” Sarella said, clad in her baggy robes that hid her feminine figure. Not that she didn’t look attractive… she always did. “We lost track of time reading the texts of the sicknesses of water vapours you instructed us to peruse.” Not to mention plenty of kisses and shared touches, but neither of them were going to mention that to their mentor.

 

Marwyn was not amused, but he merely rolled his eyes. “Just be lucky Theobald or Gyladyn didn’t pay attention to your absence. They aren’t as forgiving as I.”

 

“Of course not, Archmaester.” Even as Marwyn worked on the ‘project’ for the Lannisters and Robert, Sam vastly preferred his kindness to the hard, conniving cabal that controlled the Citadel.

 

As they were both shuffled into the back row with the other acolytes in the outer courtyard, he couldn’t help but take Sarella’s hand - squeezing it firmly before pulling back. If all went right today, then the surprise that Tywin had in store for Jon and his bride wouldn’t be such a surprise after all.

 

The procession marched down the causeway separating the Citadel from the rest of Oldtown. Each of the two wheelhouses present were flanked by what had to be fifty knights and men-at-arms, mixed under the rose and tower banners of the two premier houses of the Reach. “Can’t believe my cousin married one of them,” Sarella murmured to Sam.

 

“You fell in love with a Reachman,” he shot back softly, giving an awkward grin. She merely smirked in response, dark eyes sparkling. Sam was spellbound.

 

But the arrival of the wheelhouses caught his attention, most notably who exited the first one. Once the top tourney knight in the Reach with five hard-fought victories in his youth, Lord Leyton Hightower still retained the bulk and strength of when he was a young knight. And yet it had softened in age with a grey beard, slight stoop, and paunch barely concealed by his doublet. While Sam wouldn’t see him able to match his own father in vigor… through his children and his city, Lord Leyton ran close behind Jon Targaryen and Tywin Lannister in the running for most powerful man in Westeros.

 

Those in the second wheelhouse were a far fairer sight to see. A youthful, dashing man that carried himself as a knight. Tall and proud - he had to be Garlan Tyrell… and when he reached back and helped out an olive-skinned, curvy bombshell…

 

“That’s her.” Sarella squeezed his hand once, unable to contain her smile. “That’s Ari…” she whispered.

 

“Shhhh…” Sam replied. “We’ll miss our shot…”

 

Leaning down to kiss his grandson on each cheek… a gesture he repeated on Arianne - if he disliked her, it wasn’t evident on the Lord’s face - Leyton turned to address the collected maesters and acolytes. Archmaester Gyladyn stood next to him. “Honored scholars, as you know it is my honor to host your illustrious institution within Oldtown. Together, your knowledge combines with the financial muscle of House Hightower and the piety of the Starry Sept and Faith Militant to bind the fabric of our great land together. I shall hope that you extend the same respect and openness to my dear grandson and his bride.”

 

“I do not suspect that would be a problem, my Lord,” Gyladyn answered. “We are honored by the presence of both you and Lord and Lady Tyrell.” Garlan nodded respectfully to the old grouch while Arianne curtseyed - dressed far more modestly than what Sarella told him was her usual style. “Now, dismissed.”

 

Groans and coughs could be heard from the grumbling maesters, upset to be dragged from their scrolls and footbaths to help their superiors curry favor to Lord Leyton. It surprised Sam slightly that the muttered insults seemed to be more directed to Gyladyn and the other archmaesters than to Garlan and especially Arianne… though there were those too.

 

But he and Sarella had a job to do. Seeing Marwyn join the recent arrivals from Highgarden to escort them inside, he saw his chance. 

 

Weaving through the milling crowd of chain and wool-clad maesters was easier said than done, especially with Sam’s girth. Sarella’s slender frame was far more adapted to such, so of course she beat him to their path. “Archmaester.” Her tone and demeanor posited that she ran into them by chance. Clever, love.

 

“Ah, Alleras.” Peering at him, Marwyn waved Sam over. “And Samwell. Come meet Lord and Lady Tyrell. My Lord, these are those studious acolytes I was telling you about.”

 

“The pleasure is mine, Samwell,” Garlan said as he shook his hand. “You’re Randyll Tarly’s son, right?” At Sam’s nod, he laughed. “Trained you well to deal with crotchety old men.” He laughed again at his own jape, while Sam just shuffled his feet awkwardly.

 

Moving from where she was giving Sarella a greeting - filled with familial innuendo - the breathtakingly beautiful Arianne Tyrell swatted at her husband. “Garlan can be right silly sometimes. It is wonderful to meet your acquaintance, young Tarly.” She clasped his hands.

 

“Likewise, my Lady.” Luckily for all involved, no one noticed the folded note he slipped from his sleeve to Arianne’s palm.

 

Nor did Arianne act any differently as she closed her palm and slipped the paper deftly into her husband’s pouch.


Rhaegar Targaryen

Hooves clipping about the light snowfall lining the northern branch of the Kingsroad, Rhaegar Targaryen felt a cold unlike any other. He said nothing, but copied Ser Arthur Dayne in tightening the fur cloak about his shoulders. Lord Howland was right, it did provide more warmth than a woolen cloak would, and the hood masked the distinctive silver of his hair.

 

“Just beyond that hill.” The youthful exuberance of Bran Stark made Rhaegar’s heart clench - was his son, Jon, the same? Did he have his moments of happiness? Of youthful innocence? Rhaegar would have made sure of it had he lived, but now? Galloping alongside his friend, nephew, Reed heirs, and six crannogman guards, he had the sinking feeling that life as a bastard… a motherless bastard, made him grow up quickly.

 

My fault. He only urged his horse faster.

 

Bran was right, cresting the hill revealed Winterfell in all its glory. Lyanna, in their moments alone, spun tales of a simple structure with a rough, natural beauty - especially set against the bright white snow. Rhaegar couldn’t disagree. Snow capped the stone towers and ironwood gates. The many pine and spruce trees of the Wolfswood still had a green hue when most southern forests would have lost their leaves by now.

 

It was beautiful. Wild and beautiful, just as Lyanna was. 

 

“You’ll see her soon, my Prince,” Arthur told him, as if reading his mind.

 

Rhaegar merely bounced upon his mount, brooding hard. “If she wants to see me.” I am no longer a prince. But he held his tongue.

 

A giggle from the young Stark drew their attention. “Bran?” Meera gazed upon the boy as Ashara Dayne did to Ser Barristan all those years ago. Starks… they aren’t renowned for their beauty yet they draw others to them like moths to a flame.

 

Covering his mouth, Bran couldn’t seem to help himself. “Sorry, but your look, uncle,” he addressed Rhaegar. “That is the same brooding as Jon does.”

 

Arthur found that immediately hilarious, barking out a merry laugh. “Does your cousin brood often, then.”

 

“All the time. Robb and Arya like to make it the butt of their japes, good-natured mind you.” He shrugged. “We always thought it came from our father.”

 

“Does the Prince brood often, Ser Arthur?”

 

Grinning at Rhaegar, his dark purple eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, you have no idea.”

 

“Shut it,” Rhaegar hissed as the entire riding party - even the guards - laughed at his expense. But he couldn’t help the small smile at thinking his son took after him in manner and form. Gods, I hope he looks like his mother though.

 

As was expected, the arrival of Prince Bran back to Winterfell drew much attention among the guards - of which Tyrell and Martell bannermen were dispersed everywhere as well. Olenna and Oberyn… Two faces Rhaegar didn’t wish to witness so soon but resigned to do so. However, the first to truly greet them was a beautiful girl with Tully red hair, embracing her younger brother. “Bran! I’m so happy you’re back.”

 

“I’m glad to be back too, Sansa.” Princess Sansa, Eddard Stark’s daughter. “Where is everyone?”

 

“Robb took them on a tour of the Wolfswood… while I think Lady Olenna’s sleeping. She puts on a good front, but like Old Nan she sleeps a lot.” Rhaegar bit the inside of his cheek - a crack in the facade of the Queen of Thorns was amusing. “Father is here though…”

 

“Bran!” He was older, far older - grizzled with age and experience, but that was Eddard Stark alright. Rhaegar would never forget his face. He raced up to Bran and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Gods, I missed you.”

 

“I’m fine, father,” Bran replied, his voice slightly irked at Eddard’s paternal clucking over him. “The Reeds took good care of me, and Meera and Uncle protected me on our journey.”

 

Gulping, Rhaegar watched as his goodbrother furrowed his brows in confusion. “Uncle?” Eyes shifting to the other riders, Eddard skipped over Rhaegar before widening as they settled on Ser Arthur. While the silver locks of a Targaryen were distinctive even here, the Sword of the Morning wasn’t personally recognizable in the North even if his name was. Thus uncovered, it was clear that Ned would never forget his face… gaping, the Stark quickly re-evaluated Rhaegar and his shock grew. “Sansa, take your brother and Lady Reed to their chambers, now.”

 

Blinking, Sansa quirked her eyebrows in confusion but nevertheless nodded. “Aye, father. Come on, Bran, Lady Reed.” Quickly they made their exit.

 

Rhaegar stood firm while Ned walked to his face, grey eyes staring daggers at each other. “Rhaegar Targaryen,” he half-whispered, half-growled.

 

His purple eyes were equally hard, tired from his journey but not planning on letting the ‘Honorable Ned Stark’ bully him. “Goodbrother,” he replied, word choice deliberate. “I believe you have a loved one of mine as a guest in your keep.”

 

“What makes you think…”

 

Clenching his fists, Rhaegar forced himself to remain calm. “I know you did not expect me to return, Lord Stark, but I can see it in your eyes that it did not seem incomprehensible to you.” There was a sense of enjoyment he felt when Ned’s resolve faltered. “And besides, my nephew told me everything. Quite a powerful greenseer he is, you must be proud of raising such a resolute son… I on the other hand was denied my child for eighteen years.”

 

Ned scowled. “And whose fault is that?”  

 

Mine…

 

“She may have forgiven you and still love you. Jon may still love you as the father he never had, but by the old gods and the new you still have explaining to do before I can ever find it in my heart to absolve us of the death and pain your actions caused.”

 

“Lyanna loved me too. Whatever happened between us was willing, goodbrother, and you know it.” It was very hard not to break his cover with the King in the North, though apparently Eddard was the type of ruler to mingle with the smallfolk as no one paid them much attention. “Where is she?”

 

Hood still shrouding his head, Rhaegar nevertheless spotted the flash in one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. A face he could never once forget, a pair of eyes that haunted every dream and nightmare… one he so longed to see with every fiber of his being. 

 

“Your Grace,” murmured Arthur as he brushed past his goodbrother, approaching the keep - the watcher disappearing back into whatever room she was waiting in. Lyanna…

 

Rhaegar turned, eyes angry as they met Ned’s. “Eddard, tell me which room she’s in.” His tone made no room to resist.

 

Stubborn as the Northern Lord was, Eddard seemed to. “You do not make commands of me, Rhaegar.” As yet, his voice was low. He may have been partly resentful for all the shit that happened after the tourney at Harrenhal - gods, Rhaegar resented himself for it more than Eddard Stark ever could - but protective of his family he would always be. “She hasn’t yet been announced to the keep…”

 

But Ned’s words stopped abruptly as Arthur strode up to him. “If you value your life, you will let the Prince and Princess find each other again. Especially her, for not even dying could compare to the pain of losing the one she loved for Lyanna.” There was a tense silence. “And there isn’t a crannogman here to save you this time, Stark.”

 

Eyes narrowing at the Sword of the Morning, it took a short but interminable length of time before Ned sighed. Resistance falling. “She’s in my solar.” He rattled off directions from the main staircase leading to the keep.

 

“Thank you, Ned,” Rhaegar offered. Any man that would risk his own honor and skin to protect Jon all these years… he was a man the Prince wanted to befriend. Turning to his best friend, Rhaegar clasped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, you did not…”

 

Arthur held up a hand. “It’s fine, I rather enjoyed doing that for you.” His hard look dropped into a smirk. “Got something off my chest without punching Lord Stark’s pretty little face.” That drew chuckles from the both of them, including a soft one from Ned. Perhaps they could forge a better bond in spite of the tragedy of their families - and Robert’s propaganda machine. Rhaegar wasted no time after that to bound up the stairs.

 

The directions to the solar turned out to be more complicated than Ned described, but the Dragon Prince managed well enough. Hand going for the knob, he hesitated… hand trembling. Mighty warrior that he was, the prospect of finding his beloved after all this time… Will she hate me? Blame me for our son? Seven hells, not that he’d blame her for spurning him forever. For picking up her brother’s sword and striking him down with it.

 

Even still, for good or for ill, Rhaegar needed to see his winter rose at least one last time. Gripping the handle, he pushed open the door to find her standing. Back turned to him, black cloak around her shoulders. Her lustrous hair fell down in waves across her back - as perfect as that day in Harrenhal. “Lyanna…” No response, though she stiffened. It felt like Robert’s warhammer smashing into his chest. “Lya?” 

 

“The mind plays tricks on a person.” Lyanna’s voice was flat… with an undercurrent of fear. “I hear my husband’s voice, the man that I ran away and had a child with, and yet I’m afraid to turn around.” Before he could say anything, she continued. “Afraid that if I face the voice, that it would turn out to be some illusion - a dirty trick of fate.”

 

His heart unclenched. There was no mistaking the desperate hope that filled her tone. “It’s me, Lya… I’m here.”

 

Trembling herself, several moments passed while Lyanna turned - gasping as she finally met his gaze. The cloak concealed a thick grey dress that hugged her body, red sash tied around the middle. Black cloak, red sash… Targaryen house colors. Lyanna’s hands flew up to cover her gaping mouth, face angelic and grey eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

 

The most beautiful woman in the world.

 

“My… my mind doesn’t deceive me. You are real… Rhaegar.”

 

“Lya.” Nothing holding them back anymore, Rhaegar ran several steps only for Lyanna to leap into his arms, the Prince embracing her tightly. Pulling her flush against his chest, he inhaled the piney scent of her hair as she buried her face in his neck. It smelled like her… like home. “My winter rose…”

 

“I thought I lost you, Rhaegar.” Soft sobs muffled against his skin. “Those last few moons were agony for me.”

 

He closed his eyes, forcing his own tears back. “I’m sorry, Lyanna.” Rhaegar’s hold tightened. “I’ll never leave you, our son, or grandson again.” Gods, he wanted to hold his grandbabe in his arms, but this mattered first. Reconnecting with his love. 

 

Pulling back, Lyanna stared into his eyes. Reaching tentatively to cup his cheek… as he did the same, Rhaegar smiled as she nuzzled the warm palm. “Never leave me again. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

 

“Never. I’ll never leave.” Without hesitation, their lips crashed together. Warmth returning to Rhaegar’s world.


Jon Targaryen

“Easy! Easy… I said easy, you fuckin’ cunts!”

 

Watching the skiff loaded to the brim with Free Folk women and children, a sour old man seeming to take charge of the group, Jon chuckled. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the gregarious Tormund Giantsbane till he heard the bellicose, profane shouts once again. Gods, the old Tormund would thump him for such sentimentality. “Try and pace yourself, Tormund,” he cautioned.

 

Tormund grunted. “You let these fuckers loose, they’ll overpack the boats and capsize ‘em. Someone needs to knock some sense into the cunts, Dragon King.”

 

Regarding his identity, there was no hiding who he was given the two massive dragons he and Dany rode, so it was best to just own his identity… it wasn’t like he ever met the Manderlys beyond formalities, but he hoped they wouldn’t recognize the Bastard of Winterfell. That being said, Jon has to admit he enjoyed Dragon King better than King Crow… Daenerys did far more, his wife willing to see all reminders of his bastardry burnt off the face of the earth. “Wendel Manderly teaching’ ya to be a southern sailor as we speak?”

 

“Fuck no. The less I’m in this fuckin water, or near this fuckin water, the better.” He waved Jon off, motioning for Karsi to bring forth another three dozen to stuff into a pair of skiffs. “Save that for Squid Boy, though I doubt Ygritte would like the sea much.” 

 

“Yes… Ygritte…” the King murmured, glad the bustle could avoid him having to speak more of the issue. As he - drawing the shock of many a Free Folk to see the southern Dragon King doing something so plebeian - helped place young children into the boats, Jon reflected on how he didn’t expect to ever meet Ygritte again, let alone see her married and with child of Theon Greyjoy of all people. She was always one of two he had ever known carnally in his past, and the Targaryen in him was ashamed of how awkward he found the whole situation.

 

Dany on the other hand found it greatly amusing. Only a passionate kiss and equally passionate lovemaking could stop her from teasing him about ‘the one who had you before me.’ It sufficed to say, the boat ride to Hardhome awoke even the fishes with the screams she made. While Jon would fondly remember the Ygritte of his past life, Daenerys was his. The only one he wanted.

 

Surrounding him, the natural harbor of Hardhome was even busier than last time. By the grace of the gods the winds were calm that day, sea placid and allowing the massive carracks and cogs of House Manderly to draw very close to shore. Thousands of Free Folk had already loaded, dozens of clans brought out of reach of the Ice King already with many more to follow. While not anywhere close to victory, Jon couldn’t help feeling a sense of contentment at the work they had done so far.

 

Gazing up at the dragons circling overhead - a distinctive glint of silver riding Arogon, he just knew Dany felt the same.

 

“How’s it going here?”

 

Jon turned to see his uncle arrive, King-Beyond-the-Wall trailing close behind. “All’s going to plan. Bout five thousand in this section.”

 

“Seven thousand.” Eyes on Tormund, the ginger wildling spat on the ground. “Ye’ may look pretty, Dragon King, but ye’ can’t count worth a slick cunt.”

 

Catching his uncle’s smirk and Mance’s laugh, Jon cracked a wry smile himself. “Aight, seven thousand then. Had we a proper port, we could bring in more.”

 

“Free Folk make due,” Mance observed, pointing to a jetty about a hundred feet off. Hemmed in by giants, a group of about two adult mammoths and six calves of various sizes waded into the water towards the large ocean-going grain barges that carried massive loads of foodstuffs and livestock from Oldtown or Volantis to White Harbor. Sturdy, they made a perfect transportof the Wildling Army’s heavy forces. “Bet those southern knights’ll shit their pants at the sight of them.”

 

You do not know the half of it, Mance. Another welcome development. “Best we get the rest of the mammoth on board so we can move the barges from the harbor. I’ll go see what the hold up is.”

 

Winter’s Wolf clinking against his side, Jon walked through the wildling camp as if he owned the place. All around, things seemed… even tenser than the last time if one could believe it. The Free Folk hadn’t lost at Castle Black, they hadn’t lost their King, and were still at nearly full strength with warriors and yet there was a palpable terror among them. No playing children or bantering couples, let alone proud warriors wishing to stay and fight. Only hurrying bands shoving their way towards the boats. Even the Thenns… most of them jostled to be the first to go.

 

Remembering the Ice King… Myself from Dany’s life… Jon didn’t blame them one bit. He may have been out of it, but the sheer existence of it chilled him more than the icy wind off the Shivering Sea.

 

“Let me go!” Jon’s ears quickly distinguished the cries of a young woman from the background noise.

 

“Come on, girl!” Edd? “All women and children get first call.”

 

Hurrying towards the sound, Jon refused to believe that his old friend Eddison Tollett would harm a maiden… “Please, just let me stay.” Wait… I know that voice. “I can’t go south, this is all I know.” Pushing his way through a throng of Ice River clansmen, his suspicions were confirmed. Gilly.

 

Of all people, there was Gilly. Clutching a bundle to her chest - Little Sam no doubt - she had her own hut and it was taking all of Edd and Pyp’s strength to try and haul her out of it. “The fuckin’ white walkers’ll get ya if you don’t leave,” Pyp warned, the two of them clearly not malicious but not gentle either.

 

“Oi!” Jon called out, whistling. “What’s goin’ on here?!” 

 

Letting her go, the two of them looked up at Jon. “Ah, Jon Snow,” Edd remarked, voice calm and gravelly as always. “Or should I say, your Grace.” He made an exaggerated bow, almost making Jon laugh. Some things never changed. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing everythin’?”

 

Pointing to the harbor, he kept his eyes locked with his friends. “My Uncle and King Mance have it all neat and tidy. I’ll handle the mother and babe here, you go help them.” While normally the Night’s Watch refused orders from anyone not in their chain of command - King or no - him being Benjen’s nephew and a dragonrider afforded Jon and Daenerys an exception. Both nodded, all too eager to pitch in on some valuable work. Putting on a gentle smile, he reached down to take Gilly’s hand. “You alright, Gilly?”

 

The young girl looked up to him with surprise… “Your… your Grace…” Given Craster’s contact with many of the Night’s Watch, his daughter-wives knew enough about the south to address him correctly. Anyone that rode a dragon earned the awe of the Free Folk. “How do you know my name?”

 

Damn… “My uncle mentioned you, from his last ranging to Craster’s Keep.” He hoped that would suffice. “You are much prettier than he mentioned.”

 

A blush bloomed on Gilly’s face. “I do remember your uncle. A kind man… unlike…” She hung her head.

 

Jon knew what she meant to say, and it did raise questions. “Why are you here and not at… Craster’s.” His eyes went to Little Sam - though he wasn’t Little Sam anymore.

 

Averting her gaze, for a few moments Gilly only looked at her son. “Them… they came for us. Craster, he tried to reason with the one wearing the crown that my son could be his, but the demon merely drove a spear through his heart.”

 

The Ice King killed Craster. Honestly, Jon could see that was all himself - he had wanted to kill the cunt from the moment he saw him. His wife was oddly tight-lipped when she shared the fate of her… other husband . She promised to tell him the full truth after the evacuation from Hardhome. “How did you escape?”

 

“That’s the thing… he let me go… all of us.” From her expression, Gilly didn’t believe it either.

 

If that didn’t emphasize the fact both he and Dany were dealing with someone completely different - and far more familiar - than the Night King, that did. Not wanting to ponder it till he was alone with his bride, Jon wrapped a comforting arm around Gilly and led her from her hut. “You’ve lived a harsh life, Gilly, but I can tell you have a good heart.” He knew she had a good heart. “Tell you what, I think Winterfell would be a good place for you to settle with your child, given your exceptional circumstances.”

 

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

 

“Aye, Uncle Benjen said you were always good with cooking.”

 

Eyes glistening, she smiled widely. “Thank you.”

 

Jon escorted Gilly to the next load of women and children boarding the skiffs. The Free Folk girl clutched her babe tightly to her chest. Karsi raised an eyebrow upon seeing her. “Where’s your sisters and creep father, Gilly?” One of the skiffs rocked in the surf as a tumble of young boys clambered in. Rolling her eyes, she barked at them to slow down.

 

“Craster’s dead,” Gilly replied in a small voice. “My sisters didn’t make it here as far as I know.”

 

“Tough luck. Least the wizened old man got his.” Karsi whistled. “Tormund! The Thenns are holding up the line! Where’s their Magnar?!”

 

“Git a grip, Kar! He went to retrieve his ale horn. Never leaves home without it,” Tormund yelled from the next boat over.

 

“Find him, or you’ll be their dinner!” She snapped. Taking Gilly by the arm, she gingerly helped her into the skiff with the boys. “Stay seated and show no fear, sister. No matter where we are, the True North is in us.”

 

Gilly nodded and sat up a little straighter. “I’ll remember.”

 

Jon waved as the skiff cast off and sailed out toward the cogs and carracks anchored offshore. He smiled wistfully as he remembered how taken Sam was by her. Pity they wouldn’t be reunited like how he had with Dany. Still, he’d suggest she name her son after his former best friend the next time he saw her. Samwell Tarly was a good man through and through - a rarity in the world.

 

Shouts rang out over the din, punctuated by the dull crunch of a fist on flesh. Jon whirled around and pushed his way through the crowd. By the old gods and the new. The Free Folk’s trust in the Night’s Watch was tenuous at best. The evacuation would fall apart if violence broke out.

 

A small man fell on his back, his giant’s skull helm knocked clean off by an uppercut. Rast stood in front of him nursing a bruised fist and scowling. “Dirty bastard,” he spat. “Nearly broke my hand on that ridiculous head ornament.”

 

Jon groaned. He really didn’t need a reintroduction to the Lord of Bones, or as he was better known - Rattleshirt. “Rast, what’s going on? Benjen ordered no fighting under any circumstances.”

 

Rast looked at him warily. “Your Grace, I’m at your mercy when I stand before you.”

 

“Try me. The Night’s Watch is technically beyond the laws of the Realm.”

 

“Bonebrain here kept hounding me whenever I was escorting the ladies.” He glanced contemptuously at Rattleshirt, lying dazed and oblivious. “He tried to steal my sword and taunted that he’d shove it up my arse. Couldn’t hold back.”

 

“Glad you didn’t!” Unsteadily, Rattleshirt clambered to his feet and swayed unsteadily. He reached at his belt and drew his sword. “I’ll add your blade and bones to my collection!”

 

Rast unsheathed his longsword. “Those extra ribs on the outside of you won’t help nothing!”

 

Noticing the Free Folk around them were getting riled up, Jon stepped quickly between the two men. Drawing his twin blades, he held their tips to their throats in the blink of an eye. “The only battle is between the living and the dead. If neither of you can see our fates are intertwined, I’ll make sure the dead don’t even get your bones.”

 

Passive-aggressive the threat was, it was enough for Rast and Rattleshirt to back down. “I advise to stay away from each other for the rest of this mission.” Spitting at Rast’s feet, the Lord of Bones stalked off muttering about ‘drowned crows.’

 

Heaving a grunt, Rast gave Jon an almost smile. “Not bad, your Grace. Getting between a sword and a sharp place. Not bad at all.” He bowed comically and walked back toward the beach.

 

Shifting to the crowd milling around, Jon felt a sudden chill in the air. The wind, previously a strong breeze, had become a full-force gale. The low-hanging clouds were coalescing into a foreboding dark grey.

 

No, not now. Not when we’re so close. If what happened last time repeated… 

 

Overhead, Sarogon bellowed a deep rumbling growl. Everyone below froze and looked up. The two dragons were circling over the stone wall protecting Hardhome. Jon held his breath and waited. Whatever Dany saw from atop Arogon, he prayed it wasn’t him.

 

The seconds passed agonizingly slowly. In the silence, the tension was felt stretched to breaking.

 

Suddenly, Arogon reared back and released a torrent of flame on the other side. The stream of fire traced a line until it reached the wall, which shattered as a blazing mammoth crashed through. The smoldering wight collapsed as a furious blizzard of ice roared in behind it.

 

Free Folk screamed and stampeded, trampling each other in their flight for the boats. Jon could only watch in numb horror as a massive horde of blue-eyed corpses swarmed in behind them. In the back of his mind, a gratingly cold voice tutted in disapproval.

 

“How predictable. You really do know nothing, Jon Snow."

Notes:

CastleColin: Hot-blooded passion runs in the family. Rhaeyanna rivals Jonerys in love and life.

Chapter 51: A Queen’s Kings

Summary:

1) Daenerys fights her husband with her husband.
2) Lysa forces Baelish to improvise.
3) Lyanna makes up for lost time with her family.
4) Yara leads the invasion of Bear Island.
5) Alysanne oversees Jaime train the Brazen Beasts.

Notes:

CastleColin: Another chapter! This one took longer to put together. Lot of storylines about to converge that we want to make satisfying for you.

Longclaw: And the thrilling conclusion to the cliffhanger from the last chapter, plus some steamy action between your second fav couple.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text



DAENERYS TARGARYEN

Gritting her teeth, Daenerys gripped the spines of her mount as Arogon’s steep dive evened out. Her vision went hazy and head pounded from the massive force of the air, but the command nevertheless was decisive. “Dracarys!” With a bellow Arogon unleashed a gout of flame at the racing horde of corpses, incinerating them and blasting a superheated path through the swirling blizzard surrounding them. Only when the ice walls of the glacial valley loomed did Dany break off - banking away at all possible speed.

Behind her, a wall of fire separated the breadth of the wooden palisade that guarded the Free Folk settlement from attack. Dany begged the gods above to let that be enough.

It won’t…

The sad truth was hard to bear, but ultimately they were too late. People would die today. A lot of people.

Already the dead were getting through the palisade wall. Made out of logs lashed together, it was weak and battered through by the swarm assaulting it without care for their own lives. Glints of swords and clouds of arrows did their best, many Free Folk abandoning the only promise of safety to defend the noncombatants. How could they be considered savages? Seeing Sarogon dart into an attack run, she clicked her tongue. Girl, land.

You sure? The dragon was smart, and knew instinctively the threat below.

Yes. They need me down there. Arogon roared but complied, moving towards an empty patch within Hardhome. Join your brother and attack - don’t stop, but watch out for the walkers.

I will make you proud, muna. Leaping onto the ground, Daenerys shared one moment pressed against Arogon’s snout before the dragon erupted back into the air. Taking notice of the chaos around her, she drew Dark Sister and charged into the fray.

The snowy air passed Daenerys like a blur, gaze drawn to the haunting blue eyes of her monstrous foes. The little sunlight that passed through the clouds gleamed off the polished Valyrian steel. She swung it at any twinkle of blue. Putrid flesh and grimy bone flying in every direction as Dark Sister struck home. 

There was nothing romantic about battle, but against this evil horde there were no gallant knights and chivalrous warriors… Just survivors and corpses.

Unfortunately, Daenerys’s luck ran out. So concerned with annihilating every wight in her reach, she just barely caught the translucent sliver of ice that swung at her. She danced out of the way, Valyrian steel meeting the blow with a clang. A walker, its beard long and scraggly with a dark leather jerkin covering its icy skin. She snarled and parried a swing, twirling Dark Sister by her wrist. The Dragon Queen used an opening and stabbed upward, but the walker was too nimble and jerked away.

Screeching so loud the very air shook, Sarogon screamed by. Dragonfire lanced from his maw and bathed the onrushing horde in an inferno before he shot away - banking towards the ocean and away from the spears of ice that rocketed after him. 

The crackling flames and snarling corpses masked the clash of ice against the ancient Valyrian blade. Dany quickly leapt back in the snow. Giving ground and just missing the unseen dagger that materialized out of nowhere. She twirled the blade, redoubling and thrusting forth. Forcing the monster back.

She and the walker circled each other, almost dancing. Trying to tire her out while she probed for a weak spot… only to be spurred into action as three wights erupted at her. Dany met the first with a swing from Dark Sister, skeleton breaking apart upon contact. The rippled steel clashed against a rusted sword for a split second before she spun on her feet and beheaded the wight in a single move. Hissing, Daenerys charged, burying the sword deep into the rotting gut of the third.

Again, it was just her and the walker. 

Spear thrusting to disorient, Daenerys was not the opponent the walker thought it was fighting. Trained by the best, having fought against the best, she met the blows with steel. Silver hair flashing in the glow of the red-orange flames, truly Visenya reborn as it was her that now took the initiative.

Muna! Diving!

A furious slash making the walker scramble, Dany saw the red blot of her dragon plunge from the clouds… just as another walker only yards away ready a spear. Screaming, Daenerys raced for the other walker, exposing her back as she stabbed Dark Sister straight forward - the monster exploded into ice crystals before it could even snarl, but the snarl came from its comrade that aimed directly for Daenerys’ unprotected spine. Her ringmail wouldn’t protect her.

Clang!

Dany swiveled around and found the ice sword reformed out of the decapitated spear being held in place by Redemption. Jorah met the monster’s eyes before a swing from Winter Storm shattered it as well. “Fuck you,” Benjen grunted, half a dozen Night’s Watchmen surrounding Dany under the cover of Free Folk archers and the dragonfire of Arogon dousing dozens of undead beasts trying to advance over the palisade. “Don’t scare us like that, Dany,” Benjen chided. “Taking two on at once…”

“It was only one at first,” Dany grumbled, quickly getting to her feet and waiting for the next mad charge of the wights. “What’s going on?”

“We’re evacuating to the boats, your Grace,” Jorah replied. “All is lost here. The King commands me to guard your retreat.”

The King commands… “Where is Jon?” There was silence. “Where is he?!” Daenerys was in no mood for japes, not when her husband couldn’t be seen.

Benjen looked her straight in the eye. “He went for the tent… to get Mance and the giant King…” He couldn’t say more before Dany broke out into a run, heading straight for where her husband would be. “Daenerys!” she heard Benjen call to her, but she didn’t care.

It was again a blur. Blades swinging, arrows racing past her towards their targets. Small and sleek from almost a year marching with the Dothraki, Dany only had to use Dark Sister once in her run. Quick enough to avoid notice by most wights.

A sudden crash halted her in her tracks. Bursting out of the hut, crushing wights in his massive fists, was the Giant King Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg. His feet made the ground rumble, punching and kicking at any corpse unlucky to get in his way. In his wake was left a trail of broken bodies…

And out of the tent stumbled Jon, both blades clutched in his hands as he tried to recover his footing. Dany began to run to him, only for a faint gasp to leave her lips at the being that emerged after him.

The features were the same, only sculpted by ice. The Ice King...

Crying out in rage, Jon swung Winter’s Wolf out while keeping his second blade - coated with dragonglass from Gendry’s forge - parallel to his arm. Unlike the spears of the walkers, the Ice King wielded a powerful greatsword and swung it effortlessly. Holding his ground and more than a match for Jon’s speed. 

“Jon!” Skidding on the snow, Dany spun Dark Sister by her wrist, building momentum as she slashed at the Ice King… only for the monster in her love’s skin to sense her. His haunting ice blue eyes met hers for a split second before he leapt back. Jumping almost superhuman, he landed over twenty feet away after sailing through the air, falling upon his knee but quickly rising. Unlike the intense snow storm raging around in the slaughterhouse that Hardhome had turned into, Daenerys realized they were within a zone of calm. Them and the Ice King.

Breathing heavily, Jon spared her a moment for a smile. Tired and bruised, but alive and kicking. “Dany,” he murmured, both reassuring and energizing.

“Yes, Aegon Targaryen.” The Ice King’s voice was similarly familiar, yet while Jon was warm and kind, his was cold and harsh… even when trying to be loving. “Daenerys is beautiful.” Her eyes fell upon him, his sword hanging down, posture calm. Nothing like the stiff, intimidating visage of the Night King from her memories - yet this almost bored calmness made a far more intimidating force of evil. “The perfect woman in every world and reality… yet she is not of your reality.”

She could hear Jon’s heavy breathing. Looking over to see his eyes flash red. “I don’t know what kind of dark sorcery produced you, but it is clear that my soul died long ago.” He spun both blades slowly in his arms, keeping ready. “The Night King triumphed.”

“Pish.” Dark Jon waved him off. “I killed that useless fuck twice already. Here, I am the True King.” He spread his arms. “Smarter and more powerful than ever, and here for my due.” Pointing the greatsword at Dany, the Ice King’s face twisted into something resembling… longing. “Join me Dany, my love. Join with your husband and I will let Jon Snow live. You have my word as a dragon.”

Shutting her eyes, they shone a blood-red crimson when she opened them. “Never.” And she charged, just a split second before her husband.

Mouth twisting into a snarl of cold anger, the Ice King twirled the greatsword. Jon dashed forward, slashing up with Dawn just as his enemy struck down. Blocking the slash of the second blade with armored gauntlets, he surged forward. Brute strength nearly toppled Jon before Dany aimed a slash for his upper back - only for his quick reflexes to catch it and then turn back on Jon.

Fuck… he’s good...

“Enough of this!” Bored and irritated, he opened his mouth and let out an almost inhuman screech. Driving Dany and Jon to cover their ears but drawing out even more intense noises from the horde of corpses. The wights doubled their attacks on the palisade, finally overcoming much of the walls through sheer force of numbers. Toppling the logs to the ground and swarming in.

Dany almost attacked the Ice King again but was blocked by Jon, grabbing her arm and pulling her. “Dany! Run!” Blinking, reason coming back to her, she quickly obeyed.

“You are only delaying the inevitable!” the Ice King bellowed behind them, laughing as he was surrounded by hundreds of his mindless monsters. “Till next time, my love!”

"Stop fucking around, cunts!” Tormund screamed, tossing an axe at a particularly large wight before turning tail and running. “Let's go!"

Dany ran as fast as her legs could take her, muscles burning but driving herself forward. The snarls grew ever louder, changing into a wall of heat as the dragons backed them up. Burning everything in sight without compunction to save their muna and kepa .

"Hurry!" True to his duty, Jorah manned the last boat - Edd and Pyp loosed arrows at the oncoming wights, covering them. 

Dany jumped in first, followed by Jon. “Where’s my uncle?!” Jon asked frantically.

“He was on the last boat. Quick! Move it!” Jorah screamed, urging the rowers to cast off towards the safety of the open ocean. A wight jumped in, only for Dany to skewer it with Dark Sister… claiming the last kill of the day. 

And with that, it was over. No sound but the boats bobbing on the open waters, waves lapping onto the rocky shoreline. Thousands of pairs of eyes watched them, the dead merely stopping where the water met the land. The last futile screams echoed from the remaining dying.

Slowly the Ice King walked out onto the pier - exactly the vision Jon had told her of twice over, only the sheer evil of it all added to by the face of her love etched in the enchanted ice. He bore himself with power. With vigor, but the uncharacteristic smugness on his face. It was the same that Aerys bore, that Viserys sometimes bore when he thought she would be his golden ticket out of being a beggar king. Wordlessly, smirk never wavering, the monster that had been her Jon Targaryen stopped at the edge of the pier.

Behind, the lines of wights slowly pushed three clusters of live wildlings. Each was hemmed in a circle, mostly unarmed women and children but with a sprinkling of warriors and spearwives. Occasionally one would cry out and charge for the wall of dead, only for the wights or a walker to butcher them where they stood. 

“Fuck… got em’ hemmed up like cattle,” Edd Tollett remarked, hands trembling.

“Think they’re gonna butcher them right in front of us?” Jorah asked, entranced by the terrifying spectacle.

Tormund spat on the ground. “Wouldn’t put it past the cunts.”

Daenerys felt her husband wrap his arms around her. “Don’t look, Dany,” he murmured.

She shook her head. “No, I have to.” For all the atrocities she had seen, her memories of the Ice King were still fleeting in her mind. Daenerys would have to learn her new enemy as well as he knew her. 

But as the reckless charges petered out, nothing happened to the penned in Free Folk - wights standing in formation, unmoving. The walkers gathered at the base of the pier. All were in deference to their King but none seemingly willing to walk out and join him. The Ice King stood alone, watching the boats bob up and down…

Until he snapped his fingers, smirk only growing as the crack echoed across the inlet. 

Gods, Daenerys had seen this more times than she could count but nothing could compare to the infamous massacre at Hardhome. She felt Jon tense behind her, comfortingly squeezing his hand and kissing the back of it as the thousands of slaughtered Free Folk started to twitch - blue eyes thrown open, getting unsteadily to their feet.

“Holy fuck…” breathed Jorah. Such was the only verbal reaction, all others shocked into silence. Even the wildlings.

But even with her eyes trained right on the Ice King, the once loving grey eyes now a freezing ice blue, Daenerys was made of sterner stuff. “Tormund… how many did we get out?”

“He just snapped his fingers…” the ginger brawler murmured, for once ashen and subdued. “Just fuckin’ snapped his fingers like it was nothin.’ ”

“How many did we save?” Dany repeated, shocking Tormund back to reality.

“Um…” He knit his brow in thought. “Bout twenty thousand, seems. Maybe more.”

She looked up at Jon, blinking. Combined with the five thousand at the Nightfort, they had saved five times that in their past along with many more giants and a core of mammoth. It was a start…

“Free Folk!” Daenerys followed the booming voice back to the shore. “Let this be a lesson to you! Enjoy your freedom, but this brave new world will find you eventually.” The Ice King smiled darkly, eyes boring into Daenerys. “Make your peace with it by then.” Finally turning back, he made his way off the jetty - a quick jerk of his fingers finding the walkers joining him and the wights shepherding the clusters of captured Free Folk back towards the inland.

Oftentimes Daenerys marveled at how they knew better and could plan ahead. Oftentimes, the state of this new reality surprised her greatly. “I don’t understand… He didn’t kill them all.”

Jon hugged her close to him, Dany hearing his heartbeat. “I don’t know, Dany… I just don’t know.” Around them, the last remaining skiffs cut through the water, heading back to the fleet and taking them away from this cursed land.


PETYR BAELISH

Home sweet home.  

Petyr, for once, smiled with genuine happiness instead of his usual slyness. Though not his beloved Catelyn, Lysa was still a woman he cherished almost as much as her sister. He had not seen her since Jon Arryn’s untimely demise the previous year.

So easy it was to dispose of her husband. He doubted he’d have any difficulty continuing to string her along his plans.

Baelish entered the High Hall of the Eyrie with its blue-veined white marble walls. At the end of the long and austere hall was the Arryn throne, a seat carved of weirwood. Torches mounted on iron sconces flickered between the narrow, arched windows. Expecting to see Lysa on the throne, he frowned in confusion upon not seeing her.

“Petyr!” He turned around just as a slightly haggard woman with flowing auburn hair rushed into his arms. Lysa squeezed him so fiercely he thought his ribs would break. “Thank goodness you’re back!”

Wheezing and wincing, Baelish slowly extricated himself from her vise. Honestly, he found her affections very overbearing and lacking in charm. It was a sign she trusted him unconditionally at least. “My dear Lysa… I am happy to be blessed by your presence,” he said, gasping for breath.

“Not as much as I am by yours,” she giggled. “Soon our family will be reunited, and we can put this nonsense behind us.”

“Oh, really?” Petyr raised an eyebrow in perplexion. “I thought young Robin was fostering at Winterfell with your sister’s family.”

A sour look crossed Lysa’s face. “The frigid climate of that frozen wasteland is no place for our son. Lord Royce is returning him to me where he belongs. Frankly, I was mistaken to accept Cat’s offer in light of Robin’s frail constitution.” She took his hand and caressed it. “Besides, I think he’d love to see his uncle again.”

This didn’t sit well with the Master of Coin - he was hedging on Robin staying in the North for Lysa to send up her bannermen. Nevertheless, he could still sway her to his thinking.

“Well, the Mother smiles upon us,” Petyr said genially. “I was concerned about Robin getting caught up when His Grace invades the North, but now we can rest easy. The Knights of the Vale won’t have to mount a rescue in the war’s midst.”

Lysa’s eyes narrowed and she abruptly dropped his hand. “The Knights of the Vale will stay in the Vale. I won’t have the men sworn to protect my son die for the Fat King.”

“My lady, this is a decree direct from the King.” Petyr tried to reason with her as she looked frostily at him. “I sent you a raven to tell you I was coming to help prepare your bannermen. If we defy Robert, he’ll have both our heads on spikes.”

“I don’t give a damn what the Swollen Stag wants,” she snapped. “In fact, I’m through with your schemes to claim the Iron Throne.”

He blinked. “For Robin, my dear. For him - ”

SMACK!

The sting of Lysa’s palm on his face shocked him beyond belief. “Everything you’ve done or persuaded me to do has been for our son, including defying the King! Have we lost our heads? I’m grateful for what you want for Robin, but I will not indulge you gambling his life for that ugly iron chair.” Her voice melted into syrupy sweetness again. “Please, Petyr, forget about it. Let us be a family like you said we would.”

Baelish sighed in resignation. He didn’t anticipate this happening. However, Lysa had finally outlived her usefulness. Now, he’d have to dispose of her, otherwise all his life’s work would be for naught. “When will young Robin return to us, my lady?” He wanted to know how much time he had left.

“A day or so,” Lysa replied. It’s now or never.

Skirting around her, Littlefinger made for a hidden lever behind the throne. With only a sprinkle of guilt, he pulled it down. He’d remember Lysa for all she’d done for him, even if she proved completely useless at the end.

“Petyr? Why did you open the Moon Door?” Lysa demanded.

Not looking over his shoulder, he stood overlooking the deadly drop to the valley below. “Come, let’s have a look upon the fate of those who’d dare threaten our family,” he responded in an oily tone. Suspicion was written across her face, but she walked over beside him. “Tell me, Lysa. Why does House Arryn keep this unique means of execution?”

“To make an example of those who oppose us,” she hissed. “To prove we will do whatever it takes to protect who we love.” She turned to face him. “I’d not hesitate to cast anyone down for you. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Petyr.” 

“And I, only one woman. I’d too kill for her,” Baelish said smoothly. He kissed her one last time and put a hand on her shoulder. Sweet fool. Her face shone brightly, only to contort in shock when he revealed, “Your sister.”

Littlefinger shoved Lysa out the Moon Door, her screams echoing as she plummeted to her death upon the rocks. He felt no remorse, only iron resolve at what he had to do. What must be done to climb the ladder.

Love is but an illusion. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.


LYANNA TARGARYEN 

Words could not describe the feeling Lyanna had as she watched Rhaegar hold his grandson - their grandson. Tucked in the crook of his powerful arm, Rhaegon was the picture of happiness. Eyes wide and a wide smile on his toothless face. Perhaps he was just happy at the attention, but Lyanna held out hope he knew they were his blood and they loved him very much.

Rhaegar was never able to hold Aegon… Jon this way. The thought made her sad, but he was alive. They’d be able to tell him that they loved him and he was wanted.

“He looks just like you, Lya,” Rhaegar declared proudly, awe in his voice. Cradling Rhaegon, the little boy giggled, waving his arms as his grandfather tickled his nose. “But those are my mother’s eyes.”

Ned chuckled. “So that’s who Daenerys took after?” For once, the two of them weren’t frosty to each other, bonding equally over how adorable Rhaegon was. “Sadly, I never knew her. They say she was a kind, sweet woman.”

Smiling sadly, Rhaegar nodded. “She was. If only she had lived…” A memory seeming to overtake him, Lyanna lightly hugged his side. He gave her a tender look, cuddling Rhaegon closer. “Is Daenerys kind and sweet?”

“I’ve never seen anyone with more grace and love than your sister, apart from our mother, Lya.” The two of them smiled. “But she’s strong, just like Jon.”

“That is good to hear, brother.” Lyanna leaned up to kiss Rhaegar’s chin. A light, intimate gesture of those completely comfortable with each other. “Targaryen men, they seem to always choose strong women when given the choice,” she teased, eyes twinkling.

Rhaegar smirked, leaning down to kiss Rhaegon’s forehead. Smirk widening to a laugh as he yawned, stretching his arms out. “Looks like someone needs to nap.” 

“Here, let me.” Lyanna took her beloved grandson in her arms. The closest thing she would have to Jon in the near future. “Sleep tight, my little pup.” With a kiss of her own, she gently settled him in the bed - petting Ghost, the direwolf diligently protecting his little brother. “Keep him safe, Ghost. Rhaegon is very precious to me.” Ghost leaned into the touch, tongue lolling out. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Don’t worry. Lady Missandei will watch over him alongside our furry friend.” Sighing, Ned looked at his goodbrother. “You know that you will have to be discrete around here, considering your obvious Valyrian features.”

“He understands, Ned,” Lyanna replied. “And you need not worry about finding chambers for Rhaegar. He shall share mine.” She knew how Ned thought and preempted his likely attempts - in good faith but still boneheaded. Rhaegar merely crossed his arms, watching the sibling moment with an amused look.

“Lya…”

“No, he is my husband and we will share a room.”

Ned was silent for a moment. “You’ve grown up, Lya. Just… don’t wake the castle. Please.” Not expecting a rather… risque reference from Ned, Lyanna blushed while Rhaegar only laughed.

Some time later, she led her beloved into her… their chambers when Rhaegar pulled her to him, enveloping her. “He’s so beautiful, Lya…”

Lyanna melted into his embrace. Gods, she truly missed this. “Just like our son.”

“You got to hold him, my love… at least for the shortest time. Me…” It didn’t sound like her Rhaegar, the noble, strong Prince of House Targaryen - instead a man broke.

Clutching his tunic, Lyanna couldn’t help the tears that welled in her eyes. It seemed like yesterday, how they first met in the godswood of Harrenhal. Their whirlwind marriage, the two moons of happiness they had together before Robert’s Rebellion led Rhaegar to the Trident. It feels like mere moons ago, but instead almost eighteen years. Eighteen years, the realm having burned because of them, dead before even seeing their son past his first day. She couldn’t hold back her sobs.

“Shhhh Lya, shhhh,” Rhaegar whispered hoarsely, hand stroking the back of her neck. “It’s alright.” Tear stains marred his cheeks as well. 

Lyanna shook her head against his chest. “No Rhaegar.” It felt like the burden of countless dead fell on her shoulders, and in truth it did. “They’re all dead, my love… my father, my brother, your mother… gods, what happened to Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon…” The stories that filtered from Robb - Ned too protective to burden her in such a way - they broke her heart. “They were our family and they’re dead.”

Rhaegar closed his own eyes, arms tightening around her - seeking reassurance of his own. “They would have both adored you. Rhaenys, Egg, you’d have been their second mother...” Her mind drifted to what he told her of them, a bright, bouncy girl with raven black hair and his eyes. A happy baby with his silver hair. “It’s my fault, Lya… I should have told your brother or father myself, or tried to reason with Ned. Maybe then they…”

“And our boy, Rhaegar,” Lyanna continued, unable to hear him blame himself. “Our Aegon, he and your sister alone in the world. Targaryens alone in the world without knowing a mother’s love.” Or a real father… Lyanna could never begin to thank Ned for raising Jon - perhaps not for letting Catelyn abuse him - but he deserved to know his real father. To know Rhaegar wasn’t a… “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever known. You don’t deserve to be known as a rapist, our son a bastard, or your sister an orphan.”

They held each other close, just rocking together. Allowing Lya’s heart to mend with the love of her dragon. “I will protect both of them, and our grandchild. I will die before they come to harm.”

Lyanna looked up, meeting his violet eyes. The ones she fell in love with all those years ago. “Don’t die for them, Rhaegar. Live for them. You are Aegon’s father and Daenerys’ brother, worth more to them alive. Worth more to me…” Unable to contain herself, Lyanna pulled him down to her lips. Moving simultaneously, lips met in a passionate kiss. Their tears mixed together at their conjoined mouths, no barriers being left as they explored each other. Expressed their long hidden love.

The She-Wolf let out a throaty moan as Rhaegar’s tongue stroked over hers. “I love you, my wolf,” she heard him whisper, kisses pressed across her cheek and down her neck. It was changing, the moment… a sense of comfort turning into one of passion. Oh… it’s been too long...

From how quickly her core started to flood, this was something Lyanna wanted. Needed… desperately. “I love you too my dragon.” Her dragon. Mine. She found herself pushed towards her bed… their bed. “You’re staying with me tonight, husband.” Her tone indicated it was not a request. 

Not breaking the kiss, Rhaegar answered her by nudging Lyanna gently onto her back, soon after shrouding her body with his. Latching onto her neck, filling her mind with memories of their passion. Rhaegar’s touch… Rhaegar’s lips… the heartbreak and pain melted away, even if temporarily. The fire and blood of his house - her house now - seeped into her so strongly as the rays of the sun would through a window. Filling her with the same fire, a furious desire to claim what was hers and protect it with all her strength.

She wanted him, all of him. “Rhaegar. Please.”

Nibbling a bright red mark on her milky skin, Rhaegar tugged at her dress. The dragon he was dancing in his eyes, growing dark with lust as he struggled to have her bare to him. While she attempted to assist, Rhaegar batted away her fingers, finally succeeding in slipping the offending fabric off her. Lyanna watched as his breath hitched. Undoubtedly seeing her chestnut hair splayed on the furs, chest heaving slightly at the pace of their activities. “A goddess.”

His soft whisper colored her cheeks. “No… just a woman needing her Prince.” Lya reached for his tunic, pulling firmly until it was peeled off him. Revealing him in all his glory.

Lost in the bliss of his touch and his lips, Lyanna didn’t notice the scars that centered upon Rhaegar’s chest until it was right in front of her. Dark and jagged from the uneven surface of Robert’s warhammer, marring his perfect chest. A reminder of both their failures. She gasped, and immediately regretted it with the pain that crossed Rhaegar’s face..

He looked away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s hideous.”

But she held him where he was, hand stroking up his spine. “No, Rhaegar.”

“A reminder of my failure. Failing you and all those we loved.”  

Lyanna cut him off by kissing the scar. Nuzzling it with her cheek. “You’re still beautiful in every way. Making me proud in every way.” Truth was, he was far handsomer than even the moment they met. The scar only enhanced that - evidence of the lengths Rhaegar would go to get back to his family.

To get back to her.

Needing him, needing to show him all the love he deserved, Lyanna pulled him violently to her. Lips and tongues melding together as she attacked his breeches, revealing him as bare as her. They rolled around on the bed, her atop him, him atop her, it all blended into a blur of motion that left her heart pounding.

They ended up with him pinning her to the bed, eyes almost black. Almost ready to devour her after so long. Eyes closed, she waited for it. Feeling Rhaegar’s cock poking at her entrance so deliciously, purrs leaving her lips. But instead, he spoke. “Lya,” he cupped her cheek. A warm feeling pooled in her heart as she nuzzled her cheek into his palm. “Are you sure…”

Knowing exactly what he was doing, Lyanna silenced him with an abrupt shake of her head. “I love that you’re worried for me, Rhaegar, but I’m healed. I’m fine.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Don’t make me wait any longer to feel your cock inside me.” Arms snaked together to loop around his neck. “Take me, Rhaegar. Prove to me that this isn’t some dream.” 

Muffled by his mouth not moments later, Lyanna screamed into their fused lips as he finally pushed inside her. Her fingers dug into his back, rippling around him. 

“Lya…” he hissed, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

She tightened her legs around him, urging him deeper. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me…” Lyanna’s pleas were frantic… and so wonderfully heeded as he began to thrust into her.

Unable to speak from how deliciously he stretched her, Lyanna felt Rhaegar growl into her mouth as he continued. Gods, she almost had forgotten how skilled he was. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Rhaegar was taking her faster and deeper, growing more and more confident that she could take his power. The dragon was awoken and Lyanna loved it.

The writhing and soft pants left her own mouth, moaning like a wanton whore from his efforts. “Gods… fuck… yes…” The words tumbled out, just as sudden as her climax. “Gods, Rhaegar!” she screamed just as he collapsed in the crook of her neck, fucking her even harder. Her nails raked his rippling shoulder muscles without any care, all other words dying on her lips as his seed erupted inside of her.

“My wolf… my wolf!” Rhaegar bellowed. “You’re mine, Lya!”

“Yes… All yours, my dragon!”

The night hadn’t ended just there, Lyanna reminisced fondly. She doubted either of them got more than two hours sleep before the wee morning hours just before dawn. Not that she regretted it, not a chance. From Rhaegar’s straight back and chipper mood to her relaxed smile, even the small discomfort of her sore cunt chafing against the saddle couldn’t begrudge her that morning.

Well… perhaps a tiny bit. Lya hissed in discomfort as the horse bounced over the uneven terrain.

“Something wrong, love?” Rhaegar asked beside her, face the mask of regal innocence.

She just swatted at him. “Your fault, dragonspawn,” she said, half-teasingly.

His smile only widened. “You didn’t seem to mind.” Gods, if Lyanna didn’t love him...

“How much of the Wolfswood do you remember, Aunt Lyanna?” She was drawn out of her half-indecent thoughts by her young nephew… No, he’s practically my age - surreal… “Robb, I could find every game trail, puddle, or badger den in this whole place with my eyes closed,” Lya told him with pride. “The dragon can take the wolf out of the North, but it can’t take the North out of the wolf.”

Robb chuckled, looking at his uncle. “Tell me uncle, was it this that made you fall for my aunt?”

Looking at Lya, Rhaegar’s smile almost made her take him right there. “Well, Robb, there were many things but dare I say her wolfsblood was the first thing I fell for.” Yes, I am taking him when we get back. Soreness be damned. 

“Hopefully there’s someone like you for Arya. Sometimes I wonder if she’s ever going to find love.”

“Have you found love, Robb?” Lya asked. “With the Tyrell girl?”

Going red in the face, the heir to Winterfell must have worked out five different words on his tongue before circumstance saved him. “We’re here.”

“He has it bad,” Rhaegar whispered in her ear after they dismounted. Lyanna could only agree.

Robb - on behalf of Ned - made sure to sneak them out of Winterfell before all but the kitchen staff were awake. Lyanna went normally, while Rhaegar hid his identity under a cowl. When asking why Ser Arthur wouldn’t join, Robb told them it would attract too much suspicion and both relented. Something about her nephew told Lyanna that what he would show them was not worth missing in the slightest.

“The cave?” She was perplexed. No one went here since bears had a habit of hibernating here in the winter. 

“Just be careful,” Robb replied. “They don’t mind me, but I’m not their favorite person.” Both she and Rhaegar blinked, confused… though the confusion turned to utter shock when Robb tossed a cut of meat onto the floor of the cave. Coaxing whomever was in there out. 

A shadow ambled forth, soon revealing itself to be covered in black scales. It hooted before dousing the meat in a tongue of flame - roasting it perfectly before digging in. Around it, more shapes began to emerge.

Lyanna’s jaw had to have dropped to the forest floor. “That’s a dragon.”

“Aye,” Robb grinned.

“How… that’s impossible,” Rhaegar stammered.

“Not for Jon… or Daenerys. They don’t call them the Father and Mother of Dragons out of mummery.”

My son… my goodsister… Gods, he had grown into a dragonrider, and Lyanna hadn’t been there to love him or raise him. It both filled her with pride and broke her heart at the same time.

But while the other dragons were busy feeding, one didn’t even look at the meat. Amber eyes staring at the visitors, he proceeded out of the cave and past Robb. Green scales glinting in the sunlight, he had only one destination… the royal couple.

Wordlessly, Lyanna took Rhaegar’s hand in hers, but otherwise she didn’t move. Her heart thumped, but in a world where a direwolf guarded her grandson with his life, she could stand before a mighty dragon without being afraid. Beside her, Rhaegar did the same as the dragon drew ever closer.

“Rhaegal, get back,” Robb called out, petrified something would happen.

Rhaegal… they named it for him… 

By now the dragon… Rhaegal… was right in front of them. Lyanna was close enough to smell the smoky scent of his jaw. The heat coming off his scales. Rhaegal’s eyes drifted from Rhaegar to Lyanna, from Lyanna to Rhaegar, as if sizing them up. 

Without moving another muscle, Rhaegar lifted his hand to touch the beast’s snout. “ Konīr konīr, kesan daor ōdrikagon ao, byka mēre. ” The High Valyrian poured from his tongue like flowing water. “Iksan se kepa hen aōha kepa, se kesā daor jorrāelagon naejot zūgagon nyke.”

Before her eyes, Lyanna watched as Rhaegal bowed his head, lowering his neck in a sign of recognition and submission to her husband.

 



YARA GREYJOY


“Lower the sails, men! Run out the oars!” The crew of the Black Wind grunted as they pulled down the sail emblazoned with the Greyjoy kraken and dipped their oars into the sea. Yara stood at the stern, watching the land on the horizon grow larger with each stroke. The final approach to Bear Island would be of surprise, not displaying the ironborn banners that signaled their coming.

 

The heir to Pyke heard the distinctive bark of her uncle Victarion to her port side. His flagship Iron Victory was a domineering vessel with a ram like an iron fist. It irked her that she had to share command with him as she wished to prove herself on her own. However, as Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, Victarion Greyjoy always had a say in things above mere reaving and raiding. 

 

Bear Island was but a few leagues away. Looking through her spyglass, Yara spotted a watchtower on the beach with a man doing the same out to sea. Her lips pursed in concern upon seeing him drop his spyglass and run for the ladder. Mere moments later, horns sounded across the Mormont home.

 

“The bears have spotted us, men! Let us pay them the iron price a hundred times over! What is dead may never die!” The ironborn raised their axes and roared to the battle cry of the Iron Captain. Yara drew her sword in salute but refrained from yelling. She kept focus on the heavily armed northmen and women scrambling to the surf, and the archers readying their bows.

 

“Shields up, boys!” She shouted as the first volley rained down upon them. Most of the arrows were blocked, but a few made their mark. Screams and curses rang about as iron heads pierced mail and flesh deep. Yara leaned her head to avoid a stray arrow that flew past into the sea.

 

The rowers bent their oars harder, plunging into the surf with each laborious stroke. Volley after volley of arrows were loosed, some of them by longbows strong enough to run a man clear through. Still, the Iron Fleet pressed forward as the sea churned in its wake. Iron Victory crested a wave, exposing the reinforced timbers beneath the ram, before crashing down with a splash.

 

Land was closing in fast. Bear Island’s defenders were dropping their bows and drawing swords. “Rack the oars, men! Prepare for battle!” The rowers pulled in their oars, letting the ships’ momentum carry them forward to beach themselves on the sand. Hooting and hollering, the ironborn beat their blades against their shields. Black Wind juddered as it came to a halt alongside Iron Victory.

 

With an almighty roar, the bannermen of Greyjoy stormed Bear Island, engaging it’s valiant, but few, defenders in a deadly dance.


Yara leapt ashore behind the last man off the boat. As her crew engaged the Mormont bannermen, she rallied the other captains leading their men behind her. Victarion was already in the thick of the fray, gutting northmen left and right with his double-bladed axe. Blood stained the sand and corpses were beginning to pile up. The bears fought valiantly, but the sheer weight of numbers pushed them back toward the trees. 

 

A hulking man-at-arms charged Yara with a spear extended. Deftly spinning on her heels, she felt the spearhead glance by her breastplate, before smashing her sword pommel in his face. As he reeled backward, she plunged her blade through his neck. Swiftly withdrawing it, the man crumpled to the ground, choked to death on his own blood.

 

Whoops alerted her to more men bearing down on her. One bore a longsword, while the second carried a pair of axes. “Duck!” Yara dropped to her knees as an ax sailed overhead and struck down the warrior before he could hurl his axes. Kicking up sand, she blinded the other before cutting at his face. He managed to block her just short of his nose, and their blades locked. He snarled as he tried to free himself and raised a fist. Thinking quickly, Yara kneed him in the crotch, causing him to double over. Twisting his sword out of his grasp, she stabbed up and through his gut.

 

By then, the whole of the fleet had landed with its four thousand ironborn wading ashore baying for blood. Victarion cut deep into the defenders, chopping down anyone foolish to stand in his way. A Mormont swordsman furiously dueled him. The Iron Captain smashed his bastard blade aside and brought his own axe round to split his skull. Realizing they were hopelessly outnumbered and outmatched, the Mormont horns sounded a retreat.

 

The ironborn roared and taunted as the northmen broke from fighting and rushed back into the forest. Leaning against a rock to catch her breath, chest heaving from the exertions of combat, Yara pulled off her helmet and shook out her sweaty hair. Her sword was bathed in red, but a flick of the wrist flung most of it off.

 

“You gonna thank me for having your back there?” Yara looked up to see Tristifer Botley grinning down at her. She rolled her eyes and moved over so he could sit. “You might as well thank me. I taught you how to throw that ax,” she said. He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

 

“How many you’d score?” 

 

“Nine,” she replied. “You?”

 

“Four.” 

 

Tristifer watched the men scavenging the dead for weapons and loot. “Paying the iron price never gets old. Always something new to buy if you have the steel and the stomach for it.” He shifted on the rock to watch Victarion gather the surviving ironborn to press inland. Grabbing his half helm, he plunked it on his head and tied the cord under his jaw. “After you, my lady.”

 

Smirking, Yara put her own helmet back on and stood up, sword in hand. Tris behind her, she pushed through the crowd to join her uncle. On sea or land, a captain of the Iron Islands always led from the front. Of course, she cheated being the last to come ashore, but what was life without breaking a few eggs now and then?



ALYSANNE TARGARYEN 


“He’s growing fast,” Ashara Dayne concluded, contorting her face in silly expressions for her grandson’s pleasure.

 

A merry laugh passed Alysanne’s lips as little Daemon giggled, waving his arms at how ridiculous her mother was acting. Quite a difference from how the great matron usually behaved - but she was a wonderful mother before she was a highborn lady. “Aye, can hardly keep up with his appetite these days.” Her breasts were sore from feeding him earlier, a rather mundane task for a ruling Princess that she nevertheless endured gladly.

 

Ashara bounced the babe in her arms, earning more giggles. “Your eldest brother was much like that, devouring his fill of meals… though just like Jon, Rhaegar had quite the active lifestyle.” Alysanne was silently glad that her mother didn’t bring up Aerys and how he was exactly the same… Daemon’s father often filled her mind, much as she wished not. I’ll always treasure the early memories… 

 

Drifting from that, her expression darkened at the last raven from Westeros. “Can you believe what happened at Castle Black? Murdered by his uncle’s own men?”

 

“I always thought the Red Witch was trouble… seems I was wrong on that count.” The two walked through the halls of the Great Pyramid in silence, apart for the burps and coos of little Daemon. “Things are coming to a head, Alys. The Lion and Stag are plotting their next move, I’m sure of it, and somehow the Harpies are connected to that.”

 

“You think so?” The trial and execution of the last Harpy passed by uneventfully, but tension was rising. Astapor’s city watch already had to put down a riot by a butcher named Cleon trying to murder every last freeborn citizen. “We can’t survive more of this without much bloodshed.”

 

Sighing, Ashara looked to the inner courtyard from the balcony. “Hopefully Ser Jaime’s little plan will prove fruitful, cause I have no ideas of my own anymore.”

 

Following her mother’s gaze, Alysanne watched the Lion Knight oversee the Sand Snakes training the ‘Brazen Beasts’ as the new force of freedmen warriors was dubbed. When she asked Ser Jaime why he chose such a theatrical name, he laughed and said, “Only the very bold or very foolish dare climb into a harpy’s nest.” Now, two dozen bold and foolish freedmen volunteers were trading stabs and parries under her sister’s female Kingsguards. Ser Jaime walked around the courtyard closely watching the trainees fight and throwing out instructions.

 

Pecking her son on his forehead - a chorus of giggles ensuing - she took leave from her mother and headed down to the courtyard. The sun was very bright that day, and she squinted upon stepping out from the cooling shadows of the pyramid’s cavernous halls. Loud shouts and ringing of steel met her ears as she watched the Brazen Beasts train.

 

The Lion of Lannister cut a dashing, roguish figure with or without armor. Presently, he wore none save for a simple breastplate and gauntlets. Brightroar was not on his person - instead, a pair of daggers was strapped to his belt. 

 

“Mossador, keep your eyes on the opponent, not his blade!” 

 

“Skazhdal, never turn your back!”

 

“Rezmar, a clean thrust prevails over a clumsy hack!”

 

Paired up, the Brazen Beasts were vigorously drilled in knife combat. In the cramped alleys of Meereen, swords and spears were impractical. Speed and precision was more essential than strength in extremely close-quarters. Besides, the Harpy’s Sons only used knives and the mission relied on blending in among them.

 

“Ser Jaime!” The knight stopped in the midst of correcting a young lad’s footing. He smiled at the sight of her. Walking over to her, he ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. “Lovely day, is it?”

 

“Well, if you can stand this insufferable heat.” It was no overstatement that the Bay of Dragons was hot . So hot it was, the dress she wore bore cleavage only matched in Dorne. She paid it no mind. Her mother’s blood ran hot in her veins and prudishness she long grew past.

 

Ser Jaime laughed. “Seeing I’m wearing armor, I’d say I can. Anyhow, the training is going along at a steady pace. The recruits have no lack of eagerness to speak of. That makes half my work so much easier.”

 

“And the other half?” She teased.

 

“The Sand Snakes have that covered,” he replied. Chuckling, he turned and clapped his hands to get attention. “Take a rest, men! You’ve earned it!” Sighing in relief, the trainees lowered their knives and made for the canopies on the side of the yard. Tables underneath lined with jugs of wine were snatched up and poured down parched throats.

 

“If this is what it’s like, they’ll be too drunk to even lift their knives,” Alysanne remarked. Three men had downed two jugs faster than she could count to twenty.

 

“You’re telling me,” Obara huffed, striding up to her and Jaime. “I told Lannister here that water is appropriate for this kind of thing, but his stubborn head was up his.”

 

Ser Jaime shrugged and gave a cocky grin. “It keeps them motivated. Without that, all the stabbing in the world won’t help them.”

 

Nymeria rewound her braid, having come loose during sparring. “As much as I hate it, I agree with the Lion. Drinking is the one thing men enjoy more than fighting.”

 

“Don’t forget fucking,” Tyene smirked, sauntering behind her sisters. “The sword between the legs is as sharp as the one in the hand. You should know, Obara.”

 

Groaning, Obara cast her sister a glare - it was no secret she had taken a lover among the freedmen, though the identity of that person she kept tight lipped. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re taking his side,” the eldest Sand Snake groaned. Her sisters merely rolled their eyes and scraped their knives together. “On a different note, Mossador is struggling to keep up with the rest of us.”

 

“Really? Enlighten me?” Alysanne was surprised that her freedman advisor was having any difficulty after witnessing him lunge to volunteer when Jaime suggested his strategy to deal with the Harpy’s Sons. Mayhaps he got in over his head.

 

Obara cleared her throat with an unladylike hack. “He’s proficient with a knife. However, he’s not without it. Most got the gist of disarming a knife-armed foe with your bare hands except him.”

 

“I tried twice with him, and twice I nearly stuck him,” Tyene said, trying and failing not to snicker.

 

“When I tried, he sucked in his gut and stuck out his head,” Nymeria observed. “Had it been real, his skull would’ve been bashed.”

 

Alysanne listened while she pondered on what to do about her beleaguered advisor. “Maybe… another demonstration? For all the trainees, so they get a clearer understanding and Mossador doesn’t feel singled out.”

 

“We did so many times we lost count,” Obara pointed out.

 

“No, I mean step-by-step with every motion explained in detail - like how a shipwright designs a boat.” She looked to Ser Jaime, who looked back with praise on her insight. “I’ll demonstrate with the master-at-arms.”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “A princess willing to get her hands dirty? That’s leading by example,” Ser Jaime nodded in agreement. He passed one of his knives to her and walked out to the center of the courtyard. Whistling, he summoned the men to stand and watch.

 

“Brazen Beasts, it’s come to our attention that some of you are challenged by barehanded combat against a foe that is not. I, along with her Grace, will demonstrate the unarmed disarming technique against knives to help you better understand.” He motioned for Alysanne to join him.

 

She saw Mossador out of the corner of her eye staring at her flabbergasted. It couldn’t be helped. Unlike Dorne, Slaver’s Bay had no Princess Nymeria to inspire women to wield arms like men. Well, that would be something that the Bay of Dragons would change just as it had with chaining men, women, and children.

 

Ser Jaime faced her, head-on. “Stab me in the stomach,” he commanded. 

 

She blinked in surprise. 

 

“Go on,” he ordered. “I’m armored.”

 

Alysanne thrust the knife at Jaime’s gut. He smoothly stepped to the side and let her past him. “The first step is to get out of the way,” he addressed their audience. “Even if poorly done, you’ll have escaped certain death.” 

 

Turning back to face her, he commanded her to repeat the strike. This time as she stabbed, he slipped to the side of her knife arm and seized it in a lock. Pinned, she could only struggle to free herself from his grasp. “The second step is to trap your foe, thereby preventing him from being able to attack you. Next, disable him of his weapon.” He applied pressure on her wrist, forcing her to drop the knife. The steel blade clattered on the stone ground.

 

Alysanne rubbed her sore arm upon his release. She was thoroughly impressed by Jaime’s instruction as were the trainees around them. Tyene bobbed her head in approval while Nymeria sighed in grudging acceptance of his skill. Obara just yawned and looked bored.

 

“Two steps, men. That’s all there is. A one-two punch.” Jaime paused and swept his gaze over their thoughtful faces. “Additionally, there is one more way if you have to subdue a man without killing him.” 

 

All of a sudden, Alysanne was wrapped in a chokehold while the other hand gripped her round the waist - Jaime having darted behind her with a speed more akin to a Faceless Man than an armored knight. The hold was firm, but loose, nowhere close to hurting her.

 

Perhaps that was why she could therefore notice just how close Jaime was. How warm and powerful his body was against hers.

 

“Apply gentle pressure,” he instructed. “Not too loose as to give him a chance to fight back, but not too hard or else you’ll snap his neck. Gently ease him down from alertness to sleep…” Each successive word was softer, his breath wafting down to tickle her ear. Is he doing this on purpose? Whichever way, Alysanne felt a shudder through her before she could even think on it. “Pair up and practice,” he finally ordered. “You will not always be with a blade. This technique could save your life when least suspected.”

 

Mossador rushed to retrieve his knife. Invigorated by his new perspective, determination was written over his face to finally master the disarming maneuver. The Sand Snakes followed him, not hiding their intent to try him again.

 

As for the two of them, they just stood there - Jaime’s arms barely holding her there but Alysanne not finding the strength to yank herself out. “Ser Jaime…” she murmured softly. “Can you release me.”

 

“Oh, alright.” Finally free, Alysanne took several steps away, rubbing her neck absentmindedly. Now with distance between her and the knight, she was starting to feel like her old self again. “Care to practice some more, your Grace?” Alysanne snorted mildly in response. Brushing aside strands of hair that fell over her face, she decided if Ser Jaime would teach her, he’d teach her all that she wanted to know.

 

“Why not?” She smiled genially. “However, if you are to train your princess with this - ” She held up her knife. “ - then she must ask you to train her with a sword as well.” 

 

The Lannister knight bobbed his head. “As you wish.” Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

Notes:

CastleColin: Jon meets his double and there’s trouble. Littlefinger knocks Lysa off the ladder. The krakens beat the bears.

Longclaw: Hardhome was less disastrous than in canon, with more gotten out plus dragons and mammoths. However, the Ice King is very different than the Night King.

Finally got the Rhaegar/Lyanna reunion everyone wanted! They really wasted no time in working on Jon's future siblings XD. Isn't it fitting that Rhaegar bonds with Rhaegal.

Hmmm... Alysanne seems to be taking a shine to her kingsguard ;)

Till next time. The Wolves and Flayed Men make their moves.

Chapter 52: So It Begins

Summary:

1) Tyrion and the visiting Lords witness the return of Lyanna and Rhaegar.
2) Jaime and Alysanne spar and share some heated moments.
3) The Sword of the Morning departs Winterfell.
4) Domeric Bolton finds his family heading off to war.
5) The Wildlings acclimate to being south of the Wall.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi guys. Sorry for the long wait, but things are gonna get very awesome pretty soon. Lots of good stuff coming :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tyrion Lannister

 

Running a hand through his shaggy hair, Tyrion watched the healer with vivid interest. “So, should I be worried, Lady Talisa?”

 

Placing a wet cloth over Myrcella - Marcy to those not in the know - Talisa affectionately stroked the girl’s cheek before turning to Tyrion. “She shall be fine, my Lord. Just a mild case of the shivers.”

 

“Mild case? One of my young nephews nearly died from this very thing.” He moved towards Cella and took her hand - Tyrion was normally circumspect in how affectionate he was towards his niece, but worry over her condition made him a bit bolder. “I just don’t want to worry about her health… my niece…” He recognized the slip. “The poor dear already lost so much.” Inwardly, he hoped the healer didn’t notice.

 

If she did, she gave no sign of it. Smiling softly at him, Talisa placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Tyrion first noticed how beautiful she was. “I’ve seen plenty of cases of the shivers. Marcy’s is rather mild… plenty of water and warmth, and a little love. She’ll recover after a sennight or so, just make sure she bundles up whenever she goes outside from now on.”

 

He looked back at Cella. “Hear that. Next time you lace your cloak up tight.” At her weak nod, he chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Try to get some sleep, my dear.” Gingerly closing the door behind him, Tyrion let out a long sigh. “That was difficult.”

 

Talisa chuckled. “Actually, that was one of the more… simple injuries I’ve had to look after. Ever try and set a broken limb for one of the Stark guards?”

 

Curious, Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never had the pleasure… or the burden, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

 

The chuckle from earlier turned into a merry laugh. “You have a way with words, Lord Hand.” Even he smirked at that. “While a lot of fun, they usually come - big, burly men with a lot of hair - drunk off their arse and alternating between screaming from the splinting or trying to make passes at me. Good thing the Prince is by my side for a lot of them. He keeps them in line.”

 

At the mention of Prince Robb - and the faraway look in Talisa’s eyes - Tyrion sensed there could be a… complication in the wind for the royal family. Gods, I hope Robb Stark hasn’t thought with his cock and fucked up the alliance. Why someone as noble as Prince Robb would cheat on the beautiful Margaery Tyrell was beyond him, but he had no evidence besides a worry. “So I should be glad at Marcy being so agreeable, no?”

 

“Yes, Lord Tyrion, it’s good news. Your niece will make a full recovery.”

 

Fear hitting him suddenly, Tyrion nevertheless looked at Talisa with an almost… bored expression. “What makes you say that? I’ve just grown… fond of her since I lost Princess Myrcella.” A little lie, but Tyrion had in fact grown just a bit extra appreciative of the darling she-lion after Tommen’s unfortunate demise. 

 

“It is interesting that the procession Princess Myrcella was riding in was attacked and everyone killed... Then just a couple of moon turns later, young ‘Marcy’ appeared.” 

 

A bead of sweat fell from Tyrion’s brow, nearly splashing on his eyelid. This could be very, very bad. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Lady Talisa. Forgive me for treating this as a sort of threat.”

 

“I can understand why you would, my Lord.” Kind as she was, the Volantene noblewoman was clearly quite clever. She picked up on the nuances of court politics. “Do not worry, I have no interest in whatever reasons you have for pretending your niece is dead… it is none of my concern nor would I wish to disclose it to the Southern crown. Your secret is safe with me.”

 

“I would much like to take you at more than your word, my Lady. If a foreigner can discern my niece’s identity so easily, who couldn’t?”

 

“Would it help if I was picked up by the Tyrells in the Riverlands because those of the Faith wished to try me for witchcraft in King’s Landing… those sparrows, quite frightening if you ask me.”

 

Studying her for a moment, Tyrion felt she wasn’t lying. Growing up around Cersei, one had to learn to read faces well or else she’d walk all over you. “That does reassure me, Lady Talisa. So please do keep an eye out on her.” He bowed and began to amble away. “I’m afraid I’m late.”

 

As it turned out… he was quite late. When the guards allowed him entry to the strategy room of the main keep, Tyrion had the decency to look sheepish at the swiveling eyes that all landed on his small form. “Well, took him long enough,” Olenna snapped, drumming her hands against the grip of her cane.

 

Tyrion paid her biting comments no heed, instead looking apologetic to his King. “Please forgive my tardiness, your Grace. I had… some pressing personal matters to attend to.”

 

Eddard Stark was not a man to begrudge such. “I understand, Lord Hand. It is fine… now we can begin.” Taking a look around the immense table after assuming the position of honor at the King in the North’s left, Tyrion found that both the Tyrells and Martells were well-represented. Clustered around Lady Olenna were Lord Mace, Lady Alerie, and their daughter Margaery - the future Princess. With Prince Oberyn were his paramour, Ellaria Sand, and nephew Prince Trystane; the latter quite eager to be included in such discussions while the former two were rather… bored? Rounding it out were himself, the King, Prince Robb and… a woman, young and pretty. One Tyrion was sure he had seen around the castle in the past few weeks or so. But what made her come here? A Stark bannerman in full armor and great helm stood guard over the assemblage. “I brought you all here to inform you that as King in the North, I’ve sent ravens to all the Northern houses - calling for a grand council to be held here in a fortnight’s time.”

 

“A full grand council for the marriage of your son seems a bit over the top, your Grace,” Mace Tyrell noted. “Even to someone as illustrious as my daughter.” From the looks of the Lady Margaery, even the mention of marriage had her gazing adoringly at Prince Robb. She was her grandmother’s granddaughter and hid it well, but Tyrion had gotten observant enough to pick such out from watching Cersei and Jaime share such hidden glances. 

 

“Such a wedding is very important, Lord Mace, but the grand council is not for that.” Ned’s frown grew hard. “Robert Baratheon is set to declare war on the Kingdom of the North and my Tully good family.”

 

While there was a short silence, it was broken by the chuckling of Oberyn Martell. “This smells of Tywin Lannister, slowly destroying his enemies one by one. We saw it with Harrenhal.”

 

“That is not all, Prince Oberyn. You may have noticed the absence of my wife, the Queen.”

 

“It crossed our minds, yes,” Alerie Hightower remarked. “Though we expected she was visiting her father in Riverrun.”

 

Ned nodded, though a flicker of grief passed his face. “Yes, she did… but on the way she was detained and imprisoned by Walder Frey to use as a pawn to gain territory off me.”

 

A snort from Olenna. “That little weasel, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

 

“Which is why my son, Prince Robb, will lead a delegation to treat with Lord Walder…” Margaery cast a worried look at Robb, who replied back with one of his own that promised discussion later. “And get my wife back by any means necessary… including the most brutal.” Fists clenching, Tyrion noticed the woman next to Ned taking it in a comforting gesture, calming him. His eyebrow rose in curiosity.

 

“Well said, your Grace,” Oberyn said. “Finally we get to see the direwolf snarl.”

 

Nodding, Ned’s frown nevertheless didn’t falter. “There is another thing that, if we are to become family once all this is said and done. One that will… truly shake the political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms - especially where Robert is concerned.”

 

“Are you trying to tell us you’re keeping another secret, your Grace?” The door opened quietly as Olenna was speaking, a little smirk on her lips at everything that was going on. “First, your bastard is really your nephew, the rightful Targaryen King, so what’s next? You find Tywin Lannister’s sentimentality in your crypts?” Unable to help himself, Tyrion chuckled at that, while Mace Tyrell, all three Martells, and Robb Stark all laughed merrily.

 

Even the stoic Ned grinned slightly while a hooded figure leaned against a dark portion of the wall behind him… well, more behind the young girl his King deliberately included in this session of the small council. “I’m afraid even the blood magic of Lord Bloodraven couldn’t find that, Lady Tyrell. But what I am about to speak of is something rather… fantastical.”

 

Blinking, Tyrion looked up at Ned. “Your Grace… we didn’t discuss…” He was silenced by a slight tap of the foot by Prince Robb.

 

“You’re gonna want him to continue, Tyrion,” the Prince whispered. Against his better instincts - but with his curiosity - Tyrion kept silent. Watching the proceedings with interest and confusion.

 

“So you didn’t even tell your Hand this secret but it appears like your son and heir knows.” Oberyn Martell crossed his arms. “I believe you wish for us to be allies, so House Martell would appreciate being told of this.”

 

Nodding at Oberyn, Ned cleared his throat. “When my son and good-daughter…”

 

“That is, your nephew and the Princess Daenerys,” Alerie Tyrell remarked with a questioning eyebrow. To the right of the Lady of Highgarden, Tyrion could see young Margaery still spellbound by this fact, staring at Robb with wonder. Northern royalty and bound to House Targaryen by marriage… a dream come true for Olenna’s granddaughter. 

 

“Yes,” Ned admitted. Wordlessly, he squeezed the hand of the woman to his right. That caught Tyrion’s attention… not the fact his King was upset he was officially losing a son, that he understood. Who is this person? Did Ned take a mistress now that Catelyn was a prisoner? Tyrion didn’t believe it. Regardless of his thoughts, Ned continued. “King Aegon and Queen Daenerys brought magic back into this world after they hatched their dragons.”

 

“The comet in the sky?” Margaery asked.

 

Another nod. “Aye, my Lady. It wasn’t just an omen, it was a sign to the world that the glories of the past destroyed by the Dance had returned… and with it came the possibilities for wonders. The possibility that the… that those long gone could return to the world.” His voice caught at the end of that.

 

Huffing, Mace Tyrell looked like he found that a bit ridiculous. “Now, your Grace. I can come to believe that you soiled your honor to protect your orphan of a nephew from Robert Baratheon, but such talk of necromancy seems rather fantastical.” He shook his head, jowls jiggling. “The illustrious maesters of the Citadel say it impossible and as a cultured man I see no reason that even with dragons alive that they would be wrong…”

 

“They are wrong, Lord Tyrell.” For once the woman at Ned’s side spoke, a distinctive Northern brogue leaving her lips. If Tyrion didn’t know better… she sounded like a female version of Ned…

 

“And who might you be?”

 

“I was wondering that myself,” Ellaria Sand added. “No name, no introduction… you don’t even bring any other of your bannermen or ours, but we are supposed to…”

 

“Forgive me, Lady Ellaria, I do not wish to be rude.” The woman smiled sweetly, though stood straight and strong. “I am Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.”

 

The fuck…

 

In near disbelief, Tyrion barely heard Olenna scoff. “You’re no older than my granddaughter. You’d be his Grace’s age if you were as you say you were…”

 

“Grandmother,” Margaery whispered. “If Lady Lyanna were brought back from the dead… wouldn’t she be of the age that she perished?” Clever girl.

 

Glaring at her granddaughter, Olenna nevertheless remained stubborn. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, your Grace…”

 

“This is no game, Lady Olenna,” Lyanna replied coldly. “I am Lyanna Stark, or rather Lyanna Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone. And while you are under my brother’s roof you will treat him with respect.” She certainly sounded like a woman that could capture a dragon’s heart.

 

Tyrion studied her closely, giving this woman come back from the dead a more thorough inspection than when he had wondered if she were Ned’s mistress. With a far more critical eye, the similarities began popping out. Stark grey eyes, similar cheekbones and a jaw - Lyanna had softer and more slender features not marred by age, but the resemblance was uncanny. By the gods, she might just be Lyanna Stark. He had certainly seen plenty that wouldn’t make him dismiss it out of hand.

 

But others weren’t as easily convinced. Giggling, Ellaria seemed to be having quite the time. “Oh, Lord Stark, this is a brilliant mummer’s farce. I dare say this poor girl actually thinks she’s your sister three namedays younger than you rather than the clear… I’ll be generous and say ten and five nameday difference. But your game falls apart when it’s absolutely unable to be verified since no one here but you has ever seen Lyanna Stark.” She turned to her paramour. “You certainly didn’t see Lyanna Stark in your youth, Obi?” Silence. “Obi?”

 

But the Prince of House Martell wasn’t even paying attention to his paramour… or even ‘Lyanna’ for that matter. From what Tyrion could see, the old rogue looked like he’d seen a grumpkin. Face pale, the swarthy color close to being drained from him. 

 

“Uncle?” pressed Trystane, just as worried as Ellaria now was for him.

 

But Oberyn ignored him. “You?” A shaky finger pointed at Lyanna… no, at the nameless figure behind Lyanna. “Take off that hood.”

 

The figure said nothing - letting the moment drag out. “You sure you’re ready for it, Oberyn?” he finally said, voice bored and dismissive. From across the table, Olenna began to peer - she looked to somewhat recognize the voice as well. 

 

This is truly getting interesting. Wanting to see what the fuss was about, Tyrion peered at the figure too, at a better vantage point due to his proximity and height. From what it seemed, the face was a shadow but there looked to be a glint of silver hair. Dear gods… Lyanna Stark… Oh, father will literally shit gold from this…

 

“Yes, take it off!” Oberyn demanded.

 

Looking behind her, Lyanna nodded. “It’s alright, my love.”

 

Wordlessly, the man slowly reached up and pulled back his cowl. Revealing a rugged, strong face and… as Tyrion guessed, a full set of silver locks. Targaryen locks.

 

Olenna’s cane clattered to the floor with a loud thud, the old crone’s eyes widening like saucers. Alerie gasped in shock, while Lord Mace was so flustered he was forced to sit, knees buckling. But the man didn’t watch them, merely staring at Oberyn. “What’s the matter, goodbrother?” Rhaegar Targaryen grinned. “Don’t believe in ghosts?”

 

It took a moment for Oberyn to compose himself, but he did long before the Tyrells managed to. “For so long… I dreamed of what I would do to you if you were alive.” Slowly, the Red Viper rounded the table, walking towards him. “I have no idea what dark magic brought you here, but now I can finally look in the eyes of the man that dishonored my own sister…”

 

“I suggest you step back, Oberyn,” announced the Stark guard, voice muffled by the helmet. “I still have my vows.”

 

For the second time that day… within minutes of each other… Oberyn was completely stunned. “Arthur?” Arthur Dayne too?! Gods, what was happening? It even made Tyrion’s head spin, and he hadn’t had anything to drink that day - he would have to rectify that soon.

 

“Good-daughter,” Olenna stammered, finally picking up her jaw from the floor. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that really Rhaegar Targaryen back from the dead.”

 

“I don’t think even the greatest mummer could pull off something so impressive a likeness,” Alerie responded - Mace, for all his bluster, still couldn’t make a sound he was so shocked.

 

His world already turned upside down in the span of ten minutes, Tyrion tugged on the King in the North’s gambeson. “Your Grace, you didn’t inform me of this… development. Perhaps I should have known…”

 

“Lord Tyrion, not even Lya’s son knows they are alive.” He leaned down as Rhaegar began rounding the table - the Prince pressing a kiss to the Princess’ head before heading for Oberyn. “I know you are aware of what your father would do if he heard of both Jon’s true parents and their return to the living.”

 

Pursing his lips, Tyrion ended up nodding. “Rhaegar Targaryen isn’t easy to hide, and even he would heed warnings if they came to him.” At least he knew now, much as it complicated matters in his efforts. The… reputation of Rhaegar Targaryen wasn’t one he was keen on battling, even with Lyanna Stark alive and obviously in love with him. I can see where Jon Targaryen gets it from.

 

“Arthur, it’s alright,” Rhaegar said, waiting for the Kingsguard to step aside in order to look Oberyn in the eye. “If you’re here, knowing of my son and not opposed, then I believe Elia told you the truth. Or at the very least Doran.”

 

Oberyn narrowed his eyes. “He did.” Looking back at Ellaria, he visibly sighed. “Nearly two decades of anger is hard to let go of, though I am not Robert to rationalize it rather than let go.” Without another word, he stepped back to his paramour and nephew, leaning against the stone wall with arms crossed.

 

“Well,” Olenna spoke up. “Prince Rhaegar, you don’t look a day above the last time I saw you.” She suddenly laughed. “Robert will shit his breeches at seeing you… hopefully atop a dragon. Wait… you said there were dragons, right?”

 

“Yes, Lady Olenna. Jon and Daenerys have birthed six dragons. One is in Essos… Five came with them to Westeros. Two are with them and the other three are in the Wolfswood outside Winterfell.” Ned looked over at his goodbrother. “Apparently, my son tells me that Prince Rhaegar has already bonded with one.”

 

“Gods,” murmured Mace, still only half-recovered from his shock - staring at Rhaegar with awe.

 

Far more circumspect, Olenna’s eyes still twinkled. An amazing sight, the Queen of Thorns actually impressed. “Alright, your Grace. My grandson and his bride tell me that the Starry Sept and Citadel are already conspiring against you and the dragons. That will turn our home into a battlefield regardless of what we do, so consider House Tyrell in your corner… if Prince Robb will fulfill his betrothal.”

 

Staring at Margaery, the young girl biting her lip alluringly, Robb nodded. “Not a problem, Lady Tyrell.”

 

“Good, it’s settled! All that leaves is… the Dornish?” 

 

Lyanna looked at Oberyn. “Seeking to back out, Prince Oberyn? I hope not because of my account.” Oh yes, she would have been a marvelous queen. Far better than Cersei, Tyrion had to admit.

 

Rubbing his chin, Oberyn was lost in thought. “Given the sorry impression of House Targaryen in my homeland, perhaps added ties would be needed.” He met Ned’s eyes. “Your daughter and my nephew, would you be amenable to one of their children marrying one of King Aegon and Queen Daenerys’ offspring?”

 

Lyanna stiffened, Rhaegar glowered, and Ned cleared his throat. “Goodbrother,” Rhaegar began. “Elia and I loved each other, but it was not that sort of love. She… desired another.” Tyrion noticed his eyes flicker to Ser Arthur before looking intently at Oberyn. The famous Kingsguard had put his helmet back on, blocking any reaction. The plot thickens. “I am not against what you are asking, but I am sure Lord Stark agrees that our grandchildren should have a choice in who they end up wed to.”

 

Glancing at Ellaria, Oberyn shrugged. “To the Tripartite Alliance. Stark, Tyrell, Martell.” He smacked the table.

 

With a heavy sigh, Ned looked at all the others. “Then it’s decided. To war.”

 

“Aye… to war.” Olenna smirked at Rhaegar. “You get a second chance, my Prince. I wouldn’t waste it if I were you.”

 

“I suppose I shouldn’t.” Watching as Lyanna leaned against Rhaegar’s side, Tyrion twirled a piece of curled hair in his fingers. 

 

Well father, it seems you’re in the fight of your life. May the best man win.


Jaime Lannister

 

“We’re back!” Jaime announced with a flourish as he ripped off his harpy mask. Behind him, Mossador and the rest of the Brazen Beasts did the same. Their first mission had gone surprisingly smoothly for mere scouting. Jaime didn’t believe they were ready for butcher’s work until they had a more accurate picture of the Harpy’s Sons. Yet thanks to his training and leadership, what intelligence they’d picked up was sure to please her Grace.

 

That is if she was pleased beneath the scowl on her face.

 

“You’re late,” Alysanne stated. “You were supposed to be back before sunrise. We discussed what might happen if someone saw the Brazen Beasts enter the pyramid.” She crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.

 

Jaime threw up his hands in surrender. “My apologies, your Grace. We got sidetracked. However, I can assure you it was worth the gamble. Right, men?” He looked to the freedmen warriors, who were hurriedly removing their dust-covered robes. None of them spoke up.

 

Mossador shrugged as he unbelted his knife. “Don’t look to us to cover for you, Ser Jaime. You were the reason for the delay.” His comrades chimed in agreement. Great, leave me out to dry.

 

“All dismissed except you,” Alysanne said, looking the Lion Knight dead in the eye. Once the Brazen Beasts left the audience chamber, she beckoned him to her. “Alright good ser, you better have a good explanation.”

 

Jaime couldn’t help but notice she was closer to his person than normal. Up close, he saw how much she resembled the late Queen Rhaella. The memory brought a lump to his throat. Rhaegar had assigned him to guard his mother, and her kindness made serving her husband bearable. Cavalier as he was, he had a genuine affection for Rhaella that daresay grew into a pining unrequited love. Now looking at Alysanne, he felt the same stirring rise again.

 

“Erm, well…” Jaime stumbled as he tried not to get lost in her intense amethyst gaze. 

 

Alysanne’s lip curled. “Something distracting, Ser Jaime?” She reached up and brushed a loose hair out of his face. “Whatever it is, I’d hate it to continue troubling you.”

 

“No… no… I’m fine.” Gods, old and new. He forced himself to focus on her voice, not her eyes. “The Sons of the Harpy have been running in arms - primarily daggers and crossbows - through alleged food shipments from Tyrosh.” His throat felt dry under her unblinking stare. “Mossador is right about some of the Great Masters covertly backing the insurgents. However, none of them are here. They are across the bay requesting aid from Tolos, Elyria, and Mantarys to retake Meereen.”

 

“So these masked hooligans are just a distraction?” Alysanne asked, lazily drawing a finger across his arm. “Mmm, I’m intrigued. How long do they intend to haunt the alleys until the cavalry arrives?”

 

“Two moons, your Grace,” Jaime replied. He was starting to sweat under his tunic. Alysanne’s stroking touches were unconsciously arousing.

 

“Then we best prepare ourselves for the war to come. Meet me in the inner courtyard for training after you’ve broken your fast. Also,… take a bath.” Her nose wrinkled cutely. “You smell like you rolled in a stable.”

 

“At once, your - ” His voice was cut off as she impulsively pecked him on the lips. She smiled sultrily and left him speechless there in the hall.

 

Jaime’s head was still swimming while he waited for her in the courtyard. The last time he’d shared a tender moment with Cersei was in Winterfell a mere year past. She was the only woman I ever loved. Yet, a gulf had opened between them, and they never reconciled before his exile. Could he dare hope to love another after so many years at his sister’s side?

 

Such conflicted the Lion of Lannister when the woman on his mind finally entered the yard. Alysanne carried Starfyre in hand as she had in all her training sessions. Jaime would’ve preferred her to start with a practice sword, a far safer option for a beginner, but with war already looming there just wasn’t time. However, he himself decided to use a dulled blade for her safety.

 

“So, Ser Jaime,” Alysanne said as she sauntered up to him. “What shall today’s lesson be?” Not wanting for enthusiasm, she swiftly unsheathed her saber.

 

The Lion Knight drew his sword to meet hers. “Parry and strike, your Grace. It’s important for that to become second nature to your sword arm.” He watched Alysanne’s face fall in resigned disappointment.

 

“Again? I‘ve practiced the same set of moves for almost a fortnight now. Surely, the squire for the Sword of the Morning can teach me more.”

 

Jaime chuckled, recalling his own impatience with Arthur Dayne’s maddeningly slow training regimen. However, he wouldn’t test Alysanne the way Arthur had him. Something about her told him that she wouldn’t hesitate, no matter the danger. 

 

“The basics are for battle, your Grace.” Jaime walked back and forth as he spoke. “They are all that matter. Get your stances right. Master cutting cleanly and blocking firmly. Then you can fight. Fancy techniques are for tourneys and impressing the ladies.” He stopped pacing and twirled his sword. “Ser Arthur was the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms because he trained for war, not for show. That holds true for every knight to have been a Kingsguard. Their example is one wise to follow.”

 

Alysanne bit her lip, but nodded in understanding. Standing one foot forward and one foot back, she raised Starfyre until level with Jaime’s throat. Checking her footing and posture, he nodded approvingly and assumed position across from her. “I attack, you defend.”

 

They practiced through the early morning hours. In addition to the parry and strike, Jaime worked her on feints, thrusts, lunges, and cuts from various angles. Since Alysanne wasn’t particularly robust, he taught her to rely more on deflecting than blocking to avoid straining her muscles.

 

The training was surprisingly hard work, though that was to be expected with how long they went at it. Jaime usually trained no more than a half-hour at a time. Judging by the sun in the sky, it had been two or three hours. Sweat dripping down his back, he pressed forward, nearly breaking Alysanne’s guard… until Starfyre cracked down on the back of his sword. With a twist down, she forced his sword out of his grasp and sent it falling to the ground.

 

Next he knew, Alysanne pressed the cold tip of her sword to his chest. “Yield,” she commanded, her face red and her chest heaving. 

 

Jaime put his hands in the air. “I yield.” He was impressed. The disarming maneuver was one of the trickiest moves in the book, and beginners rarely executed it properly. He picked up his sword from the smooth stone and returned it to its scabbard.

 

Alysanne blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and slid Starfyre back into its sheath. “I think that’s enough practice for today. Daemon should be waking up soon. He doesn’t like waiting to break his fast.”

 

“Sure, right after you beat me do you decide to stop,” Jaime remarked. At her annoyed look, he shrugged. “What? I’d probably do the same in your position. It’s better to end on a high note than push your advantage too much.”

 

The clinking of armor alerted them to Ser Barristan making his entrance. “Good morning, your Grace. I trust your training with Ser Jaime went well.” He trained his eyes on the Lannister knight.

 

“I couldn’t ask for a better teacher,” Alysanne smiled. 

 

“That’s good to hear,” Barristan said. “Your mother is calling for you. Prince Daemon just awoke and he won’t stop crying.”

 

Alysanne’s eyes widened. “Oh dear! Excuse me, sers.” Little more than a blur, she darted into the pyramid to attend to her squealing son. Daemon Targaryen was an adorable babe, and Jaime felt the same protectiveness for him as for her mother. Watching the princess leave with a wistful look, he noticed Barristan staring at him with an inquisitive eye.

 

“I’ve only seen you look at one lady with that kind of longing,” Barristan said. “It wasn’t your sister for all I know.”

 

“Aye, it wasn’t.” Jaime let his mind float back to the Mad King. To the one silver lining in the dark cloud of his reign. “It was Queen Rhaella. She was like a mother to me after mine passed. I hated myself for failing to protect her from Aerys.”

 

Barristan nodded sympathetically. “Our vows prevented us all from restraining the king’s worst impulses.” He was quiet for a moment. “You might’ve failed her, but you will not fail Alysanne.”

 

Jaime laughed bitterly. “What makes you confident of that? The Mad King showed the worst is more apt to happen than we care to entertain.” 

 

“Well, this time there’s no Aerys to get in the way. Her brother is in Pentos with apparently no interest in pursuing her. But more than that… ” Barristan clasped Jaime’s shoulder. “Her Grace respects you like Cersei never did. I watched your goings with your sister. Let me tell you, it was a one-sided affair. She ordered you around like a dog, and I don’t remember a single time you stood up for yourself.” 

 

Barristan’s words stung, but that only proved their veracity. Jaime joined the Kingsguard and turned down his betrothal to Lysa Tully to be with his sister. He could’ve been the Lord of Casterly Rock and had a wife and children of his own - though, what Lysa became by the end was less than appealing - but instead he’d carried on an illicit coupling that ended in disaster. There was no nostalgia for the vain, selfish woman he now clearly saw - only sorrow and disgust.

 

“You’re right,” Jaime admitted after a long silence. “Whatever I had with Cersei… it’s gone.”

 

Barristan the Bold seldom smiled, but when he did you forgot the stern knight he was. “Glad to hear it. Given that King Aegon now permitted us to take a wife, you might have with Alysanne what you never did with Cersei or Rhaella.”

 

Could I? Jaime still had his doubts. His failure to protect Rhaella gnawed him, and it gnashed him when he met Daenerys, who resembled her mother so closely. Yet he recommitted himself to House Targaryen, and he’d be damned if he failed again. Whatever the future held, he’d fight for Alysanne to his last breath and last drop of blood.

 

“Yes, Ser Barristan,” Jaime said. “Yes, mayhaps I could.” If she wills it...


Arthur Dayne

 

“So my other blade is with Rhaegar’s son?” Arthur Dayne watched Ned nod, drawing a chuckle from him. “No one more deserving, I suppose.”

 

A small smile formed on the Lord of Winterfell’s face. “No… not at all.” The two looked back out over the courtyard of Winterfell, unsure of what to say. Getting stabbed in the back of the neck by one of Lord Eddard’s bannermen after the misunderstanding of the century had its way of causing a level of awkwardness. “The lad… Gendry. He’s forging a new sword for Jon, so I don’t doubt he’d give Dawn back.”

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have to see what his skills are when we meet… though I doubt I’ll be the one he truly wishes to see.”

 

“I suppose not.” Ned closed his eyes, sighing. “For years I blamed Rhaegar for this.”

 

“Even after her Grace told you the truth?” Lyanna was a Targaryen Princess now, and as such even to her brother he would use her true honorific.

 

Looking up at him with sad, haunted eyes, Ned didn’t look like he wished to duck on the responsibility. “Everyone believed she was raped and kidnapped… and I trusted Robert. Never once did I think she wouldn’t want…” He sighed deeply. “I really am a northern fool.”

 

Not able to deny what Ned said, Arthur met his gaze. “I’ve never seen two people more in love than your sister and his Grace, though I suppose they were a bit… brash. They told me they sent letters to your brother, Brandon, but apparently none went through.”

 

“No, he never got one. Brandon… he believed Robert more than I did. It didn’t sit well with me but when the Mad King did what he did… there seemed no logical choice in the matter.”

 

“His plan was to depose his father. Declare him unfit and become the Prince Regent… unfortunately that didn’t come to pass.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You need to forgive your goodbrother. Let this resentment go, for your sister… and your nephew.” He pulled the cowl over his head, time to leave. “They’ll both appreciate it, I am sure.”

 

Not responding, Ned only looked out over the courtyard. “Just bring her back, Arthur. And keep an eye out on my son.”

 

“I swear upon the old gods and the new that I will. Some knights among us actually keep our vows.”

 

Cowl over his head - he doubted any of the northmen would recognize him, but perhaps those among the Tyrell or Martell entourage would pick out one who was still the most famous knight in the Seven Kingdoms - Arthur trudged to his horse. Several dozen had gathered in the courtyard of the northern castle. Aside from a few that would escort their prince, they were lightly armed. Lord Reed better be ready with his men. There was no chance even the most modest Lord would travel into hostile territory with a retinue at least double this… and someone with an inferiority complex the size of Walder Frey’s certainly wouldn’t.

 

Grabbing the saddle to swing over, Arthur had just mounted his mare when he spotted the Crown Prince in the North. The very man he would be protecting till the moment it counted was locked in an embrace with Margaery Tyrell, the Rose of Highgarden burrowed into his chest and clutching him as if he would disappear if she let go. Their lips moved, but Arthur couldn’t read them. Considering that it ended in a passionate kiss he could really infer it. 

 

In the corner of his eye, he noticed the Volantene healer duck back inside the keep from where she had been watching the Prince. He recognized that look… longing, heartbreak. Be careful, Robb Stark. Love triangles had a knack for destroying those involved - Rhaegar could speak personally of that.

 

As the Prince left his future bride and moved to his own horse, Arthur looked him over. “Eager to tie the knot, Prince Robb?” he asked.

 

Looking up from the saddle, Robb did a double take at who would be riding beside him. “Um… yes, Ser Ar… yes.” 

 

“Keep calm, my Prince. Wouldn’t want to divulge too much before its time.” 

 

It took a moment for Robb to shake past his awe at one of his childhood heroes. “Aye.” He looked at his men. “Let’s go! For the Queen!”

 

“For the Queen!” shouted the guards, hate burning for Walder Frey within them.

 

Spurring his mount, Arthur followed Robb and a dozen Stark horsemen out the gates of Winterfell. The massive ironwood door slowly creaked shut behind them with a groaning grind. At a vigorous trot, the northern retinue turned south onto the wide dirt track of the Kingsroad.

 

As the ancient Stark seat receded behind them, Arthur felt a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. The last time he’d been entrusted to protect Rhaegar’s loved ones, he’d also been unable to save the Dragon Prince. Now, he couldn’t help but worry the worst might happen again while he was down south. Ned had told him certain of his vassals’ loyalties were… unreliable and given that the Last Dragon was still the most hated man in the North… 

 

“Something getting you down, Ser Adam?” Arthur looked over at Robb amusingly. Seemed the Northern Crown Prince already decided his alias.

 

The Sword of the Morning shifted in his saddle. “Just reminiscing on my past failures.” He couldn’t be too specific with the Stark bannermen alongside them. “I technically wasn’t responsible for the greatest of them, but I felt so, nonetheless.”

 

Robb nodded sympathetically. His curly auburn hair ruffled in the crisp, cold breeze that blew over them. “I understand. Tis burdensome to be a knight under the weight of so many expectations: to defend the weak, protect the innocent, and serve the just.” He sighed and pursed his lips. “Few men live up to such high standards from what I’ve known.”

 

There was a bitter irony in what Robb implied, even though he was completely unaware. Rhaegar himself had knighted Gregor Clegane, the very man who slaughtered his first wife and first son in cold blood. When young Bran divulged the fate of Elia, Aegon, and Rhaenys… Arthur truly understood what it meant to wake the dragon . The look in Rhaegar’s amethyst orbs had frightened him more than even the Mad King.

 

“Your father spoke highly of your skill at arms,” Arthur eventually spoke, seeking to lighten the mood. “He said you won every sparring match with your brother Jon.”

 

“Only because he let me win,” Robb chuckled. His face then fell somber. “My mother hated the notion that a bastard could beat a trueborn at anything really. Jon always held back to spare her resentment.”

 

Arthur clicked his tongue. “Birth has nothing to do with skill, your Grace. Look at Bloodraven, Bittersteel, and Daemon Blackfyre. You can question their loyalties all you want, but there is no denying what they were capable of.”

 

“My mother is very devout to the Seven.” Arthur was never enthusiastic about the Seven beyond the prospect of knighthood. House Dayne kept the old gods while most of Dorne converted. The Starry Sept he found to be stuffy, overly particular, and hypocritical. “Don’t worry.” Robb noticed the scowl on Arthur’s face. “She warmed to Jon eventually. I think she’s come to realize true faith is your own conviction, not what funny people in robes say.”

 

The Dayne knight laughed aloud. Couldn’t have said it better! “I have faith that you’re right, my Prince.”

 

The Stark retinue plodded on, making good time, yet not fast enough for Arthur. Every minute away from Winterfell was another minute for Rhaegar to die again. “On my way up through Moat Cailin, I saw an unusually large mustering of troops gathered around. Does Robert really intend to invade the North? Through the Neck?”

 

“Well…” Robb squirmed. He was clearly trying to explain without spilling the Targaryens’ involvement. “Since the North gained independence, there is a chance that Daenerys Targaryen might entreat with us rather than burn us. Mayhaps offer a pardon in return for supporting her claim. Robert wouldn’t stand for his best friend to turn his cloak.” Good way of putting it, young wolf. 

 

Arthur gazed out across the North’s beautifully harsh landscape. Woe should it be covered in blood and ash. “I guess I’ll have plenty of battles to sharpen my sword on. Haven’t fought a single duel in years.” When they met up, he’d have to thank Howland for proving why you need to watch your blind spot.

 

Robb grinned wolfishly. “I believe Lord Walder would be happy to oblige. That scheming troll also hasn’t had a good fight in years.” His bannermen chorused their approval, punctuated by occasional wolf howls.

 

Clasping the pommel of Dusk, Arthur couldn’t agree more.


Domeric Bolton

 

Gaping from the moment his horse passed from the vast conifer forests into the outskirts of Knifetown, the heir to House Bolton hadn’t ever seen the Dreadfort in such a state of activity. Thousands of troops were strewn about, fully or half-armored in the process to march, smallfolk drafted to load wagons with food or missiles. His horse barely was able to jink and weave through the packed streets.

 

Seemed his father and half-brother were quite busy while he was away.

 

“Make way for the heir!” called the guard at the gatehouse… not that it mattered. The gate was thrown open anyway.

 

If Knifetown was packed, what awaited him was a veritable swarm of gnats and flies. Fires from almost a dozen makeshift forges glowed in the dim light of the northern autumn. Smiths dipped castle-forged steel into cauldrons of seawater to cool them off, then handed them already steaming to old men and young boys lined up. Domeric recognized servants, bakers… hells, even some rather sturdy women given knives, pikes and bows as well as armor. What in seven hells is going on?

 

“Put your backs into it!” Finally a voice he recognized as being part of some hierarchy - the officers directing the action were unfamiliar to him, many wearing the crossed keys of House Locke. 

 

“Myranda! What’s going on?” He didn’t dismount. The kennel master's daughter and Ramsay’s lover didn’t deserve his respect.

 

Whipping a chain-gang of prisoners trying to haul a massive catapult to a waiting ox-team, Myranda turned and grinned wolfishly at Domeric. “Ah, my Lord. Things are finally getting on track.”

 

He nodded, coming to terms with it. “We’re going to war. Are the Lannisters close to docking.” 

 

But when Myranda laughed uproariously, Domeric knitted his brows. “Talk to Ramsay about it. As you can see, I’m busy.” Her flogger snapped in the air, bloodying a poor prisoner’s back. “Move, dogs!” 

 

Much as he would rather talk to his father, Roose was nowhere to be found while Ramsay was easy enough to spot. Just follow the stench of death to the gates of the seven hells. Domeric didn’t believe what the Seven talked of bastards… but it aptly described his monster of a brother. As such, he was right in the middle of the action, talking to one of his father’s sworn swords. “And we have three hundred crossbows?”

 

“Aye, mi’Lord,” the man replied. “I would’ve normally given them to our archers, but on your orders they are on longbows.”

 

Ramsay nodded. “Much more dangerous.” He stroked his clean-shaven chin. “Equip the women and boys with them. It’s not hard to operate one of them.”

 

“At once.”

 

Leaping off his horse, Domeric didn’t bother to find someone to take it to the stables before he stormed up to his bastard brother. “Ramsay, what is all this about?!’ At the lad casting a look over his shoulder at him, Domeric continued. “You seem to be calling the banners of everyone without a limp taller than the axle of a wagon.”

 

Snorting, Ramsay motioned another order before answering his brother. “Aye. Adds another six thousand to our forces. We’ll need it to take Winterfell and burn it to the ground… for good this time.”

 

“Why do we need extra soldiers? The Lannisters are set to arrive?” At Ramsay’s resulting laugh, Domeric’s stomach twisted. “No one’s coming, are they? We’re gonna be annihilated.”

 

Shaking his head, Ramsay began to walk away… forcing Domeric to follow. “Lord Bolton’s orders. There’s some kind of grand council at Winterfell and our father is going to attend. Only, unlike the rest of those cunts we’re all going with him.”

 

I have to be missing something… “Why are we going to kill Ned Stark in front of the other Lords? Isn’t that insane? We could frame the Ironborn or something.”

 

“Oh, brother. So naive.” The bastard regarded him as one would a salamander. “We’re gonna slaughter them all… Hey, asshole! The catapults are that way!” Ramsay cursed under his breath. “Idiots.”

 

Running a hand down his face, Domeric couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Slaughter them all?! First, trying to storm Winterfell is impossible. King Royce burned Winterfell after a five month siege during a massive summer snow!” His voice grew loud, angrier than the normally soft-spoken highborn had ever been. “If you fucking believe that the walls that lasted for centuries can fall in an assault…”

 

“Little help from King’s Landing and Oldtown on that end,” Ramsay replied, not even looking at Domeric before climbing atop some large contraption. Patting the ironwood finish of what seemed to be a cross between a catapult and a crossbow. Something resembling what had taken down Rhaenys Targaryen and Meraxes in Dorne in the histories. “Good, but nail some wooden slats to the front. Don’t want those direwolf fuckers to shoot our men.”

 

“Aye, mi’Lord,” the operator said, bowing his head in deference. Out of respect for Ramsay’s battle prowess or fear of ending up on a Rogar’s Cross… Domeric didn’t know.

 

Even if it was the same as what killed the great conqueror’s dragon, how did that relay towards winning a siege? “And this will take down the great keep in what way a catapult can’t?”

 

Ramsay gave a large wagon filled with thick pottery amphorae. “They will when we load it with wildfire.” The bastard laughed merrily as he almost skipped away.

 

Eyes flying wide, Domeric’s face didn’t know whether to go white or to flush red with rage. “No, no, no!” He began smacking the wagon, almost trying to push it back. The stubborn oxen wouldn’t budge though.

 

The wagon drivers were frantic. “Don’t do that, mi’Lord.”

 

“This is getting dumped in the harbor now!” Domeric ordered the Bolton bannermen, then looked over an unfamiliar man. “You from King’s Landing?!”

 

“Aye, my Lord. Alchemist Serret, at the service of His Grace and the Lord Hand.”

 

Domeric didn’t care two shits how high he was connected to southern nobility. “Either get on the first boat out of here or you get the pit and gallows both!” Stalking over to Ramsay, he found the bastard discussing something with Lord Locke. “This thing is completely out of fucking control!” 

 

Rolling his eyes, Ramsay turned back to Locke. “Have the first cohort be ready to march by nightfall. We travel under cover of darkness.” Locke nodded and jogged off. “You may think so with your soft upbringing, but this is how we finally reclaim our birthright.”

 

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that game of thrones shit with me!” Domeric seethed. “We’re never going to take the damn North from the Starks by slaughtering every northern Lord in a single decapitation! The rest of Westeros will never forgive such a despicable…” 

 

His rant was cut off by Ramsay’s hand gripping his neck. With an almost superhuman strength - Domeric may have been slight like his father but wasn’t weak - the bastard lifted him up and slammed him against the keep’s walls. A snarl planted on his face, eyes wide and crazed with savagery. “You’re a long way from the south, brother.” Each word had Ramsay’s fingers squeezing harder. Cutting off more of Domeric’s airway…

 

Showing him just how vile and sadistic his bastard brother was willing to be. The glint in his eye, it would make even the worst nightmare the Stag King could conjure about Mad Targaryens look pittance in comparison. “I… I want to speak to… father…”

 

“Father’s not here, Domeric,” Ramsay hissed, almost manic. It was the look he had when he played with his ‘toys’ in the dungeons. “I think if I killed you now… no one would bat an eye. That’s how fucking petty you are.” 

 

But in spite of the threat, Ramsay released his throat. Domeric falling to the muddy ground with coughs and wheezes. “You’ll destroy our house.”

 

Ramsay rolled his eyes again. “House Bolton deserves a better breed of heirs. And I’m going to give them some after I feed every last Stark to my hounds… except for maybe Sansa. She’ll give me many fine babes.”

 

Rising, Domeric rubbed his neck and readjusted his cloak. “One day… I’m going to kill you… brother.” The last was an epithet.

 

“Good luck with that.” Ramsay stalked off to parts unknown, screaming orders the entire way.

 

When someone tried to push him along, Domeric lashed out. “Touch me again and you get the lash.” They gave him a wide berth. I have to stop this before we all die…

 

Easier said than done.


Benjen Stark

 

“Keep an eye on Theon for me on the way home,” Benjen watched Jory roll his eyes. “I understand he’s married and expecting a child, but just make sure he checks his affections.”

 

The Stark guard captain laughed and shook his head. “Still have to babysit Greyjoy? Alright Benjen, but once back at Winterfell, he’s on his own.” Jory trudged off inside the Nightfort to retrieve Theon and Ygritte, who were no doubt frolicking away. Benjen smiled wistfully. He was happy that his brother’s ward had found a woman that complimented him - wild, willful, and fierce. That spearwife gave Theon all the happiness that his father never could. Benjen never met Balon Greyjoy, however from what he heard, the Lord of Pyke wasn’t a family man.

 

“Never thought I’d see a day like this.” Benjen raised an eyebrow at Qhorin, who was standing stiffly next to him. “The Night’s Watch upholding its oath by breaking its oath.”

 

Benjen sighed patiently - old enmities died hard. Despite the horror at Hardhome dispelling any skepticism of the walkers, a few rangers were still coming to terms with making peace with the wildlings. “Our oath is to guard the realms of men. The Free Folk just happened to live on the wrong side of the Wall.” He swept his hand over the sight of the men, women, and children across the snow. “They’re no different from us - every one of them. They want a chance at life and peace.”

 

Qhorin nodded grudgingly. “Suppose you’re right. They scream and run the same as any peasant or preened lord.” The Halfhand’s gruff demeanor fell away as he shuddered in memory of the evacuation. “Those corpses didn’t frighten me, but that… crowned white monster. A snap of its fingers…” He trailed off before his brow furrowed. “It looked like your nephew.”

 

That got Benjen’s attention. He hadn’t a clear view of the Ice King in the mad scramble for the boats. “You mean Jon?” He asked. 

 

“Aye, its build and face are nearly identical. Remove the blue hue and that psychotic glint in the eyes, you couldn’t tell the difference.”

 

Benjen was tight-lipped. Qhorin’s observations were worrisome. Jon had come back from a different life. Could the Ice King have also? If so, why resemble my sister’s son?

 

The heavy footsteps of Mance Rayder helped to push aside his troubling thoughts. “Lord Commander,” the King-Beyond-the-Wall addressed. “I’ve run a headcount twice. We have thirty-five thousand Free Folk, thirty giants, and fifty mammoths - thirty-two of those calves.” Mance tried to sound optimistic, but the crestfallen look in his eyes betrayed his disappointment. Not as many were saved as had hoped.

 

Benjen wanted to assure him that their efforts weren’t in vain, yet his words would come across as hollow. Even the cynical Halfhand refrained from a sarcastic quip in light of Mance’s despondency. “We were lucky, though.” He sighed and stared at the floor. “Without the Manderly grain barges, we wouldn’t have gotten a third as much.”

 

“Bout as large as one of your southern armies, I suppose, though that’s everyone, not just fightin’ men.” Old men, young children, weaker women not suited for fighting… they wouldn’t be able to engage in warfare. The King-Beyond the Wall held the burden of all the survivors on his shoulders. “I presume your nephew will want them to march south… at least some of them.”

 

Nodding, Benjen stood. “I presume so, but I think we need to speak with them on it.” Outside among the Nightfort, even the preparations of Theon and Ygritte for the coming refugees couldn’t have handled the chaos of the glut they now had to digest. Everything was in flux, both heartening and upsetting. Cries of jubilation and sorrow echoed against the Wall as loved ones were reunited and others wept for those that failed to escape the dead. Wildlings and giants both were herding their surviving mammoths towards their grazing grounds, occasionally one of the massive beasts spooked and stampeding off. It was comical, watching a large giant chasing after the beast… as long as one wasn’t in the way of either.

 

Wounded as he was, Ser Jorah Mormont stood at his post. Not keen on letting anyone enter the tent of the King and Queen without his inspection. Luckily, Benjen had passed it long ago. “Lord Commander, First Ranger.” He eyed Mance Rayder with suspicion - the northman was still strong in him. “Your Grace.”

 

Mance chuckled. “I don’t bite, Mormont. I simply bid to speak with their Graces.” Nodding, Jorah stepped aside, allowing them entry.

 

His nephew and goodniece were hunched over a table, reading reports together. Occasionally, their hands would brush together and they’d turn to another, smiling softly. Almost always punctuating the moment with a sweet kiss. If true love exists, those two have it. The songs wrote themselves about Jon and Daenerys - lovers so devoted, their love transcended the fabric of reality itself.

 

After the third kiss, he finally broke the moment by clearing his throat. Looking up, Jon rose from his chair while Dany blushed softly. “Uncle, we didn’t see you come in.” Then he noticed the other visitors. “Qhorin… your Grace.”

 

“Still hard to get used to that,” Mance chuckles. “None of that shit north of the Wall, mind you.”

 

“No doubt,” Daenerys replied with a grin. “We were expecting Ser Davos and Lady Melisandre for some important news from Winterfell, but you are welcome to join the meeting if you wish.”

 

“Well don’t mind if we do, Daenerys,” Benjen replied, waiting for them to resume their seats before sitting down in one of the camp chairs himself. “We actually wished to speak with you about the battle requirements for the Free Folk… perhaps you would like to speak about it, Mance?”

 

“Aye.” The King-Beyond the Wall leaned forward, hands clasped flat against each other. “How many of my warriors do you want going south with you? And that’s both Free Folk south and south in general… I know that you mean to take the Seven Kingdoms before that frozen asshole gets south of the Wall and I simply want candor.”

 

Daenerys nodded. “I begrudge you not for such a request, King Mance,” Daenerys replied, treating the Free Folk King as an equal. “We do not require more men than you can spare. Perhaps around seven thousand, as well as whatever giants and mammoth wish to make the journey.”

 

“I’m sure Mag Mar wants to negotiate with your uncle personally, given he is the last of a long bloodline of Kings.” He snorted. “Amazing, the Watch was supposed to fight against these threats, yet when I was a sworn brother no one knew bloody hell about any of them.” He looked at Benjen pointedly. 

 

Benjen shrugged. “As the millennia passed, we seemed to lose touch with what we were fighting against truly.” Gods, he wished they never did have to realize the truth of what the Night’s Watch was set up to fight. “I mean, only now do I understand House Stark’s words.”

 

“Winter is Coming,” Jon stated for all of them. “Not just winter in general, but the greatest winter of all.” Silence hung for quite a while… there wasn’t much to say to that.

 

At that moment, the tent flaps parted and Ser Davos stepped inside. His grey-white beard was frosted and his cheeks were red from the cold winds. Smoothly following on his heels, the Red Woman skimmed serenely inside with her red eyes glowing. The oddly matched pair stood by, attentive and watchful. “Forgive us our tardiness, your Grace,” Davos spoke, eying the other visitors. “Do you wish for us to wait outside?”

 

Daenerys waved them off. “No, no, we’re glad you’re all here. Take a seat.” Davos took a seat by the brazier to warm his bones, making Benjen smirk. The smirk died looking at Melisandre, who looked frighteningly at ease - he’d never begin to repay her for saving Jon, in this life and the past one, but that didn’t mean she failed to… unsettle him. Daenerys merely continued. “We received a raven from Eddard Stark in Winterfell. Apparently he’s called a Grand Council of all the Houses of the North to attend and wishes us to be there, informing the North of our presence.”

 

It didn’t take long for Melisandre to discern the hidden meaning. “War shall come soon, then?”

 

Jon nodded. “Aye. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tywin is already moving forces to the Riverlands to strike us.” Tywin, not Robert - it wasn’t hard to know who truly ruled King’s Landing.

 

Piecing things together, Benjen interjected. “So that’s why you wished for Mance and I to be here. You wish for the Free Folk to journey south to take part of this council.”

 

“Yes,” Daenerys said simply. “They are part of our realm now, and as such the Northern Lords need to get used to the idea of working and trading with them. Mance being at the discussions would smooth that over even if things are… difficult at first.”

 

Stroking his chin, Mance pursed his lips. “Actually, I won’t go.”

 

Several pairs of eyes blinked. “You’d snub their Graces after saving your ass at Hardhome?” Davos asked incredulously.

 

“Not at all, Lord Davos, but my people need me here. I’ll send young Ygritte and Theon to the council with full authority to speak on my behalf.”

 

Looking at his nephew and goodniece, Benjen watched as Dany smirked while Jon seemed to slump in his chair. “Ygritte you say?” Dany remarked. 

 

“Aye, she is settling well into a leadership role, what with the Ironborn husband of hers,” Mance laughed. “Shocks you, doesn’t it, your Grace?” he asked of Jon. Benjen’s nephew rubbed the back of his head, uncomfortable. Oh… I see… Benjen bit back a chuckle… perhaps he and the spearwife had some sort of dalliance, and from the look of amusement on Dany’s face she knew about it.

 

“I’m simply surprised that the hothead I once knew to be Theon Greyjoy was capable of leadership beyond planning trips to the brothel in Wintertown.” That drew laughs all around. “But I’m glad. You’re wishing him to oversee things here at the Nightfort?”

 

“Aye. I’ll also have Tormund accompany them to this Grand Council in my stead. He’ll be bound to ruffle the feathers of those pompous northern lords.”

 

Benjen watched both Jon and Daenerys sport matching grins. “Oh, you have no idea, King Mance,” Dany remarked. “No idea.”


 

Notes:

Longclaw: The Boltons are on the march, and nothing is gonna stand in their way to Winterfell.

Chapter 53: Our Blades are Coming

Summary:

1. After the arrival of the Northern Lords, Arya take Sansa to the forge for a distraction.
2. The Grand Council in the North begins.
3. Walder receives Eddard Stark's reply.
4. Trystane spends some time with his intended.
5. The Bolton's prepare to attack *Trigger Warning - Attempted Sexual Assault*.
6. Lyanna and Rhaegar discuss their future.

Notes:

cmyatt01: Lots happening this chapter! We hope you all enjoy. Again - there is an Attempted Sexual Assault in the Osha section - there is nothing explicit, and I have marked it with a ***. It is only one paragraph so skip this paragraph if this might trigger you.

Rest in Peace Diana Rigg - She truly brought Olenna to life. I know that whenever I am writing her, I always picture her face and voice. She will be missed.

Longclaw: Some awesome stuff coming up.

I'll be sure to tell Cersei that it was you, Queen of Thorns. RIP

CastleColin: Truth always reveals itself in time.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arya CH 53 Section 1

Arya Stark

Truthfully, the novelty of the normally boring atmosphere of Winterfell being livened up by so many new arrivals had worn its welcome for Arya. Robert’s arrival had the dangerous air of all their revelations about Jon and the future. Jon’s return with Daenerys had dragons, a Targaryen goodsister, and an adorable little nephew to welcome. She couldn’t lie and say meeting both Robb and Sansa’s intendeds wasn’t fun for the side benefit of teasing them to no end - namely Robb’s obvious and open infatuation with Margaery Tyrell and Sansa’s obvious and badly hidden crush on Trystane Martell. Plus, the unexpected resurrection of both her Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Rhaegar made Arya simper with glee. I can’t wait to tell Jon.

But the steady arrival of the Northern Lords one by one to Winterfell had killed the excitement of all of this. Apart from the three Mormont sisters bedecked in battle armor, only Sansa’s hand pinching her shoulder kept Arya from yawning or rolling her eyes every minute. I’d rather be water dancing than standing here in the cold… or sleep… or… literally doing anything else. 

“Thank you for your arrival, Lady Barbrey,” her father smiled, ever the courteous host to the latest arrival. One of two and their retinues. 

Tall and graceful in the fierce northern sense, Barbrey Dustin bore a more feminine resemblance to her father - Rodrik Ryswell, not three paces beside her. “I am glad to be in the home of our King,” she said with a tight smile.

“She’s lying,” Arya whispered to Bran, standing beside her. “Rumor has it that our uncle Brandon took her maidenhead and she’s pissed she didn’t marry him… owww.”

“Shhhh,” Sansa scolded. In that, she was just like their mother.

The conversation continued regardless. “I hope your keep hasn’t gotten too crowded,” Lord Rodrik commented, boots crunching on the fresh snow. “With the Tyrells and Martells still here as well as us… gods, Lord Umber needs two rooms - one for him and one for his smells.” That drew laughs from even the most dour of the Stark guards… let alone Arya, who nearly fell to the ground. I like him better than the fucking Glovers. They all looked like someone shoved a stick up their asses and left it there. 

She couldn’t take credit for that jape. Aunt Lyanna came up with that one.

“We rebuilt the old keep. With the resurrection of our crown, certain renovations needed to be made.” Not to mention hiding Aunt Lya and the Targaryens in our guest quarters… Though to be fair she was a Targaryen too, now. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, since you are the second to last to arrive…”

“Oh?” Barbrey interrupted. “And who is left?”

“Roose Bolton.” 

At that, all the Stark children present tensed up. They knew just what that man did in Jon’s past. “He hasn’t arrived?” Arya hissed at Bran.

“I haven’t seen him,” Bran replied back, equally worried. “Sansa…?”

Their sister was pale - white as a ghost. “I’m fine.” She clearly wasn’t.

Ryswell snorted. “That leech cunt? I’m not surprised. Probably wants to arrive late and seize an upper hand in whatever negotiations you are looking for, my King.”

“I can’t wait till he dies and young Domeric takes over. My sister raised him right,” Barbrey said with pride. “Anyways, we can start without him, right?”

“Yes, Lady Barbrey. Tomorrow in the Great Hall…”

As they disappeared into the old keep, Arya grabbed Sansa’s hand - knowing she needed something distracting. “Come with me. I saw something interesting that I think you’ll like.” ‘Like’ was subjective, and even the most disliked thing in Sansa’s mind would be better than the Boltons.

“Why, oh why…?” Sansa coughed loudly. “Did you have to drag me in here? You know perfectly well I hate the stench of burning iron!” In response, her little sister inhaled deeply as if taking in a lungful of fresh air, irritating the Red Wolf even more. “You’re not helping anyone!” Sansa pinched her nose and tried not to gag on the smoke.

Arya merely wrinkled her nose and brushed some soot off her face. She didn’t least mind the grit and grime of Winterfell’s forge - it was her favorite place after the training yard and godswood of the castle. Swordsmithing piqued her interest almost as much as sword fighting despite having no intention of actually crafting one herself. It also didn’t hurt that the blacksmith on view was a feast for the eyes. But she’d never say that aloud, or Sansa would never let her hear the end of it.

“Suck it up, Sans.” Arya reached onto the table and lifted one of Gendry’s freshly-forged blades. She swung the rapier around her head to test its weight. “Perfectly balanced, as all swords should be,” she commented as she placed it back down. Nudging her sister to pay attention, she watched Gendry pounding his hammer away at another sword on his anvil. The deafening clang of metal on metal was music to her ears, but Sansa winced with every strike.

“Done!” Gendry paused to wipe the sweat off his brow. Chest heaving from his exertions, he flashed a smile at the Stark sisters. “It took all morning to do - Syrio was insistent only the finest rapiers for his most committed students.” He plunged the sword in gloved hand into the slack tub, the water steaming as the superheated steel hissed on contact. Joining its siblings, Gendry laid the rapier on the wooden table for Arya and Sansa to inspect.

The three Braavosi swords, though not Valyrian steel, were nonetheless crafted from prime castle-forged steel. Designed after Arya’s Needle, each varied in the length of their blades from the longest for Catelyn and the shortest for Rickon. Sansa’s rapier was almost an exact replica of Needle from tip to pommel. “Have a look, sister.” Arya gently picked up Rickon’s sword and giggled at how small it was.

Wiping her nose on her sleeve - very unladylike - Sansa gingerly took hold of her rapier. “It’s much sharper up close,” she noted, carefully eying the cutting edges. She pricked her thumb on the tip of the blade. “The ‘pointy end’ is an understatement,” she muttered. A tiny bubble of blood swelled from where her thumb was pierced.

Gendry’s eyes widened in remembrance. Shucking off his gloves, he snapped his fingers. “Mikken! Have you the scabbards for the new swords?” Winterfell’s aging blacksmith was tidying up their workspace after the busy morning. Slightly hunched from hours hunched over an anvil, he was still a hardy workaholic of iron and steel.

“Just a moment, my lad.” Mikken reached into a massive chest that contained the smithing equipment. Rummaging through its contents, he pulled out three slim iron sheathes. The scabbards’ midsections were painted with the direwolf’s head of House Stark. Mikken passed them to Gendry, who inserted Catelyn and Rickon’s blades into theirs before handing Sansa hers.

Arya beamed at Gendry. “Thank you for your hard work. I do believe we’ll find these quite useful very soon.” Not a moment too late . If what she suspected about the Lord of the Dreadfort was true, Syrio had approved her family for real duels when it mattered most.

Sansa’s face was written with grim determination. Quite the opposite from her usual cheery carefree self. “If that bastard dares so much as to lay a finger on me…” She clenched her sheathed sword tight. Arya knew well who her sister was referring to, but she let the moment pass. Sansa still experienced bouts of panic, in spite of her new skill at arms.

“You like it, Princess?” Sansa was snapped out of her brooding by Gendry’s anxious voice. Arya snickered inwardly - her ‘Stupid Bull’ was so eager to please. She watched Sansa spread her lips in a half-smile. “Oh, it’s marvelous. I much appreciate your handiwork.” The rugged blacksmith’s face flooded with relief.

“Well, if you like that…” He turned to a rack on the wall and took down two more swords. “Check out what I crafted in the last moon for your half-brother.” Sansa’s eyes grew wide as saucers upon Gendry drawing the swords from their scabbards. Arya too, marveled at the Valyrian steel blades, rippling waves running down their smoky grey lengths. The longsword with the dragon head pommel had a blood-red sheen when tilted to catch the light, while its direwolf headed twin possessed a sheen of icy blue.

While Sansa peppered Gendry with questions on how he forged Jon’s swords, Mikken tapped Arya on her shoulder. “I almost forgot until you walked in today. Your father wanted you to have this. The hilt is made of dragonbone.” He handed Arya a sheathed dagger with a curved blade and a hilt polished smooth. Wrinkling her nose in puzzlement, she took the weapon and drew it. A gasp escaped her throat as she recognized it. “Sansa!”

The elder Stark excused herself and turned to her sibling. “What is it?” Her eyes fell on the dagger. “Oh, my gods.” Both sisters stared at the rippled hue of the Valyrian steel. This was the same dagger that Littlefinger’s catspaw used to almost murder Bran in Jon’s past. 

Mikken, noticing the astonishment on their faces, cleared his throat. “His Grace informed me this dagger was used by some assassins Cersei Lannister sent after you two last year.” His face darkened. “Your father was most displeased to hear that from Luwin.” With that said, he went back to work dousing the fire in the furnace.

Arya mulled over her new sidearm as she and Sansa left the forge. It complimented Needle nicely and would prove invaluable in very tight quarters. "The best swords all have names. What will yours be, Sans?” She toyed with the dagger while her sister mused over the question.

Sansa rattled her rapier in its scabbard. Gendry had offered to watch it for her along with her mother and Rickon’s, but she decided to keep it by her side. Good choice, sis. With the Boltons’ whereabouts unknown, it was the wiser decision. “Hmm. House Corbray’s ancestral Valyrian steel sword is Lady Forlorn , ” Sansa recalled. “My blade shall be Lady Winter . Honors my direwolf and my house.”

Arya shrugged her shoulders. “Elegant and deadly, I suppose. Hey, do you think father will tell the lords that Cersei sent catspaws after us?” 

Sansa smirked. “No doubt, Arry. What better way to persuade them to go to war with that Southron King Robert? By the way, that’s a good name for that dagger.”

‘Catspaws?’ Arya unsheathed the Valyrian steel again. No, ‘Catspaw.’

“I like it,” She smiled. “Now come on. I believe Trystane will be impressed by his bride’s needlework.” 

The Red Wolf howled with laughter as the Wild Wolf amusingly looked on.


Lyanna T Chapter 53 Section 2

Lyanna Targaryen

“I hate this,” Lyanna murmured, stealing a deep kiss as soon as the words left her mouth. “I hate what they think of you, my love.” Her hands ghosted tenderly over her husband’s chest.

Rhaegar pressed his lips against her forehead - warmth spread from the patch of skin. “Such is the world we live in, Lya. I lost at the Trident. Robert won. History is written by the victor. We simply have to live with the hole I dug for us.” Lyanna wanted to berate him, hating how Rhaegar kept blaming himself for the sins of Robert and Tywin Lannister, but he spoke again before she could. “Your brother shall declare to the world the truth, so we should make do with that.”

She sighed, eyes hardening. “Robert will fall… even if I have to kill him myself, he will fall.”

He chuckled, hugging her close. “That’s my she-wolf.”

“I still wish you could sit with me. You’re a Prince. My husband. You deserve to sit at the head of the hall with your wife.”

“Soon, Lya. Very soon.” Rhaegar kissed her once more. “I love you.”

Lya smiled. “I love you too.” She had many regrets in her life… loving and marrying Rhaegar Targaryen wasn’t one of them. “As soon as you can, you come and sit beside me. I’m not asking, Rhaegar.”

Nodding his head, a grin spread on Rhaegar’s face. “Mmm… I do like it when your wolfsblood comes out. Keep it up for tonight.” At his lascivious glint in his indigo eyes, Lyanna chuckled and swatted him on the chest.

Pulling the fur cloak tighter over her body, Lyanna looked over at her older brother - her much older brother by the jape of the gods. Unlike the keeps south of the Neck, Winterfell had the sturdy Northern design meant to trap any heat within its thick walls. And yet, it was much colder than Lyanna remembered for an autumn… an almost malevolent cold, considering what she knew about Aegon’s goals. Old Nan’s stories… all true… Lyanna shivered, though this specific time wasn’t from the chill.

“Nervous?” she heard Ned ask her, placing his hand comfortingly on her forearm. “I don’t think anyone can put two and two together, curious looks nonetheless.”

Eyes flickering to the rest of the great hall, the gathered Lords of the North were spaced out on the tables. All houses but House Bolton and the coming wildlings represented by either the liege or one of their family members designated to represent them. Lyanna did spot some of the Lords looking at her. Peering gazes as if trying to pinpoint a memory. “Both Lord Manderly and Lord Glover’s brother.”

“I remember he tried to ask father for your hand… after father got through with him, Robett’s face was as red as a radish.” Both Starks giggled at the comical memory from their childhood… before all the chaos and horror gripped the Realm. “Never stood a chance did he?”

“No one did… except the dragon.” Her gaze flickered to the table where the Martells and their retinue rested, adjacent to the Tyrells and rather… conspicuously ignored by the northmen. Centuries of isolation at work. Among his former goodfamily sat Rhaegar, cowl over his head and trying not to speak to anyone, though Oberyn sometimes coaxed a few words from him. Lyanna’s heart did a little catch just looking at her husband. Father was right, it was time for House Stark to end its isolation… if only he knew of their love. The Crown Prince was a far better match than Robert Baratheon could ever be.

Both sat at the head table, Lyanna at the place of honor at Ned’s right. To his left sat Margaery Tyrell - nominally still a Tyrell, the betrothal had been finalized and her status as the future Lady Stark gave her legitimacy. Lyanna felt she’d be a good Lady of Winterfell one day. 

Her nieces and nephews were also there, Sansa and Bran on her side while Arya and Rickon were to Margaery’s left. Fussing, Rickon drew Arya’s attention to help him keep still. Lyanna was so reminded of Benjen at that age, Lya forced many times to keep him still. I missed out on so much.

Just as Ned stood, Lya’s eyes met Rhaegar’s. He shot her a quick smile, violet eyes glimmering even many yards away. The simple glimmer of love banished the cold from her body.

“King in the North!” bellowed the Lords, swords drawn and pointed to the ceiling in a classically Northern greeting. A true King of Winter didn’t mandate one bend the knee unless swearing an actual oath of fealty.

"Greetings, my Lords," Ned began. "Welcome to Winterfell. It is my honor to host you again under better circumstances." 

“No rapist lionspawn here, yer’ Grace!” shouted Rickard Karstark, showing his disdain for the late Joffrey Baratheon by spitting on the ground. “Only proud Northmen ruling the North as it should be… and our southern guests,” he cast a look at the Martells and Tyrells… conceit in his eyes. Lyanna sighed… if only for his coming from her womb would Jon win over these men.

Ned, surprisingly, afforded quite the diplomatic air. “Your enthusiasm for our kingdom is greatly appreciated, Lord Karstark. However, we have many things to discuss that pertains to our future in the world we live in. Winter is coming, quicker than expected, and as King Eddard, Third of my Name, I brought this council together to afford a greater seal of approval to the actions we must take.”

Still sitting - probably unable to rise easily because of his girth - Wyman Manderly cleared his throat. “While this autumn is colder than the maesters expected, I see not the reason you called this council evident on that alone, your Grace. Is it presumptuous of me to ask you to elaborate?’

“Not at all, Lord Manderly.” Looking down at Lya, she nodded. Granting him assent to begin the first of the major reveals to his bannermen. “Within the last moon, over thirty thousand wildlings were transported south of the Wall to join the five thousand already settling the Gift.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I have on my authority as King in the North to grant them unused land in Alysanne’s Gift, as well as negotiating an alliance via my son, Prince Jon, and my ward, Theon Greyjoy. They will be arriving within the week to join this council.”

One could hear a pin drop in the great hall… at least for several moments. When the uproar started, it was like a dragon’s rage.

The northmen were infamous for rowdiness and out-of-control displays of temper, but the vitriol that was hurled at Ned stung in Lyanna’s ears like no other.

“TRAITOR!” 

“SAVAGE!” 

“NO KING OF MINE!” 

Those were the least colorful insults that rang out across the Great Hall, mostly from the Karstarks, Flints, Cerwyns, and Glovers. Interestingly, the Umbers appeared amused by the cacophony. Greatjon leaned over to whisper in his son, Smalljon’s ear, to which both burly men laughed uproariously over the shouting. Lord Wyman also looked unperturbed by the ruckus, simply sighing and rubbing his bulging gut - Lya remembered it being smaller but no less rotund. That whale couldn’t stop eating if his life depended on it.

Yet one family’s verbal assaults drew a particular wince from the Starks.“The Ironborn scum have invaded our home! They hold our mother prisoner! You did nothing when we sent a raven!” the eldest Mormont sister yelled. Dacey. Lyanna faintly remembered her from the fateful tourney at Harrenhal all those years ago, back when they had been friends. She smiled fondly at the memory. The Knight of the Laughing Tree had been the She-Bear’s idea.

“You care more about wildling degenerates than your own people!” Lyanna didn’t recognize the middle Mormont sister, yet she was every bit as fierce as her elder. The anomaly was their youngest sibling. Not much older than Bran, she sat quiet and stoic, her iron gaze fixed unblinking on Ned. Although across the hall, Lyanna could feel the firm disapproval in her stare.

Lyanna ground her teeth at the Glovers’ unabashed impertinence. Galbart and Robett traded turns seeing which of them could call her brother the worst name imaginable. Occasionally they threw in a complaint of ironborn raids on their shores, but all she could think of was skinning them alive. 

Her beleaguered brother was trying and failing to calm his bannermen. She could tell he desperately wanted to explain himself, but the wolfsblood had infected them all. Glancing to her right, Sansa and Bran merely watched the commotion with a calm, almost bored expression. When she turned to her left, Margaery was trying to restrain Arya and Rickon, both bouncing in their chairs. Arya had a wild fire in her snarling eyes that so uncannily resembled her own wolfish fury.

Still under his hood, Rhaegar remained silent and motionless. Next to him, Oberyn was failing to help Ned restore a semblance of order. “Please, my Lords. As someone soon kin to House Stark by marriage and with the same threats on our borders as yours have, now is the time for alliance, not infighting.”

“Pipe down, Martell,” Rickard Karstark belted out. Wiry and cold, he was a hard man even in his younger days. “You and the flower knights should scurry back to your tourneys and perfumed brothels and leave Northern heirs to northern spouses!”

Sipping at a cup of wine, Ellaria Sand gave Lord Karstark a sidelong look. “In my opinion, your brothels could use a little perfume.”

Olenna Tyrell scoffed, looking up at the Lord of Karhold standing only feet away from her. “Lady Sand, it’s Lord Rickard here that needs perfume. I can smell you even with these ancient nostrils.” Lyanna saw Margaery covering her mouth, fighting back a giggle. Arya took after her aunt, the both of them not fighting them back.

He flushed a deep red. “You scraggly old cunt…”

“What’s the matter? Can dish it out but can’t take it, and who are you to call me a ‘scraggly old cunt?’ Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Beside her, Loras doubled over, while Mace’s face drew a scandalous expression. Adding to Karstark’s humiliation, the loud Umbers began pelting him with similar japes.

In spite of the scuffle, most of the northern lords and ladies ignored the southroners as they continued to loudly air their grievances at Ned. Try as she might, Lyanna couldn’t stop her rapidly rising temper - her blood was boiling and she was seeing a red haze. Who were they to speak to Ned this way? How ungrateful could they be? Out of all of them, only Howland Reed and the Mormonts - who had a legitimate grievance - were worth any salt.

“My Lords!” Ned roared over the commotion. It was obvious to Lyanna he was doing his best to restrain himself from saying anything undiplomatic. “I hold no love for the wildlings, but honor demands us to allow them life. For if they remained North of the Wall, they’d all die at the hands of the Ice King and white walkers.”

Robett Glover bellowed out a laugh. “Now you’re talking nursery tales, your Grace. What’s next, another Andal invasion? Are House Mudd or House Hoare joining them?”

Ned’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue, my Lord. You’re speaking to your King.” 

At this point though, everyone was far too riled up to draw back. “We declared you King so you would uphold your oath to fight for us, and what do you do? Betray your oath as a King by letting Wildings south of the Wall. I suppose it was only too easy since you broke the oath of marriage when you sired that bastard of yours.”

A vein twitched in Ned’s head, as Lyanna clenched her fists. Even in the corner, Rhaegar looked up at Lord Glover, glowering under his cowl. “Don’t speak of Jon that way, you… you… stupid old cunt!” Arya shouted, springing out of her seat.

What would be fighting words from anyone else merely made Glover roll his eyes. “Sit down, little girl,” Lord Flint joined in. “Let the adults speak.” Before Ned could come to defense of his daughter, Flint continued. “I heard that Lord Frey offered to pay a handsome sum in silver for that bastard to marry one of his daughters. That could pay for enough arms to fight the wildlings when they betray us and feed ourselves for the Winter, but I suppose you love the useless bastard more than your own bannermen.”

“As you all know, I will not force any of my children into marriages they do not have a choice in!” Ned roared. “Prince Jon has already taken a wife and sired a child on her!”

“We heard word that he had married some wildling whore,” Lord Umber spat. “His marriage probably wasn’t even blessed by the old gods!”

Hearing Arya shed all decorum in vehement defense of her father and brother, hearing her own son spoken of in such insulting terms, galvanized the she-wolf before anyone else could speak. 

“ENOUGH!” 

Her voice booming like a dragon’s roar, Lyanna abruptly stood and yanked off her hood. Her rich brown locks flowed over her shoulders, and her iron-grey orbs shone resolutely. The uproar died instantly as everyone gaped with the shock of a thunderbolt. Of her family, Sansa, Margaery, and Rickon looked surprised. Ned and Bran were silent, while Arya and her husband looked… impressed. “Lya,”  her brother murmured under his breath, but she shook him off, glaring daggers at the assembled lords.

It was old Wyman Manderly that first managed to speak. “Forgive me, my Lady, but it’s been bothering me since I came here. Who exactly are you? I can at least understand Lady Margaery as the future Princess, but what gives you the right to sit next to his Grace?” 

“She definitely has the Stark look… Maybe his Grace has a second bastard he never told us about.” She heard another lord’s voice echo throughout the room.

Breathing deeply, Lya gave one last murderous glare in the direction of Flint and Glover before looking at Rhaegar. Nodding her head. Her husband tilted his head, as if asking for confirmation - she nodded again, and he complied. Resigning from his seat, Rhaegar walked slowly to the head table and sat in an empty chair between Lya and Sansa, cowl still over his bowed head.

Lord Karstark had recovered from his humiliation. “Who the fuck is this?”

Lyanna ignored him, looking back at Lord Manderly. “I am Lady Lyanna...” she caught herself before she blurted out her last name, fearing it might be too much for the moment, “and believe it is my right, Lord Manderly, considering I am the sister to his Grace, that I have a seat at the head table.” 

Her words had effectively silenced the room. 

She took her husband’s hand and then turned her piercing gaze towards Lord Flint. How dare he even suggest my son marry one of vile Lord Walder’s offspring. “And I don’t appreciate the insults directed towards my son.”

The room was still silent as Lyanna Targaryen glared at the lord who had insulted her only child. She could feel the older man’s eyes studying her, it was clear he was trying to make sense of what she had just proclaimed. 

Lyanna could feel all the other eyes in the room silently studying her as well. Within moments, the whispers started.

“Pardon me, my lady,” a young girl’s voice rang out from the other side of the room. The voice was firm, powerful, and polished but still held a childlike innocence. 

The Great Hall again went silent.

The strength behind the voice caused the lost daughter of House Stark to pull her eyes from Lord Flint and look towards where the powerful young voice had come from. Lyanna was surprised to see the youngest of the Mormont sisters, standing up from her seat. “Yes, my lady,” Lyanna replied, her brow furrowed, curious as to what the young girl had to say.

“You say you are the King’s sister. But that cannot be,” the young girl proclaimed incredulously as her eyes studied her intently. “I was taught that long ago my name sake, Lady Lyanna Stark, was taken, raped and murdered at the hands of Silver Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen.” Inwardly, Lya winced at this, but had prepared to hear it. “She never married and she never had a child. So, what I do not understand is how can you claim to be a woman who died nearly eighteen years ago and that you are the mother to the King’s bastard? Even if you were the King’s sister, why do you appear to be no more than eighteen name days?”

Lyanna was taken aback - this fiery little bear had been named after her and she could not believe the passion this young child held for the Starks and the North. Nevertheless, the young Lyanna had confirmed her fears even more. The entire North believed the terrible lies spread by Robert Baratheon… and Ned had been powerless to stop them. He had had no choice but to allow the lies to spread in order to keep her son alive.  How was she to explain to them the truth of both the past and her resurrection?

The murmurs of the gathered Lords and Ladies began once more. 

“Lady Lyanna,” Lyanna addressed the girl. Thankfully the murmurs again ceased, “I can promise you, I never laid with my brother and I was not taken by Prince Rhaegar... Prince Rhaegar saved me from a life of being nothing but Robert Baratheon’s broodmare.”

“My sister is right!” Dacey Mormont declared, standing from her bench and passionately continued with the spirit of her warrior nature. “The North went to war to help bring Lady Lyanna home, but our King found her too late. All that is left of his sister are her bones in the crypts below this very keep. Why should we believe...”  Suddenly there was a flash in her eyes, Lya’s former friend gasping as she met her gaze. Her face began to pale as though she was looking at a ghost. “Lya,” she breathed out, finally putting together the memory with the reality.

“Aye,” Lyanna answered. Rhaegar gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s me… the rider you obtained a lance at the tourney for.” Her friend trembled, rocked by the revelation.

“Impossible!” Robett Glover wasn’t buying this. “I can’t fathom what kind of mummery is this...”

“I assure you, this is no mummery. I am the same girl you tried to kiss in the godswood when I was ten and two.”

Lord Robett eyes widened. Shock was easy to see etched on his face. “How?” He breathed out after several heartbeats.  They were the only two who knew about that incident because when asked, he had told everyone he got the black eye after slipping on a stone next to one of the hot springs, when in reality it had come from her fist. “You are dead. I saw Eddard bring your bones North.” 

“I was dead,” Lyanna confirmed. “But now I am alive. We live in a strange time. A time when strange magic has caused the dead north of the Wall to stir. A time that has somehow sent direwolves south of the Wall and returned dragons to the world… and somehow this magic has breathed live back into my bones.”

“White Walkers are just a nursemaid tale told to children to make them sleep and dragons? The return of dragons is naught but a rumor, spread by the southern King and the Lannisters to try and regain control of the North!” Lord Manderly called.

Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the room.

Seven hells, now is not the time for this! Lyanna wanted to scream as she chose more diplomatic words “I can assure you, my lords and ladies! Dragons have returned to this world and an army of dead beings lies just beyond the Wall… and it is only a matter of time before I can prove to you this is true.”

As she spoke, she felt many eyes begin to study her intently. It was clear they were searching for truth to her words. They think I am crazy. Gods, I wish Rhaegar could call his dragon and silence these pompous arses but now is not the time . The Great Hall remained quiet, so she decided to begin her tale once more. “As I was saying, Rhaegar saved me. I left a letter at Riverrun, stating I would never allow myself to be sold to the whoremonger Robert Baratheon. I said I had to follow my heart, and that it belonged to Rheagar… and my heart belonged to him.” 

Lyanna then squeezed her husband’s hand, silently telling him to stand.

“After I left Riverrun, I met up with Rheagar and his guards at a grove of weirwood trees by the God’s Eye. That is where Ser Arthur Dayne officiated my wedding ceremony under the watchful eyes of the Old Gods.” 

The room erupted in gasps and all eyes snapped to the Red Viper. His face remained stoic and unreadable. 

The She-Wolf continued her story. She needed them to know the truth. “After we wed, we made our way to Dragonstone. It was not long after we arrived, I learned I was with child. Elia was ecstatic for us. However, a short time later, we received news of the deaths of my father and oldest brother at the hand of King Aerys… Elia then suggested we would be safer away from Dragonstone and so we sailed to Dorne. While we traveled south, Elia came up with a plan for everyone’s happiness. She wished to annul her marriage to Rhaegar, so our marriage and child would be seen as legitimate under the eyes of the new gods.”

The shouting then started.

“Why would you spread such lies!” 

“Princess Elia never would have suggested such an arrangement. She would never allow her children to be cast aside.”

“The Dornish would have never allowed Princess Elia to be disgraced like that!”

“That is correct, Dorne would never allow Elia to be disgraced,” Prince Oberyn proclaimed from where he stood in the back of the room. “And would never allow Rheagar to disinherit Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys.”

Lyanna was at a loss for words. Oberyn had told them Doran had entrusted him the truth. She did not understand why he would go back on his word now.

“And I can tell you… My sister was never disgraced by Prince Rhaegar or Princess Lyanna… And Rhaegar never disinherited the children he had with my sister. What the Lady speaks is the truth. My brother was a witness to her union with Prince Rhaegar and then helped the couple to hide in an abandoned tower in the Red Mountains while Elia returned to Dragonstone to retrieve her children, who had been under the care of their grandmother, Queen Rhaella. She had planned to return to Dorne with the children and marry the man she loved. But that did not happen” 

The Red Viper then took a deep breath and opened a small wooden box he had placed on the table in front of him. He removed an old scroll. “Elia sent this letter to Doran, telling him King Aerys discovered her plan to leave Dragonstone and demanded she and the children come to King’s Landing… And not to worry because Ser Jaime had promised to keep her and the children protected at Rhaegar’s request… She promised she would make her way to Dorne as soon as she could escape. She was never able to escape…” Oberyn then met her eyes before moving them to her husband, who stood beside her. “I can assure you all, my family does not hold Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna accountable for the deaths of my sister and her children.” 

“Why would you hide the truth for all these years?” one of the Lords demanded.

“What was the point of telling the truth?” Oberyn said nonchalantly. “Elia was dead. Her children were dead. Lady Lyanna had died and my brother believed the rightful heir died with her.”

“King Eddard? Why would you tell the realm Jon Snow was your son? Why did not proclaim him the rightful King when you arrived in King’s Landing?”

“You heard what happened when Tywin Lannister presented the bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon to Robert!” Lyanna cried, not allowing her brother to answer. “He cheered! Commended the man who ordered the murder of two innocent babes! With my dying breath, I begged my brother to protect my son from Robert! If Robert knew the truth he would have murdered my son as well!” 

“How do we know that Dorne will not attack the North for revenge,” another lord Lyanna did not know the name of yelled out.

“If Dorne held the North accountable, we would have attacked the moment Doran suspected the truth of Jon Snow’s true parentage. I assure you, Dorne does not blame Prince Rhaegar or Princess Lyanna for the deaths of my sister and her children… Their deaths were at the hands of the Mad King and the orders of Tywin Lannister. Dorne will stand with the woman Elia considered family… and her husband… The spears of Donre are yours Princess Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar,” Oberyn declared as he gestured towards her and her husband.

“Thank you, Prince Oberyn,” Rhaegar replied as he lowered his hood. “I thank you for bringing to light Robert’s perfidy.”

While shock was still the order of the day, reactions were more immediate this time. “Rhaegar Targaryen!” bellowed Lord Umber. “Gods, had I known you’d been here only a day before, you’d meet the sharp end of my sword.”

“As if you could take me on, Lord Umber. Your house may reputedly be half-giant, but even a giant burns when set aflame.” Lya bit her lip, waiting on bated breath for the Lord of Last Hearth to respond.

Staring, slowly Greatjon’s lips curled into a grin. “Charm worthy of a northern lass, and fiery spirit to boot.” He threw back his head and bellowed out a laugh. “No wonder only one of ours could stand all that heat!” 

One by one, the laughter spread. From the Umbers to the Manderlys - Lord Wyman’s belly jostling - to the Mormonts and the Tallharts… even Lord Karstark allowed himself a chuckle, tension dissipating into pure mirth as they let the anger and bitterness of a generation die before the altar of truth. Lya beamed, leaning up to kiss Rhaegar’s cheek, which drew Arya pounding on the table and whistling. It was picked up by many.

“Your Grace.” As the laughter died down, Dacey Mormont rose again. “If all of this happened… Why did it spread that our lady was kidnapped? Those that knew her…” She bit her lip, gazing at her old friend apologetically. “Felt she couldn’t have suffered so, but after Lord Brandon’s death… there seemed no alternative.”

Looking at the two of them, Ned sighed. “We don’t know. My sister apparently left my brother a letter for him to read, to explain everything.”

“And one to Robert.” Lyanna hadn’t told this to anyone. Not Rhaegar, not Ned, but she disclosed it now while Rhaegar still held her hand tightly. “I sent one to him in the Vale by raven, hoping he’d get the hint and realize he’d never have me.”

“So it was that fat bastard’s fault!” Arya shouted. “He got my uncle killed! He raised that monster that nearly raped my sister!” There was no stopping her even if the elder Starks wanted her to.

“The She-Wolf is right!” yelled Greatjon. “We betrayed Lady Lyanna and her son over a lie of Robert fucking Baratheon!” He grabbed an axe he kept by his side and smacked the flat end on the table - sound echoing through the great hall. “War!”

Dacey Mormont did the same with her mace. “War!” 

Rising ponderously, Wyman Manderly smacked his breastplate. “War!”

The cry rang in Lyanna’s ears, a cry of vengeance that burned through the North for nearly two decades as yet unfulfilled. “WAR!”

 


CH 53 Section 3 Walder Frey

Walder Frey

 

 

Lord Walder,

After careful deliberation, I have decided to accede to your offer to return my wife in exchange for handing over Moat Cailin to the auspices of House Frey. My son and heir, Prince Robb, shall be waiting at the aforementioned castle with my signed and sealed decree for my queen’s safe return. Please send her with all haste as winter is coming.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North

The Lord of the Twins grinned mightily. All was going according to plan. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt a triumph like this since he collected his first toll. The merchant was hauling such a large load of Arbor red that he was able to squeeze the poor chap for all the wine would sell for. Ah, the cold, hard glory of gold.

Shoving his empty pie pan aside, he snapped his fingers at a serving girl and ordered her to bring in his sons. She scurried out of the great hall faster than a cat after a mouse. He chortled at her skittishness. Really, how dangerous was he?

“You summoned us, Father?” Black Walder inquired upon entrance. Behind him, Lothar limped in, dragging his twisted leg on the floor. 

“Shut up, boy.” Walder motioned for the serving wench to refill his goblet. After taking a long draught of Arbor gold, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. He gargled and coughed. The wine was of poor fermenting and stuck going down. His sons waited impatiently for him to stop hacking. Finally able to take a satisfying breath, Walder addressed them.

“King Eddard has agreed to give me Moat Cailin in return for his trout wife. You two will take her north for the swap. Be quick about it.” The letter was thrust into Black Walder’s hands. Lothar leaned on his brother’s shoulder for a better look. Neither of them looked pleased at the arrangement.

“Father, Moat Cailin is a ruined husk,” Black Walder protested. “Tis but a bare three towers that lie on no fertile soil. There is no great wealth the land can provide us.”

“Indeed,” Lothar agreed. “This is a poor bargain on our part - a queen for broken stones. Wouldn’t it be more shrewd to insist on that betrothal between Jon Snow and one of our sisters?”

Walder scoffed at their dimwittedness. Moat Cailin was the gateway to the North. In his hands, it’d be a dagger pointed at Winterfell. Ned Stark would think twice about spurning his house again if he didn’t want southern armies in his lands.

“Of course, ya brainless boys wouldn’t know.” He snatched the letter back. “With that ancient fortress in my hands, our house has full control over the Neck.” A greedy glint shone in his eyes. “Merchants, hedge knights, travelers - all will have to pay double to cross our territory. Mark my words, House Frey will grow rich as those pompous Lannisters and perfumed Hightowers. No one shall cross us if they know what’s good for them."

Walder examined his sons’ faces, which now held the understanding of his cunning. “Brilliant now that I see.” No doubt. “However, are you certain this is not some trap? I don’t think the King in the North took kindly to his queen being used as a bargaining chip.” Lothar bit his lip and rubbed his bad leg. Black Walder laughed and slapped him on the back. “Oh brother, they always said you were the smart one. Hostages are the oldest practice among us highborn. Lords and ladies have always been haggled over like fish in the market.”

“Quite right, boy,” Walder said. “Besides, Ned Stark is the most honorable fool in the Seven Kingdoms. No oath will he break, no matter how measly.” Lothar still looked unconvinced. Frustrated with his skepticism, Walder sighed noisily. “If you’re really that scared the wolf will bite you, I’ll throw him a bone. Let Prince Robb know that if his father agrees to my betrothal request, I’ll pay triple the bride’s weight in silver.”

“Jon Snow doesn’t strike me as fond of coins,” Lothar replied hesitantly.

“You’ve never even seen the bastard!” Black Walder sneered. “Besides, money always wins minds. You just need the right price.”

Not wanting a bickering match in his presence - it upset his digestion terribly - Walder dismissed his sons. Better they take it outside. “My decision stands! You both will escort Catelyn Tully north on the morrow to collect my prize.” His flinty stare directed at Lothar. “Take four score men with you to discourage Robb Stark from reneging on the deal. Now git along.”

After his sons exited the hall, Walder leaned back in his high chair and sighed in content. One down, one to go. Old Hoster must recognize the Trident’s new master if he wants his heir back. That prospect looked more and more unlikely though. Despite Tywin’s decree, the Lord of Riverrun had called his banners in defiance of him.

Eh, no matter. He motioned for his server to pour him another wine. Let the “Rains of Castamere” be sung and the Trout join the Red Lion in the seven hells.


 

Ch 53 Section 4 Trystane

Trystane Martell

“That was a lively session,” Trystane told the northern Princess, her hand hooking onto the loop of his arm. “Are Northerners always so… lively?”

“Normally, yes,” replied Sansa. “I’m more cultured in southern ways than most… the average highborn here is far more like Arya.”

Trystane smirked at his future - hopefully - intended. “I wouldn’t consider you a southern maiden, not while wearing that.” His eyes flickered to the breeches and tight training shirt underneath her cloak… well-stitched and not stained as Arya’s and Rickon’s always were, but nowhere near the perfumed, silk finery that populated feasts in the Reach, Vale, and Riverlands.

A frown marred Sansa’s face… honestly making her all the more attractive. “I would think a Dornishman wouldn’t begrudge women who aren’t traditional maidens… or those that are more lively than formal.” A hint of a smirk ghosted across her face. “I mean, rumors have it that your uncle’s paramour has already worked her way through half of the Wintertown brothel.”

Warned she would be a wallflower, Trystane was impressed at Sansa’s… maturity. “You’d make a good Dornish Princess, Princess Sansa. Bright as well as beautiful.” While she did blush slightly, her gaze didn’t change, tilting her head and waiting for an answer. “My aunt is on the more excessive end, but I’ll allow you that. However, we Dornish accede to at least the appearance of propriety. You northerners play to different rules entirely.”

“I see nothing wrong with that, Prince Trystane.” The sun setting behind the western horizon, Trystane allowed his lady love to guide him into the courtyard, ghastly cold nipping at his skin. “You know, Prince Trystane, my cousin’s bride can match him in the combat arts.”

His eyebrow raised. “Targaryens have a history of warrior queens… birthing them or marrying them in the case of Rhaegar.”

“Not just Targaryens.” Eyes twinkling, Sansa reached for a training sword out of the barrel - twirling it in hand. “I’ve learned quite a lot from my dancing master, Syrio Forel. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from a Dornish fighter.”

He grinned, liking where she was going. “Perhaps you can.” Trystane went over to the side of the courtyard to the barrel of practice arms. He drew a longsword from it, the blade dulled and tip blunted. It wasn’t the curved scimitar that was the norm in Dorne, but he could manage.

Sansa stood near the center of the yard, her training rapier drawn at her side. Her penetratingly playful gaze remained trained on him as he took up a fighting stance across from her. In Dornish style, he crouched, knees bent, with his blade angled up toward Sansa’s torso. Smoothly, she aligned her body to him side-on, one foot in front of the other. Her rapier reached out straight as an arrow at his chest.

Only having an inkling about Water Dancing, Trystane chose to let his intended make the first move. “You first, my lady,” he called out, muscles tense in reaction. The wry smile on her face unnerved him. Seconds passed… She didn’t even blink, her hypnotic blue orbs staring seemingly blank at his brown ones. He shifted uncomfortably.

At that moment, Sansa struck. So fast did she move that he couldn’t raise his sword to block hers. Forced to bend over backwards, he watched the polished steel of her blade pass over his face. Caught off guard, he dropped to the ground and rolled to put distance between them then flipped to his feet.

The Red Wolf pressed her offense. Trystane found himself hard-pressed to keep up with the precision and deceptive speed of Sansa’s swordplay. The rapier’s superior length allowed her thrusts to reach him in the fraction of time it took for his longsword to slash. Only his nimble footwork and quick reflexes, honed by hours of sparring with his uncle, saved him from being skewered.

The Martell spare countered furiously - slashing and slicing - trying to close the distance stubbornly holding him at bay. He batted Sansa’s sword aside and went for her stomach… only to retreat when she swiftly brought her sword tip up to his chin.

“If you were Dornish, I’d swear you were my uncle’s daughter,” Trystane remarked, panting hard. He circled her warily, eying her as a viper would a mouse.

“A bastard? How dare you,” Sansa replied, feigning offense. She jabbed at his legs before pushing hard off her back foot.

Trystane slipped to the side and swung for her head. Swift as a whip, his sword was deflected, and he again had to back out of reach. Parrying another stab from Sansa, he noticed a shift in her fighting style - she no longer drew back with each strike. Unable to sidestep, he was pushed back and back, forced onto the purely defensive.

The wolf snapped and the viper reared. Making a last desperate attempt, Trystane swung up and knocked Sansa’s blade into the air. Try as he might, the longsword just couldn’t match the rapier for speed. Sansa recovered and rapidly thrust at his knees, stomach, and chest in quick succession.

Trystane felt his back press up against cold stone. Backed against the wall of the yard, he felt the tip of Sansa’s rapier at his neck. Breathing hard, he met her eyes, sparkling with mischief.

“Yield?” She asked.

“Yield,” he said.

Both dropping their practice swords, Trystane wiped sweat off his brow and whistled. “That was impressive. What I knew of Water Dancing, I see now how little I really did.” He smiled at Sansa. “Next time, I’ll use a spear. That extra length of your blade did half the work for you.”

“It’s just from practice,” Sansa blushed. “Challenge Arya, spear or not, and you’ll truly know a Water Dancing master.”

“Oh, how do you know your betrothed hasn’t already?”

Sansa whirled around in surprise. “Syrio?!” The Braavosi swordmaster was walking out onto the yard, slowly clapping his hands. Trystane had seen Syrio Forel from time to time. Usually at meals, but occasionally when he was training Sansa, Arya, and Rickon. 

“My dear disciple,” Syrio chuckled. “I recommend judging your skill by your progress, not on how you measure up to another. From what I’ve witnessed, you’ve grown most excellent in what I’ve imparted to you and your siblings.”

Trystane felt a swell of pride at Sansa’s praise. “I agree wholeheartedly,” he said.

“I’m pleased, my prince,” Syrio stated. “You’ve the smiles of the gods to have her. Don’t let her get away. A good man needs a strong woman in his life.”

Trystane pulled Sansa to him with one arm. He felt like kicking himself for once objecting to allying with the Starks. The grace and resilience of his betrothed washed away his anger and resentment, leaving behind only passion and joy.


Osha CH 53 Section 5

Osha

The woods were thick. Night moonless, black-grey clouds carpeting the sky and blocking out even the tiniest glimmer of starlight from the bone-chilling landscape, the thick canopy of the pine, spruce, and fir trees could shroud anything from prying eyes. Except for the owls hunting in the darkness, the thousands bearing the sigil of the Flayed Man hid and crept with impunity. A military feat that would be sung for generations, one proclaimed by Lord Roose Bolton to be the triumphant tale of the Red Restoration.

Eyes trained on the malevolent face of the monster that tortured and raped her for moons, Osha could only see a different sort of zeal. Rather than triumph and lofty dreams, all she could witness was an insatiable bloodlust. A hunger to rip apart all living beings before him just for the sake of it. Many existed north of the Wall, but the kneelers took it to a whole other level.

“You know, Osha?” he said out of the blue, leaning back in his camp chair. “My father legitimized me as the sun set. Said we needed at least one Bolton to survive this war.” Picking the dirt from his nails with a sharp knife, he only shrugged. “Doesn’t matter for now, cause I’m still second in line after my dear brother. No, what does matter is that as a Bolton… I need to change my ways.”

Once chained from morning to night whenever not in a cell, after so many moons Osha was allowed to be free of restraints. Ramsay had broken her in - or so he thought. How she knelt in the corner of the hastily erected tent, eyes downcast and filth covering her ragged clothing, gave credence to her ultimate submission to him. 

He got a sick pleasure from it. “Oh, I still have leave to engage in my… favorite pursuits, but as a Bolton I have a reputation to uphold. Nothing sloppy… precise.” Ramsay flicked the knife in the air, as if flaying someone. “As intricate as a game of cyvasse or a proper flaying. Unlike animals, it’s hard to properly skin a man.”

Rolling his shoulders, Ramsay picked up his longsword. “Oh, Osha, I so wish to enjoy you as we have, but best save the restless energy for battle.” He grinned, a manic glint in his eye that made him look like a white walker… no, more malevolent than even them. “We shall enjoy ourselves after.”

Osha felt the clammy hand of her tormentor caress her cheek. For the first time in a long while, her fierce instincts started to well up within her - urging the shackled Free Folk to lunge and claw his eyes out. But there she knelt, dead to the world. Completely and utterly broken.

“You are truly the perfect pet.” Ramsay chuckled, sheathing his longsword and lacing the last straps of his armor. “I might have you train Sansa Stark to be the proper wife for me - Myranda will help, but she doesn’t have the… experience in what I am fond of in a pet.” Laughing again, he reached out of the tent flap and yanked his personal guard inside. “Everything ready, Reek?”

The guard was just as savage as Ramsay, only smellier. A complete wretch and reprobate, but completely loyal to the legitimized bastard. “Aye, mi’Lord. Yer’ father, Lord Locke, and Lord Domeric are already in position to attack at Lord Bolton’s command.”

Ramsay nodded. “Good, good. And you remember what to do, correct?”

Reek grinned maliciously. “Lord Domeric doesn’t survive the night.”

“A shame if a Stark arrow would fell him just in the prime of his life. Tragic, tragic, tragic…” He slapped Reek on the shoulder, motioning to Osha. “I can tell you’re nervous. You can calm yourself with her, but leave her intact for me.”

Eyes shifting to where Osha still knelt, Reek’s grin grew even wider. “You are generous, mi’Lord.”

“Just be quick about it.” The swish of the tent flap found Osha alone with the loyal dog of her captor.

***She heard the distinct clicks of an unbuckled belt. “Such a pretty thing. I’m gonna fuck your ass raw.” Osha said nothing, only looking at him through peripheral vision as she stared blankly at the fire. “But first…” Reek’s trousers fell to the floor, revealing a rather small cock nestled in a nest of scraggly black hair. “If you bite me, I’m gonna slit your throat and fuck your corpse.” There was a moment of quiet, only for Reek to grab her chin, squeezing hard. “Look at me when I’m fuckin’ talking to you!”***

In a flash, the dead gaze in Osha’s eyes sprang to life. Passive look turned furious as her arm swung. Crashing into the inside of Reek’s thigh, the sharpened piece of flint sliced through flesh. Bright red blood from a torn open blood vessel gushing everywhere. 

Reek grunted, but before the pain could cause him to scream Osha grabbed his face. Leaping to her feet and covering his mouth with her hand. “I’ve been waiting moons for this,” she hissed in the dying man’s ear. “Holding that stone for the right moment.” Osha brought it to Reek’s neck. “My only regret is that this isn’t your Lord.” Without delay, she slit Reek’s throat, within moments the corpse collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Grabbing her own ratty furs to wrap around her chest and shoulders, Osha peeked out of the tent flap. No one was looking particularly in her direction. This was her chance… the only chance. In the distance was Winterfell, the home of her captor’s enemies.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend… Legs pumping, nothing would stop her as she ran towards the home of the Starks.


Rhaegar Targaryen

For any southerner, it worked out well to have a northern beauty for a wife. Chilled to the bone by the harsh winds of autumn , Rhaegar could fall back on Lyanna’s innate sense of style in the face of such cold. Tips on what actually did keep out the chill rather than what seemed like it would work. As such, the Dragon Prince was warm and snug in a thick fur cloak and felt boots while the pompous Mace Tyrell and svelte Ellaria Sand continued to shiver underneath multiple layers of wool and cotton.

“What are you thinking of, love?” Arm draped around her shoulder, Rhaegar looked down at his beloved wife. Seeing her round grey eyes look at him with a genial curiosity and deep adoration. In the face of what happened, for Lyanna Stark he would do all of it again… only win at the Trident.

“You… and how much I love you,” he answered, earning a kiss on the cheek from her. The strolled along the battlements of Winterfell, deserted at this time of night aside from a few guards. Perfect time for a romantic walk. “The gods smiled on me the night we met, Lya.”

She smirked. “I believe I was the one smiled on by the gods, hunted traitor I was.” Aerys’ order to kill the Knight of the Laughing Tree had Rhaegar duty bound to take Lya’s head on sight. Instead, he took her hand in marriage. “It was still magical, and from it we have our Aegon, and Rhaegon.”

“Aye.” Rhaegar’s heart pounded, thinking of their son. What must he think of me? He never got to hold him, to comfort him, to be the father Jon needed him to be. “I miss him… I’ve never seen him yet I miss him, how fucked up is my life?”

Wordlessly, Lyanna stopped close to the gatehouse - snowflakes dropping all around from the grey-black clouds - and embraced her husband. “I share your pain, my love.” They burrowed into each other, her against his chest and he into her chestnut hair. “We missed all of his life, and that’s one of the very few things I regret about what happened. He deserved better.”

Rhaegar didn’t know how much time passed that they just stood there, locked in the comforting hug of lovers. Never again would he be separated from her, and never again would he allow his son to exist without his father or mother. By the old gods and the new, this I swear.

“Rhaegar.” Pulling back from the wondrous piney scent of her hair, Rhaegar found Lyanna staring up at him. Her grey eyes sparkled with love. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“What way?” Rhaegar was confused.

Lya bit her lip, chewing lightly on it as she oft did when broaching something awkward - he knew all her little quirks and tells, loving them all. “About Jon. We did miss out on his entire childhood and Rhaegon is his and Daenerys’ to enjoy as parents, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have…” Lya’s voice caught a bit, said trying hard to stammer something out. “A babe to love.”

At her words, it took Rhaegar a few moments to comprehend what she was saying - it hit him like dragonfire when he did. “My love… are you saying…” 

She nodded vigorously. “I want another babe, Rhaegar. A little Targaryen Prince or Princess, with your hair or eyes this time.” Sighing, her expression was nonetheless a desperate longing. “My life and my babe were taken from me… I yearn to be a mother, to experience what I was denied, what we were denied.” Lyanna gripped his arm. “Please, my dragon.”

Gulping, Rhaegar closes his eyes in thought. Aegon - Jon - would be in their arms any hour now and with him his baby sister. It was a moment Rhaegar had dreamed of since his awakening, but Lyanna was right. The tragedy of the rebellion and the perfidy of Robert and Tywin denied him his chance to raise Jon. Ned has done an admirable job, but… He’s my son. My son, a Prince of House Targaryen.  

The chance would never be there for Rhaegon or the children of Dany’s womb, destined they were for Jon and her to raise… but he was still young and virile. And here was Lyanna, fertile and almost begging for him.

His eyes flew open, causing Lyanna to gasp from his dark they were. Only a second passed before Rhaegar cut off the gasp by crashing their lips together. Tongue hammering through the gate of her lips, utterly dominating her. From the deep moan in her throat, Lyanna had absolutely no objections. She lovingly stroked the muscles of his arm and chest, while his hands clutched her waist underneath the grey cloak. It was still impossibly slender underneath the thick wool of her gown - Rhaegar trailed up until they brushed the side of her breasts, making her moan in his mouth. 

Rhaegar immediately pulled her flush against him. “I want you, Lya,” he husked, breaking their kiss.

Her eyes widened. “Here? Now?” They were on the walls above the gatehouse, a tiny alcove of stone wall covering the doorway giving the barest of privacy. If one of the guards happened to walk out of the gatehouse...

“Don’t care.” He kneaded her breast, hearing his wolf mewl with delight. “Need you now, and didn’t you say this was a fantasy of yours?”

Grey eyes darkening into a stormy tempest, Lya clawed at him. Quickly pulling his lips back against hers in a frantic, heated lust. Her fingers tangled into Rhaegar’s silver locks. “Give me a babe, husband.”

He smiled, trailing across her cheek to her neck. “Gladly, my love.” Slowly, reverently, his lips nipped at her succulent flesh, devouring the creamy skin he so adored. Hands already moving to yank up the thick folds of her dress...

Head tilted towards the side - gazing out at the expanse beyond the walls with lidded eyes - Lyanna smiled and moaned until suddenly stopping. “Rhaegar…” she murmured. “Rhaegar… Rhaegar!”

Clouded by desire, the Targaryen Prince only backed away when she was insistent. “Lya? Something wrong?”

“Shhh… listen…” Lya walked to the edge of the battlements, ears and eyes gazing out in the darkness. Rhaegar quickly came by her side, both looking just as something emerged out of the black of the Wolfswood. Someone… “Rhaegar, is that a woman?”

Peering, Rhaegar made out a woman in dirty wildling rags. Hair scraggly, her face was contorted in terror. “She’s screaming something… what is it?”

Moments passed as she continued to run, only for Lyanna’s face to drain of blood. “Boltons…”

“What?”

“She’s screaming about the Boltons.” No Stark grew without knowing the history between them and House Bolton.

“Rider approaching!” someone in the gatehouse shouted. A horseman galloped out of the blackness, ax held high as he charged towards the woman. He closed the gap rather quickly in a clear attempt to cut down the frantic runner. “Fuck, Bolton!” 

Seeing a bow and quiver propped against the battlements - likely by a well prepared guard captain - Rhaegar grabbed it and strung a bow. Drawing the string back and aiming, he let one fly on instinct and skill… the arrow slammed right into the rider’s chest, puncturing the chain mail and sending him toppling just as he was about to kill the woman. “Still got it,” Rhaegar muttered to himself, lowering the bow. 

By now, the woman managed to get within hailing distance. “House Stark!”

“Stop!” yelled the gatehouse guards. “Stop or be fired upon!”

“I need to speak with a Stark!” she screamed. “They’re coming!”

Lyanna pitched herself out of the battlements. “I’m Lyanna Stark, who are you?!”

“Osha… of the Free Folk! The Boltons are coming! They have an army!” Out of the distance, a horn blow sounded… then another and another. A frightening cacophony that harkened back to an archaic time. A time where the Red Kings of the Dreadfort came so close to annihilating the House of the Direwolf. The same horns serenading the entire immolation of Winterfell twice.

All of this clearly filled Lyanna’s mind. “Seven fucking hells… Rhaegar, the Boltons…”

Snarling, the Dragon Prince slammed on the door of the gatehouse. “Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!” The trumpets had blared over the castle and Wintertown just as thousands of flickering arrows lit up the Wolfswood, arcing upward as they flew toward Winterfell in their mission of death. “Lya!” Rhaegar threw her against the wall, shielding his wife with his body to withstand the oncoming onslaught. 

Notes:

cmyatt01: We hope you all enjoyed this section - I believe the story is moving along quite nicely (and we are getting closer and closer to Jon learning his parents are alive 😊)

Longclaw: And the Boltons have them surrounded! Just as Rhaegar and Lyanna were about to make Jon a big brother XD

CastleColin: Now, the true opening of the War for the Throne.

Chapter 54: Winter is Sharp

Summary:

The Starks and their allies battle against the Bolton.

Notes:

Longclaw: Sorry for the delay, guys, but we wanted it to be perfect :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

RHAEGAR TARGARYEN

Flattening Lyanna against the wall and gritting his teeth, Rhaegar waited until the almost rain-like patter of thousands of flaming arrows upon stone ceased - waiting an additional ten seconds as a precaution. Drawing back, he could already see torches lighting the way, an entire sheet of Bolton men charging through the snowdrifts from the protective cover of the forest. “Fucking cunts!” Lyanna snarled out at them, nocking an arrow and letting it fly. “FUCK YOU!” In the distance, a man-at-arms fell in the snow, an arrow piercing his heart.

Sparing the barest of moments to chuckle at his wife’s zeal, Rhaegar drew his own blade and leaned over the lip of the inner battlement. “Swords and shields!” he screamed. Below, bodies dotted the ground, but they had gotten lucky that the initial Bolton volley had found most of Winterfell dwelling inside the keep. They were certainly up now - some half-dressed with only cloaks thrown over their shoulders and swords in their hands, they raced for the battlements. 

“Lya!” Rhaegar’s head turned to see his good brother still wearing his leather gambeson from earlier. Scrambling up the stairs, he shared a look with Rhaegar before looking out at the plains. Seeing the Bolton forces gathering. “Fuck me… Roose Bolton you pathetic…” He seemed to bite back on some choice words.

“Didn’t think they’d attack?” Lya spat out, nocking another arrow and firing.

“I did, but not at this moment.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re outnumbered. There have to be at least five thousand out there.”

Rhaegar took in the developments. “That may be, but we have the defensive advantage. You said our son was flying down?” 

Ned nodded. “Aye, with Daenerys.”

“Need to hold them till they get here.”

Steeling himself, Ned patted the trusty longsword strapped to his waist. “I’m going to hold Wintertown. Brother,” he looked at Rhaegar. “You hold the old keep. Do not let them break through, understand?”

“He fucking gets you, big brother, now move your ass!” Leave it to Lyanna to focus them. Grinning at Rhaegar, Ned dashed off while Rhaegar grabbed his wife’s hand and led them across the battlements towards the old keep.

“Your Grace,” announced Loras Tyrell, the first of note that the couple recognized as they arrived upon the stretch of battlements that guarded the newly refurbished old keep from outside attack. Harried as he was, normally finely-styled curls now haphazard, he was dressed in full armor of a knight of the Reach. “The noncombatants have been sent to the Great Hall for protection.”

Rhaegar nodded. This was the dwelling for the Reach delegation and many of the Northerners, and so had noncombatants remained it would have been chaotic and bloody. Already, they could see thousands of Boltons massing just outside of archery range. “Alright!” he took charge. “Crossbows on the battlements, archers on the ground! Anyone with a shield protects the crossbows while the rest stay behind.” As the men rushed about, Rhaegar noticed his wife kneeling behind a gap in the stone. “That includes you, Lya.”

“If you think you can cloister me again, you’ve got another fucking thing coming,” she shot back, quiver kept at the ready.

“That’s the she-wolf we remember!” Dacey Mormont whooped, shield placed right in front of her, adding its protection while her sword was still sheathed. The two women shared a savage grin, which Rhaegar couldn’t begrudge them.

Horn blows shattered the din, a loud bellow following from the field before them. “THEY’RE COMING!” Smashing his fist against his chest, Smalljon Umber snarled. “Defend yourselves, men! They’re gonna fuckin’ flay you alive!” Already, the thousands were charging, banners intermixed with siege ladders and raised shields as they raced across the snowfall. 

In the distance, large gouts of flame erupted into the air as the Bolton trebuchets thundered to life. Projectiles sailed through the air, arcing high along with more arrows fired from the assembled bowmen. While the latter killed quietly, the former slammed into the ground or the walls with resounding crashes, showering chunks of flaming rubble in all directions. It heartened the Bolton men, their snarling cries growing louder and fiercer. 

Hundred yards… eighty yards… “Archers!” Rhaegar screamed. “Nock!” The bowmen nocked their arrows, strings drawing back - crossbowmen atop the walls slid their bolts in place at their cocked-back devices, fingers on their triggers. Fifty yards… Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed. “Loose! Loose at will!” Behind him, a cloud of arrows rose into the sky at his command, a solid sheet arcing over the walls as the thwack of crossbows surged forward. Lyanna’s wolf howl joined them, firing over open sights straight at the Bolton horde.

The bolts hit first. Powerful, they pierced leather and mail without trouble, felling dozens into bloody puddles in the snow. The winds scattered the volley of arrows, but enough of a mass were coming for most to meet their marks in some manner. Smacking into shields and helmets, those charged on, but glancing blows to limbs or unprotected joins in the armor drew shrieks and splattered blood - men fell, ladders plopped on the ground, banners dropped... 

It wasn’t enough. Too many to fall no matter how many arrows Lyanna and the others hurled at them, the Bolton force crashed against the walls. Shields locked together protectively, the siege ladders raised into place. “Swords to the van!” Rhaegar screamed, his own ready. 

Around Rhaegar, Winterfell’s polyglot defenders drawn from Last Hearth to Sunspear fought a vigorous, desperate battle against the flayers of men. The archers and crossbowmen didn’t slack off once, while men at arms braved Bolton return fire to cast down great stones upon the heads of the attackers while men threw javelins and fired arrows. He watched Smalljon lift a rough cut stone that had to weigh a hundred pounds above his head and heave it over the battlements. Right atop a ladder, it crushed the lead man’s skull while dropping two others.

“Another quiver!” Lyanna was a machine, loosing arrow after arrow. “Hit any man barking orders!” Clever girl… Without commanders, any cohesion would be lost and the battle descended into a bloody melee.

But regardless of the desperate efforts, a dozen ladders managed to hook themselves into place - and with them, their deadly users scrambling up. “Draw blades! Defend your castle!” Rhaegar raced for the nearest ladder, just in time to drive his sword through a man’s throat and shove him off. The wild swing of an axe drove him back, but before the second attacker could swing again, an arrow embedded in his eye. 

Smirking softly, Lyanna drew the bow again, loosing it. Rhaegar met her with a savage grin of his own just as another war cry echoed through the night.

Four Boltons had leapt onto the battlements, a carpet of dead in front of them and behind in order to accomplish it. Fanning out in a protective screen, more scrambled up the two ladders they guarded to expand their beachhead into the old keep. Bellowing a dragon roar of his own, Rhaegar charged, slamming into one with his shoulder before the swordsman could react. With a scream, he toppled to the courtyard below where the Umber and Manderly men-at-arms butchered him with axes and bucknives. 

Lyanna fell another with her arrow as Ser Loras joined them, but five others had scrambled to the top and all seven were spoiling for a fight. “Get back, Lya!” Rhaegar demanded. But she had dropped her bow and drawn a sword. “I’m not losing you again.” A tension had gripped both sides, both feinting and hesitating.

“Nor I you,” Lyanna replied, breaking the tension with a wolf-howl, lunging at a Bolton. 

A bloody melee ensued, skill versus numbers in the tightly packed spaces of the battlements. Rhaegar parried an axe, twirling his blade and running it through the man-at-arm’s exposed middle. Another blow was deflected by Ser Loras’ shield - giving Rhaegar enough time to lunge again, pushing the Bolton back. To his left, Lyanna fought like the wolf Princess she was, hacking and stabbing as blood caked her leathers. While they had sparred before, never had he seen her in battle… the Targaryen warrior queens of times long past would have approved.

But his eyes widened in horror as a large bear of a man hauled himself from one of the ladders. “Lya!” With a roar he kicked the man he faced square in the crotch and charged at the attacker. But he was too far, the Bolton raising his blade to bring down on Lyanna… 

Only to howl in pain. Out of nowhere a girl darted out with a long rapier blade and drove it into the man’s thigh. Buckling just as Lya noticed the chaos to her left, the man screamed as he toppled over the side to his death below.

Rhaegar had no time to worry. “Push them down!” His muscles strained as he grabbed the hooks and began prying them off the stone. “Push!” An arrow smacked into the stone beside him, Dacey quickly coming  from behind and moving her shield to protect him. “Push!” Lyanna dropped her bow and joined with Loras close behind. With a shove, they toppled the ladder - its heavy wood crashing into several hoplites on the ground.

The Tyrell and Mormont moved to engage the surviving Boltons while Rhaegar gave his wife the once over. “Gods, Lya…”

“I’m fine, Rhaegar,” she replied, though was trembling all over from the near fatal experience. Eyes darting to the right, they widened in surprise. “Arya?”

The young girl had the decency to look sheepish. “Had to do something, Aunt Lyanna.” Before either could scold her for the risk to her young life, a trebuchet projectile crashed into the walls close by, felling a dozen defenders. “Fuck you, Boltons!” Arya snarled in defiance.

Gripping his sword tightly, Rhaegar accepted the service of yet another she-wolf of Winterfell as he raced back into the fray.

 


 

RAMSAY BOLTON

Rocketing above them, the legitimized Bastard of the Dreadfort was bathed in an orange-red light from the flaming projectiles launched from the trebuchets. Watching them banish the darkness around them as they sailed towards Winterfell. He lifted his sword, shouting at the top of his lungs when they smashed against the walls and towers, showering them in sparks. “Today, House Stark falls!”

The fearsome shield wall of the Bolton phalanx - arranged into a long and fast column - whooped a guttural howl.

“Who holds the North?!” 

“Hawoo! Hawoo!”

“Who holds the North?!” Already, a cloud of arrows and crossbow bolts began to pepper them from the gatehouse in front. Men toppled in the snow, puffs of white powder marking their graves as they bled out unmourned. Ramsay cared not, Myranda returning fire with her own bow beside him.

The men’s enthusiasm wasn’t dimmed. “HAWOO! HAWOO!”

Walls of Winterfell looming large, the phalanx crashed against the stone and wood, shields held high as the ladders were put into place to join the battered forces of the third wave. Arrows and rocks pelted them, while the stench of flaming pitch stained the ground - along with the roasted flesh of corpses burnt alive. 

It set Ramsay alight with vigor, the son of Roose Bolton quickly yanking Locke back from one of the shield walls. “Why haven’t you taken the walls?!”

A wound was bleeding on the side of his head, but Locke still had his wits about him. “Their defenses are strong, and they have more bannerment than I thought they did!” Fuck… I’ll do it myself.

Aiming up with his bow, Ramsay drew back and let an arrow fly - grinning maniacally as it pierced through the left eye of a Stark archer manning the gatehouse. “Darling!” he called out in a voice as sweet as could be expected among all the noise. “At my command, loose the signal.”

Myranda nodded. “At your command, lover.”

Crossbow bolts and stones slamming against the shield wall, the former bastard of the Dreadfort cupped his hand over his mouth and called out. “Men of House Stark! Loyal Bannermen! This is Ramsay of House Bolton!” A little authority made compliance more likely, especially among surrounded cowards. “It is hopeless! You are outnumbered and outmatched!” There was no reply, while the clash of steel and roar of the falling trebuchet projectiles continued in the near distance. Father’s attacking… “Open the gates and surrender! You won’t be harmed!” He smirked at Myranda and his men, belying his normal reliance on the truth… or lack thereof.

Suddenly an arrow slammed into his foot, a perfect shot that pierced his thick leather boots and penetrated through and through. Ramsay howled, two of his men diving on his foot to remove the arrow. Not unnoticed by the Starks and other northmen manning the battlements, laughter rang out at his expense. 

“Fuck you Bolton!” came the long-awaited verbal reply, this one a woman’s voice. “Want us, come and get us!” 

Her mocking words made Ramsay snarl in anger and hate, face reddening as the arrow was finally released. “Give the signal!” he hissed at Myranda, who quickly fired the flaming arrow… coated in a special powder that gave it a blue glow. “I’m gonna fucking rape the corpse of whomever said that!” Above, the arrow arced in the air, seen far and wide.

Another arrow flew from the gatehouse, this one embedding in the snow right beside Ramsay’s head. “That’s Lyanna Stark, you cunt! Come to your slaughter at the hands of the She-Wolf of Winterfell!” In her wake, a shrill, piercing wolf howl echoed through the night air, followed by more and more. Soon, it seemed as every northman in Winterfell was howling like a madman - the supreme act of defiance.

But Ramsay would have the last laugh. “Fall back!” he bellowed, the phalanx rounding the gatehouse withdrawing over twenty paces in the snow against massive archery fire. Dozens toppled, but Ramsay considered the price worth the risk when the surprise erupted from the woods. A whoosh of the scorpion bolt cutting through the cold air. The crack as it shot above Ramsay’s forces towards the gatehouse. The massive gout of green flame that boomed into the night as it crashed right into the Winterfell gate, Bolton soldiers struggling to not topple over into the snow.

Ramsay didn’t truly care about their struggles. Shielding his eyes with his palm for the worst of it, slowly his eyes zeroed in on the massive cloud of smoke and fire. Eyes glinting with a fiery glee… he knew exactly why the Mad King was obsessed with this. Beautiful… just beautiful. Seeing the massive hole in the enemy defenses blasted right through by the wildfire tipped bolt, Ramsay blew his horn. “Phalanx! Double time!”

Desperate to pick up the pieces the explosion left, a low thud began to vibrate through the wood and stone of the surviving walls surrounding the Winterfell gatehouse. Thudding and drumming growing louder and louder, the wildfire flames cast shadows upon the snowy ground. Shadows of marching men. They appeared in view rather quickly, lines and lines of shield-bearing Bolton hoplites, whooping as they marched with all due haste. “Protect the gate!” many screamed, but aside from a few loose arrows and crossbow bolts, the Bolton barrage had worked and the phalanx charged through unmolested. 

Within the courtyard, the arrival stirred up the hornet’s nest of defenders. Northern Lords shouted at their men to form up. From the Mountain Clans to the knightly Manderlys and the Glovers or Karstarks in between, they all gathered to face off against the hooting Boltons. The Phalanx fanned out, shields crashing together in one unbroken line. “Hold position, men!” Ramsay heard Eddard Stark yell.

“HOO! HOO!” their spears stabbed forward, felling a score of men before marching. Pushing them back. “HOO! HOO!” Again, the snowy ground stained red with blood.

Two quick hownblows had five pairs of hoplites remove their shields from the ground. Five gaps were opened up in the line, to which hundreds of Bolton bannermen poured in with snarls on their faces. Blades raised high as they charged over corpses towards the ragged line of gathered northern houses. All order changing quickly into a disorganized melee where numbers and pluck would decide the battle.

Ramsay was in the van of the attackers, gleefully hacking and slashing at his Stark enemies. Nimble for his size and strength, he aimed not for the head or neck but rather for limbs and the crotch, inflicting the deepest and most torturous of gashes on his foes. 

“Bolton!” Ramsay swirled his head in just the right time to duck… a battle axe just missing his face. “You’ll die for this treachery!”

“Lord Umber,” Ramsay replied, darting away as another blow gunned for him. “I’m gonna enjoy peeling the skin off your face.” Lashing out, he slashed across Greatjon Umber’s chest, drawing out crimson-red liquid.

With a bellow, Greatjon lifted his axe above his head in a wild arc, ready to swing it - surely bound to decapitate his smaller opponent, and not cleanly either. But Ramsay was far more agile and cunning. Rather than run he charged into the swing, sliding feet first to the ground and slipping fast on the partially melted snowfall. Blade sharp, the knife sliced through the felt and leather of Greatjon’s boot… severing the man’s tendon in one jerk of his wrist.

Blood spurted on the snow with a pained shriek from Greatjon. The large man collapsed to his knees when his severed foot buckled - Ramsay grinned and circled around him, twirling his blade before bringing it down right upon the Lord of Last Hearth’s arm. “Not so great now, Umber?” he asked with a malevolent smile. 

“Fuck… you…” ground out Greatjon, swinging his remaining fist at Ramsay, who just dodged it and slammed his own fist into the crippled Lord. 

“Shield wall round me!” Ramsay ordered Myranda and the other hoplites surrounding him with their shields. Protecting Ramsay as he drew his knife to go to work. “So, Lord Umber. I can offer you a quick death… if you tell me where Ned Stark is keeping his daughters.”

“Kiss… my ass… Bolton bastard…”

He grinned and shook his head. “I love it when they choose a slow death.” Pressing his foot against the bloody stump of Greatjon’s hand, the resulting scream bared the poor soul’s face for Ramsay’s knife.

And his blades were sharp.

 


GREY WORM

Forward.

Halt.

Stand fast.

Obey.

The lessons drilled into him by the hellish faces of his overseers and trainers repeated in Grey Worm’s head - as ever present as the howling arctic wind that bracketed Winterfell with the most demonic of cold. It molded him into a killing machine, always rote, always disciplined, always discounting his own identity in the favor of the collective unit. That, along with the heat of Slaver’s Bay, were the only constants in his life before the Targaryens freed him.

“FUCK YOU!” 

Watching Lady Alysane Mormont charge straight into a cluster of Bolton hoplites swinging her sword as wildly as any gladiator of the fighting pits, it became quite apparent to him that the Northmen eschewed formation discipline as much as their land lacked the heat he was most comfortable with. Ragged and wild, they assaulted each other with unparalleled ferocity, blood soon soaking in the snow and mud that made up the roads and fields between the wood and thatch houses of Wintertown. 

For once, it made him unsure of how to proceed, vision pulsing behind his helm.

A thud against his leather armor drew him back into focus. “Come on, Grey Worm!” he heard the orange-clad form of Oberyn Martell bellow at him in Valyrian. “Defend the castle!” Single spear in hand, he darted forward with the agility of a dancing girl - slicing the throat of a Bolton man-at-arms before lunging to his knees. Spear thrust forward to impale a horseman. Much more suited to single combat than the mass formation tactics of the Unsullied.

Suddenly, the sharp battlecry of an onrushing warrior took the issue out of Grey Worm’s hands. Sword up, the attacker crashed it down upon the Unsullied’s raised shield. Pain spread through his arm, but this Grey Worm could handle - pain… it mattered not to him. As the Bolton raised the sword again, instructor’s commands echoed in his skull, almost in slow motion. Fall back! He stepped back. Stand fast! Back leg twisted and knees bent, rooting him in place. Ready! He drew back his spear, hand clutching hard around the upper shaft. Deflect! Just as the sword came downward, his shield arm rocketed forward… batting it aside and exposing the attacker’s chest. Thrust! Lips tight with strength, he pushed his spear forward, the steel tip punching through leather, mail, and bone to impale the heart. 

The attacker stood for the barest of moments before he collapsed bonelessly atop the snow.

He didn’t have time to refit when another came at him, axe just barely missing his head before Grey Worm bashed him across the side with his shield. The man went down with a grunt. Grey Worm twirled his spear above his head and stabbed downward, ending yet another life.

It was early on that an Unsullied learned how to kill without consequence. 

Hornblows filling the din, catapult projectiles rained upon the thatch houses and set them alight - the fires illuminated a wave of cavalry leaping over the parapets that protected Wintertown. Their blades glinted, swords and axes swinging and lances running through dozens of fighters and smallfolk alike. Broken, twisted bodies fell into the snow, never to get up.

Grey Worm wouldn’t become one of them if he had anything to say about it. A mounted knight - or whatever the northmen called knights - readied a morningstar in his hand and shot right for him, cracking the reins and driving his horse at full gallop. Fighting the urge to stand firm, Grey worm knew without a solid phalanx behind him it was hopeless. Unsullied followed, but as their commander he knew he had to lead… to think.

At the last second, he leapt to the side, falling to his back as the horseman shot past. Quickly scrambling to his feet, Grey Worm drew back his arm and let the spear fly. Anyone else would have whooped or grinned as it ran directly through his attacker’s back, toppling the rider, but Grey Worm merely jogged forward and yanked the spear out of the man.

“Grey Worm!” He turned his head to see King Eddard Stark in all his glory, furs and mail covered in sprinkled blood… likely not his, considering how drenched the Valyrian steel blade clutched in his hands was. “Cover me! I’m going for Lord Bolton!” Nodding his assent, the Unsullied commander stuck close to the uncle of his King as they jinked and weaved between burning houses and dueling men.

In the distance, what was undoubtedly the Lord of the Dreadfort was spotted. Like all Northmen his armor was plain and devoid of gilt, but the adornment was still there. The way he carried himself, as well as the presence of a personal banner, were like a massive signal fire. Discovered quickly, two bannermen leapt at Ned and Grey Worm. The former parried the blow and swung - head hacked clean off. The latter absorbed a body blow with his shield, shoved forward, and swung his spear until the spearhead sliced open his neck as Oberyn had earlier.

“Roose!” he heard Ned Stark bellow. “Come and fight me like a man!” 

Drawing his own blade, Roose Bolton’s milky eyes seemed to glow beneath his helm. “Locke, take care of the slave. I’ll handle King Eddard myself.” Without delay, the two men locked themselves in a brutal melee, clashing swords echoing through the din.

Grey Worm’s eyes for his King’s uncle were shorn away as a lean, grizzled fighter swung at him. He barely managed to leap back, though the tip of the blade cut through the leather shoulder armor and sliced open the skin. A sharp, burning pain filled him, but he wasn’t an Unsullied for nothing. Blood dripping to the snow below, Grey Worm pushed forward, causing Locke to step back and duck underneath his spear. 

The bannerman of House Bolton grinned. “Ah, a tough fucker. This’ll be fun.” Sidestepping a lunge, Locke swung a wide arc, but one that Grey Worm managed to bash aside with his shield. The spear twirled, blunt end smacking into Locke’s face and stunning him, allowing Grey Worm to lunge at his leg - slicing through muscle and sinew.

But Locke was quicker than he looked, reacting quickly and grabbing the shaft before Grey Worm could pull back. He yanked it forward and pulled the stunned Grey Worm out of his stance, sword flying down to chop the spear in half. Only a fast block with his shield saved the Unsullied commander, Grey Worm stumbling onto his back in the ground.

His head throbbed. His muscles burned. His vision danced. Each block or weave sapped at his energy, each new blow coming closer to killing him. But suddenly a kind face flashed in his eyes… a feminine beauty he had come to appreciate and cherish beyond the automaton he had been trained to be. It filled him with the same energy as the Queen and King filled in each other, lashing out with a sharp kick just before Locke was about to stab downward and end his life. 

The kick hit square in Locke’s knee, buckling him and sending the northern warrior falling atop his prey. Without delay, Grey Worm drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed upward. Again and again until blood splattered all over the snow and the light left his attacker’s eyes.

Struggling to catch his breath, with all his strength Grey Worm shoved the still bleeding corpse of Locke off his chest. Helmet cast off gods’ know where, spear snapped in half like a twig, nevertheless he leapt to his feet. He grabbed the longsword dropped by Locke and readied his shield arm. Silently but with no less fury as the wild northmen currently engaged in the life-or-death melee within the town, Grey Worm twirled his blade and charged right into the slaughterhouse. Determined to protect those within the castle or die trying.

 


SANSA STARK

In an instant, everything changed. The Great Hall had been packed with commoners, the servants and children of the keep tucked away in what they prayed was safety… only for the outer doors to come crashing down and Bolton soldiers to come pouring in and engage with what few guards were there in a pitched battle. In the chaos, Sansa found herself being dragged out of there, the highborn noncombatants scattering. 

“Where’s my mother?!” Margaery screamed, her dress already stained with snow and soot as fires roared in the distance, the courtyard below them engulfed in a furious fighting. Along with her and Sansa was little Rickon, all three separated from Alerie Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, Jeyne Poole, and all others among the highborns that had taken refuge in the Great Hall. 

From corpses Sansa could see littering the ground of the courtyard, the Boltons were showing no mercy.

“They have their own guards!” Ser Rodrik Cassel was frantic, exhorting them to hurry. “We need to get out of this!” 

CRASH!

The green-white cloud of smoke and flame rocked the very walls, pitching Sansa to the ground. Charred rock and stone showered all around.  “Shit!” she coughed as Margaery toppled atop her, her future good-sister unintentionally using her to cushion her fall.

“What in Seven Hells was that?!” she screeched, choking and rolling off Sansa.

A loud yelp drew her attention, and Sansa’s eyes widened in horror. “Lady!” The direwolf was scrambling to stay atop the battlements, but the stone was too slippery with ice and snow, her paws failing to find traction. As Sansa scrambled to her feet, the faithful companion pitched off the side. “NO!”

Hands scrambled to pull her back, but Sansa fought them. “Princess!” yelled Ser Rodrik. “We must go!” Wrenching away from him, Sansa almost pitched over the edge herself… but there was Lady, leaping atop a Bolton soldier and ripping his throat open. Thank the gods… 

An arrow smacked into the stone next to her, Sansa yelping and leaping back. Heeding Rodrik, she started running. Not stopping once.

“Quick! Hurry, Princess!” Ser Rodrik had Sansa by the wrist, none too gentle yet all too frantic as he pulled her through the halls - she held on tightly to Rickon behind her, while a Tyrell guard did the same with Margaery. “We must run, they’ll be on us!”

Her legs were burning, each breath an icy stab right into her lungs as the bitterly cold winds slammed into the castle. Each moment she wished for even the shortest second to rest, and each moment the clash of steel and cries of agony from the breached Great Hall spurred her to continue. “Sansa!” Rickon wailed. “Please stop…”

She only gripped his hand tighter. “We can’t, brother. We have to get away from the bad men.” Each word pained her, but she meant them. The things that happened to her in Jon’s past life… Sansa would slit her own throat before allowing the Boltons to capture her again.

“Where are we going?!” Margaery cried, more from fear than from pain. The Rose of Highgarden was made of stern stuff. 

“Calm down, my lady… we’re going for the old keep,” said Ser Igon Vyrwell, her personal sworn sword. “Your brother and good father have gathered there and fortified it, the Boltons can’t…” His words disappeared into a gurgling mess as a bastard sword pierced his face, killing him instantly.

Margaery screamed, while Ser Rodrik grabbed her and Sansa. “Behind me, now!” He drew his greatsword, standing between his charges and the newcomers that emerged from behind the corner. Several rather savage looking men with Bolton gorgets about their necks, a pretty yet savage young woman with light brown hair and a drawn bow… and a young man with a malevolent leer, almost manic, and blood sprinkled all over him. “Get back!”

“Awww, I don’t think so, old man,” said their leader, eyes finding Sansa’s rather quickly. “Dear Princess, it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

There was no doubt in Sansa’s mind at who this was - both from Jon’s descriptions and something beyond pure instinct that she couldn’t really understand. All screamed this person’s identity. “Ramsay Bolton.”

Leer widening - almost skeleton-like across his face - Ramsay twirled his bloodstained blade. “I’m glad you know my name, considering you shall be my bride soon.” The tone of his voice made Sansa shiver in disgust.

“She is pretty, master,” grinned the woman, eying her like a predator. The two of them belonged together. “Oh, Princess, we are going to have so much fun with you.” Her implication was clear, given the sadistic air in her tone.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” hissed Rodrik, raising his blade.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Shall I put one between his eyes?”

Ramsay shook his head. “No, this will be quite fun. Do your worst, old man.” Rodrik lunged, only for the younger Bolton to dodge. “I’ve seen Myranda give harder swings. Come at me again!”

Blade crashing against Ramsay’s, Winterfell’s master-at-arms could feel the aches and fatigue of age starting to weigh him down against the far younger and stronger Bolton - but he had to try. Had to protect his charges. “You will never have them!” he snarled, bashing Ramsay in the gut with his shoulder and bringing his greatsword up, ready to strike…

Suddenly a punch slammed into his gut. “No!” Sansa screamed, hugging Rickon to her chest and covering his still innocent eyes. 

Feeling his furs and leathers soaking wet, Rodrik’s eyes found the sword buried in his chest - unable to gasp out even a word before blackness enveloped him. Falling to the ground like a sack of meat, blood pooling out from his wounds. “Barely broke a sweat,” laughed the former Bastard of the Dreadfort, kicking the corpse. “You’ll soon join that old hobble, little wolf, while the dear Lady Sansa will be mine.” He pointed at her with his blade. “Come with me willingly and I’ll consider giving him a quick death.” 

Gulping, Sansa gazed into the soulless eyes of a demon. Flashes of the depravity this evil being would inflict on her in Jon’s past. In this present, the darkest of torture and anguish. No! You will not take me. “Take Rickon.” Her voice was sharp, like an icy steel. One that Margaery accepted without hesitation, trembling as she took her future good-brother in her arms. Without hesitation, Sansa drew Lady Winter, leveling the rapier straight at Ramsay in the stance Syrio taught her. “I’ll give you an alternate deal. Leave here and I won’t kill you.”

Peering at Myranda, Ramsay chuckled while the girl and his men started laughing hysterically. “What, a prissy Princess thinks she can play swordsman,” the kennel master’s daughter taunted. “Just kill the little Princess and be done with it, lover.” 

Sansa looked back. “Run,” she told Margaery. “Take Rickon and run!” She didn’t need to be told twice, though the young Prince screamed for his elder sister… seemingly sacrificing herself for the two of them. “Just you and me, Ramsay. Single combat.”

“They’re gettin’ away!” shrieked Myranda…

Which drew a slap from Ramsay. “Shut it.” He grinned maniacally. “I’m gonna enjoy this.” Gripping his blade, he made a faux lunge at Sansa, toying with his prey. “Scared girl thinks she can fight her future husband.” A pair of blue eyes narrowed in hate, only for Ramsay’s second fake lunge to flinch her again. “Pitiful.” He did it a third time, only for a sting to burn on his cheek.

Jerking back, steps uneven, Ramsay slowly raised his hand to his face. His fingers brushed along the gash in his cheek. Eying the blood-stained digits with revulsion, glaring at Sansa. 

She raised the needle-like blade back up. “Now you’re just as ugly as you are inside.”

His eyes grew black with rage, the true monstrosity that was Ramsay Bolton on full display. “I only need your womb intact, so I’ll fucking show you ugly, you whore!” His furious lunge was deflected, but that opened her jaw up to a staggering left hook, sending Sansa reeling.

Swinging frantically, Sansa parried his powerful slashes. He was sloppy, but strong. Easy to overpower her if she let him get inside her swing arc. Remembering the agile maneuvers Syrio taught her, Sansa fought to keep it from happening, but she was tiring. Her dress nearly made her trip and stumble more than once, and the exhaustion of the night was starting to overcome her…

Allowing Ramsay to slash at her dress before headbutting her in the face, breaking her nose. Sansa pitched back, seeing stars.

Leering savagely at her ripped dress, Ramsay licked his lips. Face contorted malevolently. “Time to see and feel that pretty pussy.” 

Spitting blood onto the stone, she nevertheless stood, sword still in hand. Ramsay frowned at her. “You…” The pain threatened to destroy her, but Sansa battled with it. Forcing herself to concentrate, to clear her mind. “You will die tonight, Ramsay Bolton.”

“When will you take a fucking hint? You’re just making it fucking worse for yourself.” He drew a dagger in the other hand, ready to bat aside any feeble attempt to attack by her. “I’m gonna make you mine, Princess Sansa Stark.” Eyes glinting, he charged.

Sansa let out a deep breath, everything in slow motion for her. The air frosting as it left her nostrils. Ramsay’s swordarm rising high to slash down. Her feet springing forward, joining the extended length of her sword. His move to slip around the lunge, one that was quite easy but the most well-timed of all moves. Sansa’s lips curled into a smirk…

With one push of her hand, the sword sprang forward, Sansa only clutching the pommel as she caught Ramsay unprepared. Sharp tip piercing the leather armor of his stomach, pushing easily through flesh. Surprise filling his face, Ramsay dropped his own sword to clatter on the stone. Sansa gave him no time to recover, grabbing her own dagger and spinning around - ruined skirts swishing against the floor as she slit his throat.

Blood pouring from his neck, Ramsay gasped for breath as he collapsed. Life slowly faded from his eyes. Gaze directed straight to Sansa in the greatest incredulity - not having ever imagined that the young Stark girl could ever harm him. Sansa smiled darkly. Fuck you, Ramsay Bolton. She wasn’t able to stop Joffrey, but she saved herself from this little shit. Fuck you.

Trembling in both shock and rage, with a sudden kick Myranda had Sansa collapsed to the ground - bent into a fetal position and coughing her lungs out. “You killed him.” She drew her bow and shot Sansa in the shoulder. She cried out in pain, which only just began to whet the kennel master’s daughter’s bloodlust. “Now I’m gonna kill you.” Another draw of the bow. “Very… very… slowly…”

A flash of white and grey slammed into Myranda, sending the arrow flying. She cried out in terror, only for it to disappear in a flurry of gurgles and growls… throat ripped out and her blood splattering everywhere. Eyes heavy with the burning pain, Sansa nevertheless caught the bloody muzzle and yellow eyes. “L… Lady…” she ground out, getting a tongue swiped up and down her cheek from the protective direwolf.

“Sansa.” It was Trystane, his armor and leathers filthy but no worse for wear. “Dear gods… we need a maester!”

“I killed him.” Her eyes trained on the corpse of Ramsay Bolton. “He’ll never fucking hurt me…” A loud roar echoed through the air just as she slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness. 

 


DOMERIC BOLTON

I got a bad feeling about this... 

The heir to the Dreadfort ducked as another arrow whizzed by his shoulder to strike the frozen soil beneath his boots. All around him, more and more of the Bolton reserves were being drawn into the meat-grinder that was Winterfell. Despite multiple holes having been blown into the curtain walls, the Starks and their southern allies were putting up a surprisingly stubborn resistance.

“Milord! We’ve just cut through Wintertown to the castle itself! Lord Bolton demands another wave to storm the breach!” A sweaty, out-of-breath spearman huffed, having clearly been sent running back through the lines.

Domeric cursed under his breath. He honestly would rather go for another volley of wildfire. As much as he despised the substance, seeing it in action proved how invaluable it was for a besieger. So many holes had been punched in Winterfell’s walls, the Boltons were assailing the keep from all directions.

Coughing at the acrid tang in the air, he dismissed the man. “Can only spare five hundred. I need enough men in the rearguard to ward off any surprises.”

“Your lord father specifically said all reserves are for the forward assault.” The man-at-arms refused to budge from his spot. “There is no way for the Starks to summon help at this hour.”

Not wanting to prolong the argument, Domeric assented to a thousand more footmen to reinforce the attack. Let’s just get this over with. The whole North would despise his house forever after this day. Never mind his maniac brother was behind all of it - as Roose Bolton’s trueborn heir, all the blame would be pinned on him.

Signaling the horn to be blown, he watched more columns of tightly-packed hoplites march double-time toward the din of battle echoing from within Winterfell. He felt a chill around his shoulders and reached to pull his cloak a little tighter around his neck. Looking back over his mounted horse, he could only see a few miles out before the landscape was swallowed up by a gathering snowstorm. Domeric’s eyes twitched and his fingers drummed the pommel of his sword. Good soldiering demanded proper scouting of the battlefield at any moment, but all Bolton cavalry had been sent to Moat Cailin.

A dangerous game, Domeric brooded as he turned his attention back to the chaos below the hills. His father’s strategy rested entirely on the Stark bannermen being trapped in their own walls with no prospect of a relief force.

“Milord, that snow is blowing awfully close to us," a random swordsman pointed out with a trembling hand. Domeric wheeled his horse around and galloped to the rear of the lines. If this was what he suspected, he felt confident that even a shallow phalanx could hold formation until Winterfell was taken.

Raising a spyglass to his face, he peered out across the barren plains to the north. Indeed there was a blizzard approaching, but Domeric could tell something was seriously strange about it. The winter storm was sweeping upon his men in almost a uniform manner, like a broom being used to wipe down a floor. The wind bursts were unbearably cold, yet the gusts of air never exceeded more than a strong breeze.

Domeric wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked back through the glass. Was that a… giant? “YAARGGHH!!” His head whipped to the side to see a whole row of hoplites lying across the ground, their torsos skewered by javelin-sized arrows, oozing blood onto the snow.

Out of the mist stormed hundreds… no, thousands upon thousands of wildling savages howling bloody murder and clanking iron axes. Lumbering up behind them were indeed giants carrying humongous longbows the size of scorpions. Grunting mightily, the beasts drew their bows and loosed their spear-sized arrows at the thinly spread Bolton lines.

“Spears and shields! Spears and shields!” Domeric rode up and down, frantically trying to get his men into a shield wall. What men didn’t break ranks and run for it lined up shoulder to shoulder, forming a phalanx bristling with spears. Despite being heavily outnumbered, he was confident that his bannermen’s superior training and discipline would carry the day. Yet as the wildings stampeded ever closer, he couldn’t stop thinking, how did they get past the Wall?

Time slowed as the wildlings charged ever closer, so close Domeric could see the fury and fire emanating from their eyes. “Hold formation, men!” he barked. The front row of infantry dropped to a crouch, angling their spears up as the row immediately behind leveled their spears above their compatriots’ shoulders. The men of the Flayed Man braced for impact…

A thunderous roar shook the air around them. Domeric’s horse reared in panic and bucked him off onto the sodden ground. Clambering to his feet, the heir to the Dreadfort hadn’t time to rein in his mount as a huge shadow loomed overhead.

“DRAGON!”

“GET DOWN!”

“SCATTER!”

A man-at-arms tackled Domeric  - moments later only ash remaining where he just stood. Staring in disbelief, he gaped at the massive form of the grey winged beast as it swooped down to bathe the Bolton foot in flames. A second bellow alerted him to a red dragon soaring above the Bolton right flank, blasting away at their catapults and scorpions.

“No, no, no! This is not happening!” Domeric hurried to rally what remained of his men in a counterattack. Unfortunately, with so many holes blown in the phalanx by dragonflame, the wildlings were rapidly ripping apart what semblance of resistance the frightened and demoralized spearmen could muster.

Soon, Domeric found himself fighting tooth-and-nail with his diminished hoplites, pushed together by the ever-tightening mass of wildling savages. The beleaguered Bolton bannermen lived up to their training and put up a stoic defense inside their circular shield wall. The wildlings pressed closer and closer until they abruptly stopped.

Domeric held his breath and his sword level. He watched as a sturdy, red bearded wildling man dual wielding axes shoved his way to the front of the lines. “Who's the skinned corpse in charge of ya!?” he demanded. He scraped his axes together as if preparing to slice and dice roast meat. The surviving hoplites didn’t like the frenzied gaze on this madman’s face. Before he could slink back among them, Domeric was shoved unceremoniously to the front.

The red bearded wildling looked him up and down. “Yer a Bolton, I guess?” He hacked and spat on the ground. Recoiling, Domeric could only nod in response. A grunt was given in reciprocation. “Dragon King above ya will give one chance to give up. Accept or become dinner for his dragons.”

Sighing in resignation, Domeric looked at his men. “Weapons down, lads! We’re out of the fight.” He knew it was futile to fight on with so many lost and the Starks having friends in high places. All he could hope for now was that King Eddard would show a hint of mercy to his house.

 


JON TARGARYEN

Honestly, Jon hadn’t imagined something as easy as it was coming atop the Boltons from the rear. Twice in his eventful previous life did the House of the Flayed Man nearly annihilate House Stark upon the field of battle at Winterfell and twice were they annihilated by a last minute envelopment that crashed into their rear and wiped them out. Roaring, both Sarogon and Arogon rained fire upon the assaulting columns, destroying what reinforcements Roose Bolton still had and forcing the remainder to surrender in droves.

Guiding his own dragon to the ground, Jon saw his other sons and daughters circling him. Shrieking and hooting their love and greetings. It brought a smile to his face… only for greater worry to return. If Rhaegon was hurt… if any of them were hurt… Gods, he never had been able to butcher Roose Bolton alive for his crimes in the past but relished the opportunity now.

Thousands of pairs of eyes glared up at Jon in awe as both dragons touched down upon the battlements of Winterfell. Their legs dug into blackened wood and stone, wing claws leaning forward upon the muddy ground to deposit their riders - both regal in their Valyrian armor and red cloaks. Grabbing Dany’s hand in his, Jon stared at all the Northern Lords peering at him with shock. 

The Bastard of Winterfell… returned a Targaryen King.

“Jon!” One didn’t care about that. 

Jon released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Father…” He and Ned enveloped each other in a tight hug. Thank the gods… “Arya… Sansa… Rhaegon?” 

“They’re safe.” Both he and Dany could deflate on that. “Ramsay Bolton is dead, but we’ve captured Roose Bolton.”

Eyes hardening, Jon motioned with his arms. “Bring him forth!” The cluster of wildlings and northmen parted to reveal Smalljon Umber and Loras Tyrell half-restraining half-dragging a bruised and beat up man in a filthy leather jerkin and mail armor - the flayed man gorget on his neck hanging freely from a broken tie. Jon shared a look with Daenerys. Pathetic. “Roose Bolton,” he said without emotion.

Roose had been brutalized and set upon by dozens, but even as all his bones ached he nevertheless stood tall. Milky-white eyes looking contemptuously at Jon. “The Bastard of Winterfell…” His gaze shifted to the towering form of Sarogon clutching the battlements. “Not one of blood, but one of reality it seems.” He snorted. “No amount of gilt or blood will change how you were raised.”

A punch staggered him, knocking out a few more teeth that hadn’t fallen victim to Umber blows. “Good one, your Grace,” Loras said, yanking Roose back to his feet.

Daenerys nursed a split knuckle, but didn’t regret it. “I don’t choose to speak to you more than I have to, only to tell you that you’ve failed.” Jon smirked at how evilly his bride grinned - both of them savoring this moment. “Your entire life, all you’ve worked for, has been a failure. No one will remember your name, nor anything about you as more than a sentence in the history of our reign.”

Fists clenching, Roose nevertheless sighed. “I came close, and that wasn’t enough.” He glared at the Targaryens. “All I regret is that I hadn’t succeeded.”

“You were never a player in the Game of Thrones,” Jon replied. “You were always destined to lose, one way or the other.” He looked at several of the Stark bannermen. “Fetch a block!” It turned out there was none close by, but a wooden barrel served just as well. “Uncle, he is your bannerman,” he told Ned. “He is yours to deal with.”

“I suppose it is.” Drawing Frost, Ned looked down at the silent Lord Bolton as Smalljon kicked him to his knees, forcing his head down to the barrel. He took a deep breath. “In the name of Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, and Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name - I, Eddard of House Stark, Third of my Name, King in the North, sentence ye to death.”

Bolton glared. “Get on with it, already! Wolf cunt bastard-lover!” Jon didn’t have to wait long for the Valyrian steel blade to thunder down, slicing the neck of the Lord of the Dreadfort clean off his body. Done… it was over. The threat of House Bolton finally extinguished forever - not the end of the war by a longshot, but ultimately a fitting end to the beginning.

“Well!” Unavoidably, Jon’s lips curled upward at the booming gruff voice of Tormund Giantsbane. “That was a fuckin’ borin’ way for that cunt to die! I could’ve done fuckin’ better.”

Tormund’s boasts continued, regaling his uncle, Daenerys, and Oberyn Martell with his prowess in killing Boltons - while almost definitely hilarious, Jon heard none of it. His gaze cast in a different direction. “Jon?” Dany asked, hand on his shoulder. He would have replied, but it was as if he saw a ghost.

Across the courtyard, the milling northern warriors seemed to part for a single figure. A young woman, dressed not in a dress but in breeches, a leather cuirass, and chainmail. Someone altogether unassuming in the vast scheme of things even considering the rarity of a warrior woman - could have been one of the elder Mormont sisters, since Jon had never met them in his past… but Jon instinctively knew that she wasn’t. His mind flashed back to Arya, just before her death in his failed life, but taller. Graceful and feminine as well as fierce, a harsh northern beauty with piercing grey eyes.

Stark eyes.

As she approached, Grey Worm took a step in front of them. “Stay back…” he ground out in broken Common Tongue at the stranger.

“No!” Eyes turned to the King, curious at his forceful command. “Let her through, Grey Worm.” As the Unsullied made way, Jon covered the distance to the strange woman, both their paces slowing till each was a mere stride from the other. Do I know this woman? 

There’s no chance you could… a part of his mind told him. Yet another…

No words being spoken, they stared at each other - all other activity faded into the background as some unseen bond drew the two of them together. Jon stared into the grey eyes that he recognized as the ones that always stared back at him through the looking glass. A face as hesitant as he, yet reverent in her gaze. Wild and wilful, soft and loving, exactly as his uncle described her in his new life, and how Howland described her in his past...

At that moment, the woman reached up. A trembling hand slowly drifting to rest on his cheek. The skin was soft, but impermissibly warm. Jon couldn’t help but lean into the touch even as he looked upon her in wonder. Ultimately, there was only one person this woman could be - Jon didn’t need introductions to realize it. It was impossible, but he and Dany had made miracles happen… Why not this one?

“Aegon…” she murmured, only audible to him and those quite close. Daenerys was one, and a looming figure behind the stranger was another.

In spite of his cousins, his uncles, his beloved aunt and wife, and his own child, the man that was Jon Targaryen still felt the yearning for a mother’s love deep inside him. The pain of being a motherless bastard turned into one of being a motherless prince, of never knowing the woman that birthed him and held the last dying thought of protecting his life when the most vulnerable. With the touch and the gentle sound of his name, that weight on his heart was finally lifted. “Mother…” he murmured in return. Behind, he heard Dany’s intake of breath.

A loving smile spread on Lyanna Targaryen’s face. Letting out an awkward sigh. Jon replied with a sheepish grunt of his own, tears welling in his eyes as he knew not what else to say. Lyanna didn’t trouble him any longer, literally throwing herself forward, embracing him tightly for the first time since he was but a single hour old. “My son,” she said through her own tears.

“Mother… it’s you…” Burying his face in her shoulder, Jon took in her scent. One that soothed his agony yet brought the anguish of a motherless life to the surface. “You’re here…” She only hugged him tighter.

Upon his shoulder, Jon felt Dany’s gentle touch. “My love…” She tapped him, reluctantly interrupting his long-dreamed of reunion with his mother.

But Jon couldn’t blame her for anything, not for this. Looking up from Lyanna’s embrace, his eyes widened as they fell upon a large man. Long, silver hair falling about his shoulders, Valyrian-style armor stretched over his muscular chest, it was the purple eyes sparkling with love and devotion that gave him away.  His age was only a little older, but otherwise there was no denying his identity.

“Fa… father.”

Choking back a sob, Rhaegar Targaryen chuckled and reached behind Jon. Completing the warm cocoon of his parents’ love… returned from death by some miracle of the gods. Wiping a tear from her eyes, Daenerys tried to move away from the heartwarming scene, only for both Jon and Rhaegar to pull her in. Completing the embrace.

No one couldn’t be moved. “Long live the dragons!” Jon heard Ned shout. 

“LONG LIVE THE DRAGONS!”

 


 

Notes:

Longclaw: sigh... tears in our eyes. Jon and his parents finally reunite :D

Hope Ramsay's death in here was satisfying

Chapter 55: Memories and Dreams

Summary:

1. Jon spends time with his wife, son and parents. Rhaegar shares some dreams he had in his past life.
2. Robb prepares for the parley with the Freys.
3. Aerys receives a proposition from the Iron Bank. Jon Connington shares news with him about his estranged wife.
4. Lynesse and Tywin attend Robert's declaration of war.
5. Alysanne takes a dragon ride and Shireen helps her with matters of the heart.

Notes:

cmyatt01 - Sorry for the long wait. We hope you enjoy.

CastleColin: I know that good things come to those who wait, yet I understand if this delay was more frustrating. Anyways, I believe you’ll still find the story engaging.

Longclaw: Stuff came up, what can I say? We spent the last week or so trying to make this perfect, and more action is on the way. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Jon CH 55.1

 

Jon Targaryen

Nose wrinkling at the acrid stench of wildfire that permeated all of Winterfell, even such couldn’t break the muted smile that remained plastered to Jon’s face. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he sat besides Daenerys. “I still can’t believe this…” His wife cradled their not so little babe in her arms - not having let go of him since their reunion not long after arriving, cheek often pressed on Rhaegon’s - but both their eyes were focused on their companions. “You’re… you’re actually here. How?”

Lyanna Stark Targaryen - his mother - looked nothing like her statue in the crypt. Many said Arya resembled her, but she was taller. Less slender but no less a beautiful woman. She was all Stark though, Dany whispering to him that she didn’t find any mystery to why Rhaegar fell for her. Those same grey eyes that he saw in the looking glass shone with the greatest warmth. “I suppose our families still hold great magic.”

Jon smiled back. “I suppose so… Mother.” Theirs had been great confessions in the last hours. While the men cleared Winterfell of the rubble and Bolton corpses - Domeric locked in the dungeons to be dealt with later - the four Targaryens of blood and marriage withdrew to Ned’s solar. They needed to be alone, and no one begrudged them. “With the truth of your story, it doesn’t surprise me that you believed ours.”

“I knew our family had a great destiny long ago,” Rhaegar interjected, taking a seat next to Lyanna with two goblets of warm spiced wine. He handed one to Lyanna, and Jon saw his mother smile, scooting closer till her shoulders and legs touched his father’s. With how Rhaegar’s arm wrapped automatically round Lyanna’s waist, it was clear the two loved each other dearly.  “And I managed to see my son come of age into greatness… I only regret that I wasn’t alive to see it all.” He trailed off, falling into a pensive, brooding frown. One Jon knew all too well.

Perhaps it wasn’t Uncle Ned that I took after on that. In a way, it elated him - he was just like his father.

“If only I had defeated Robert on the Trident, like I thought I was destined to, we could have been the family we were supposed to be… The family I saw in my dreams,” he added softly, taking a sip of his wine. 

“In your dreams?” Dany inquired, looking up from Rhaegon and meeting Rhaegar’s eyes.

“Yes, in my dreams, I always thought I was seeing Lyanna and I with our children. But I know now that was wrong... because the children I saw growing up alongside Aegon and Rhaenys were actually you and Jon,” he answered as he tightened his grip on Lyanna’s waist. “I always thought you were my Jaehaerys and Visenya,” he added with a chuckle. 

“You really saw us in your dreams?” Jon asked. 

“I did,” His father confirmed. “And even in my dreams, you and Dany seemed to show an unbreakable bond… However, there was something wrong with Aegon and Rhaenys in my dreams.” His father furrowed his brow once more.

“What do you mean?” Jon found himself asking. His father had already told him stories about his wild older sister, and Aegon had barely reached his first name day when he had been butchered.

“Well, in the dreams, they also started out incredibly close and so in love with the other, just like you and Dany… However, as they aged in the dreams, they seemed to grow apart. Aegon began acting more and more like my father…”  Rhaegar explained softly. Jon could tell it was painful for his father to speak of these dark dreams. “I began to fear for Rhaenys and the dreams would become more about getting her to safety...  I always thought it was my mind's way of telling me to keep all my children close, and show them that I loved each of them the same as the other.”

Suddenly Daenerys gasped. “Oh my gods,” she muttered.

When he looked at his wife it appeared as though the color had drained from her face. “Dany, what is it?” Jon was concerned.

“I don’t think it is Aegon and Rhaenys you saw in your dreams… I think it might have been Aerys and Alysanne.”

It made sense. Aerys and Alys had grown up together and had been inseparable. Their love had been pure. It was not until they had gotten older, after Aerys had begun his descent into madness, that their love began to suffer.

But Jon realized that there was no way for his father to know. “You told me Father is dead.” Confusion was etched on Rhaegar’s face. “That he was rightfully executed by Jaime Lannister to save King’s Landing from being engulfed in his wildfire.”

“Alysanne and Aerys are our sister and brother,” Dany spoke softly beside him. 

She then went on to explain that Aerys was her twin brother, and Alys was their half sister, born to Lady Ashara Dayne. That after Eddard Stark informed her about the death of her brother and that Robert would not stop until Targaryens were dead, she faked her death and escaped to Westeros with her newborn daughter. Then when she got to Essos, she was met by Jon Connington, who had escaped with her twin brother, Aerys. Alys and Aerys were raised together and fell in love and were married. 

“However, shortly after they married, Aerys changed… He hatched his dragon and became obsessed with power... He turned into our father.” Dany continued sadly, an expression matched by Rhaegar. Lyanna held a sorrowful frown, which Jon didn’t begrudge her. His grandfather murdered his other grandfather by wildfire. Uncle Ned still mourns them, so for mother it must be even fresher. He wanted to squeeze his mother’s hand, but noticed his father doing it. The simple joy of watching his parents be in love - for Jon it was even stronger, considering the official tale of them spread by Robert Baratheon.

“Connington…” Rhaegar pursed his lips. “My closest friend besides Arthur. I have no doubt he’d loyally serve our family even after my death. Perhaps he could serve a bridge between us?”

Dany shook her head. “I doubt it. Connington was kind to Alys but Aerys is… determined as anything.” Even from high in the air, Jon could remember just how ruthless his uncle was. “Thankfully, just after Alysanne learned she was pregnant, she and Ashara were able to escape.”

“Gods,” Rhaegar murmured. “I cannot believe our younger brother is mad.”

“I’m sorry, Rhae,” Dany said, reaching across and giving Rhaegar’s hand a squeeze. “Ashara said she tried everything to get Aerys to return to the sweet boy she raised, but it was as if something inside of him snapped… And we all know about father, how the events of the Defiance of Duskendale cause his paranoia to take over.”

 “Where are they now?” Lyanna asked. “Are they safe?”

“Aye,” Jon answered. “Alysanne, her son, Prince Daemon, and Lady Ashara are safe in Meereen with our Unsullied and Dothraki armies as well as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan and a few of Oberyn Martell’s daughters… as well as the dragon she has bonded with.”

“I am sure Arthur will be excited to be reunited with his sister,” Lyanna said. It was clear to Jon his mother was trying to lighten the mood. “The two of you always acted as though you were brothers, now you do share kin - your sister is his niece.”

“That is true,” Rhaegar replied, a small smile tugging on his cheeks. “And I do hope to see Barristan’s face when he sees me returned from the dead. He might shit his trousers.” The image drew all four of them into chuckles. Wiping his eye, Jon found his father staring at him, a smile on his face. “Jon…”

“Yes, father?” His breath hitched as Rhaegar stood and walked to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Father?”

“My boy. I’m so proud of you.” Jon’s breath hitched, eyes watering. Everything he’d ever wanted, finally he possessed them all in some act of providence. “I only wish I was a father you could take pride in return.”

Hearing the words, Jon rose. “You were never at fault, father.” Clasping his father’s shoulder, a tiny, tired smile crossed his lips. “Perhaps when I found out the truth, I didn’t take it well, but never since did I blame you or mother. Neither of you were the cause of what transpired, even if the events set things in motion earlier than the inevitable.”

The sad smile was reflected back at him, through violet rather than grey. “You are too much like me for your own good. Eloquent yet blunt.” 

“Perhaps I’ve learned to be a poet after all.” Without further words, father and son embraced… truly reunited once again. “Still going to be awkward, you and mother being the same age as Dany and I.”

Awkwardly chuckling, Lyanna rubbed the back of her neck. “That is true… forgive me, Daenerys, but sometimes I felt as if Rhaegon was like my own.”

Looking behind him, Jon could see his wife smile without ire - leaning down to kiss Rhaegon on his chubby cheek. “I can’t be upset at that. He is your grandson, and we hope the both of you will be in his life the way Jon unfortunately couldn’t.”

Nodding, Lyanna sighed. “It seems like yesterday that I held you in my arms, my son. Now it’s as if I’m looking at a cross between your father and my father.”

“My son the heartbreaker,” Rhaegar boasted. “I bet the maidens of the world all teared up when Daenerys nabbed you.” Both ladies rolled their eyes, while father and son shared a look of mirth. 

 


Robb Stark

They slept under the stars.

As Robb chewed on the salted pork that comprised the bulk of their rations, he stared up at the cloudless sky - the stars all sparkled with their wondrous light from beyond the trees south of Moat Cailin. It allowed his mind to wander… to imagine what had taken place during Jon’s past, or Dany’s past. From what they had said, either held the same fate for him.

Dead. Killed by my own bannermen, along with my wife and unborn babe. Such wasn’t the man Robb would ever be, but he still felt the guilt gnawing at him. Jon was hesitant, but spilled basically everything. Of course it was his own fault, neglecting his responsibilities to chase lust and desire. A mistake he didn’t intend to make again.

Ironic was the fates, given he managed to find affection with the maiden his duty compelled him to marry. Margaery . Gods, it was as if she were an angel descended from the Andal Seven. Robb could see himself falling deeply for her in a long, solid marriage.

But the fates were also cruel in their japes. Talisa… In a sense, he couldn’t blame himself for falling for her in Jon and Dany’s pasts. She was also amazing and kind, someone down to earth and so easy to fall for. Not for the first time, Robb wished to bellow at the top of his lungs and hack away at unseen enemies to expel the headache and heartache that so consumed him.

“Your Grace, the rendezvous with the Crannogmen should happen soon.” Luckily, reality caught up with him, and Robb shifted his eyes to Toland Poole - brother of the steward of Winterfell and his lead bannerman on the expedition. “We will need to send them away quickly, in case the Freys have eyes around here.”

Flung back to the here and now, Robb eyed the five men gathered around him. He sighed. “I believe Lord Reed and I discussed that they’d only travel by night. They’ll stay close until we receive word from the Freys as to when we’re going to hold the parlay.”

“We should just sneak into the Twins and slaughter them,” one of them muttered.

Robb glared at him. “We need to secure my mother first. They’ll still have my uncle Edmure under lock and key that my father and grandfather will have to contend with… We’re sticking to the plan, understood.”

“Aye, my Prince.”

“Prince Robb.” He looked over his shoulder to see Arthur Dayne - never was Robb not awed that the legendary knight was actually alive, let alone Jon’s parents along with him. “Dispatch from Moat Cailin.” 

“The Freys?” He watched as Arthur shook his head. “Then what? My father?”

Arthur, his face expressionless, handed Robb a dispatch. “You need to read this, Young Wolf.” His tone indicated no room for disagreement… much as Robb’s birth and title outranked the Sword of the Morning.

Given they weren’t in battle, Robb wasn’t interested in pulling rank. He took the dispatch. It was short and curtly written, the style of his brother the King. A deep sigh left his lips. “It begins.”

“Aye, it does,” replied the Dornish swordsman. 

“Your Grace?” asked Toland, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Catching eyes with Arthur, the knight nodded - there was no reason to keep this from them. “The Boltons have attacked Winterfell.” Eyes widened and fists clenched. “They were defeated to the last man when Jon arrived with Wildling reinforcements… and his dragons.”

The anger gave way to confusion once again. “Dragons? I don’t follow.”

Sighing, Robb shrugged. “The war has already begun, so there’s no point in keeping the secret. Jon is not my father’s bastard, but the trueborn son of my aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“The she-wolf?”

“I knew his Grace would never have dishonored his wife by fathering a bastard.”

“So she wasn’t violated?”

He held up his hand to stop the barrage of questions. “All of such is true, but it can be dealt with once my mother is returned to us. That being said, with the Bolton defeat there are likely to be hostilities before we know it.”

“Tywin Lannister will march for us,” frowned Arthur. “If he wants to fight and win before winter, then he will need to hurry.”

Robb nodded. “Aye, which is why I think the Freys will still try to make the deal instead of attack us. They want Moat Cailin, which means the gateway to the North… my mother the Queen in the North is the only true asset they have in this endeavor.”

Crossing his arms, Tolland Poole leaned back. “And this is why we need the Crannogmen?”

Before Robb could speak, a runner dashed into the camp - the soldiers directed him to Robb. “Prince Robb Stark… Lord Torrhen Karstark sends his regards.” From astride his horse produced a raven. The scroll was stamped with the seal of the Lord of the Twins.

“Looks like Lord Walder has begun contact.” Breaking the seal, he quickly read the poorly-written scrawl. “Lothar Frey will be the one to lead the column.”

“Makes sense he wouldn’t send his heir to treat with us,” Arthur mused.

Pursing his lips, Robb continued. “They’ll meet with us where the Kingsroad meets the Neck… the official border between the North and Riverlands, with three hundred men. My mother for Moat Cailin.”

 


Aerys Targaryen

“Your Grace, you wound me. I am but a humble servant of the Iron Bank. If you have any objections to the institution’s proposition, I suggest speaking with the keyholders.” Hands folded over each other, one of them reached up to straighten the high, stiff collar over which a thin beard draped.

Aerys scowled at the courteous, yet condescending visage of Tycho Nestoris seated across the table. The representative of the Iron Bank had shown up on his doorstep quite unannounced that morning, claiming “matters of utmost importance” to discuss between him and the foggy city he hailed from. If there was one thing Aerys hated more than his blasted nephew, it was men who didn’t show him due deference. He had wanted to feed Nestoris to Rhaelyx… that was until he read the letter the man bore.

What he read he deemed worthy enough to humor the purple-robed banker.

He sipped a measure of spiced honey wine to soothe his ire. Gods, the wine Lannisport was famous for was sweet. Sweeter still will be watching that wretched city burn. “Did the Sealord put your precious bank up to this so that I’d not come after him after being offended by such a ludicrous deal?” He shoved his wine aside. “I accept the loan. I can always do with more soldiers, but I refuse the aid of the Braavosi fleet with what the Sealord demands in return.”

Tycho smiled knowingly. “I thought you might say that, your Grace. However - do forgive me if I’m forgetting my place - but a wise king knows to keep his head smaller than the crown he wears.”

“Don’t patronize me, Nestoris.” Aerys not so subtly clenched Blackfyre’s pommel. “Four whole cities for mere ships? I’m sorry, but I see no reason to hand over my well-earned conquests at such a paltry price.”

“The Seven Kingdoms are the greater prize, your Grace.” Tycho spread his hands. “The Reach alone has more wealth than Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh combined. ‘Tis a small price indeed, though the return is much greater than it seems.”

“Enlighten me, then," Aerys snapped. “Exactly why should I take the deal?”

“A matter of expediency. You are not the only Targaryen seeking to reclaim a lost throne and thus, it’s in your interest to hasten your return to Westeros. Holding onto the Free Cities will tie down men and material you sorely need to pacify a land that no longer takes kindly to dragons.”

Tycho carefully poured himself a goblet of spiced wine and took an even more careful sip. Sighing in content, he fixed the rogue Targaryen royal with a new sternness. “And the Iron Bank will have its due. Your immolation of Volantis cost us a lot of coin. The merchants and masters there were some of our best clients. Braavosi rule over Myr, Lys, Tyrosh, and Pentos will provide us more opportunities for direct investment in them to recoup our losses.”

“Grant the Iron Bank a monopoly over their finances, more like,” Aerys pointed out. In spite of himself, he was beginning to warm to the scheme. It was the sort of bold, calculated plan that raised him and his army to supremacy wherever they went. Besides, it meant that he wouldn’t have to choose between Bronn or the Tattered Prince to give the city currently occupied. Nor would they waste good men fighting over it.

Tycho shrugged nonchalantly. “Call it what you will, your Grace. However, we at the bank simply regard it as an expansion of business.”

Mulling over it silently, Aerys decided to take the deal. The Free Cities were really just stepping stones to the Iron Throne. He could always come back to reconquer them after he won Westeros. Plus, he still had Jon and Daenerys to settle with, not to mention the dreaded Ice King when the Wall inevitably fell.

Putting an inked quill to the parchment, Aerys signed the letter, sealing the agreement. “Answer me this, Nestoris… Why the Sealord’s interest in annexing these cities? Braavos always struck me as more concerned with money and commerce than war and conquest.”

“Volantis is - was - our only rival,” Tycho chuckled dryly. “It being crippled opened a vacuum only Braavos can fill. The Sealord intends to do what the tigers never could succeed - claim the mantle of heir to the Valyrian Freehold.”

How pretentious. But Aerys held his tongue. As long as the Braavosi fleet came through for him, the Sealord could have Old Valyria itself for all he cared. He passed the contract back to Tycho’s waiting hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, your Grace,” he smiled. Putting on his three-tiered hat of purple felt, he bowed in respect before taking his leave.

Sighing, Aerys slumped in his seat. Gods, spare me from such greedy fools. If life - both that of his existence and that of Daenerys in their past life - had taught him anything, it was to mistrust anyone motivated by gold and coin. They dealt in the most cold-blooded of calculations with no loyalty about them. He poured himself another goblet of mead, hoping the honeyed liquid could ease his ire. One day, fire and blood will come for them. Only the crown held the divine and martial authority to justify such power and wealth.

A knock on the door disturbed him. “Enter!” Rubbing his temples, Aerys knew he’d regret it but no one would disturb him unless they had something important… or was stupid. If it was the latter, he could always feed them to Rhaelyx.

The visitor turned out to be Jon Connington, brooch of the Hand pinned to his gambeson and curly red hair pulled into a bun. He bowed. “Forgive me for intruding your Grace, but I bear information.”

“Just out with it Griff, we’ve known each other for too long for you to dither.” By all truths, Connington was the father he never had and the last person that understood him since Alysanne and Ashara left. Up to treason, Aerys would let him get away with anything.

“The Triarchy is attempting to feint us by sea. Their real attack is landward.”

This shocked Aerys. “By land? Only Tyrosh boasts any type of non-garrison force and that is pitiful to begin with… besides, we hired most of the sellswords anyway.”

Connington nodded. “Aye, we did, but the Triarchy’s extensive trade networks managed to find all the ones we failed to gain… from as far away as Yi Ti it seems.” He didn’t have a network as extensive as Varys, but his operations certainly rivaled that of Littlefinger, only in better placed positions. “They also impressed what slave populations were fit for war, as well as the surviving Volantine armies.” Apparently even one dragon couldn’t annihilate a whole city. Only a fool would think so, given Harrenhal still stood.

Snorting, Aerys shrugged his shoulders. “Unable to fight me on their own, they turn to their traditional foes. Quite admirable of them to put aside their petty squabbles, especially now that I can defeat them in detail.”

“My whispers also point out a Dornish contingent among their forces.”

Aerys raised a brow. “The Dornish? Why would they be preoccupied when war is brewing in Westeros?”

“The bulk of their limited banners are either defending the mountain passes or marching to Highgarden, but that didn’t stop Prince Doran from sending a host under the command of his son Prince Quentyn to supplement the Triarchy.”

That threatening letter didn’t do me any favors. While he would never do so out loud, Aerys admitted it to himself. Perhaps he should have instead sent Ashara to negotiate with them directly… Ashara… muna… Alysanne, my love… That might have gone better than masquerading as Elia’s deceased son. “And the fleet?”

“I suspect they’ll try to feint against us. Attack Pentos directly. But with Braavos and the Ibbenese whalers that I’ve managed to wrangle for us, we should be on pretty even terms to engage them.”

“No.” Aerys cut him off. “If you can win a bloodless victory, do it, but otherwise avoid sea battle. We need those ships so we can cross the Narrow Sea.” Just thinking about ships gave him a headache, considering how Daenerys suffered in regards to them in their shared past. “If that is all… what Griff?”

Feet shifting, Connington hesitated. “I… it’s not important.”

“Tell me now!”

Orders were orders. “News… about Alysanne.”

The room went silent. “Tell… tell me.” Aerys’ voice was uncharacteristically soft and wavering. His hand trembled in apprehension, the King-claimant almost dreading what was about to come. “Tell me about my wife.”

“She’s resided in Meereen, placed in charge of Slaver’s Bay in the Usurper’s absence.” He really looked ill in speaking, but Connington wasn’t a coward or a disloyal yes-man. “She bore a son, a Targaryen Prince. Your son, your Grace.”

It was like being punched in the face. Had he been standing, Aerys would have staggered. “What is his name?” he asked evenly.

“Daemon, your Grace.”

Not a word left Aerys’ lips for the longest of times. “Get out,” he finally said. Connington bowed and left, likely hoping to avoid the inevitable burst of anger and rage.

That would come, likely on the field of battle against whatever hapless enemies tried to challenge the dragon. But for now, in the comfort of his solitude, the great Aerys III Targaryen dropped his head on the desk. The mighty conqueror he had become withdrawing back into the scared orphan boy, tears welling in his eyes.

Aly… why did you have to leave… my son… our son…

He would get them back if it was the last thing he did.

 


Lynesse Lannister

“Hold still, mi’Lady.” 

Biting her lip in irritation, the Lady of Casterly Rock allowed her maids to tighten the laces of her dress round her waist. It was the best for the occasion - a dark crimson broken with intricate swirls of gold, the colors of her husband’s house. Her dirty-blonde hair completed the outfit, but Lynesse clenched her teeth as her swollen chest rebelled against the tight silk.

Something my dear husband doesn’t yet know. Lynesse would tell him tonight… after the ceremony. These matters were best done in private.

A knock on the door drew an irritable roll of the eyes. “What?!” she called out, hoping the guard on the other side would make himself scarce.

The voice that did answer was the one person that Lynesse didn’t mentally groan at imagining. “It’s your husband. Let me in.” One of the maids - all her own from Oldtown that had gone even to Bear Island and Lys with her - darted quickly to the door, opening it. Tywin Lannister strode in, dressed impeccably in full armor and cape. Taking in the state of the room while meeting eyes with Lynesse, he gestured to the servants. “Get out. I’ll finish my wife’s preparations.” At a nod from her, the servants made their exit.

Just the two of them, Lynesse propped her arms upon the dresser - smirking all the while her husband walked behind her. “You know,” she mused, feeling Tywin’s hands begin to work at her laces. “The Hand of the King shouldn’t bother himself with such mundane labor.”

He grunted behind her. “If a man can’t take care of his own bride then what man is he?” This was the highborn that caught his own fish and gutted his own game, so it wasn’t that much of a shock. “We’re all waiting on you, dear wife.”

Lynesse fought not to moan. Gods, she wished Tywin would just rip the dress in half and take her. Damn this babe… He was such a better lover than Jorah had ever been, even considering his age. She pushed away the urge, though. “I’m sure Cersei is taking longer to prepare herself.”

“You… aren’t wrong. Robert is also insufferable, wishing to have this in the Red Keep to spite the Targaryens.”

“Harrenhal is a proper place. The parade ground is the largest, while he’s announcing the destruction of House Targaryen from the sight of Aegon the Conqueror’s greatest triumph.” At his pat on her back, Lynesse turned, looping her arms round his neck.

Tywin cracked a tiny grin. “Sometimes I wonder if the rumors they say about us are true - that we share minds.”

“I wouldn’t presume to imagine myself as wise as the great Tywin Lannister.” A short kiss followed, which she needed to keep short for the sake of her sanity. “Shall we, Lord Hand.” He nodded and allowed her to hold onto his arm, leading Lynesse out of her chambers towards the waiting assemblage.

By the irony of the gods, Queen Cersei was seated on the hastily constructed platform draped with the crowned stag banners of the royal House Baratheon. She sat silently beside Lynesse’s goodbrother Kevan, casting her a dirty look… though the one of sheer loathing was reserved for the King. His look of ire was just as his entire personality - blatant and full of bombast. “Where the fuck were ya?!” 

Tywin bowed his head. “Forgive me, your Grace. I was merely escorting my wife.”

Robert’s gaze shifted to Lynesse. “Well? What do you have to say for making your King wait?”

I wish to keep my nose away from your vile stench for as long as possible. But Lynesse was too polite and intelligent to say her true thoughts. Just as her governesses taught her, she smiled gently and curtseyed. “I wished to look my best, so as to provide the best presentation for my King and husband’s goodson.” Her voice was flirty and light, one that made both Cersei and Crown Prince Renly - seated across a gap in the assembled chairs - raise their eyebrows. Tywin made no expression, but it was clear he was impressed.

As for Robert… his ire turned to humor. “Well that’s the proper attitude from a woman. Now sit down so we can get this cunt started.” Lynesse bit back her preferred responses to take her seat, thankful to be quite far away from both the King and her bitter gooddaughter. Her husband, meanwhile, stood beside Robert, hands pressed behind his back and looking far more kingly than the fat oaf that gripped his new warhammer - flanked on the other side by Lord Commander Meryn Trant.

Before the various highborns of House Baratheon, House Lannister, and the Small Council, thousands of soldiers were lined up within the Harrenhal parade ground. Various banners of the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Riverlands fluttered in the breeze among the cavalry, men-at-arms, siege operators, and archers. The warboar of House Crakehall. The rearing stallion of House Bracken. The sparrowkeets of House Caron. The lion of House Lannister. The sheep of House Stokeworth. All obeying the call of their King… more her husband’s call, for the intelligent ones knew who ruled.

She couldn’t help but feel smug about it.

Robert, the dolt he was, clearly let the masses of troops energize him greatly. “Men of Westeros!” he boomed, for once looking like the great Storm King as his ancestors were. “Today, the final fight for our destiny begins!”

A line of spearmen in the van smacked their spears into the ground, followed soon by the swordsmen beating against their shields. Obviously a coordinated effort to drum up morale, but the King saw it as a spontaneous confirmation of his own popularity and prowess as a leader.

“The Targaryen scum! We destroyed them and toppled their decadent dynasty almost two decades ago, sending their survivors into the lands of the eastern eunuchs and slavemasters - but they have returned!” He let it hang, likely to induce terror among the men. “The daughter of the Mad King has returned to our shores, bringing along a Blackfyre bastard that claims to be the son of the vile rapist Prince Rhaegar!” Robert spat out the name, while Lynesse heard Cersei’s breath hitch.

A complicated relationship between the Light of the West and the Last Dragon.

Robert suddenly banged the steel shaft of his warhammer into the wood. “But they will fall!” His loud words echoed in Harrenhal’s courtyard, illuminating the melted towers of Harren the Black. “Their greatness is dead! Destroyed by centuries of incest and madness! They think that foreign savages and Northern half-wildlings will bolster their chances, but when have these fools ever defeated the brave men of Westeros?”

“NEVER!” bellowed the soldiers in unison… this line actually riling up their passions and pride.

“Before our steel, they will be defeated! Before my warhammer, the usurper will die! Before the weapons of our glorious Citadel, the dragons themselves will fall from the sky!” At Tywin’s signal, the siege operators trained in Casterly Rock itself removed tarps covering over four dozen devices of different sizes. Mounted on wagons, the black-painted scorpions and ballistae looked as menacing as possible. Many had customized them, painting beasts or demons upon them to add to the effect. 

Lynesse had to concede that even she felt a thrill up her leg… imagining the dragons not being able to break through this. My husband outsmarted them yet again. 

“THEY WILL ALL DIE!” Robert screamed.

Stepping up, Tywin took over as anger seemed to cloud the King’s mind. “From Winterfell to the Eyrie! From Riverrun to Highgarden. From the Wall to Sunspear, there will be no stretch of land safe for the dragons. To victory!”

“TO VICTORY!”

 


Alysanne CH 55.5

Alysanne Targaryen

“WHOOOO!”

The roar of the wind overpowering in her ears, Alysanne nevertheless hadn’t ever felt more alive. Faster, girl, faster! Ragnar hooted, the blue dragon shuddering as she beat her growing wings. Higher did she climb, passing the fluffy clouds that now blocked the shimmering city of Meereen from Alysanne’s view. Even in the sweltering equatorial sun, the air felt icy against her skin, pumped hot with dragonblood.

Perhaps that was why their blood ran so hot. That they were born to soar through the skies. Alysanne was certain of it, because this was where she belonged. Soaring through the heavens themselves, untouched by the wiles of man and directly challenging the might of the gods. 

And the command was almost instinctive. “Dive!” she cried in Valyrian, waiting for it to happen.

Ragnar almost recoiled in the sky. Everything slowed with one massive wingbeat, stalling in the middle of the air as she arced - the blur of the ground cleared up, Alysanne thinking she could almost see the entirety of the Bay of Dragons from her perch. All felt… just right.

And in an instant, the glorious view disappeared in a great flash, Ragnar folding her wings back as gravity drew her in a great plunge. Alysanne hugged the dragon’s blue spines with all her might, fighting the red tinge threatening to consume her vision and the sheer force of the air currents threatening to hurl her backwards towards certain death. Faster! Faster, girl! I can take it!” Ragnar folded her wings even tighter against her body, increasing the speed and angle of the dive. Meereen grew larger and larger as they shot through the clouds. The Great Pyramid loomed largest of all, growing from a mere pinprick into the massive structure it was…

Break dive! 

Screeching, Ragnar evened out, her wings shooting out to slow her dive as she began to circle the city. Alysanne sucked in deep breaths, heart beating out of her chest. “By the gods…” A laugh rumbled from her throat before it grew. Gods, that was what she was meant to be… what she was meant to do.

She was a dragon.

Her heart was still pounding as she made her way back to her chambers at the peak of the Great Pyramid. She fully understood why Queen Rhaenys loved to fly - the feeling of freedom and unlimited sense of empowerment. Of course, her most recent excursions on Ragnar had been a bit reckless if she admitted. Her mother cautioned her never to dive so swiftly that she couldn’t pull up in time to avoid crashing splat on the ground. Oops.

The wails of her son assailed her ears as she entered the bedchamber. Standing by the bassinet was Shireen, frantically rocking little Daemon in her arms as he belted out his lungs. Looking up from her fruitless effort to settle him, the young Lady Baratheon smiled in relief at Alysanne’s appearance. “Your Grace! Thank goodness! This little one won’t stop crying, and I’ve tried to soothe him for the past half hour.”

Chuckling at her lady-in-waiting, Alysanne gently took Daemon from Shireen. “He’s hungry. The little dragon has a monstrous appetite.” Shireen respectfully averted her gaze as the babe took to his mother’s breast. After having his fill, Daemon yawned hugely and stretched out his growing limbs. Alysanne tenderly kissed his forehead before putting him down for a nap. She then sunk into a chair besides the bassinet.

“Your ride on Ragnar must have been exhilarating, your Grace,” Shireen teased, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “I could hear your whoops and hollers from the terrace.” Alysanne blushed bright red. She couldn’t help it - it was only natural for the blood of the dragon.

The two women chatted amiably for the next hour. Alysanne asked Shireen if she missed her home back in Westeros. The latter replied that she was never very fond of Dragonstone - it smelled of salt and smoke. Shireen inquired about Alysanne’s life growing up in Norvos with her mother and brother. The former spoke glowingly about the view over the Noyne and waxed nostalgic about the gentle chiming of its three bells.

When the Lady Baratheon brought up Daemon’s father, Alysanne hesitatingly shared her estrangement from her brother-husband. Shireen was very sympathetic, having known her late father died consumed by an obsession to kill Jon Targaryen, she understood what madness did to otherwise good people.

“I doubt we’ll ever reconcile,” Alysanne admitted sadly. “He’s gone down a path that I can’t follow nor would care to.”

Shireen nodded slowly with her lips tight. “Perhaps it’s for the best, your Grace. Prince Aerys may have been right for you when you were young, but now that you’ve come into your own…” She turned to look at Ragnar, who was poking her bright blue snout into the room from the terrace outside. “You need to spread your wings and be unafraid to fly alone.”

Recalling the rush of power she felt coursing through her veins while astride Ragnar, Alysanne could believe it. Yet, she also couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy as she suspected that she would inevitably cross paths with Aerys again. Seeing Daemon snoozing peacefully, his cheeks puffing with each breath, she wondered how he’d grow up without his father. More pressing was how she’d explain the falling-out his parents had when he grew older.

Alysanne tried to part the storm in her head. When the time is right. For now, she must focus on her duty to House Targaryen and her personal growth as a leader.

“I’ve noticed a particular fondness you’ve shown toward Ser Jaime,” Shireen said, breaking the princess from her brooding. “It seems a lion is sometimes a better match for a dragon than another dragon.”

Alysanne blinked, then waved dismissively. “The Lannister is comely. However, a dashing knight is not what I’m on the lookout for. My husband was once like Ser Jaime and given how he turned out, I refuse to make the same mistake again.” Honestly, she enjoyed her flirtations with the Lion of Lannister, though she was by no stretch ready to open her heart to him. Heartbreak taught her to be wary of men who might actively seek her favor.

“So are you just going to keep stringing Ser Jaime along forever?” Shireen looked at her disapprovingly.

“What? No… no… of course not.” From Shireen’s still judgemental gaze, it was clear she wasn’t convinced. Frankly, Alysanne wasn’t convinced herself.

“If you won’t allow him to court you, stop teasing his affections. Don’t be like Aerys and break Ser Jaime’s heart, even if unintended. He too is getting over a heartbreak, and the last thing either of you need is to repeat that.”

Alysanne privately winced - Shireen’s words stung. But she was exactly right. While the princess was only faintly familiar with Cersei Lannister, the way Ser Jaime spoke of his sister reminded her greatly of how she now felt about Aerys. It was comforting to empathize with someone with an experience much like her own. She would do him no favors by treating his attraction to her as a mere token.

“I would open myself to him… it’s just that after what I’ve been through with my brother, I’m afraid to become intimate that closely.” Alysanne’s gaze settled on Daemon, who rolled over onto his side and was drooling from the corner of his mouth. “I’m thankful that I’ve my mother to talk to, though I wish I had Daenerys here to confide in.”

Shireen softened her tone. “I’m no experienced romantic, but I know mutual understanding is the key to a healthy relationship. Something my own parents never quite grasped. If you want to know whether you and Ser Jaime are right for each other, you must meet him in the middle.”

The corner of Alysanne’s lip curled up ever so slightly. Yes, mayhaps I could.

Notes:

cmyatt01 - Targaryens and their dreams...

CastleColin: We have yet to see the full might of the dragons.

Longclaw: The Battle of Winterfell was only the beginning. Now the real war starts.

Chapter 56: Tenuous Accords

Summary:

  1. Sandor Clegane - Trouble finds the Hound as he travels the Riverlands.
  2. Aemon Targaryen - The old Maester is in for surprises when he and the Lord Commander arrive at Winterfell.
  3. Catelyn Tully Stark - The Frey and Stark forces meet for a parley.
  4. Arthur Dayne - The Sword of the Morning reminds Lothar of the lesson taught to him by the Knight of the Laughing Tree.
  5. Arianne Tyrell - Garlan and Arianne prepare the loyal Reachmen and Dornishmen for the War to come.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi all, happy new year! Got a bit ill over the holidays so this was delayed. Sorry for that and I hope you will not be disappointed.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


 

Sandor Clegane

Thwack!

Walking towards the fallen deer, the burly man-at-arms once infamous across Westeros dropped his bow by the carcass and drew his knife. Sandor was glad to see his aim hadn’t diminished much from the hunts his father insisted on during his youth… not that he wished to think about his youth at all. Too many bad memories, and…

Plunging the knife into the gut of the dead doe, he regarded with a snort that there weren’t any good memories from his youth.

Don’t have to think much as to why that is… fuckin’ sadistic cunt. Hungry, that he was as the last of the chickens he pilfered from the Frey bannermen a few days back, Sandor never allowed the deer to suffer as he killed it - a clean shot to the head, instantaneous death. He wasn’t the Clegane that relished a person’s suffering. No, that was his brother Gregor. Suppose that’s why I’m here wandering the cold-ass swamps rather than fightin’ for the fat stag and hardass lion.

Even though the altercation took place moons ago, the memory still burned behind his eyes clear as day.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

“Ser Sandor, welcome.” Lord Tywin’s smile was uncharacteristic of all he knew the man for as he was welcomed into the Hand of the King’s solar.

Sandor scowled, not trusting the lion as far as he could throw him. “I ain’t no fuckin’ knight.”

“You insolent…”

A raised hand shut Cersei up, Tywin pursing his lips. “You are right, my apologies.” 

Alright, something quite wrong was going on, the Hound thought as the Hand of the King continued.

“Sandor Clegane, you have served House Lannister and the Crown loyally for decades.” 

The Hound noticed how the fat King was mentioned second by the newly appointed Hand - now that made sense, as much as the rest didn’t. 

“However, you erred greatly during the royal progress in the North.”

The Hound raised his good eyebrow. “I erred? How did I err? None of the stags or your precious children got hurt.”

“None of my precious children?!” Cersei hissed in indignance. “You scarred piece of shit! Did you not see how my poor babe was treated by those Northmen?! The foul insults thrown at him?!”

“Frankly, your Grace,” His words dripped of sarcasm. “The Prince earned everything he got from rapin’ the Stark girl… or almost rapin’ rather. Even had I been there, I couldn’t have saved him from the Northmen.”

Tywin’s small smile returned. It was as if all sorts of bugs were crawling all over Sandor’s skin as he looked at it. “Exactly the point, Clegane. You failed to stop the Crown Prince from engaging in ill-advised conduct.”

He blinked. “Nothin’ could’ve stopped him from doing anythin’ he wanted. The King didn’t care, and your daughter would look the other way - like she did when the Prince tortured a cat.”

“Lies!” Cersei slapped him. “You will not speak of my beloved Joffrey with such falsehoods!”

“Face facts, your Grace,” Sandor growled. “Your beloved son is a fuckin’ mad cunt.”

Before Cersei could claw out his eyes, Tywin spoke. “Your judgement and loyalty are questioned, Clegane, but I do take into account your years of loyal service. Therefore, you are to be sent to Casterly Rock and removed from the royal household effective immediately.”

Perhaps Sandor knew this was to happen. Perhaps it was inevitable, as evident in his reaction to Tywin’s statement. “Fuck the royal household.” He drew his sword, but the various guards hadn’t even drawn theirs before he dropped it on the ground in front of the Hand. “And fuck the King.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Looking back, he was shocked that he hadn’t been hung right there, but Tywin likely considered him not worth his time. He chuckled to himself. While bugs were likely to be squashed, they were oft ignored and left to their own devices. And such found him wandering the woods and backcountry game trails of… wherever the fuck he was. Didn’t matter. Only his empty belly and tired limbs mattered to him anymore. Maybe he’d find someplace to settle down, maybe not, but at least he’d be free of the cunts that used to treat him as a pawn in their sick schemes.

His brute of a brother may have been fine with being a pawn, taking his sick pleasure in raping and butchering the enemies of Lord Lannister, but not him. Never, he was not his fuckin’ brother. Sandor still hoped to kill him before he ended up as worm food.

“This way!” 

Sandor froze, falling flat to the ground as the voices rang out far off from him. Bandits? Hunting parties from whatever keep ruled the land he was on? Killing a deer in the Lord’s lands, he could be hanged or beheaded.

“Shut it,” came a reply. “Do you want the cunts to hear you?!”

“Frey bastards have hair growin’ out their ears. They can’t hear shit.”

“Men, shut it!” Sandor heard voices like that before. Sharp, educated - the voice of a powerful highborn knight. Looking up over the carcass, sleek figures raced through the woods, spears and shields leveled for battle… but also for speed. And at the van, guiding men forward with his arms, was a Dornishman carrying a Valyrian steel blade, or something at least looking like Valyrian steel.

What the fuck is going on?

 




Aemon Targaryen

It was oft discussed at the Citadel - the phenomenon that a person lost of his sight would end in each one of his other senses improving quite considerably to compensate. As the rickety wheelhouse, likely dating back to the days when Bloodraven was Lord Commander, rolled along, Aemon Targaryen knew the truth of those suppositions. Each and every bump in the road or groan of the ancient wood, he felt or heard more sharply than the vague memories of back when he was a youth. 

Truth be told, he’d rather have his sight back than prove such a theory widely debated by the Archmaesters, but he was content. Aemon had long come to terms with his infirmity. 

“Maester Aemon,” he heard the recently elected Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Benjen Stark, call from outside, smacking on the shell of the wheelhouse. “We’re here.” He sighed, leaning back. If only I had my sight for this. Aemon had seen Winterfell once, and once was truly enough for his old body… but for those within… not one moment was worth wasting. Not while he could measure the moons he had left with his fingers.

Gingerly rising - gripping his walking stick with his bony fingers - Aemon hobbled to the now open door. “Easy does it, young Stark. I’m not as limber as I used to be.” His free hand reached out to grab onto Benjen’s, slowly stepping onto the soft ground. Above him, he could hear the faint roars of dragons aloft high in the sky. “Now, I may be a simple maester but I expect a welcoming committee is waiting for me.”

“Your expectations are correct.” At hearing his great-nephew speak, Aemon wanted to bow in lieu of bending the knee but Jon batted that aside with a warm hug. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Aemon… you as well, Uncle Benjen.”

“I come after this one though you’ve known me all your life,” Benjen quipped. “I suppose I know my place now.”

“Oh shut it, Benjen.” The light, gentle laugh evidenced Daenerys, who filled Jon’s void after the latter pulled back from his hug. “Are you alright, Uncle Aemon? Weak or fatigued from your journey?”

Reaching up with his free hand to cup her cheek, Aemon stroked the soft skin affectionately. “Weak and fatigued describes normality for me these days, my sweet niece. But I can say that I am no worse than yesterday.” Anticipating her frown, he patted her cheek with a chuckle. “Don’t fret, I still have plenty of time on this earth. One matter driving me forth is that of the dearest little dragon that I haven’t yet made the acquaintance of. Can we…?”

Jon answered before Daenerys. “Yes of course, uncle. We would love for our son to meet his most senior blood.” There was a quick silence as he whispered something to Daenerys. “Uncle Benjen, I can’t wait to sup with you tonight, but I believe Uncle Ned wishes to speak with you.”

“Of course… as long as I get to hold my nephew after the maester here.” 

Jon laughed, clearly nodding.

Soon, the two of them were leading Aemon along towards the keep. “I trust we are under guard?”

“Aye, uncle,” Daenerys replied. “My sworn swords, Ser Jorah Mormont and the Unsullied commander Grey Worm… and we carry our blades as well.”

“I likely have said it before, but it is a great pity that I do not bear my sight, the image of Visenya reborn lost to me.” Before Dany could demure, Aemon interrupted her. “Now now, flattery may poison in large doses, but a person who cannot take a little of it can never rule.”

“I shall keep that lesson in mind, uncle.”

“The Lord Commander tells me that the Boltons attacked Winterfell. How many did you lose?” That Jon and Daenerys survived relieved him, but not much else was contained in the ravens sent to Castle Black.”

Jon winced. “Too many. We annihilated their force, killing or capturing the lot of them, but we lost several major Northern Lords… the only silver lining was that most of the northern banners were not at Winterfell - the army is intact to face Robert the Usurper.”

“Ahh, so he’s declared war, then?”

“Lord Varys the Spider sent a raven last night,” Daenerys answered. “Both he and Lord Tywin have called their banners. The Riverlands will become a burned out wasteland within the moon.” Much as the time they both came from. Some things always stayed the same, regardless of how reality unfolded. There was a reason the land of the Trident never truly developed a ruling family. “I’m afraid the Bolton attack was merely the start of a far larger conflict. Both here and in Essos… not to mention…”

“Aye, the Others.” There was a tense silence at the mention of them… one Aemon tried to move them away from. “Speaking of Essos, did my other niece finally bear her child?”

He could almost see the matching smiles in his niece and nephew. “She did… Prince Daemon Targaryen, trueborn and healthy.”

“Daemon… an inauspicious name in our family, but one I hope that Alysanne will redeem.” Aemon sighed. “Our house needs redemption. So much chaos and death, so many mistakes…”

Daenerys squeezed his hand. “Our house shall be great again, uncle. I promise.”

“You are like your great-grandmother, my dear. I believe you.” Just then, he heard the guards click their heels and new chambers opened to him. “Are we here?”

“Aye, uncle. We’re here.” Jon stepped in ahead of him. “Is he asleep?”

“Like a candle, out,” came a feminine voice with a northern lilt - soft, yet strong, almost like Daenerys.’ “He’s been an active boy all day, playing with us and his aunts and uncles. Quite very well pulled Sansa out of her shell since she ran into… you know.”

“Oh, I do.” Jon’s voice had an edge to it, but it softened almost immediately. “Hey there, little pup. Come to kepa .” There was an awe in his voice, stupefied that he actually had a child of his own blood in his arms - one to cherish and nurture into a brave Prince of House Targaryen. “Have you been a good hatchling today?” Gently, Jon kissed his brow.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. “Your Grace.” It was a flea bottom brogue of the Onion Knight. “Prince Oberyn and Lady Olenna wish to speak with you.”

“Anything serious, Ser Davos?”

“There are serious matters, but none immediately pressing.”

“Alright… but I should see to it anyway.” With great reluctance, he handed his son over to his wife. “Dany… please…”

She silenced him with a kiss. “I’ll handle it all, my love.” By blood and by prophecy… those two are truly meant for each other. Destined to be together. Aemon doubted anyone could tear them apart - only a history written by idiots could do it, and even then it wouldn’t make sense. “Come, uncle. Meet your nephew, Crown Prince Rhaegon.”

Gingerly, Aemon cradled the precious hatchling in his arms. The last time he was in this position, it had been with one of his sweet younger brother’s babes. He remembered the moment as if it were yesterday, and now it came to him again before he would pass on. Though blind, Aemon felt his eyes water with unshed tears.

“I cried as well, when I first held him, uncle.”

Aemon froze, disbelieving his own ears. No… it’s not possible… But he heard the voice, if slightly changed. “Egg? Is that you?” he asked haltingly, starting to tremble. 

“Best take the babe,” the northern woman said, to which Daenerys did. “Who’s Egg?”

“I think he means my great-grandfather, Lya,” ‘Egg’ said. “Aegon the Unlikely. I was told that I bore a resemblance to him.” Boots thumped on the wooden floor as the figure approached. “I am not he, Uncle Aemon. I am Rhaegar, son of Rhaella. We used to…”

“Exchange correspondence. In…”

“High Valyrian.” 

“Yes… that was it.” Wordlessly, Aemon reached up to cup Rhaegar’s cheek too. “How is this possible?”

A sigh. “It’s a long story, uncle.”

“I am where I need to be, with my family after so long.” Led by Daenerys, Aemon took a seat beside the crib. “Please, tell me.”

 



 

Catelyn Stark

She smelled his foul stench before he even spoke. “Wish you could see it, Lady Stark.” Lothar Frey’s biting laugh filled her ears - reeking of rot and onions, proudly uncultured, the son was the same as his father Lord Walder except without the sharp mind behind the beady eyes. Walder Frey was a smart one in spite of his unctuousness. His children largely inherited the latter while being nowhere near the former. “We’re in your coward husband’s kingdom now… it’ll soon be fuckin’ ours.”

Catelyn would have responded, had her mouth not been gagged and a hood draped over her head. That they did it only that morning rather than on the entire trip from her guest chambers at the Twins up through the northern Riverlands. More than anything, this told her the parlay would be happening today.

Abruptly, the Frey column stopped and she lurched forward in her saddle. “Stark banners ahead, brother.” The voice of Black Walder carried over the wind back to where she was.

“Well, it’s about fuckin time,” Lother growled as he was heard to pull back on his horse’s reins.

“Frey!” Catelyn’s breath hitched around the gag. Robb… She’d know her eldest son’s voice anywhere. “Where is my mother?!” 

“We have her,” Lothar spat, trying to contain his smugness. “Unless you want to see her throat slit before your eyes, Stark, you better escort us to Moat Cailin.  It’s been evacuated of all Northmen, correct?”

“Starks don’t betray our word, Frey.” No! Heart beating out of her chest, Catelyn wanted to scream at her son. Forget me! Don’t give them anything! She managed to moan around the gag and wiggle, only for the guard beside her to elbow her hard in the ribs. After a grunt of pain, Catelyn quieted down, biting the gag from the ache in her side. “You’ll get what we all came here for.”

A chuckle left Lothar’s lips. “And don’t think of trying a double cross… we outnumber you five to one!” His voice dropped so that only those around him could speak. “Not to mention the Stag marches from the south.” Catelyn’s eyes widened from under the hood - for many reasons. Not only was the crown beginning hostilities, but also for Lothar to be so open close to her, he didn’t intend on letting her live.

Or he was a fucking idiot, but she wasn’t about to afford underestimating the Freys.

As the forces started to move northwards, they suddenly stopped. “Wait! No one passes until I can see my mother unharmed!”

“Are you questioning my word, Stark?”

“I think your word is worth a bucket of warm piss, so fuckin’ show me my mother!” 

Muffled obscenities spilled from Lothar’s lips before the hood was ripped off suddenly. Catelyn winced from the bright light of the sun. She blinked rapidly, wishing for her hands to be freed so she could shield her eyes… but eventually they adjusted. “Here! She’s alive, and mostly in one piece. You can pull your cock out of your ass and take us to Moat Cailin!” Discarding her hood in the mud and dirt, Lothar galloped to the van of his column. 

Eyes adjusted, Catelyn locked gazes with Robb - gods, it had been nearly two years since she had seen him last and the boy she knew had grown into a man. Robb… Robb, please, don’t give up anything. 

 

“Mother?!” he called out. “You’ll be alright, mother!” Robb smiled at her. “Just like Arya with her sewing lessons.”

“Fuck off with your bitch sister’s sewing!” Lothar hissed. “Let’s go. You’ll ride with me, Stark, while the rest of your men go in the middle of mine!” 

Catelyn wasn’t listening to Lothar, instead pouring over what Robb was saying. Arya is never alright with her embroidery lessons. Always finds a way to run away from them… run…? 

“What are you waitin’ for?!” The Frey continued, “I said…”

Lothar’s screaming was interrupted as a large arrow slammed into the chest of the guard closest to Catelyn, only a bloody gurgle of breath leaving before he pitched out of the saddle. A sudden silence took hold over the collected men and horses. Catelyn, ever vigilant, saw Robb’s hand go for his blade. Run!

Two more arrows hit her guards, one in the chest and another in the head. “AMBUSH!” screamed someone, and Catelyn quickly rolled off her saddle as the horse she rode started neighing and getting skittish. Ahead of her, Robb, and his men had all drawn blades and charged, while a loud commotion in the woods to the east began to warble out. 

“Kill the bitch!” Lothar bellowed, but his voice was drowned out by the confused shouts and harried war cries of his more martially inclined bannermen. Scrambling to her feet, hands still bound and mouth still gagged, Catelyn wasted no time in running for the woods - praying that the Freys didn’t notice her in all the commotion.




 

Arthur Dayne

“Men, with me!” Helm draped over his eyes, Arthur twirled his blades, leading the charge. Dusk lay gripped tight in his right while his left held his other blade parallel to his forearm. Such wasn’t the gallant horse charge all the songs spoke of, but a ragged line of squat crannogmen in furs and leathers racing at a crouch towards the mounted Freys. Short spears and fishing pikes rapidly caused chaos among the enemy horsemen, exactly as Arthur and Howland planned for.

An attack was blocked by his parallel sword, Dusk cutting across his face in retaliation. In the distance, Robb and his horsemen slammed into the Frey left, the Prince’s direwolf ripping men off their mounts like a demon. Where’s Catelyn?

“Kill the Queen!” he heard. Eyes swiveling around, he found her running for her life, dismounted men-at-arms charging after her. A ragged man seemingly twice his size and with a burn over his face erupted out of nowhere, braining the men running after the Queen. Who the fuck…? The battle didn’t allow him the time to ponder things, unfortunately. 

Another dismounted Frey man-at-arms charged him, twin-handed battle axe chopping hard. But Arthur danced expertly out of the way, booted feet gliding on the dead grass as if it were a dance floor. Dusk sliced off the man’s arm, the axe falling to the ground. As the man screamed Arthur disemboweled him with a parallel slice diagonally. Decades dead and his skills were still untouched by any competition.

But Arthur wasn’t a man to rest on his laurels. Stabbing another man through the middle, he caught a familiar sight. “Lothar Frey!” he hollered, watching as one of the Crannogmen took a fatal blow across the face from the mace-wielding son of Walder Frey. “Lothar the Lame!”

That drew Lothar’s attention. Kicking the corpse down, a snarl crossed his face. “Who the fuck are you?!” He leaped forward. “Fuck who you are. I’ll fuckin’ kill you for that!”

Eyes staying peered around him, Arthur nevertheless laughed - taunting his foe. “Last time I heard you say that, the Knight of the Laughing Tree knocked you on your ass.” He spun his swords, wrists flexing and turning, before removing his helm from his face. A familiar face, he wanted the cunt to see exactly who was going to butcher him alive. “I believe that was why they called you the Lame first. Her lance got you right in the thigh.”

Narrowing his eyes, Lothar opened them to snarl at Arthur before his eyes widened in shock. “Ser Arthur Dayne…”

“Well I’m not Jaime Lannister, that’s for sure.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ dead.”

Arthur held up his hands, swords still in them. “Do I look ‘fuckin’ dead,’ Lothar?”

The idiot blinked before he growled, fingers tightening around the mace. “No, but you fuckin’ will be you Dornish cunt.”

“Like I haven’t heard that insult before. Do your worst, Lame Lothar.” 

Hearing the insult again seemed to fuel a massive rage in Lothar. “First man who kills that cunt get’s a holdfast!” Not that his statement made any sense, but booming across the field where many Frey bannermen milled about in the chaos… it drew them like moths to a flame. Ah fuck… 

Arthur immediately laughed, knowing how much he sounded like Rhaegar at that moment. The mad look halted the attackers for the barest of moments before they charged him. 

Ten on one… so a fair fight?

Releasing a breath, Arthur slowed his mind - analyzing each of his attackers for a split second as he prepared his moves. The first man swung at his head, only for Arthur to duck his head, fluidly dropping to his knees and slashing Dusk across the attacker’s legs. Both were hacked clean off, the man toppling with surprise in his eyes… then pure agony as he screamed to the heavens. Arthur couldn’t relish his victory, for another sword strike was blocked by his crossed blades, pushing the attacker back as he nimbly leapt to his feet.

Silent like the stoic knight he was, Arthur fought and fought hard. Shieldless, only the speed of his attacks and the skill with his blades kept him from being swarmed - he danced and weaved out of the various pile-ups that the Freys tried to trap him in… though sometimes he had to butcher his way out. A hulking man-at-arms a head taller than him swung his axe, which Arthur used his castle-forged blade to deflect. Gritting his teeth, he spun Dusk and buried the longsword straight through the man's exposed middle. He collapsed, opening up a gap in which Arthur exploited.

“Fuck this! I’ll do this myself!”

A Crannogman, seeing the Sword of the Morning in peril, charged at Lothar - but the Frey reacted with a bellow. His mace caved the man’s rib cage and sent him to the ground like a sack of meat.

"Dayne!"

At the guttural snarl of Lothar Frey, Arthur kicked out at the man attacking him and slashed down, slicing his head right through the middle. He spun around, blocking the mace-swing. Lothar’s charge, even on his weak leg - the wound left by Lyanna Stark over eighteen years previously still hadn’t healed, much to the taunts of his father - brought him face to face with Arthur. The Kingsguard lashed out with his head, breaking Lothar’s nose and sending him screaming.

A small smile at the sight lasted but a moment, movement behind him. Never letting what happened to him at the Tower of Joy happening again, his heightened senses picked up the ragged bruiser coming at him. He had no chance, Arthur using the momentum of his spinning blades to crumple his helmet and turn his brain into mush. 

Another movement nearly made him lash out with even greater furor… but stopped in his tracks as the auburn hair and blue-eyed visage of Robb Stark emerged. “Ser Arthur, stop.” The boy’s cuirass was drenched in blood - as was the muzzle of his direwolf, Grey Wind - and there was a gash on his forehead, but otherwise he looked unhurt. “It’s over.” 

Arthur blinked, heart racing - covering it with his hand to slow it down. “Casualties?”

“Two dozen dead… double that wounded.” Robb shrugged. “They lost about half.”

“Queen Catelyn? Lord Howland?”

“I’m fine!” Both turned to see the mud splattered Catelyn Stark, running from where both Howland and the man with the scarred face watched over her. “Robb…” Mother and son embraced tightly, too exhausted even for sobs. “You’re wounded.”

Robb chuckled. “Tis just a flesh wound. I’ll recover.”

She tek-tsked him, head shaking. “Until it festers. We should clean it before nightfall.” Arthur fought a chuckle even as he tried not to collapse from battle fatigue. Mothers are mothers. His own mother was far more clucking. Gods… is she even alive? Is Alaric, or Ashara? He couldn’t help but ache at the thought of his family.

“Sandor Clegane?” Arthur looked up to see the Prince approach the Hound. “Didn’t think we’d see you.”

“Didn’t think I travelled this far north, though I shoulda’ fuckin’ realize it... considerin’ my prick is frostbitten.”

“Oh, you’re definitely not that far north.” Robb’s brows furrowed. “Why aren’t you with the Lannisters.”

The Hound shrugged. “Booted me out… wasn’t loyal enough I suppose.”

“Lookin’ for a new patron?”

“That depends, will you let me kill my cunt brother?” Robb looked back at Arthur and the both of them smirked. You will be avenged, Elia.

“My Prince.” They both looked to see Howland approaching. “We better get back on the move to Moat Cailin and Greywater Watch - with the Crown advancing, we can’t risk getting caught unprepared by light cavalry under the banners of Robert or Tywin.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “Plus deal with that piece of shit.” The Lord of Greywater Watch gestured to the still moaning and bleeding Lothar Frey.

“Prince Robb,” Arthur patted Robb on the back. “When your Aunt Lyanna was younger, she tried to teach this shit a lesson in honor, yet he didn’t apparently catch on. I don’t think he ever will, and it should be a Stark that imposes the punishment.”

A strange look formed in Robb’s eyes. One of… unimaginable loathing. “That’s not all he needs punishment for.” Drawing a knife from its sheath, he approached Lothar, yanking his head up by his hair. The whisper from Robb was low, but Arthur could pick it up. “For my wife and son yet to be born, who died without a face.” The blade slid across the son of Walder Frey’s throat before any response could be given. “Mount his head on a pike and leave it here, then mount up. We’re going home.” 

 


Arianne Tyrell

Truly, the future Lady of Highgarden hadn’t known just how much she’d missed home until the massed banners of sun and spear over orange finally fluttered in her view. Granted, she had learned to love the life she established with her husband, but Arianne was still a daughter of Dorne. The vast sand dunes, scorching sun, fields of citrus and pineapple, and the flowing fountains of the Water Gardens were her childhood home and she would always hold the dearest place in her heart for it. 

Luckily, Highgarden had an impressive garden with plenty of fountains for her pleasure… though the governesses didn’t appreciate it when Arianne stripped nude one hot day for a swim in them. Such prissy crones. The knights and guards appreciated it quite a lot, most of all Garlan - after a drawn sword sent the others scurrying away, he stripped himself and jumped in after her. Arianne grinned to herself. That was a good day. It never ceased to bring a smile to her face thinking about it.

Footsteps behind her, she turned and saw her aforementioned rose walking to the stone parapet in full armor. Quite dashing, though a serious look affixed itself to his face. “So they’re here, I presume?”

“Yes,” was her reply, the two of them looking back out at the lines of Dornish spears and horse winding through the ripening wheat fields that surrounded the keep. “Fifteen thousand strong, half of my father’s wartime banners.”

“He should still supply more,” Garlan grumbled. “The Boneway and the Torrentine can be defended with paltry garrisons, while our fields are hemmed in on two sides.”

Arianne blinked and looked at him. “I informed my father of such, but he stated in his last raven that Quentyn was needed in Essos for a specified task that required significant arms.” All she could imagine was the crazed Targaryen so many rumors had been spread after Volantis was put to the torch. She shuddered, quite fearful for her brother. 

“Oh, but Lord Tarly said we didn’t need any Dornish… What was the word he used? ‘Degenerate boy fuckers?’ Yes, that's it. We don’t need any Dornish degenerate boy fuckers to defend our fair land.” Needless to say, regardless of his combat skills, Arianne and Randyll Tarly did not have the most pleasant of relationships.

Garlan had to put out many fires, and it was driving him to exasperation by the look on his face. “My grandmother said that the stick up his ass was so deep that it’s a permanent fixture… I cannot see her being far off on that characterization, but he’s the best commander we have that isn’t in my grandfather’s pocket.” He shrugged, slumping. “But he is an idiot, we need all the men we can get or I fear we shall be crushed… by my grandfather no less.”

A strong man and dashing knight usually, Arianne’s gaze softened at the obvious weight on his shoulders. “Oh, Gar.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Fifteen thousand combined to your twenty is a significant force… one that Tywin would tremble against… especially if the Targaryens return from the North with their dragons.” Her uncle had been quite forthright, especially after the treacherous Bolton attack on Winterfell. Such had been the impetus for the forced march from Blackmont and the final calling of all the banners sworn to Highgarden.

“Your cousin was very specific about the threat to the dragons… unfortunately I haven’t received confirmation that my ravens have gotten through to Winterfell.”

She furrowed her brows. “But we’ve received replies.”

“We have, but not about the Citadel’s plot…” He ran his hand through his curly hair.

“I should have a courier sent overland. He may have to cross through the hostile parts of the Riverlands, but it may be safer than going by raven.”

He nodded. “Do it.”

An hour later, the large map room of Highgarden was packed. Servants scuttled about with jugs of wine and trays of bread, pastries, and cakes, serving the hungry palates of the gathered Lords, knights, and other battle commanders. Men in padded leather and armor plate clashed with light tunics and chainmail, both Reachmen and Dornishmen segregating between each other to either side of the large map of southern Westeros. Only in one place did the two join… at the head of the table - where Garlan and Arianne stood beside each other, presenting a united front.

Every now and again, a servant would dart in to refill a goblet for a highborn Lord, but they were ignored. Everyone seemed more inclined to shout and pound the table in posturing and indignation than pay attention to where their wine was coming from. “I may have known this about you lot,” Lord Mathis Rowan scoffed. “But to so openly condemn the defense of your own liege’s daughter to defilement by the unwashed hordes of that barefooted insect to destruction is the height of dishonor.”

“My Lord,” Garlan tried to interject. “I do not believe that is what Lord Dayne tried to say…”

Arianne knew Ser Gerold Dayne - he wouldn’t let Garlan cut him off… and true to form, he didn’t. “Cut the shit, you stuffy prick.” The Lords of the Reach recoiled at such strong language, which made Arianne snort internally. That was actually quite tame for a Dornish argument. “We’ll lay our lives for Princess Arianne… but we won’t do so stupidly!”

“You’d use us as cannon fodder,” Lord Allyrion added, his bastard son Daemon Sand beside him. “Ordering us to march a distance away from the Honeywine is madness.”

“It is to draw the masses of the High Sparrow’s thug army into the open for a pitched battle and you know it, my Lord.” Randyll was more… respectful than the others, but his tone dripped contempt. “They cannot hope to survive against a disciplined heavy cavalry charge… do you not remember Stonebridge from the last time their lot sullied these lands.” Randyll was of the Faith, but he held a uniquely highborn contempt for the uppity smallfolk. Even if the Poor Fellows were her enemies, Arianne hated it. 

“Yes, but you seek to draw them out by offering my spears as bait.” Lord Anders Yronwood commanded the Dornish forces, being the largest single element of the army coming from his banners - House Dayne was close behind. He was a schemer and often clashed with House Martell, but Arianne knew he’d never betray Dorne to the Faith… or gods forbid Tywin Lannister. “Your contempt is outmatched only by your stupidity that we would agree to such folly.”

“I don’t see better coming from you boy fuckers,” Ser Jon Fossaway - her husband’s uncle - sneered. Arianne took him for a kind man and he was always genial to her, but among the sparring highborns he truly transformed.

Daemon Sand cracked his knuckles. “It isn’t boys I fuck, but when I fuck I fuck hard.” A dagger came out. “Want a demonstration?”

Fossoway’s sword emerged from its scabbard. “Come at me, sword swallower. Least I would give it rather than get reamed like a woman.”

“Enough!” All eyes turned to her, face red and eyes dark. She had just yelled before Garlan could, and he deferred to her - arms crossed and the ghost of a smirk on his face. He would enjoy this, and then fuck her raw. Arianne looked forward to it, but her anger and the asinine behavior of their banners had to be addressed. “You’re acting like mad children, all of you! If Tywin Lannister would see this, he’d laugh and think lesser men could defeat us… and he’d be right!”

There was silence… only broken by Lord Tarly. “Well then, my Lady.” It came out as almost an epithet. “What plan would you prefer for us to engage in?”

In honesty, she and Garlan had discussed the plan together - in various stages of dress and undress over the course of hours - but Arianne intended to put Randyll in his place by mapping it out in front of them. “We give them battle, halfway between here and the mouth of the Mander… and then give ground all the way to Horn Hill and here.”

“Give ground?” Gerold Dayne spoke, even her Dornish countrymen appeared to be shocked at this announcement.

“I doubt the Faith will have good logistics. They’ll rely on living off the land, so we strip all foodstuffs and move them to keeps north of here. Let them exhaust themselves before the walls of this keep… we’ll do the same to Tywin if he tries to push from the North.”

“We’ll lose many keeps,” Lord Oakheart mused worryingly.

“Keeps can be rebuilt. Our army cannot.”

Suddenly, a runner entered the chamber. Still in full plate, he was drenched in sweat, grabbing a goblet of wine and gulping about half before he simply doused the rest on himself. “My…” he gasped. “My Lord…”

Garlan ran to him while Arianne watched with bated breath. “Easy lad, what’s the matter?”

“I… galloped from… Brightwater Keep.” That was quite a ways away. “Blew three mounts to get this to you… the Faith, they march in force. Fully armed and spoiling for a fight.”

It was as if ghosts had sucked all the air from the room. Arianne recovered first. “Well then, it is no longer academic, is it, Lord Tarly?” The stern-faced Lord of Horn Hill grew even sterner in his scowl. I pity his family. “Well, time to ready ourselves. War is here.”

Garlan smacked his breastplate. “You heard your Lady. We march to face them!”

Gods be with us.



Notes:

So the Freys have been handed a big defeat. They still have Edmure, but are in the worst strategic position.

Chapter 57: Let the Wars Begin...Continue...End

Summary:

  1. Robert Baratheon: After battling near the Teats, Robert learns of whispers from the North. 
  2. Aerys Targaryen: Aerys continues to cause havoc in Essos. 
  3. Walder Frey: Walder learns his heir has been killed and then has a few uninvited guest. 

Notes:

Longclaw: please forgive us for the delay. January was pretty busy, and then the damn winter storms came to Texas. Power was out this week cause of frozen wind turbines and overzealous safety redundancies in the nuclear plants (I suppose that's a good thing overall but it was still irritating) and it brought everything to a stop. Everything's mostly fixed now so it's all good :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robert 57.1

 

Robert Baratheon

It was his element.

Gods, he missed it. 

“Fuck you, ya’ cunt!” he bellowed, swinging his warhammer with the same fury as his House words. The thick head of his warhammer pulverized the bald weirwood tree sigil of the Blackwood knight, caving in the armor of his breastplate. The knight fell, coughing and sputtering much as Rhaegar had. “Forward! Forward in the name of your King!” The forces of the Stag King cheered the Demon of the Trident, spurred forward.

“Your Grace.” While always one for bravado, Meryn Trant was visibly trembling. His sword was quite clean despite half an hour of pitched battle just south of the Teats, even as the King’s Warhammer and the blades of the other Kingsguards were caked in dried blood. “We should retire… lest you fall.”

“Nonsense!” Already Edric and Arys Oakheart advanced in front of him, engaging two men-at-arms of House Tully. “These fuckers must know their King comes for them!” A rider charged at him, but Robert smashed him in the shoulder with a two-handed swing. The warhammer hacked off the rider’s shoulder, sending him flying. 

And in an instant, the enemy broke before him. With Lord Beric Dondarrion assaulting from the flank and the ever-present Bracken threat from the north, there was no hope for the Blackwoods to flee for Raventree Hall. Crowned Stag banners waving around him, Robert killed over a dozen - both wounded and fleeing - as he ascended the summit of the Teats. Feeling atop the whole world. 

Victory will be mine as it was! The dragonspawn bastard will never take my throne!

He will die as his rapist father did!

Panting, Lord Rykker galloped towards him. “Your Grace, we’ve taken the field.”

“Excellent, excellent. Run down as many of the swine as you can.” Running on pure rage and zeal, only now did the stress on his still overweight body emerge. “Wine! Give me wine, you little shit!” Boros Blount, no paragon of health himself, showed up with the wineskin - Robert snatched it up and downed a gulp. “Fuck, I needed that… so these are the Teats?”

“Aye, your Grace. Missy’s Teats if you’re a Blackwood, Barba’s Teats if you’re a Bracken.”

“Bah, there was a beautiful barmaid from close to here I knew. She had a wonderful…” He took another swig. “Set about her I just liked to bury my face in… Bessy was her name… so by my decree, these are Bessy’s Teats!”

Lord Beric and Rykker laughed politely but half-heartedly, while the Kingsguard were much less reserved in their reaction to the King’s jape. Robert cared for none of it. He had his victory, a battle in which he fought personally for the first time since the Greyjoy Rebellion… and it felt wonderful.

Pushing past the tent flaps, Robert had a tankard of sour wine in hand to quench his parched throat as he stared at his war council. “Bask in the name of the Demon of the Trident, for he has returned upon the Seven Kingdoms like the plague!”

“Your presence on the field of battle inspires us all, your Grace,” offered Lord Bracken, the senior Riverlord in the tent. “With the Teats in our control, we can begin the siege of Raventree Hall.”

“Fuck Raventree Hall… they mean nothing to me,” hissed Robert, spilling a bit of wine from the wooden tankard. “You, goodfather! You said that Riverrun and that gutless lying traitor’s own goodfather, Lord Tully, would be in my hands by now!”

While Stormlords such as Lord Beric were present, the majority of the war council was composed of Westermen. Tywin Lannister at the van, he staffed many slots around the map table with such allies of his as Roland Crakehall, Leo Lefford, Tytos Brax, Gawen Westerling, his brother Kevan Lannister, Gregor Clegane… and of course Lady Lynesse Lannister, the most arrogant and haughty of them all. Gods save me from the lionspawn. “Well, your Grace, I bear you good tidings on that front,” Tywin replied, bowing his head slightly.

Robert snorted. “Let’s hear it, kitty cat.” While many of the Westerlords scowled, both Tywin and Lady Lannister held absolutely no emotional reaction. Like snakes they are… While no one could have compared to his beautiful Lyanna, perhaps he should have taken a different wife. One of the Tyrell bitches could have been of service to me. The Reach had a larger army after all.

But this was the bed he made for himself, so Robert had to live with it. “Your brother,” Tywin began. “Led his command of Stormlanders and Crownlanders to besiege Riverrun. The Tully’s are stuck on their island keep and will not provide a threat to any of our wider movements.”

“Storm the keep,” Robert barked.

“But, your Grace…” began Roland Crakehall.”

Robert turned to him with an angry glint in his eyes. “Did I say you could address me, Lord Pig?” Gods, he was sick of their arrogance. It wasn’t the mighty warriors of the west that slayed the Dragon Prince at the Trident. I deserve respect!

“Forgive my bannerman his impertinence, your Grace.” Tywin was always a slick one. “But our boldness must be tempered with caution.”

“How so?”

The Warden of the West seemed to pause, choosing his words carefully. “As your Hand, it is my responsibility to neutralize the sort of things that would cause yourself the greatest ire and frustration. Such it was with the North and Lord Stark’s perfidious treason. Thus, I made correspondence with Lord Bolton and Lord Frey.” Robert’s eyes widened. He hadn’t taken an interest in the political wheeling and dealing that his small council delighted in, but Robert knew what contacting those two houses implied. “Walder Frey has been imprisoning Catelyn Stark for moons now, while Lord Bolton marched upon Winterfell with an army.”

“Well that’s good news, no?” Meryn Trant grinned. “Those flayers must’ve made quick work of the bastard traitors?”

“Regrettably, no.” A flash of… was it fear?... clouded Tywin’s eyes for a moment before it disappeared. “The Targaryen pretender arrived in Westeros… in the North with an army of wildling savages and two dragons under his command.”

One could hear a pin drop in the tent, a hushed silence heard. Surprisingly, Robert took this evenly. “The Spider discovered that ages ago… of course the wee ones would grow big. Tell me you’ve found a fuckin’ solution.” He gulped the wine down to calm his nerves and ire at the Targaryens rearing their ugly, incestspawn heads back into his life.

“The Citadel has put together plans for us to use, but that isn’t all Lord Varys’ little birds sing from the North.” It was Lady Lannister that spoke this time. “Seems that the Targaryen pretender was seen in the presence of two others, identified by those in the North as Prince Rhaegar Targaryen…”

The reaction of Robert’s was explosive, cutting off any other words. “LIES!” Without warning, he punched the table, smashing a hole into it. “I killed that dragonspawn, rapist fuck! Smashed my warhammer through his chest so hard it knocked the rubies out of his breastplate! Then I watched him bleed out while whimpering like the little bitch he was!” 

Through his entire reign of wine, women, and song, the only thing that remained truly constant were his adoration for his Lyanna and his absolute loathing for the man that took her from him. Everyday he replayed killing the slimy Silver Prince, and every day it brought him satisfaction that his life was fulfilled by that simple act.

Lynesse shared a look with Tywin before clearing her throat - who knew what they shared in such silent conversations. “Lord Varys’ birds were quite specific.”

“It seems far-fetched, my Lady,” Gawen Westerling offered.

“Far-fetched… downright impossible,” laughed Courtnay Penrose.

Beric Dondarrion, himself one of dubious faith as he was considered quite close friends with Thoros of Myr, shook his head. “Targaryens have been known to dabble in blood magic. Sheira Seastar and Bloodraven were notorious for it - with dragons returned to the world… perhaps they did raise Rhaegar from the dead?”

Hearing such drove Robert’s vision red. “Everyone but Tywin and Lady Tywin out!” No one moved. “Did you not hear me?! Fucking get out!” At their King’s roar, the Lords of the war council made their exit… but Robert’s rage still didn’t abate. He just paced back and forth, spewing out the vilest profanity and brutality he could as the Lord Hand and his wife watched with placid expressions.

“I’ll kill him!”

“Fuckin’ Dragonspawn…” Robert continued to mutter as he paced around the tent.

“Last time was too easy…”

“He’ll suffer this time…” the Stag King vowed, downing the last of the soured wine from his wooden tankard.

“He took Lyanna! MY SWEET WILD WOLF LADY LYANNA!” He exclaimed, walking over the cart that contained the pitchers of wine and refilling his tankard. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but for the life of him… Robert couldn’t remember her face. All he did was fall on his knees and scream to the high heavens. “She loved me and he stole her! He kidnapped her! He raped her! And MURDERED HER!”

Eventually, all of it was let out. He wanted to collapse, breathing hard and swilling wine to soothe his aching throat. “Are you done, your Grace?” Tywin asked.

Gods, Robert wanted to punch him, but restrained himself. “Aye… I’m done.” He staggered to the map table, splaying his hands on the edge. “Tell me you have a solution to this that will win this war before winter.” Ned had told him about Northern winters, and even the lust for victory and war couldn’t make him go into the howling terror that was a northern blizzard.

“We will win the war by winter’s beginning, your Grace.” Tywin was confident. “Last week, I was told that Lord Baelish has established control over the Vale as regent for the young Lord Robin Arryn.”

Robert chortled. “As if that brat could manage a cunt fight in a brothel.”

“Quite.” Tywin cleared his throat. “Control of the Vale provides us an opportunity, and one that will be both bold and smart to do.” Wordlessly, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock traced various movements on the map of Westeros. Simple advances in some places, stationary forces in others, and broad swaths of grand offensives in the rest. 

By the end, Robert’s grimace was replaced with a savage grin. “Do it, Tywin. See that it gets done.”

“At once, your Grace.”

Soon, Lya. Soon I will avenge you again, my beautiful wolf.

 


Aerys 57.2

Aerys Targaryen

Nothing but silence, nary a caw of some sort of nocturnal bird or chirp of a bat in the scattered woodlands overlooking Mount Belaerys off to the east. Named for a great Valyrian dragonrider family, such an auspicious omen put Aerys at east… at least as much as could be. “Where is he?” he hissed, voice low as he stayed mounted. A hood draped over his head, covering his distinctive silver mane.

Next to him, without a hood since it was imperative for him to be seen and recognized, Daario Naharis turned towards his King and paymaster. “I promised you tonight, your Grace, and tonight I shall deliver.”

“You better, for your sake,” Aerys shot back. “How do you know this person?”

“We served together, back when I was part of the Golden Company.”

“And yet both left for greener pastures.”

Daario shrugged. “What can I say? Oaths are not conducive to victory - anything goes in a fuckin’ war.” 

True, quite true. If only Daenerys remembered that. So many campaigns in their past life would have turned out far better without the rigid morality Daenerys composed herself to. Do not worry, sister. We shall win this time.

A galloping horse nearly made him squint to see the coming riders, but it was instead from behind them. “Your Grace.” Ser Bronn. “Dispatch from Lord Connington. The triarchy has divided their armies.”

“Oh?” This was interesting.

“We have no bearing on the forces of Lys or Pentos… Connington believes they deserted.” Bronn adjusted himself on his saddle. “What remains are their slave soldiers, the Dornish, and sellswords.”

A tiny smile curled on Aerys’ face. “Good, we can work with that.” Another set of galloping hooves, this time from the direction opposite to them. “Naharis, it is time.”

“Tomorrow’ll be easier to take than a maiden’s cunt, your grace.” Easing his mount forward to where a trio of riders awaited at the edge of the corpses of trees, Aerys rolled his eyes. What did you see in that cunt, sister? The memories disturbed him - at least their nephew was outwardly worthy of them when they inhabited the same body and soul.

Matters not, I have a battle to win.

 

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

 

“Well, Griff.” Aerys lowered his spyglass, huffing in amusement. “Your peace offer wasn’t given the reception that you foresaw.” 

Connington lowered his own spyglass, sighing. “Best avoid conflict if you can, we still have to cross the Narrow Sea to take your rightful throne, your Grace. But I suppose the Three Daughters want war to avenge Volantis, considering they beheaded our rider and displayed his severed head for the entire Targaryen host to witness.”

While both Westerosi and Essosi held the same ability and affinity for brutality, those of the east were more open about it. Aerys found it almost refreshing. “They don’t, Griff - stop being so sentimental. I believe they think they outclass us in every way and wish to lord it over all their enemies.”

“They’re going to die this afternoon,” the Hand of the Rightful King vowed.

“Now that’s the attitude I wish to hear.” 

Ser Bronn cleared his throat from behind them. "My King, the enemy cunts are approaching.” 

Aerys grinned darkly. “Then we are also approaching them.” 

Watching as Griff departed for his personal command and Bronn to his, Aerys dismounted from his horse and walked to where his russet-colored dragon rested. “Girl, time to show our enemies fire and blood.”

Yawning, Rhaelyx shook her neck, easing onto her front wings. Are we facing any of the other dragons? 

“No dragons this time, girl.”

A shame, I was looking forward to a challenge. In spite of the disappointment, Rhaelyx nevertheless lowered her shoulder - letting Aerys mount her before she launched herself into the air. 

The sky was cloudless, sun beating down and dissipating the early morning chill that blew from the Narrow Sea. It was still unseasonably cold, with Mount Belaerys’ immense peak capped with a sprinkling of snow, but for the northern edge of the Disputed Lands it was a rather pleasant late morning as the two armies assembled for a clash that would determine the fate of hundreds of thousands. That the majority of those were slaves - ones that the larger force would see slaughtered if it gained them one iota of advantage - didn’t cross the mind of all but one.

As clear as day, the large host the Three Daughters assembled at the foothills of Mount Belaerys was much smaller than Aerys had seen only a week before atop Rhaelyx. Instead of forty-thousand soldiers that nearly doubled the Targaryen levies, only twenty-eight thousand marched onto the field. It was unclear to Lord Connington’s little birds as to why that was, but it turned out - unknown to Griff - that the demonstrations and feints by the fleet captured at Pentos had worked. Worries of seaborne attack had spooked Lys and Tyrosh, diverting manpower to staff the defenses.

These were third rate peasant conscripts and slave soldiers, but twelve thousand of them denied to the Triarchy generals was a looming disaster. But still outnumbering the Targaryen upstart, a haughty Quentyn Martell spoke for the lot of them. “Old Valyria will roll in her graves as those she enslaved destroy her descendant below this mountain.”

It was with those words that the horns blew, sending the men of the Three Daughters into battle formation.

“Ready,” bellowed Jon Connington, his formerly fire-red hair streaked with grey but still hefting a massive greatsword like someone twenty years his junior. “Forward men! For Fire and Blood!”

“BENEATH THE GOLD, THE BITTER STEEL!” With a loud and piercing warcry, the men of the Golden Company advanced. Centering the Targaryen formation, the loyal creation of Aegor Rivers were crack soldiers, infantry and archers trained by veterans of all the Blackfyre Rebellions supplemented by thousands of the most exotic of all recruits. Spread out on either flank were the light infantry and swift cavalry of the sellsword companies, the right commanded by Daario Naharis while Alyssa Snow of the Company of the Rose commanded the left. A shallow crescent formation, but one that according to their King held the perfect reward for the risk.

In contrast, the Triarchy lined their forces in a single line varying from fifteen deep in the center to six deep on the wings. The Martell spears and Volentine Black Guardsmen - ones that survived the immolation - gathered themselves in the center into a proper battle formation and began to march on the Targaryen positions. Quentyn Martell, personally leading the van, saw the red three-headed dragon banners fluttering at the base of the softly rolling hills. With a flourish, he ordered a full assault.

On either side were the forces of the Triarchy themselves, citizen levies, sellswords, and slave soldiers more suited to putting down slave revolts or Dothraki raids than actual battle, but a calculated gamble in the scheme of things. The flanks themselves were against other sellswords equally weak while their best troops would fight with the Golden Company - the Targaryen best. In the rear as reserves were a smattering of light cavalry and horse archers under the commander of the Brave Companions, one Vargo Hoat. His reputation was known as a reprobate and scoundrel, but five thousand gold dragons were considered reason enough to fight for them.

From behind the front lines of spearmen and men-at-arms, the Golden Company archers let loose - volleys of steel-tipped arrows assaulting the Triarchy forces as they drew closer. Dozens of Dornishmen and Volentenes fell but with undulating cries they continued to advance. Spears leveled and swords drawn, they charged. With immense forward momentum they crashed into the spearwall of the Golden Company. 

Men cried in pain, their sides ripped open by barbed tips or ran through by the spear points. Arrows rained upon them, but the plate armor and chainmail of the Dornish oft held. Considered the most heavily armored force in the world, the Black Guards erupted in a particular fury. Arrows bounced off their armor, swords and axes hacking at the front of Bittersteel’s legacy. Scores fell gutted or beheaded upon the green grass of the highland fields.

Slicing down with his greatsword, Connington split a Black Guardsman’s head open, the sharp castle-forged steel striking true through the steel helm. “Fall back!” he bellowed to his herald. “Advance to the rear, twenty paces!” The centre of the Targaryen crescent began to move backwards, luring the Triarchy center in while the wings remained stationary.

Unrelenting arrow attacks from the horse archers among the sellswords didn’t break the Triarchy assaults, but they did stagger them. The divisions of slave soldiers, urged forward by the whips and waved short swords of their overseers, tried to force the Stormcrows, Second Sons, and Company of the Rose into pitched battle, but the light cavalry simply disengaged when challenged, reforming and circling around while the light infantry fended off the slaves with javelins. Seeing this, the Grand Triarch of Myr ordered the reserves into the attack on the Targaryen left to force a breakthrough that could roll up Aerys’ army.

But Vargo Hoat was not to be trusted. A foolish move to hire him in any key role, the gold and plunder Aerys promised as a man seeking the destruction of entire systems of power had enticed him. Not only deliberately ignoring the Triarch's order, he marched back to the camp outside a large village of Rhoynish farmers and captured it - the gold and food supplies of the entire army of the Three Daughters was now in the hands of Vargo Hoat.

Daario Naharis’ connection with the brutal sellsword had paid dividends.

With the enemy thoroughly confused, the Targaryens seized the opportunity and attacked. High above the armies, always circling like a vulture upon a field of corpses, King Aerys dove upon the joint between the elite forces of his foes and the weaker sellswords and Janissaries. “Dracarys!” Whatever light spearmen covered these joins were roasted in massive gouts of flame. Rhaelyx avoided the arcing arrows to sail barely thirty feet above the ground, arcing around and attacking the second joint on the enemy right. Now, girl. Do it! Maw open, Rhaelyx’s roar shook the very ground of the battlefield… A signal to the Targaryen reserve.

Under the command of Bronn on the right and an exiled highborn named Laswell Peake on the left, two prongs of twenty-seven war elephants surged towards the gaping holes in the sides of the Three Daughters’ line. Trumpeting and making the ground rumble, archers atop the beasts rained fire upon anyone in their vicinity. Any Black Guardsman or Dornish spear that tried to form up in a square or line to fend them off was burned alive by Rhaelyx, leaving the elephants unmolested to divide yet again - one wing of each prong attacking outward at the sellswords and Janissaries while the other wings assaulted the center from the rear.

The Triarchy right wing was almost immediately routed, thinking all was lost. Sellswords simply fled but not too far, intent on swearing for Aerys, while the Janissaries murdered their overseers - all conditioning and fear died in the face of dragonfire - and made a mad dash for the countryside. The left soon followed, buckling under pressure but holding cohesion for longer until they broke.

Trapped on all sides, the remnants of the attacking army in the center fought on in spite of their encirclement. Thousands of Martell bannermen tried a breakout against the charging elephants, nearly spooking the beasts with barb-tipped pikes but it was for naught. Relentless volleys of arrows under Black Balaq and the furious tongues of flame from Aerys atop the blood-colored dragon ended hopes of escape. 

A mere hour later, Aerys flew over a quiet battlefield. It was barely after midday and the fighting had ended. Over fifteen thousand prisoners, almost all of them begging to swear to Aerys and fight for him, the sellswords for gold and the Janissaries for liberation from bondage. Such made the King’s heart soar, basking in the same glory as Daenerys had during their shared past. He would grant it in a heartbeat, for he could afford to be magnanimous. The lesson had been made.

Eleven thousand Triarchy dead rested at the foot of Mount Belaerys, a blood sacrifice to the ghosts of Old Valyria. Among them, his Dornish warriors fighting to the last man, was Quentyn Martell. Beheaded personally by Jon Connington, his head was on its way to a boat for Sunspear.

Aerys had promised Doran. Fight with him or die.

Doran Martell had chosen the same fate as his son.

 


Walder 57.3

Walder Frey

“Think I skipped around like some Flowers maiden from the fuckin’ Reach when I fucked your mother?” the Lord of the Crossing spat, looking at his bastard son with contempt. “No, I took her on the floor and shot my seed in her cunt. Do as I did and get to the fuckin’ point!”

Gulping, Black Walder looked his father in the eye… clearly wishing he didn’t have to. Gods, why am I damned with such weak sons. It wasn’t like his daughters were any better though - one of the reasons he thought he was still alive and kicking after so long was that if House Frey were forced to rely on his spawn then they’d be destroyed within a year. “Father… Lothar is dead.”

There was a silence. “What?” Walder was sure he heard wrong… at least he hoped he heard wrong. “Speak up.”

“Lothar was ambushed by Crannogmen… and there was something about a ‘Sword of the Morning reborn’ or some odd shit. He was killed by the cunt that wielded the two swords.” 

Arthur Dayne? What sorcery was this? It can’t be… Maybe it was Ned Stark’s bastard. There was rumor that his mother was Arthur Dayne’s whore sister and that the boy could swing duel blades, The old man thought trying to process what his son had said.

“And Catelyn Stark,” Black Walder continued. The apprehension in his son’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What about the Queen in the North?”

“She… She was taken from us by… by the North’s crown prince.”

There was one last second of silence before Walder erupted from his chair. “What!” At first noticing his newest wife - Joyeuse Erenford - arms outstretched with a bowl of stew offered for him, he grabbed it and hurled it at his idiot bastard son. “I ask that fucking cunt of a son to do one thing! One bloody thing, and he goes out and louses it up!” 

“Father, calm down…”

His palm lashed out to smack another of his idiot sons in the cheek, sending him reeling. “Shut it!” 

Think Walder, think. They still had Edmure, the only person stupider than his own boys, but he wasn’t the perfect hostage that Catelyn had been. Hoster would easily be destroyed by the Baratheon-Lannister juggernaut, of this Walder was sure of. Edmure may be the uncle to the current Stark children, but he wasn’t the Queen in the North and the other northern houses may not give a flying fuck about their King’s goodbrother. The Twins were defensible, but Tywin was not going to like hearing that Moat Cailin wasn’t garrisoned by loyal troops to bottleneck the Northern forces.

“Father… what is our new plan?”

“Alright, call the banners. We can strike out and take Moat Cailin before the Northern armies can truly form up…” 

Muffled screams echoed through the walls, just as the floor underneath those in the Great Hall shook. Rumbling as something managed to shake the foundations of the entire keep. “What in seven hells?” Black Walder began.

A loud roar enveloped everything, followed by more screams. Walder would never admit it, but he flinched. Guards poked their heads through the doors - their swords were drawn. “Get down, mi’Lord!” he bellowed.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Walder noticed that the guard was covered in streaks of black grease and soot. “Are we under attack?”

“Just get down…!” Out of nowhere, two swords sliced through the guard’s armor as if it were parchment. Other guards rushed to the door as an imposing figure in full armor burst through, dual blades twirling in each hand. His armor was scaled as if a demon of Old Valyria, dispatching every attacker that came at him.

“What is the meaning of this!” Walder bellowed, only for his bastard son to shove him down, overturning the table. “Fuck!”

“Stay down, father.” 

Out from behind the table, one of his sons - for the life of him, Walder couldn’t remember which - charged madly at the attacker. Bravery devolved into a pathetic display as the dual-wielder effortlessly parried the wild thrust, his second blade crashing down right into the join of neck and shoulder. Blood spurted in every direction, but it didn’t faze the attacker.

Glancing to his right, Walder locked eyes with his bastard - there was immense fear in them. “Don’t just bloody piss yourself. Fight!” But no sooner did Black Walder stand did his head come clean off, rolling down the wooden floor.

Before Walder could react, he was being hefted up by the scruff of his loose doublet… brought face to face with his attacker. He was dark of hair but fair of skin, beard trimmed but with a fierceness in his eyes. They glowed a dark orange, almost red. “Walder Frey,” he spat. 

“Who… who the fuck are you?” Upon the man’s breastplate, scaled in the style of Old Valyria, was a crimson three-headed dragon. “You look nothing like a fuckin’ Targaryen,” he spat.

The man merely smirked darkly. “To my advantage, Lord Frey. No one was able to think the mere bastard of House Stark could be the hidden dragon.”

Walder’s eyes widened. “Bastard of Winterfell? Impossible.”

The smirk widened. “Very possible.” A massive crash echoed behind him, but bastard holding him didn’t flinch. Walder did, going white as a large red dragon climbed into a gaping hole where the far wall of the great hall used to be. Atop it was what could honestly be described as a goddess. Silver hair knotted into a long braid down her back, scaled armor fitted close to her chest. Her beauty was otherworldly… but her eyes blazed an orange equally furious as the Stark bastard.

A goddess alright… the goddess of death.

“Your fate awaits Walder Frey.” With a forceful shove, Jon Snow threw Walder to the ground. Face slamming into the stone floor, the Lord of the Crossing cried out, hands going to his nose. Blood gushed out of it, leaving his hands wet and hot. “Pathetic, Daenerys.” He stalked around Walder, circling like a predator while the goddess of death - Daenerys Targaryen, climbed down the side of her dragon. “A worm that thought himself a player in the game of thrones.”

Laughing, Daenerys’ voice oozed power. A seductive strength, this woman, not like the brides Walder so easily collected from those seeking his gold and silver. A strong woman, one that controlled her own destiny. “Oh, silly Walder Frey. When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no other option.”

Walder looked up, doing his best to scowl. “Then kill me and get it over with, dragon cunt.” A booted leg slammed into his spine, sending him to the ground with a cry of agony.

“Oh we will, Lord Frey, but I want you to know something before you die.” With Jon’s foot affixed to his back, he couldn’t turn his head, only hearing Daenerys’ malevolent hiss hot in his ear. “You were never a player. You were just a sad, pathetic old man, and it is the highest of mercy that we end you before others suffer for your delusions of power.”

“What… you… talking about…” 

“This is for my goodbrother, who saw his wife and son die before his eyes.” Even through his confusion, the roar of a dragon killed any other thought in his mind. Walder looked up through the agony, seeing the immense creature stare down at him. Amber eyes blazing.

Whimpers came from behind him, to which Jon shifted his attention to. “You, you’re Walder’s wife and daughter?”

“Aye…” murmured Roslin. Poking her head out. “Please don’t kill us.” Weak cunt… Pretty that she was, at least the ugly and misshapen ones were of sterner stuff.

“We won’t.” For once, the goddess of death sounded compassionate. “We just wish for you to bear witness to what happens to all enemies of House Targaryen... My love?” she said, turned back towards the Bastard of Winterfell.

A low chuckle left Jon Snow. “Winter comes, with fire and blood.” Walder could almost see the dark, satisfied grin on his face. “Dracarys.”

The last sight Walder Frey ever saw was that of the dragon rearing its head, a great bloom of red-orange flame erupting from its maw.

Notes:

Longclaw: Robert, Aerys, and Jonerys all have their badass moments this chapter, and Walder Frey got what was coming to him.

Next time will focus fully on our Targ/Stark family

Chapter 58: Come to Bargain

Summary:

  • Theon introduces his new bride to his family
  • Dany and Jon receive demands from the Lannisters

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait. Been busy, but we're working on getting the next two chapters out sooner.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Theon Greyjoy

Theon inhaled a deep breath of crisp northern air, sharp with salt from the spray that splashed up against the side of the skiff he currently helmed. Up by the bow, Ygritte stood, looking resolutely across the water at the horizon. He smiled inwardly. Wild and fierce the spearwife was, the sea didn’t agree with her stomach. Doubly so considering she was in a delicate condition.

He checked himself. The last time he inquired about her pregnancy making things difficult for her, she punched him in the ribs, hard. “Ironborn, you call yourself. I think you’ve been among greenlanders too long.” Ygritte would definitely fit in on Pyke.

“How much farther is it to this Bear Island, kraken boy?” She called down from the bow.

“Not far,” he replied. He shifted his weight on the tiller, steering the boat to starboard. “Smooth sailing, I hope?”

Ygritte snorted. “Cut the small talk. Are you sure your sister will listen to this scheme of your northern king?” Theon noticed the mocking tone at the words, northern king , but he let it go. The Free Folk were stubborn in their refusal to recognize authority other than their own. He pursed his lips and sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Thinking back to his last memory of Yara, he faintly remembered a girl who swam like a seal, but that was all. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and I barely remember much of what she’s like.”

The red-haired spitfire was silent for a while after. She swung her legs around and strode across the deck to where he was still leaned up against the tiller. “Well, I do hope that whoever she is, she knows of my people’s reputation.” She grinned sharklike at him.

“The ironborn are practically wildlings on water,” he replied. “I’m sure you and her will get along swimmingly.” 

She let out a throaty laugh and pecked his lips. As she went to speak, her eyes widened in surprise. “Looks like we have company, Greyjoy.” She pointed a long finger off their port side, where a longship was fast approaching. Fluttering in the autumn wind was the banner of his house - a gold kraken in a sea of black.

Yara? Theon hoped his sister was captaining the vessel. He figured he had a better chance at not getting paid the iron price if it was his family. Then again, he and his sister were practically strangers, so he couldn’t be sure of her hospitality.

Looming over all the hands on deck, a burly figure armored in ring mail and bearing a monstrous axe peered over the side of the longship at the two wayward sailors below. “Who approaches Bear Island, now the sovereign territory of House Greyjoy? You stand in the presence of Lord Victarion of that house and Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet.” 

Theon blinked, trying to gather his nerve. He had even scarcer memories of his uncle than his sister, and the one clear memory he could recall was of Victarion separating a thrall’s head from his shoulders without breaking a sweat or his stride. Ygritte, unfortunately, had no such restraint in addressing the mighty ironborn warrior.

“This here is Theon Greyjoy, your family I presume? I am Ygritte, a spearwife free and wedded to him in the sight of the gods, old and above.” She stared back at the hulking mass of muscle and metal squinting through the thin layer of mist in the air.

Victarion kept his iron gaze fixed on her for a full minute. For a few moments, Theon feared the iron captain would gut his wife for her insolent tone. Then a wide, snarling grin erupted across his uncle’s face. “Ya got spirit, lass! I’ll give ya that.” Turning his attention to his nephew, he smacked the handle of his axe. “Been near twenty years, boy. Already you got yourself a salt wife. Perhaps the Old Way isn’t lost on you after all this time with the wolves.”

“Ygritte is my rock wife, uncle. Whether or not you call me a greenlander means nothing to me.” Remembering his betrayal of Robb in his ill-fated past, he was determined not to let his family dictate his fate. Clasping his own hand over Longclaw’s pommel, he looked resolutely back across the water. “I’ve come to Bear Island to meet with my sister. King Eddard sends a proposition for her and our house.”

“Are you his ward, or his lackey?” Victarion scoffed. “We pay the iron price. If his Mormont whelps want their home back, they can take it back.” He swung his axe round in an arc to make his point, the blade whistling as it cut the air.

The two ships bobbed alongside each other, Victaron’s longship a mighty hulk next to Theon’s small skiff. Ygritte leveled her spear at the former. “Our business is with this Lady Yara Greyjoy, captain. I suggest you take us now or have this shoved up your ass.” Theon fought the urge to smack her. Ironborn didn’t take physical threats in jest. Yet surprisingly, Victarion didn’t throw his axe into her face.

“The living come aboard,” he said simply. Ropes were thrown across the sides, lashing the skiff to his longship. Theon followed Ygritte onboard, to which they were immediately relieved of their weapons. He sighed and smirked grimly at his wife. She rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder.

“Well, well, well…” A shark-like grin stretched across Yara Greyjoy’s dark-eyed, sharp-nosed complexion. “Of all the ways I imagined we’d reunite, little brother, it was not as this.” She gestured a hand toward him and Ygritte, who stood at his side.

Theon merely snorted and cleared his throat. His sister was everything he imagined she’d be - what Ygritte would’ve been like had she’d been raised an ironborn. Yara, though not as tall as the spearwife, was meaner and leaner, like a wolf. She paced before her brother and his wife on Bear Island’s rocky shores, the breaking waves heard at their backs. A dozen ironborn warriors, including Lord Victarion circled the parley, stone-faced and silent.

“As much as I’d love to catch up on old times, I have a far more pressing matter to discuss with you, sister,” Theon said. He felt uneasy since Longclaw was taken off of him and wanted the Valyrian steel blade back before his would-be allies decided to gut him instead. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a sealed parchment and handed it to Yara, who snatched it from him and broke it open. Her eyes narrowed and she chewed her lip as she read the contents.

Theon thought the message might’ve gotten through to her… until she threw her head back and laughed uproariously. He really didn’t like the way she was snortling at him, nor how the men around them joined in. Unfortunately, Ygritte was even less tolerant, for in one long stride, she reached over and socked his sister to the ground. “I don’t know if this is the way all you southerners treat envoys, but you will NOT do the same for my husband and your brother!”

Spitting blood from a split lip, Yara glared back as she scrambled to her feet. “Stand down!” She barked at Victarion, who had moved to split the spearwife’s head open. Inhaling a deep breath, she smiled grudgingly at Theon. “She’s got fire, brother. I’ll give her that.”

Theon flashed his pearly whites at Ygritte. “So, I take it that you reject King Eddard’s proposal?”

“Aye, we might take Lannisport, but we’d never hold it. Besides…” Yara spread her arms out. “...we’ve already got a good racket going here in the North. Convince me why the ironborn should give up our hard-won conquests for some cheap loot.”

Theon raised an eyebrow. “Lannisport is one of the richest trade centers in the Seven Kingdoms. You’d get far more from a day spent plundering it than a year ruling this barren spit of rock.” He kicked up a toeful of sand. “Besides, what if I told you that Tyrion Lannister is the Hand of King Eddard?”

“Go on,” Yara said, intrigued.

“The Imp knows all the secrets of his family’s ancestral seat. All the ways in and all the ways out,” Theon paused. “Join with the northmen and I swear to you, Casterly Rock will fall to the kraken.” 

Ygritte cocked her head. “Still want to keep this little land, sister?”

From the barely-hidden gleam in Yara’s eyes, Theon was sure she didn’t.

 


Daenerys Targaryen

“Are you sure you…”

“It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

Shot down by her husband’s insistent tone, Daenerys stopped talking. Instead she sat back on their bed, making sure the pleats of her black dress didn’t wrinkle as she watched Jon dress himself. Granted, she preferred it when he undressed himself and then undressed her, but this was an equally pleasant experience for her. His brows scrunched in concentration, fingers moving to each of the ties in his leather cuirass, how the outfits hugged his muscles tightly... 

A sexy dragonwolf he is, teasing me like that. If he had any misgivings at residing in the domain of the late Walder Frey, Jon didn’t show it as he made love to her both the night before and upon rising, and still Daenerys wanted more. Last time I was this hungry for him was when… She blinked. Could it be…? No, she needed to put off such thoughts until she could see a maester that was trustworthy.

There were too many enemies that could weaponize such information.

“Fuck…” Her husband’s muttered curse drew Dany’s attention back to him. She suppressed a giggle at his frustration, enjoying the tiny little domestic moment they shared - moments greedily hoarded during their past, and less desperately hoarded now that they were married and united again. A lifetime of them were in the future, hopefully.

“Having a little trouble, husband?” she asked sweetly.

“No, I don’t need help.” He read her mind so well.

Sighing, Daenerys rose. Gracefully but firmly walking to him and wedging herself in between the father of her child and the looking glass. Any complaint was silenced with a steely gaze, before it softened and her fingers moved up to take over from his. “You know, my beloved dragonwolf, you needn’t not take all tasks atop those sexy shoulders of yours. There are plenty of those both able and willing to help you in all your ventures.”

Jon visibly deflated, the mighty King and Dragonlord changing in an instant to the same Jon she knew so well and loved so deeply. “Second nature to me, given my history. Could trust no one but myself… or Ghost.”

“I do love Ghost, but he would be useless in matters that require thumbs.” She grinned at her jape. “But you are not alone, husband. You have me.” She fastened the straps with skill, each knot tight but loose enough to pull apart when needed.

“Gods… I thank both the old and the new every day that I do.” There he was, making her fall more in love with him every moment. “I’d be lost without you.”

“And I you, but let’s not talk about that.” They stood against each other in silence for a moment as she continued to ready his cuirass. “You know, Jon, I was talking to your mother before we left to bring justice to Lord Walder - you and Rhaegar are more alike than I figured.”

 He blinked. “Oh? How so?” It was still awkward between Jon and his parents - much as they visibly loved each other and were loyal to a fault, the three of them were practically the same age and it still left lingering practicalities to work out.

Daenerys giggled. “Your brooding, one that Arya told me in the past was your uncle’s - nope, it’s all my brother’s.”

“Neither of us brood, Dany,” he countered with a little ire. 

“Jon, you and he were seated side by side in the great hall of Winterfell brooding together over something or other. Even your uncle was staring. Dye his hair black and make your eyes violet and it was like looking at twins.”

There was an odd look in his eye - half-embarrassment and half… was it fondness? The surreal happiness of a motherless bastard gifted with two loving fathers and the mother of his dreams? Daenerys had to admit it suited him, the weight of almost eighteen namedays lifted off his shoulders. “Mayhaps it is true - proof my mother didn’t fall pregnant with King Robert’s child.”

He clearly meant it as a jape, but Dany smacked his arm anyway. “Seven forbid, Aegon Targaryen.” Lyanna would probably vomit at the thought of that. 

An eyebrow rose. “Oh, it’s ‘Aegon Targaryen’ now?” His lips curled in both mirth and… lust. Jon always found it alluring when she said his birth name.

Daenerys smirked. “Yes, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name.” She moaned as he took her lips in his, pushing her back against the looking glass as their hands explored over familiar territory.

The bellow of trumpets pulled them apart. “What in seven hells?” Jon growled. Pulling back from their shared embrace, he moved towards the window - joined by a breathless Daenerys only a second behind.

The parade of three dozen horses galloped towards the gate of the southwestern keep of the Twins, led by four men carrying the rearing golden lion banner of House Lannister and one man carrying a plain white banner of truce. Daenerys wasn’t about to take chances - not with the butchers of her family. One silent call brought Arogon swooping down from its perch circling the castle. She felt a calm wash over her when the she-dragon landed on the roof. The Twins rumbled at her weight, being as large as Drogon when she returned to Meereen in her past life.

And a satisfaction at seeing the knights and men-at-arms as they flinched, gasped, or even shrieked at Arogon’s roar. Good girl. The dragon trilled at the praise.

“Tywin wouldn’t send himself,” she heard her husband muse, staring at the procession with a dark expression. Studying it. “Who do you think it is?”

Dany shrugged. “Probably one of his bannermen, or a member of his family. Does it matter?”

“No, if it’s not him then it doesn’t. The golden-haired shits are all the same in my mind, namely a horse’s ass.”

“What about Tyrion?” Her lips curled in the tiniest of smirks.

Jon seemed to notice, his eminently kissable lips matching hers. “Tyrion is still an ass, only more amusing than annoying… most of the time that is.” There was a slight silence before the two of them dissolved into giggles.

“We tolerate him because he’s brilliant… and loyal,” Dany replied between fits of mirth. 

“He drinks and he knows things… or so he says,” Jon added.

“Oh, we did need that.”

“Aye, we did.” It felt surreal to accept a member of House Lannister, given how Tywin butchered her niece and nephew as well as Cersei’s actions during the Long Night of their past, but Tyrion was loyal till the end, Jaime as well, and young Myrcella was the sweetest little girl. Perhaps they could reconcile with the family that provided Targaryen Kings of old loyal service as Wardens of the West… once Tywin was dead, of course.

Door opening, Missandei entered their chambers - the ever-present shadow of Grey Worm waiting in the hallway. “Your Graces, Ser Kevan Lannister has arrived in the keep and awaits your audience.”

Kevan Lannister, Tywin’s younger brother. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him, husband.”

“Neither have I, though it won’t be a pleasure.” He sucked in a breath and extended his arm. “After you, my love.”

Dany gladly took it. “Thank you, my dragonwolf.” One moment of affection before they needed to adopt their kingly and queenly gaze… not that Dany didn’t greatly enjoy Jon in such a state.

They took their time, not willing to dignify any Lannister seeking to entreat with them with the respect an actually honored guest or respected foe would receive. Ser Kevan Lannister hadn’t wronged them personally, but his brother had - if it weren’t for Tywin Lannister, Daenerys was certain her niece and nephew would still be alive. That Jon would know his brother and sister while Rhaegar could reunite with all his children, both their hearts free and not weighed down by the fact of their violent deaths.

Tywin, Cersei, Baelish, and Robert. Of all their remaining enemies, Dany held only contempt in her heart for those four - Aerys and the Ice King were tragedies underneath all the rage and violence. Those mere mortals, all that existed were future snacks for their dragons.

Flanked by Grey Worm and Missandei, Ghost taking the vanguard, Daenerys had added a scaled breastplate and Dark Sister to go with her crown. She took an appreciative glance at Jon, ever so dashing in his own scaled Valyrian steel armor plate. Stark in coloring, he nevertheless looked the image of a Targaryen warrior king, much like his father.

As they entered the audience room of the Twins - the great hall understandably being renovated at the time - Daenerys found Ser Kevan already waiting for them, drumming his hands about the table in a put off expression that she found amusing. “Presenting, Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, and Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name…” Missandei recited their titles while Kevan stood, scowling. The pause gave Dany a good chance to analyze the man she’d be treating with.

The second son of Tytos Lannister was tall. Taller than his nephew by far and with the thick muscles of someone with the prowess of a warrior. Age had taken its toll, leaving golden blonde hair balding and an ample waist underneath his plate and mail. The green eyes were those of a loyal sword, but not an inspired ruler of men.

A perfect sort of person to carry out the whims of his older brother. Daenerys knew that the words to come from Kevan’s lips were placed there by Tywin, only Tywin not being here to verbally spar with. This will be both enlightening and dreadfully boring. She took a breath once Missandei was finished. “Welcome to our current accommodations, Ser Kevan. Forgive us if they are… problematic.”

“My nephews are Freys, Dragon Queen,” Kevan replied. “I hope my sister and goodbrother do not find them inconsolable after explaining their grandfather, uncles, and cousins are all dead.”

“Watch yourself,” Dany shot back. “You have been given guest rights, but it is not wise to insult your hosts. Especially when they have dragons to call on… or other creatures.” As if just noticing Ghost, Kevan paled slightly, shutting up. “Now, shall you tell my husband and I why you are here?”

Composing himself, Kevan puffed up his chest haughtily. “I bring terms from Lord Hand Tywin Lannister for the pretenders of House Targaryen.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Not from King Robert?”

Kevan laughed. “As if that whoremonger could conduct diplomacy.” In this Dany agreed with the Lannister. “The terms are as follows. A peace under current lines of control. The North shall be awarded the Twins and Hoster Tully will be returned as Lord of Riverrun, though he will lose the title of Lord Paramount to Jonos Bracken. The Decree of Winterfell establishing Northern independence will be honored, and House Targaryen will return to Slaver’s Bay to rule whatever lands you have conquered there. We care little of pyramids or freed slaves here.”

“And what would we have to offer you in exchange for such generous terms?” Dany asked innocently.

“Simple. Leave and never come back.” His eyes gazed at them with derision. “Westeros is done with you and your kind. We proved that when we wiped out your pathetic little House, though my brother seemed to miss several loose ends…”

Before Dany could react, the younger brother of Tywin Lannister found himself cut off by Jon. The King’s eyes glowed blood red, lips pursed in a quiet yet seething rage. Lifting Kevan by his lower jaw, it reduced the proud lion’s voice to a quivering, sputtering rasp as his feet dangled and eyes bugged out in terror. 

He’s woken the dragon. Two Lannister guards made to draw their swords on Jon, but Dark Sister was out of her sheath within moments… joined by Grey Worm’s spear pointed directly at the other’s heart while Ghost advanced, teeth bared in a silent snarl. “No one moves,” spoke the Queen, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the two guards looked ready to piss themselves. “Ghost, if anyone moves... eat them.” The direwolf bobbed his head, not taking eyes off the two guards while Dany sheathed her sword. She kept her stare hard on him, but said nothing. Jon was about to teach this lion a lesson and she wouldn’t interfere.

“If I were slime like your brother,” Jon began in a low, wolfish growl. “I would gut you where you stand… or perhaps bash your head against the wall as he ordered his mad dog to do.”

“You… you… you…” Jon moved his grip ever so slightly to allow the gasping Kevan to speak. “You’re… just like… the Mad King…” Daenerys felt like feeding him to Aragon. “You wouldn’t dare kill an emissary.”

A snort. “I shan’t kill you.” There was an ever so slight relief on his face, only to die when Kevan’s eyes fell on Jon’s draconic smirk. “But tell your brother this. Only when his rotting corpse rests with a half a hundred stab wounds as did my older sister, Princess Rhaenys... Only when his head lies split like a burst watermelon as did my older brother, my name sake, Prince Aegon... Only when his body is split into two as was Princess Elia Martell… Then and only then will House Targaryen and House Lannister be at peace.”

With a flourish, Jon let Kevan drop to the floor. He crumpled in a heap, coughing and sputtering. “I trust you understand to give him the King’s message,” Dany said evenly. “Word for word.”

“You’re mad!” Kevan pushed himself to his feet. “Monsters, the both of you!” 

Dany laughed - in her past, such comparisons to her father would have driven her to melancholy, but not anymore. She had a husband that adored her, a beautiful child, and true family and friends that would always stand with her. There was no part of her mind or heart that she needed to fear. “Run along to your brother, Ser Kevan. Just remember that we will not be as merciful the next time we meet.”

Grabbing his cloak, Kevan shot them a death glare before draping it over his shoulders, exiting with his two guards.

Wasting no time, Dany cupped Jon’s cheek and pressed her lips greedily against his. “I love it when you wake the dragon, my love,” she whispered to him once they broke apart. “Makes me want to claim you.”

He grinned. “I do enjoy when you do that.” While they awaited the Northern armies, there were quite pleasurable ways to pass the time.

Notes:

Longclaw: Well... way to up the stakes at the end. Jon, Dany, Rhaegar, and Lyanna finally have time to enjoy their families and their love for each other. Not to mention we get some serious wake the dragon moments.

Good News! The next chapter is nearly completed (we decided to split this chapter because there is a time jump of a couple weeks) and we will update in one week if we get thirty-five comments 😃

Chapter 59: Winter Lights, Winter Storms

Summary:

  • Ned is reunited with his Queen. And plans for the furture are made during a council meeting.
  • Jon and Dany are reunited with his parents and they are able to bond over news and war plans.
  • Beyond the Wall, the Ice King seeks out a hidden ally.

Notes:

Longclaw: Didn't expect such a quick update? Well, hope you enjoy it :D

Good news! This week, my new story Dragonshield will be posted! Hope you keep a lookout for it!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Eddard Stark

“I wish we could stay here all day.” It would sound shocking to most if they heard the great Eddard Stark, King in the North, sound so sentimental and romantic, but why in seven hells not? After all endured in the last moons, he deserved this.

Draped over his chest, his wife raised her head and chuckled at him - blue eyes sparkling with affection and amusement. “All night wasn’t enough for you, my King?” Catelyn replied.

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, which was then followed by a peck on the lips… and then an even longer, languid kiss. “I had to endure many nights alone, without you.” While Robb had stayed at Moat Cailin, waiting for the ‘Northern Expeditionary Force’ to march south under his sister and goodbrother’s command, Catelyn hurried as fast as she could back to Winterfell. Their reunion was only yesterday, and after supper with the children neither of them had left the bedroom. It was magic. 

“I’ll have to admit, those nights were lonely for me as well.” Catelyn snuggled against his chest. They had grown to love each other, but only now did it seem that all walls had fallen. 

Ned reflected on that, on the woman that was meant to be his brother’s bride now his own. Nearly eighteen years of fruitful marriage, never planned or imagined but there nonetheless. “Jon told me this once, when we spoke of Daenerys before he left for Essos. When you’re parted from someone, you realize truly what they meant to you.”

Catelyn was silent for a moment. “Aye,” she finally said. “That is true.” His wife held him tighter. “I still haven’t yet offered contrition to him, or to… your sister.” Robb had told her of Lyanna and Rhaegar’s return. She wasn’t in disbelief over it, but Ned could tell it shook her. “I don’t know whose anger to fear more, his or Lyanna’s.”

“I would imagine Lyanna’s. Jon… is a forgiving person now that he has Daenerys. She makes him better.”

“It heartens me that he found his true love. Perhaps this and the return of his parents can heal him.” Perhaps all that has happened can heal all of us.

Much later, they all sat in the private dining chamber to break their fast. Ned and Catelyn were side by side at the head of the table, each not willing to be separated unless necessary - their advisors amenable to that. Overlooking them was Tyrion, while Sansa sat opposite him. Young Prince Trystane was next to Sansa, and Margaery beside him. Lord and Lady Tyrell were opposite them, while Olenna held the position of the guest of honor at the edge of the table.

The current senior highborns at Winterfell with the departure of the army. Arya had been invited to join, but she was more content to spend time in the courtyard… the forges more specifically. Best Cat doesn’t know that for a bit. Breaking a bit of crusty bread, Ned began smearing it in butter fresh from the pens. “I’m still not comfortable with this,” he protested. “They can be married here, in Winterfell, after all of this madness is concluded.”

“Which madness?” As expected, Olenna spoke for House Tyrell while Mace did his best not to choke on the apple tart he was trying to fit in his mouth. “The war with Robert and Tywin madness, the war with the Mad King reborn madness, or the war with two hundred thousand dead men madness?”

“I…” Damn, the old crone continued to outsmart. “At the very least, the first one.” Robb was needed in the coming war against his former friend, and from what Jon had said Ned’s firstborn was a prodigy in military strategy and tactics. “Robb cannot afford to come back north, and Margaery cannot be risked in a warzone.”

“She can take care of herself, and I would think the Northern armies would fight harder with both their future King and his Princess alongside them.”

“Mother,” Mace interjected. “Perhaps his Grace has a point. I mean, Garlan and Arianne are already stuck in the middle of a land at war. Loras marches with Prince Robb… I cannot think of Margaery…”

But the lady in question spoke up. “It’s fine, father. I thank you for thinking of me so dearly, but there is no need.” A serene look came on Margaery’s face. “I wish to marry Prince Robb as soon as possible, and if it means my traveling to Riverrun to be by his side then so be it.”

Sharing a look with Catelyn - and noticing Sansa’s lips curl upward in spite of herself - Ned fought a smile of his own. “And why are you so cavalier about it, Lady Tyrell?”

“I…” She cleared her throat, taking a sip of water. “I’ve fallen for your son, your Grace. He’s taken my fancy from the moment I’ve arrived at Winterfell, but the fact that we were already betrothed didn’t cause this. He’s a brave man and would make a caring husband. I love him for that.”

Well son, you may not have to marry for mere duty after all. Ned truly loved it when things worked out this way. “Well, that settles that. I cannot stand in the way of love…”

“In your house, your Grace, standing in the way of it has a way of never working out.” Tyrion’s jape produced a chorus of laughs around the table, even from Catelyn. 

Ned… couldn’t find gloom in it. While the wounds of his father and brother - and Jon’s older half brother and sister - would never truly heal, those had been the Mad King and Tywin Lannister’s doing. Lyanna and Rhaegar’s return were slowly erasing any guilt or loss felt at their actions since the gods gave them a second chance. I shan’t waste it. “Perhaps not.” He eyed the queen of thorns. “So are we agreed, Lady Olenna?”

Olenna shrugged. “If love ends up matching duty, all the better. I picked your son for my granddaughter because he is the perfect match in terms of alliance. He and her, Garlan and Arianne, and hopefully your Sansa and Trystane over there.” The Prince blushed while Sansa remained impassive, if slightly embarrassed by her subtle cues. “If they’re in love, all the better.”

“A sentimental look at it, I’m sure,” Tyrion deadpanned, though all could see Lord Mace and Lady Alerie both legitimately joyous at the development. “On another topic, your Grace, I’d like to bring up my niece.”

“Lady Myrcella?” The former Princess known to most of Winterfell as ‘Marcy’ hadn’t crossed Ned’s mind in a while… much as he often chided himself for it, he’d had much more on his mind. She’d been in Lyanna’s service as a handmaiden, and he’d made mental notes that he promptly forgot to transfer her to Catelyn or Sansa’s service. “What of her?”

Tyrion hesitated before swallowing. “I would like to ask for your permission to legitimize her as a Lannister.”

“But she’s a bastard Baratheon,” mused Lord Mace. 

“A bastard Lannister. The girl is without Baratheon blood, you nitwit,” Olenna chided, poking his leg with her cane under the table. “The bigger problem with your request, Lord Tyrion, is that your father is the head of your House and he thinks her dead… not that he would care, since his new wife is already with child.”

A grimace. “I am aware of my soon to be born half-sibling,” Tyrion replied evenly. The news that Tywin was married to the reviled Lynesse Hightower was not taken well in the North. Jorah never escaped blame or ire for selling the poachers into slavery, but the northmen as a whole blamed the vain, spoiled Lynesse for his fall. Tywin is perfect for her. 

“If I may speak, father?”

Ned’s gaze drifted to Sansa. “Of course, daughter.” He and Cat - with Jon’s approval by raven - had both decided to include Sansa in all planning, seeing as she had grown in both Jon and Dany’s pasts to become a powerful strategist of her own accord. No sense in not guiding that through a less traumatizing manner. “Please, speak.”

“From the way I see it, Tyrion has established a new branch of House Lannister of the North. Since you are his sovereign and he is the senior-most Lannister in the North, Myrcella is in his care and he can seek your blessing to legitimize her.”

Tyrion laughed merrily. “Very well put, princess. One day I would very much enjoy sparring wits with you.” Sansa tried to hide any pride she felt, but her pale cheeks exposed the slight blush on them. “She is right, and I have a reason behind it. I wish to make Myrcella an alternate claimant to the Lordship of Casterly Rock.”

Pondering that, Ned looked over at Catelyn. “Ladies have ruled keeps before, and even Kingdoms, but I am not sure many would flock to the banner.”

“Perhaps not now, husband, but in time if Tywin exhausts his domains enough?” She took a sip of water. “I’d suggest doing it.”

At that moment, Jory walked into the dining chamber. “Your Grace, two ravens. One from Moat Cailin and one from the Twins.” 

Taking them, Ned saw they both sported the Targaryen seal. He opened one, and found it from Jon. A smile found his lips almost immediately. “Queen Daenerys is with child again.” The reaction was quite joyous, though it stilled as Ned’s eyes widened as he read the dispatch from Moat Cailin. Well I’ll be damned.

“Ned, what is it?” Catelyn asked with equal parts curiosity and concern.

The King in the North couldn’t help but fall into a spate of chuckles. Oh, well done indeed. 

 


 

Rhaegar Targaryen

“Are you sure?”

His wife groaned. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“But a wheelhouse may be better for you…”

“Gods, Rhaegar, enough.” Rhaegar Targaryen was the recipient of Lyanna’s ‘Wolf Glare’ before, and unless it was in the bedroom while the two of them were nude or in a state of undress, he didn’t wish to have it repeated. “For fuck’s sake, I’m with child. I’m not a cripple.”

The Prince of House Targaryen sighed, hanging his head. “I know you’re strong, Lya… but disaster happened when I wasn’t present with Aegon. I… I… I just don’t want to lose you again.”

Her gaze softened. “They are not the same situation, husband.” While Arthur and a troop of Crannogmen banners rode ahead of them, the two royals occupied the position of honor only befitting those that led an army into battle. Which they were doing, matter of fact. “I had lost everything then, you, Elia, my stepbabes… Robert was King and I knew he would kill our son and force him to marry me.” She stilled, memories clearly too much for her. “But I have you now, I have Aegon and Rhaegon. I have Daenerys and Ned and all my nieces and nephews. I won’t endure it again.”

“No, you won’t.” Leaning over on his saddle, showing off the same riding skills that won Lyanna the Crown of Love and Beauty, he kissed her cheek - making Lyanna blush. “I’ll kill anyone that tries to harm you.”

“I know you would, as would I for you… and as would Aegon for any of us.” A serene smile crossed her face. “And I am delighted for our new dragonwolf. You?” 

“It is a dream for me.” It truly was - Rhaegar had missed out on Jon’s growth within Lya’s womb, how her lithe figure would swell with the proof of their love and marriage. He enjoyed every moment of it with Elia in spite of their love being platonic and hated himself for not getting that experience with his soulmate. “The gods have given me a second chance again, and I shan’t waste it.”

“My beautiful dragonlord,” she replied with adoration. 

He glowered. “I am not beautiful. I am ruggedly handsome.”

Lyanna giggled. “Of course, husband, of course.” Showing off her own riding prowess, she leaned further and brought their lips together.

The sound of a trotting horse and a clearing throat brought them apart, revealing his nephew Robb. He looked a bit awkward - they weren’t his parents or his sister, but catching his aunt in a passionate embrace was still something uncomfortable. “Well, now I know where Jon and Dany get it from.” Beside him was Grey Wind, trotting along without a care in the world.

Grinning, Rhaegar met his nephew’s gaze. “I would think displays of marital affection between a husband and wife would be smiled upon, Prince Robb.”

“That is true, uncle and it delights me to see Aunt Lyanna happy, but Jon tends to go… overboard. I mean, he and Daenerys took to the Dothraki custom too gleefully for my taste.” He shuddered at some unknown memory, thankfully distracted as Grey Wind barked at the dragons shrieking above them.

Lyanna furrowed her brows in confusion. “Dothraki custom?”

Biting his lip, Rhaegar tried not to burst out laughing and upset Robb any further. At Lyanna’s enquiring look, he turned to her. “From what I read on it long ago, the Dothraki find it proper to copulate under the stars in open view.” Robb winced, another memory seemingly assaulting him. 

Her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh…” For a moment she was quiet, face pensive. “We could do that.”

He blinked. “You sure.”

“Could be very pleasurable.” Her grey eyes twinkled mischievously. “My brother used to enjoy fucking in the snow, keeps you close to your lover for the warmth.” She smiled sultrily, the same passionate wolf that brought him the most unimaginable pleasure into a life that had been pretty lonely for the longest time.

“You always did say I was quite warm and pleasant now that we’re in the North…”

“Alright, I couldn’t stand it when Jon and Dany did it and neither now.” Robb held his hands up. “Just be warned that we’re about an hour from the Twins.” He opened his mouth to say something more, only to shudder once and ride off - direwolf quirking his head at them once before following his master.

Laughing together, Rhaegar watched him ride off. “That boy is Ned’s, no doubt. May look like a Tully, but the Quiet Wolf is strong in him.” Rhaegar looked up to where the growing dragons were performing acrobatics in the sky, stretching out their wings. “He’ll loosen up properly once he marries the Tyrell girl.” He snorted. “Olenna finally gets a Prince for her blood. Did you know she was angling for her daughter’s betrothal to me just as Tywin was.”

“I do remember her two girls. Spoilt airheads just like her son.” Robb is lucky with Margaery. She’s smart. “Between them and that bitch Cersei, seems I lucked out in claiming the prize.” Lyanna smiled proudly, but it disappeared as Rhaegar leaned in for another kiss.

 


 

“Gods, it never occurred to me that this would happen.” Seated beside each other, Daenerys cupped Lyanna’s abdomen, teeth sparkling white in the largest of grins. “Two new hatchlings at the same time.” 

Lyanna was equally excited and joyous, taking her good-daughter's hand in hers. “Aye, a new niece or nephew for you and a new grandbabe for me.” Her other palm rubbed her stomach. “I’m hoping for a girl this time.”

“Me as well. I mean, we both have sons.” Both looked up at Jon, where he stood next to Rhaegar and Robb with a blush on his pale cheeks. A bit of overwhelming fluff and happiness for the former bastard that grew up feeling entitled to nothing. His father felt the guilt over that each moment of his new days upon the earth - but as Lya said, he had a lifetime to make it up for him. “How far along are you?”

“I cannot be sure. Just more than a moon or two… perhaps the first time I reunited with my husband.”

Ah yes, that was a good night. Jon didn’t have the same feelings as his father did, as evident by burying his face in his hands. Bothered when it was only him, at his brother’s discomfort Robb could only chuckle.

“I can’t be little more than a moon as well,” Daenerys spoke, tapping her own still flat belly. “The hatchlings will likely be born around the same time.” Two wide smiles slowly spread out on their faces. “Two babes!”

Lyanna laughed merrily, Rhaegar knowing she hadn’t had this sort of time to celebrate Jon’s conception. “I know!” Both she and Daenerys hugged, practically bouncing as they simpered with glee yet again. It had been the same reaction between the two when the news was first divulged between the two of them.

For Rhaegar, all of it was surreal - a feeling began when he first laid eyes on his son and his sister. Lives restored to them starting at the moment of their deaths, the once Crown Prince had to contend with a son only a few years younger by number of living years, while Daenerys and Lyanna were the same age. It wasn’t such a problem with his sister, especially between his sister and Lyanna. They were women grown, and as seen before him developed into the fast friends Lyanna hadn’t had since leaving with him for Dorne nor did Dany know most of her life… it extended even to Daenerys’ ever faithful companion Missandei, and Rhaegar was sure his half-sister Alysanne would also be close to his wife.

But with Jon… Rhaegar looked over at him, the silent, brooding King that reminded him so much of himself. Lya and I could never be friends with Aegon. He was their son, their darling boy turned to a man in what was almost like a blink of an eye to them. Lyanna knew a wrinkled, pink newborn, and Rhaegar a mere swell in Lya’s stomach. Here he was, a mighty dragonlord and father, and yet… In spite of having more wisdom from life than anyone his age deserved to have… “Father?” 

Rhaegar met his son’s eyes. “Yes, Aegon?”

“I’m happy, for my sister.” Just like Lya, he was convinced both hers and Dany’s babes would be girls. “She’ll have all the love in the world.”

“Aye, she will.” There was much unsaid in Jon’s statement, feelings he didn’t acknowledge for fear of appearing bitter or jealous, but Rhaegar could see them. A childhood for his sister and future siblings that he never had. Knowing their mother and father, enjoying their affections and striving to make them proud. “Just remember,” he ended up saying. “You are our son and we love you.”

Dour and reserved that he was, the statement coaxed the most emotional of expressions in the young King’s face. “I love you too, father.” As their brides continued to gush over their coming babes and how little Rhaegon would feel about them, father and son shared a tight hug.

Near the same age that they were, Jon would always be their son.

With the joyous news properly celebrated with plenty of smiles, laughs, and a hearty meal, the five dragons and wolves were crowded into the chamber which had been Walder Frey’s solar. While it had undoubtedly been washed, Rhaegar could still smell the residual stench of decrepit old man. Cunt hadn’t changed since he offered my father a horse’s weight in silver to marry Viserys to one of his daughters. But the topic of discussion was entirely serious, focused solely on the map before them. “Here,” Jon drew his finger along a set strip of land in the Riverlands. “This is the current frontline.”

“Robert controls Harrenhal and Stone Hedge, and it’s slowly seeping up the rest of the Riverlands,” Daenerys mused with ire. “House Piper has switched allegiances from Hoster Tully to him, Tywin, and Lord Bracken, while Riverrun and Castle Darry are under siege.”

Rhaegar nodded. “House Darry is and was always loyal to House Targaryen.” They had been in his day. “They’ll hold out forever if they need to. I’m worried about the Blackwoods, given the salient Raventree Hall forms.” He gestured to the Teats. “They’re trying to both screen Stone Hedge off from attack while protecting their investment of Riverrun. Smart strategy, but not one of a force intending on rapid march.”

“Robert is not one to sit back and digest his gains.” Lyanna’s tone was of the manner of indigestion when speaking of Robert Baratheon - disgust rimmed by absolute loathing. “To use the metaphor of a feast, he’ll eat and eat and eat until he voids his stomach, then go back and eat again.”

“Which means that they don’t intend to make the central Riverlands the main theater of the war.” Jon stroked his chin. “From what Lord Varys tells us, Robert’s done this only with the levies directly assigned to the crown and a large chunk of the Stormlords. Excepting the chaos in the Reach.” Isolated from their holdings, Rhaegar knew that Garlan Tyrell and Arianne Martell were on their own against the Hightowers and Starry Sept. Unfortunate, but military reality. “That still leaves Tywin’s Westermen and whatever Vale knights Littlefinger can draw from his rectum.”

A groan came from Robb, though his eyes were murderous. “That’s sixty thousand men at least. Even with the wildlings, that’s more than our entire army.” Had the Unsullied and Dothraki been available to them… But Rhaegar knew it was futile to bury himself in what ifs, they had to make due with what they had. “Tywin will strike somewhere, but where can that be?”

What Tywin thinks… what will he do… “No, we cannot afford to get caught up in that thinking.” Rhaegar tapped his finger on the enemy command post at Harrenhal. “We’re so preoccupied with what Tywin Lannister is thinking that we risk dancing to his jig instead of forcing him to dance to ours.”

“What are you proposing, brother?” Daenerys asked.

With a sweeping gesture, Rhaegar cut through the map like a sickle. “Here. He’ll never expect it.”

Lyanna’s eyes widened. “That’s insane even for you, my love.”

“Bold,” Robb could only stammer. 

Daenerys shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, and we don’t even have the ships to pull it off.”

“We will if Theon Greyjoy makes any headway with his sister.” He crossed his arms. “It’s the only way to truly put him off balance. He has the men and the resources to drag this out for years, and we don’t have years.”

“I agree.” All eyes turned to Jon. “Which is why you must lead this attack, father.” What he added last turned the room upside down. “On dragonback.”

Rhaegar stared. “Aegon… I ride a dragon?”

“Aye, Rhaegal is of the proper size.” He looked at Daenerys. “Sarogon and Aragon were smaller when we rode them first, no?”

“They were, my love,” Daenerys replied.

Seeming to sense his father’s discomfort, Jon placed a hand on his shoulder. “I was nervous the first time I rode a dragon for the first time. Long ago.” Rhaegar blinked, knowing Jon was speaking of his past… his true past. He never spoke of that more than he wished, the memories too painful, so he simply nodded, bidding Jon to continue. “Apparently Daenerys saw me stroke her dragon when she thought I was still uncle’s bastard, so she wished to test my blood.”

“Wait… you never told me this story,” Dany said from her end of the table. “This I have to hear.”

Chuckling, Jon continued. “I was so nervous I was shaking. Dany told me to hold on tight. Naturally, I asked what would happen if I fell. Now I am sure someone else would have sent for a rope or something.” He looked pointedly at his wife. “But instead she said ‘Then it was enjoyable knowing you, Jon Snow.’ ” 

It took a moment before Lyanna burst out laughing, joined by Robb and even Rhaegar, shaken from his torpor by the humorous image. Dany on the other hand crossed her arms. “I did not say that, you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie, my love?” Jon countered.

“I wouldn’t have said such a thing. I don’t tease you when your life is at stake.”

“Actually,” Robb replied, wiping his eye. “That sounds like you.” It earned him a thump from Daenerys, which Lyanna found equally amusing.

Chuckling, Jon turned back to his father. “Dany’s apparent amusement at my possible death notwithstanding.” His wife glared at him for that. “I rode Rhaegal that day and it was beyond my wildest dreams. Ever since I felt my dragonblood, and I got that blood from you. It’s part of us, father - just embrace it and it will all be fine.”

Embrace it. Ever so faint, Rhaegar could feel a spark deep in his core. “Thank you, son.”

 


 

The Ice King

The embers glowed. Not the bright orb of the sun or even the all-consuming orange-red flame dragonfire gave off, but an almost serene glow. One that gave off the perfect amount of light and heat. Wafting in tufts of smoke as he pushed at the logs with the poker.

“A King that prepares his own hearth? I approve.” He looked behind to see the most beautiful woman in the world walk to him, a sheet draped about her slender form - up to the tops of her breasts. “One must never be so arrogant to ignore the simple facets of life.”

A chuckle from him, deep and throaty as she sat behind him - her front flush against his back, arms wrapping around his waist. “I was but a motherless bastard growing up. Had to save my pull with the servants for when I really needed them. Most wished to curry favor with Lady Catelyn by treating me badly.”

His lover’s eyes darkened. “I wish she were still alive… then she’d know the full fury of a dragon.”

“What do you always say, my love?” He turned in her arms, gazing into her beautiful face. “‘If I look back I am lost?’”

“I do say that.” Their lips combined in a sweet kiss, one that turned deeper but slow and languid - savoring each other. “And what would I see from this very moment if I looked forward?”

“You, and me… naked as our namedays and making a Prince or Princess?” 

She didn’t reply, only kissing him again as the fire crackled behind them.

He hated that memory. 

Despised it with his every being as he dismounted from the wraith-like horse. Not that it wasn’t a gentle, loving memory. To the one known now as the Ice King, it was exactly that sort. Such was the problem.

That moment was the last time he had ever felt warmth. Ever since was a cavalcade of cold, the most malevolent of chills that even affected Jon Snow as he left the embrace of his beloved and rode out on his final, fateful mission. Did the one before me suffer as well? The same memories of the life once lived? The Ice King shook his head. That fool was weak, unable to think past basic vengeance. 

But he was strong. All would be well again, there was no doubt to it. And today will seal that future into reality.

‘Are you sure about this, all Highest?’

Stopping in the howling snowdrift, the Ice King looked back at his lieutenant. The first walker turned by him personally out of Craster’s sacrifices - fading memories of Jon Snow, how he protested such evil, still pulled at him but were ignored out of necessity - was one he was fond of. Unlike the other weaklings inherited from the fool that stood guard further back with several dozen corpses. “Yes, I am.” 

‘There is nothing here. Not even corpses.’

“He is here,” was the only reply. “Wait with our mounts. I shall return.” Steeling himself, the Ice King sheathed his sword and made his way into the howling vortex that covered the land - towards the massive mountain looming in the distance - obstructed from view. He didn’t know personally where to go, acting only on the memories of others. You were a fool, but a fool that knew more than I could’ve ever thought possible. 

The world as Jon Snow knew it had changed once he absorbed the power of the Night King, the power of his soul and the fire of his dragonblood extinguishing the essence of the poor creature and infusing the dark magic in his own body. And with it came memories. Six thousand years of memories, running to before even the first Long Night. Of the idyllic time as the First Men arrived in Westeros, of the Children of the Forest… and the one being that could challenge the power granted to him.

The power and magic deriving from that being. Ahead, he could see the entrance to a large cave - it was much larger in reality, but thick ice sheathed all but the narrowest of gaps just big enough for the once Jon Snow to comfortably walk through. Immediately the howling lessened, the snow that enveloped him disappearing. It was calm, untouched by the worst of winter. No turning back now. After leaving his army at the Fist of the First Men, after finding a proper encampment for those he had taken prisoner at Hardhome, his generals had thought it mad that he would venture here, but he’d show them.

He’d show them the true vision, how to forge a proper world beyond mere vengeance.

Coming across the end of the main tunnel, the Ice King held back the surprise he found. An entire antechamber that had to be the height of the wall, buried within the mountain. Strewn around the snow-covered ground were items of nearly every era. From chests of gold and silver to racks of weapons - carts and siege engines to sometimes entire ships… and bodies. Tens of thousands of bodies of man and beast frozen in blocks of ice, kept fresh by the cold. In curiosity, he tried to use his powers to break the ice and free those inside.

But the ice held, not even a crack. And try as he did to burrow in the long-dead minds of the corpses, he felt it blocked. Halted by the thick ice. Magic… dark, ancient magic. Shivering, he furthered his way towards another tunnel at the far side of the antechamber, bearing witness to thick vines of precious gold and diamond of what had to be the most ancient of volcanos...

Snowdrifts shook, the white powder falling around him - when had it landed there? Ten years ago, a hundred? A thousand? Remaining untouched as the rest of the treasures in the massive cavern. The Ice King didn’t know and didn’t rightly care as the entire cave rumbled - piles of rock and ice starting to tumble about as something within began to stir.

Had he lived, an intake of breath would have undoubtedly left his mouth, heart pounding out of his chest. But the one formerly known as Jon Snow merely stood straight with his arms behind his back, facing what the memories of the Night King informed him was death incarnate. The true darkness displayed upon the cave at Dragonstone.

He truly had no idea. None of them do.

Following the almost glowing veins of gold cutting through the stone walls, the Ice King came upon a second large expanse within the cave system. Rocks and blocks of ice littered the center and there were no hoarded treasures as in the other vault - it was as if the ceiling had caved in here, littering the ground with debris left to rot for centuries. The tremors began to grow, morphing from mere vibrations to ones that left even the otherworldly being once Jon Snow having to brace himself.

A roar echoed loudly through the cavern just as the rocks began to shift in all directions. He winced, the shriek unable for him to handle despite his enhanced strength. Finally. Legend met reality in that very moment - for the first time since his last living memory, he felt fear.

“Who dares try to disturb me?” The words were of the Old Tongue, the ancient language of the First Men and Children of the Forest, only loud - throaty, as if the being that spoke had inhaled an entire volcano of smoke… and was larger than even Balerion the Black Dread at the end of its life. “Many have tried, none have left.”

The Ice King closed his eyes, willing his mind to calm. Willing the fear to subside and the howling cold tempest in his body to lessen. “I care not about such petty mortals,” he replied in equally fluent Old Tongue, speaking loudly into the void. “I seek the Great One - the true master of all that walks upon the earth.”

A gust of air blew over him, much as the heated breaths of Rhaegal and Balerion washed over his living body - only instead of the pleasant warmth, it contained a malevolent cold. For the being that could bring the gales of winter upon an entire Kingdom, for such a cold to exist truly hammered home where he was… and who he faced. “I have no need for the petty titles mortal kings and chiefs and princesses bequeath to themselves, so if such is all you can provide as to why you have awoken me…”

“I seek Morghurath.”

There was a silence, the longest time that hung interminable in length. Not a sound but the pitter patter of tiny stones peppering the floor of the cave - the Ice King never opened his eyes, taking heed of the images of a past not his own. Simply waiting for... Another crash echoed through the cavern, the Ice King nearly falling to the ground from the vibrations rumbling in the ice and stone. “Hmmm… no one has called me that name in millennia.” Ice cracked above, as if something scraped against the ceiling of the cavern. “The only to know my true name was…” A pause. “Ah, you are him… but also not him.”

“I am he who stands in his place, yes.”

“Interesting, very interesting.” Something large loomed over the Ice King. He could see the shadows even through his eyelid. “I should have known the lack of a true living smell upon your entrance - even the dead give off stenches organic in nature. But your voice isn’t his. How odd, for only three could possibly have defeated him.” The breaths seemed to come from all around him. “ There is I, but not in millennia have I left this cavern. There was a man, but you are not a man. That only leaves…”

“You are wrong. ” The creature speaking to him stilled, movements ending at the defiant challenge. “I am not a man now, but I was. The former Prince that was Promised stands before you, seeking your audience and asking permission to gaze upon your being.”

He waited as it loomed directly in front of him. “You have piqued my curiosity, Prince that was Promised. You may open your eyes.”

Relief flooding his mind, the one formerly Jon Snow pulled back his lids and came face to face with the true face of death. Ice blue scales seemed to glitter in the little light that reflected off the ice, gold, and gems embedded in the cave walls. Dust and snow falling from the various pits and horns that grew all over its skin. Two eyes the color of his own, only brighter, staring directly at him.

Resting within the mountain fortress of the Land of Always Winter was the largest dragon Jon Snow had ever seen - one that dwarfed even the skull of Balerion the Black Dread. “Well… ” it asked, intrigued. “Is the image of Morghurath the Magnificence truly what you hoped to behold?”

He could only smile the smallest of smiles. “Nothing could have come close in my mind to you, Great One.”

Notes:

CastleColin: Things are really going to become mystic!

Longclaw: Wow... what did we just witness?

Given that the Long Night got shit treatment on the show, that just allows us writers explore different ideas. This is one I haven't seen done before but I think would fit to up the stakes a little more.

Both Dany and Lyanna are pregnant. Surreal isn't it for poor Jon and Rhaegar. The former gets a son/daughter and brother/sister while the latter gets a child and a grandchild. Still, all of them deserve a little loving :)

Until next time.

Chapter 60: Sudden Plots

Summary:

1) The Ice King strikes a deal with the devil.
2) Baelish deploys the Vale against the North.
3) Lyanna has words with her former betrothed.
4) Sarella and Sam are entrusted with a mission from Marwyn.
5) Alysanne continues to bond with her Lionknight.

Notes:

Sorry it took so long. Lot of stuff going on.

We'll post the moodboards when they're ready.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The Ice King

 

Nothing could have compared to this moment. Not hatching his dragons, not fighting the giants at Castle Black, not facing Ramsay Bolton, and not journeying against the Night King in a suicidal attack to protect his love. The man that was once Jon Snow nevertheless faced it with his head held high and his expression steely… watching the great dragon created in the beginning of life upon the earth. Watching as he inspected him.

 

The dragon seemed… impressed? “You must know that aside from the fires of Lightbringer, you can only die based on my whims, no?”

 

“Aye, I do.” It was a simple reply, but one that carried forth a heavy sentiment. “I hoped that we could avoid such rivalry, Morghurath the Fearsome and Powerful.” From his memories, Jon knew that the beast enjoyed flattery. It wouldn’t stop the monster from killing him if he was so inclined, but it would cause him to listen. “Even free from the reach of man, they continue their vile ways. Warring and killing and enslaving each other. Crushing each other under the wheel.” He would always be grateful to Dany for making him see the simple truth.

 

“None is too far… even here I can smell the scent of man and it sickens me.” The ice dragon rounded a group of columns, deftly avoiding his bulk from crashing into one. There were dozens in the antechamber, but Jon wasn’t keen on risking that the one that Morghurath knocked down wouldn’t be the load bearing one. “They are a blight on this world, with their war and their destruction and their greed. It is why I gave the Children of the Forest the power to create you… or at least your predecessor.”

 

“He was a fool,” Jon scoffed. “Too consumed in his own grief and rage.” Not a day went by that he didn’t have contempt over the monster that was the Night King. A human might have considered his story a tragedy, but Jon wasn’t fully human anymore. The Ice King regarded his predecessor as a weak fool. “I am not a victim to such follies, your Magnificence.”

 

“Oh no?” Morghurath suddenly thrust his maw into the Ice King’s face. The teeth inside sparkled like silver, but were as big as Jon’s arm and razor sharp. “Even without contact with man in thousands of years, I can feel their emotions coursing within you. Cold rage and bitterness were the hallmark of the one before you, but I can taste something that no other being of your pedigree would hold.”

 

Much as it was advisable not to, he wouldn’t back down from the great dragon. If it was his destiny to die here, then Morghurath would have killed him already. “And what do you taste, oh Unfathomably Mighty?”  

 

Unlike Drogon or Balerion or Rhaegal, the dragons of his past, Morghurath’s lips were movable. Able to curl into the most menacing of smiles recognizable to a human. “Hope.”

 

The Ice King blinked. He had not expected that to be the dragon’s answer. “Hope?”

 

“Aye, hope. Hope and love.” Morghurath circled him, immense bulk causing the entire antechamber to shudder. “My long extinct kin often told me that men were bearable if they weren’t prone to anger… to greed, but I always disagreed. Greed and anger are simple, baser lusts that even animals can understand.” He breathed out a puff of air at Jon, one that could scorch, but cold. Much like Viserion’s fire from after he turned… only greater. More powerful. The Ice King realized he didn’t know the true extent of Morghurath’s power and for the first time it frightened him - he would never show it, however. “But hope, but love, that is innately human and what makes them so insufferable. What makes them so dangerous and indefatigable.”

 

“And what does this have to do with me?”

 

The smirk widened, deepened by a garrulous chuckle that caused the ground to vibrate. “Because, Prince who was Promised, I can feel the love still inside you. I can feel how you hope that your woman will be yours again.”

 

Jon frowned, fists tightening. “You know nothing of me, your Terrorship.” 

 

“Oh, but I do, Jon Snow.” Morghurath seemed to preen as he noticed the ever so slight widening of the Ice King’s eyes. “Ah yes, I have found you out.”

 

He trembled, if a mortal again Jon knew a cold sweat would have formed on his forehead or the back of his neck. “You’re a greenseer?” he asked, forcing himself to remain calm and collected. 

 

“Not a greenseer… the greenseer, the original one that granted the gift to the Children, who granted it to the First Men upon the wars of your predecessor. But I never allowed the true power to emerge. Not once did I show them what I truly was capable of - the power to know all, to see all… even the futures of those long past. Including you, and Daenerys… and the other that has claimed your lover for himself.”

 

This time the anger was unsuppressed. The Ice King growling. “He is a usurper and a fool! Just like I had been… just like my predecessor!”

 

“Such is true… he couldn’t even save his own bride in his own past.” Morghurath yawned, his jaw clicking as the muscles were stretched after so long. “But the old Valyrian prophecy seems to be falling into place. ‘A prince would forsake his title and his duties for love, a love that brings nothing but tragedy to the world in which they live,’' he recited from memory. “They will have a son, who will seek to bring the dawn and yet fail, losing all that he believes. He shall return from that life to the true reality, the child known as the song of Ice and Fire…’” 

 

Jon tilted his head in confusion. He hadn’t heard this prophecy before. The tale of the Promised Prince, yes, but never this particular version of it. Did the Valyrians actually foresee this?

 

Morghurath continued, enjoying himself it seemed. “‘And he shall be reunited with his wife, returned as well from another failed life - hers is the song of fire and blood. Together, they shall forge the lightbringers.’ Ah...” The dragon sighed in false happiness. “Delightful humans, so hopeful. Gods, I so wish to destroy them.”

 

So did he… at least in one particular manner. “You and I share motivation and goals. I ask you to join me, oh Great and Monstrous. Together, we can forge a new world free of the war and greed that men befall what the gods created.”

 

The dragon was silent for a moment, looking around as he thought. “Perhaps that would be achievable. I long to emerge from this lair and enter the scheme of things directly after so long…” He smiled. ‘Alright, Prince that was Promised, I shall ally with you and allow you to reclaim your bride, granted she turns into the same as you.”

 

“Of course, your Magnificence.” 

 

“But it cannot be done now. The magic of the ancients of both ice and fire, they mark the Wall. It prevents me from journeying beyond these wastes. Only when the Wall is breached will I be able to join you, Prince that was Promised. Only when you set foot upon the ground of the realms of men will our alliance be allowed to join.”

 

That… was a wrinkle in his calculations. “And how do I break down the Wall. I have no Valyrian dragon as my predecessor did.” If Morghurath could see into his past and the past of the usurper, then he would know what Jon meant.

 

“I am sure you can figure it out, Jon Snow,” the dragon chuckled, looking at him with a smirk. A challenge to sense if he was worth the beast of the ancients actually allying with him. 

 

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

His commanders were incredulous. ‘You let him turn you down, Great One?’

 

Jon Snow rolled his eyes - or imagined that he did. Sometimes it was hard to give up on human expression or emotion, especially when such means were the only avenue to express displeasure or joy. He was no soulless monster. He did not give up on his soul even as the ice magic imbued it with power. ‘When the divine being upon this earth gifts you with something, you don’t demand to look in its mouth to see its teeth.’ Gods, how stupid did Craster raise these things?

 

‘That doesn’t matter… how do we break through the Wall with what limited forces we have?’ No, it wasn’t Craster. His senior subordinate was of Craster’s blood yet he actually had a mind for strategy and tactics. It was the change in leadership to someone actually capable of thinking that improved the officer class. As the veteran of a hundred battles, Jon Snow wouldn’t make the same mistakes as he had early on. ‘We have no dragons, and we have no magic that can fell the Wall.’

 

Surprising them all by chuckling, the Ice King smirked. ‘We don’t, my friends, but I do know some who do.’ Still chuckling, Jon Snow mounted his undead horse… gods, he wished for a dragon again. They truly did ruin horses as he told Dany on occasion. ‘Gather the armies and march on Eastwatch. I have some business to take care of myself.’ 

 

Soon, the reckoning would come. Soon, he would have his love back. Nothing will stand in our way again, Dany. We will break the wheel together. 

 

Petyr Baelish

 

Littlefinger was never one to look back when the only course was forward, but now he was starting to question whether his decision to put Lysa out of her misery was worth it.

 

If only this little brat would let me go even for a second. He gritted his teeth inwardly and tried to smile pleasantly. “There, there, Sweetrobin. Don’t cry. Your mother would want you to be brave just as she loves her little winged knight.” His ribs throbbed as the boy’s iron grip clenched tighter around him.

 

“Why?! Why, Uncle Petyr?!” Robin Arryn wailed at the top of his lungs. “My mother can’t have just died on me! She must be alive, somewhere!” He thrashed in place as he clung onto his foster father. Gradually, he quieted as the exertion of his sobbing wore him out. Baelish breathed a deep sigh of relief when Robin conked out.

 

“That’s the umpteenth time in a row,” the burly drawl of Bronze Yohn Royce complained. The Lord of Runestone gently extricated Robin off of the Master of Coin and laid him gently in his chair. “The lad hasn’t gotten over himself no matter how many times we’ve broken it to him.”

 

Littlefinger shrugged. “Lysa Arryn’s fate was regrettable, indeed. I am afraid there was no gentler way of putting it to young Robin.” A glance over at Jon Arryn’s former Lord Regent hinted at deep doubt. He wasn’t the least bit worried. There had been no witnesses to Lysa’s “suicide.” No way to know the truth.

 

Knights and men-at-arms, both mounted and on foot, continued their slow, steady march down the cobblestoned roads toward the teeming docks of Gulltown. The Vale’s only city was the second smallest in the Seven Kingdoms, but it was busy with ship traffic. With the Crown’s call to war against the North and the resurgent Targaryen menace, war galleys and transport vessels clogged the harbor.

 

“Robert’s ordered the whole royal fleet for this single expedition?” Yohn Royce looked incredulous at the Stag King’s erratic zeal. It did seem like he was putting all his eggs in one basket. Can’t be helped. Robert Baratheon’s hatred for the Targaryens was the stuff of legends.

 

A shadow of a smirk. All the more ease to climb the ladder.

 

“Only half, actually. Robert reckons that with the size and number of the dragons the Targaryens possess, it would prove futile to try and hold Dragonstone. The remainder of the fleet will drop anchor at King’s Landing where it’s more easily reinforceable.”

 

Baelish looked back over his shoulder. “Are you certain you won’t take command, my lord? After all, you were the Vale’s vanguard at the Trident.”

 

“There and back again?” Yohn Royce snorted. “No, my lord. My son, Ser Robar, will go in my stead. He has yet to earn his spurs.” In the near distance, a pale-eyed young man bedecked in a rune-inscribed steel plate oversaw a group of crossbowmen head up the gangplank onto a cog.

 

Fluttering in the winds, the banners of the Vale boasted a rainbow of color as the army was carefully loaded onto the royal fleet’s transport ships for the invasion of White Harbour. Tywin Lannister’s plan focused on seizing the only port in the North and sweeping onto Winterfell. The northmen would be forced to divert from Moat Cailin after which the Lord Hand could hopefully smash through them on open ground. Twenty thousand men from the Royces, the Waynwoods, the Hunters, the Redforts, the Belmores, and the Templetons were assigned to reinforce the five thousand Crownlanders also en route to join.

 

“Does his Grace have any way to counter the dragons? Other than the scorpions?” Lord Royce pointed out the oversized crossbow-like ballistae mounted on the bows of the war galleys.

 

Baelish’s lip curled. “My lord, let’s just say the Targaryens aren’t the only ones to burn the opposition.”

 

Lyanna Targaryen

 

“You still don’t have to do this, muna,” she heard Aegon whisper beside her.

 

Northern-style helm draped over her head, Lyanna looked at him. She could tell he could see her grey eyes much like his own, darkened and narrowed in resolve. “Yes I do.” The arguments of earlier didn’t need to be rehashed by her, and her Aegon was smart enough not to try and force the issue again. Sometimes he’s just so damn honorable and kind. That was the Ned in him, but she could also see Rhaegar as well. He’s the best of all of us.

 

Preparations were in full swing back in the Twins and in Flint’s Finger now that it looked like Theon Greyjoy and his wildling wife had reached an accord with the other Ironborn. Lyanna was skeptical, as was Rhaegar that Balon would abandon his efforts to recreate Harwyn Hoare’s conquests of the Riverlands, but Aegon and Daenerys were more trusting of Theon and Yara Greyjoy… in any case, the planned attack by Rhaegar could be the one that ended the war.

 

Which was why the requested parlay at the request of ‘King’ Robert Baratheon himself had so shocked them. Kevan Lannister’s attempts at negotiation were rebuffed so eloquently by her son and gooddaughter. Rhaegar bowed out for obvious reasons, but Lyanna insisted to come. That had been hours of arguing but she wouldn’t be budged.

 

“Riders approaching,” they heard Arthur Dayne call out, spurring his horse from the molehill a dozen yards away back to where they were positioned. A white banner of truce fluttered at the head of the approaching column as it did in theirs, but Lyanna could see all the coming knights were armed and armored to the teeth. Just as Aegon’s men, only flying the Baratheon banner rather than the direwolf and three-headed dragon. She sucked in a breath… ready yourself, Lya.

 

And finally she spotted Robert for the first time in eighteen years. It was rather hard not to. The Stag King wore his antlered helm only joined by a coronet this time, golden spikes sticking out of it as a crown much as the rearing stag banner held a crown around the neck. Full plate fit him snugly, far more snugly than before. He wasn’t as fat as Arya so eloquently described to her back in Winterfell, but the ravages of time had not been kind to him. 

 

Her eyes blazed the purest rage - an icy maelstrom that could freeze a person on contact. You will pay, you monster. If I have to kill you myself, I will. Robert took everything from her in his obsession, and Lyanna Targaryen wasn’t one to forget it.

 

For his part, Aegon was helmless - as were Daenerys. They wore simple crowns upon their heads to distinguish them from the other Lords, not that Daenerys needed anything to mark her as a Targaryen Queen. Lya was on Jon’s left while Robb waited on Daenerys’s right next to Missandei, a cluster of Northern Lords alongside Edmure Tully behind them. Arthur Dayne was dismounted and in front of the King and Queen in his Kingsguard armor. A pace behind him was Grey Worm, additionally more heavily armored than the Unsullied was used to.

 

A motley force, but one no less formidable - especially with the two direwolves growling at the approaching riders.

 

Clad in the armor and white cloak of a kingsguard, a rather smug-looking man cleared his throat. “You stand before Robert of House Baratheon, First of his Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Defender of the Faith, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

 

Equally haughty, her own back straight and head held high, Missandei made her presence known. “You stand before Aegon and Daenerys of House Targaryen, Sixth and First of their Names. King and Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. The Unburnt, the Mother and Father of Dragons. Khal and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Friends of the Free Folk. King and Queen of Meereen. Lord and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protectors of the Realm.” A much longer list of titles, which while petty was something Lyanna enjoyed to see the ire on Robert’s face. Knowing him, he’ll decree a dozen new titles upon himself before the day is out.

 

The Kingsguard looked rather annoyed. “Who is this darkie that has the gall to speak to her betters?” He snorted. “There’s two of the fucking apes!”

 

“You speak to two of my trusted companions,” Daenerys said evenly. “Still your words or else I will have you burned alive.”

 

“Mad just like your Targaryen father,” the knight sneered.

 

The Stag King held up a hand. “Enough.” The knight shut up. Robert, ever the flamboyant cunt that Lyanna remembered, opened the parlay as he guided his steed to a stop. “Well then, you look like a poor fuckin’ excuse for a dragon,” he stated outright, removing his helm and looking at Aegon. 

 

The flabby face and thick beard made Lyanna want to laugh mockingly. It was clear from the veins in his nose that the usurper King refused to cease his drink.

 

Aegon, for his part, merely narrowed his eyes. “I believe we can agree that looks can be deceiving in some cases, Robert.” No use of the false titles from her son.

 

Looking annoyed, Robert nodded… then smirked. “Aye. They said your father was the most powerful Targaryen since Daemon Blackfyre, yet I smashed his chest without a second thought. Fuckin’ weakling.” Lyanna’s hands tightened into fists. How dare you speak of him… Rhaegar is twice the man you’ll ever be, Robert. “You though.” His eyes were now on Daenerys. “You have the pretty looks of your mother, Rhaella.”

 

“I would consider it a compliment coming from anyone but you.” Dany’s words merely drew a satisfied laugh from Robert. “Where is Lord Lannister?” The retinue was devoid of any major figures. A few Stormlords, Lord Jonos Bracken of Stone Hedge - who spent most of his time glaring hatefully at Tytos Blackwood, who reciprocated - and Lord Commander Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard. “As your Hand, I would expect him to show up.”

 

Robert found that hilarious. “After the way you pulled his brother’s tail, not likely!” He slapped his knee. “Great show of that, by the way. Pulling the lion’s tail. Quite easy to do that against a man who hasn’t slayed dragons before.” Robert gestured to his warhammer, grinning. “Now, my sources say to me that you were the bastard of Ned Stark,” he asked Aegon. “Is that true?”

 

While Lyanna half expected him to lie, for what did it serve? The bond between her brother and his former friend was irrevocably broken, not that Lya mourned it. “Aye,” Aegon replied. “I was raised as his bastard.”

 

For a moment, something akin to genuine grief passed over Robert’s face. “Never expected Ned to betray me. My bitch of a wife, aye, but not Ned… my brother.” It would’ve seemed moving had Lyanna not been so disgusted. “No matter, he will be dealt with as any traitor would… Perhaps for old time’s sake I’ll exile him to the Wall. Such won’t be extended to you though, bastard.”

 

The insult didn’t matter to Aegon anymore, Lyanna could see. Why would it? He had a loving wife, a beautiful babe with another on the way, family that adored him, and his muna and kepa returned. Whatever insecurities drilled into him had long since died, leaving nothing but a powerful, confident King and dragonlord. “Why are you here, Robert? Did you wish to speak terms with me as Kevan Lannister did or merely trade insults?”

 

Laughing, Robert looked to his retinue. Some were grinning with him, while others looked uncomfortable. Not much had changed in that regard from what Lyanna remembered. The Lord of Storm’s End was always an acquired taste, but those who managed to stomach it gladly were often the lowest common denominator of highborn society. Rhaegar always found him insufferable. He knew why Lya was eager to flee the betrothal, though their marriage was forged in mutual adoration rather than her desire to escape.

 

“You wanna know why I came here, Dragonspawn, I’ll tell you why. That idiot lion thought he could negotiate with you, but I see through the charade - that’s why I’m the fucking King and not he.” He gave a look of haughty superiority. “You are as I expected of you, some fool boy playing at war manipulated by a cold-hearted Valyrian bitch.”

 

“And you are some fat lecher that lucked into a crown and proceeded to make a total ass of yourself for sixteen years while better men tried in vain to keep things in order.” Daenerys did not break her composure, but her voice was like ice. It cut and froze cleanly. “Doesn’t it go to your immense prowess that all it took for the entirety of your realm to collapse before you was your vicious idiot son trying to rape the daughter of your Warden of the North.”

 

Ironically, such was the story that proved the doom of Aerys’ reign, Lyanna thought sadly… though a split second later she understood Dany’s point. It was exactly the same, and the comment left Robert in the same position as the dragons he so hated. Well done, gooddaughter. 

 

Never the most clever of people, it took some time for Robert to grasp that but when he did his face reddened with rage. “Heed my words, dragon bitch, you cannot stop me. I am Robert! King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Demon of the Trident! I will finish what I started all those years ago when I pierced your rapist father’s heart like the weakling like he was, this I promise! No Targaryen will live to see winter end!”

 

“I make the same promise to you, Robert.”

 

Lyanna’s words were unbidden - completely spontaneous on her part. Robb and her son looked to her with worry, while Daenerys and Arthur were more understanding in their expressions to her. Given what she had lost to Robert of House Baratheon, it was the highest of provocations that drew her out of her silence.

 

To the Baratheons, she undoubtedly looked like an armored knight… though clearly a woman. Robert ignored her as irrelevant - he only valued a woman if she had large tits and a narrow waist - but at the insult he bristled. “And who the fuck are you?” He clearly regarded some nameless female warrior as lower than pond scum in the hierarchy of things.

 

She still felt anger, but gods, Lyanna was going to enjoy doing this. “Someone you claim to have started all of this for.” At his puzzled blink, she reached up and removed her helm - letting her chestnut locks fall over her shoulders. “You are just as I remembered, Robert.”

 

Most of the Lords and knights present on Robert’s side were too young to remember Harrenhal - the first time Lyanna had been south of the Neck. As for the Stag himself, the years and the wine had likely dulled his memory and he peered with ruddy blue eyes in some attempt to see if this woman was one he recognized as she did him… until those same eyes widened, his skin growing such a pale white as if he’d seen a ghost. “Ly… Lya?” he stammered out, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “Is that… is that you?”

 

His obvious look of hopeful longing made her want to vomit. “Aye, it’s me, Robert.”

 

“They… they said you were dead.” Robert had softened, gazing at her with a puppy adoration. “Your brother… she offered to show me your body, but I couldn’t bear it.” A rage passed over his expression. “Seems he hid so much more from me.” Before Lyanna could speak again - the others of her son’s party allowing her to have this confrontation - he reached out his hand. “Come, Lya. Come with me and let’s end this obscenity the dragonspawn and your traitor brother put us through.”

 

Eighteen years and he was still as deluded as he was before. Unable to help herself, Lyanna started laughing. Chortling from the sheer absurdity of it all. Her hand rested on the longsword clipped to her hip. “The only thing I would give to you, Robert, is a sword to the throat.”

 

He reacted if stricken, but quickly recovered - gazing at her with a sad compassion that made her retch. “Lya, you need not be in pain from what that monster did to you.” Still he believed his own lies. “My council told me of the rumors, that the Rapist Prince is alive after all. You don’t have to fear the imprisonment of him and his rape child.” He glared angrily at Aegon. “Come with me and I’ll keep you safe, just as it should’ve been.”

 

“I would rather run myself through with my own sword than go anywhere with you, Robert.” Her eyes narrowed, lips trembling in rage. “You seem to forget my words from long ago, how I found you in your bed with two whores even after our betrothal. How I begged my brothers and father not to chain me to the dungeons that marriage to you would be. None of it matters to you, does it? Not if it doesn’t match your delusions.”

 

“Don’t speak of such things. The lies they told you…”

 

“Lies?!” She was reaching the end of her tether. “Was it a lie that ran away with the Prince? That I wed Rhaegar before the old and the new gods? That I loved him as a wife should her husband, that I bore his child? Were those lies? No, they were truths. You may not see it, you lecherous cunt willing to butcher babies if it satisfies your twisted need for a fantasy past you’ve created for yourself.” She shook her head, chuckling. “Could there be more proof of this than the child I carry inside me. The product of my love for my husband?”

 

Of all the revelations of the past hour, it was that one that drove Robert into a paroxysm of rage. “You!” He pointed a powerful finger at Aegon, murder in his eyes. “You did this to her, bastard! You and your rapist father and the dragon bitch!” He looked like was to keel over that moment, so enraged was he. “I swear upon every god that exists I will kill you all for so harming my Lyanna! You and that rapist babe she carries!” Robert grabbed his warhammer, levelling it threateningly.

 

Arthur drew his sword, as did the King and Queen. Grey Worm readied his spear, while Robb commanded the cavalry escorts to march forward threateningly - a move matched by the Baratheon bannermen. A tense standoff ensued, no one wanting to make the first move.

 

Lyanna broke it. “You will die in this war, Robert. By Rhaegar’s hand or mine, that I can promise you.” Turning her horse around, she began to gallop back towards their own camp. Soon followed by the rest of Aegon’s party, parlay obviously concluded.

 

“Are you alright, muna?” Aegon asked her with a look of concern.

 

She sighed. “He’s more bitter than I remember, but otherwise there’s no difference other than extra weight.” Out of everyone in her family, only she managed to see his true personality. “Ned was blinded with friendship while father and Brandon only saw the political match through it.”

 

“He is the exact opposite of my brother,” Daenerys noted. “I can see why you chose Rhaegar.”

 

She thought for a moment. “Even had my intended been a god, I would’ve still chosen Rhaegar.” In that, her son seemed to enjoy that statement greatly - deprived of the two of them for his entire life, Aegon sought such with a desperate hunger.

 

You won’t know a day without such love. Lyanna rubbed her stomach. She had failed her son before, but she wouldn’t fail her children ever again.



Sarella Sand

 

Another day in the life she chose.

 

Another day in what seemed to be paradise for her, but turned out to be the worst sort of captivity. Looking back, the life of being the Prince of Dorne’s bastard daughter didn’t seem as stifling - private tutors from all over the Free Cities granting her whatever knowledge she wished and a loving father and sisters to fill the day with smiles. But Sarella Sand chose to head to the Citadel. To condemn herself to spending years pretending to be a man in order to study the ways of the world, to expand her mind as she wished. I wish I could go back…

 

That thought died as a protective hand wrapped around her. “You up, love?”

 

Sarella’s mood evaporated, frown replaced with a glowing smile. “Aye, I am.” Had she stayed with her siblings and father, never would she have met Samwell Tarly. “Been so for a while.”

 

“And just lyin’ there? Never even moving?” he said groggily, yawning. 

 

She turned to face him… at least so she could tilt her head and face him. “Something the matter with that?” Sarella chuckled as he frowned, half-awake. “I like it… especially with you holding me.” A light chuckle left his lips, tickling her neck which made her giggle. “What’s so funny, love?”

 

Looking at her with all the affection in the world, Sam cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Only a few years ago, my father was insisting I head to the Night’s Watch or else I’d face an accident in the woods. Now, I’m here with you… and to be honest it feels like I don’t deserve you.”

 

Each word he said made Sarella’s heart break just a little bit. She had heard it all before, but imagining this man suffering so… “You do.” She hugged him. “You’re a good man, Samwell Tarly - I’m lucky to have you.” It was shocking, falling for a clumsy highborn from the Reach side of the Dornish Marches, but what other man would be her intellectual equal and be fine with it? Indulge her desire to read all through the night by reading right next to her? Love the bastard daughter of a notorious Dornish Prince without the hedonism and unctuous charm of many of her countrymen. “I love you.”

 

He hugged her close. “I love you too.” They held each other for a while, the only time they really had to themselves with the demanding schedule of the Citadel. Both of them hated it, given what they discovered of the Maester’s Conspiracy, but it was needed. Sarella stood from the bed and walked to hers - they were assigned to the shared sleeping quarters of acolytes, but Sarella found herself spending most of her nights in Sam’s bed… not that she minded. “I truly hate that.”

 

She looked back and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Hate what, Sam?”

 

“Those bindings. You’re much prettier… without them…”

 

He’s adorable when he blushes. “I would adore trying on all my old dresses mother Ellaria bought for me for you, Sam, but you know I must do this.”

 

“I know, Salla.” He leaned over to kiss her one more time before heading to get ready for the day. 

 

The morning was spent on their duties as acolytes. Work in the medical ward, cleaning chamber pots and passing out medicine and tools. It was degrading for even the bastard daughter of Oberyn Martell, who was used to people waiting on her hand and foot before she arrived here, but Sarella refused to complain. If her sisters could head to the Dothraki Sea, then she could do this.

 

“I have an assignment for you,” Archmaester Marwyn told them when they both stopped for the midday meal in his office. Sarella enjoyed them. Marwyn was a brilliant mind she could mine for information, and it luckily allowed her to see Sam again before their evenings. 

 

Sam held up his head from where he ate. “Yes, Archmaester?”

 

“Sam, Alleras, there is a delivery that needs to be made to Lord Hightower’s banners outside of Highgarden.”

 

“What are they doing in Highgarden?” Sarella feared she already knew the answer.

 

Marwyn eyed her… warily. “Not your concern, so please don’t ask again.” He was pleading. Something was up. “You will travel with the seal of the Citadel, and the Conclave assures me that you will not suffer the same… unpleasantness that took place a few moons ago.”

 

Shuddering, Sarella still remembered how the Warrior’s Son nearly took her maidenhead - and how Sam saved her. She willingly gave it to him not long after and did not regret it. “We will need guards.”

 

“I’ve arranged for everything, and I pray that nothing happens between the two of you and Ser Garlan. Sam, I believe your father will be present at Highgarden and I hope your meeting with him is better than the last.”

 

Paling, Sam averted his gaze back to his plate - a sparing meal, the acolyte determined to lose weight for his girl. A good man, I’ve found. “I hope so too, though I fear I am less optimistic as you are.”

 

No, this isn’t right… Marwyn knew about Randyll Tarly, and would never say that unless something else was afoot. “When do we leave?”

 

“Today, after our meal. Pack your things and head out.” Marwyn slipped a scroll underneath the table onto Sarella’s lap. “Be very careful with what I’m entrusting you with. I wouldn’t want it to fall in the wrong hands.”

 

Sarella was beginning to understand. “You can count on us, Archmaester.” Cousin Ari, I’m coming.



Alysanne Targaryen

 

“I do not like this, Ser Jaime.” Sandals clicking on the stone floor of the great Pyramid, Alysanne’s face was pressed into a hard look. Combined with the white dress that hugged her curves and contrasted well with her sun-kissed Dornish skin, she looked striking. Fierce, but striking. One that could cow many a powerful man or cunning woman. “The Harpies haven’t acted in weeks. They’re planning something.”

 

Jaime Lannister was one man her newfound dragon temper could never cow. Perhaps it was his innate arrogance, perhaps it was that he had grown in a family of domineering cunts… or perhaps it was something in relation to the way his green eyes looked at Alysanne. Partly as if she was a work of art to be awed by, and partly as if she was… a meal ready to be eaten. “It would not be unwise to imagine such a state of affairs existing,” he stated. “But perhaps your policies have calmed down tensions.”

 

She pursed her lips, thinking of his statement. Various infrastructure projects in relation to the elder and younger Hizdar zo Loraq’s endeavours to repair the historic temples and pyramids of Meereen enjoyed widespread support among the freeborn class, while the freedmen enjoyed the steady work such projects provided. And everyone loved the reopened fighting pits, though Alysanne refused to attend. “Perhaps that is true… not to mention the actions of your unit.”

 

Shrugging, Jaime Lannister waved off the compliment modestly… well, if anything about the man was modest. “I do what the Princess commands.” They stopped in front of the nursery. “I am at her disposal for whatever she requires.”

 

Hearing his tone… the innuendo it practically dripped, Alysanne turned to face Jaime. Chiseled jaw, golden hair, and a smile that could melt the Wall, she didn’t blame Cersei Lannister for keeping this specimen in her bed… nor the many maidens or Ladies for imagining him in their bed. 

 

Her own violets staring deep into his greens, it wouldn’t take but a second. For her to lean up on tip toes and press their lips together. Less than a minute for her to drag him to her chambers and have her way with him. Not for the first time in her moons since giving birth to Daemon, Alysanne seriously thought about it.

 

But she wasn’t some swooning maiden or frustrated highborn Lady. She was a Princess of House Targaryen. “I remind you of your station, Ser Jaime. You are a Kingsguard under the authority of my nephew and sister, and I am their designated viceroy over the Bay of Dragons.” Alysanne was half a head shorter than Jaime, but otherwise towered over him. “Do not presume intimacy between us.” Alysanne indicated a threat behind her demand, but the truth was she wasn’t prepared to follow up on it.

 

Jaime was indispensable to her as a Princess… and she didn’t want to. What she really wanted was of a far different sort.

 

He raised an eyebrow - and she was sure he would say something cheekily to call her bluff - but thankfully he merely bowed. “Of course, your Grace. I shall endeavor to know my place.”

 

Words dying on her tongue for a moment, Alysanne composed herself. “See that you do. Good night.” She entered the nursery, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead, the Princess reflected on what that man did to her. Gods… what is the matter with me?

 

Never did she ever feel so flustered. Not even with Aerys - he had swept her off her feet, but never with such… carnal urging. It was confusing.

 

“Your Grace?” She looked up to see Doreah burping little Daemon. “Are you here for the Prince?”

 

She composed herself. “Aye. Give him to me.” Everything calmed into something familiar and soothing for Alysanne as she held her baby boy. “Hi, sweetling. Have you been a good hatchling for muna?” The silver-haired babe stared up at her, toothless lips curled into a wide smile. “You’re such a darling, aren’t you?” She leaned down to blow a raspberry on his belly, making him giggle. “You may leave us, Doreah.”

 

“Thank you, your Grace,” she smiled, likely eager to find some time with her lover. 

 

Oh, to be in love again. Golden blonde hair flashed in her mind, but Alysanne warded it off. Gingerly placing Daemon in his crib. “Now you be a good boy for muna and go to sleep, alright?” Daemon giggled again, reaching for his mother with his stubby arms. “Oh, you’re perfect.”

 

“Two dragons, both together.” Alysanne turned quickly, finding an unknown man in the room. Harpy mask grotesque but expressionless, Alysanne had the feeling the man chuckled. “My lucky day it seems.” Out came a very long knife, one that could have gutted a horse like a fish. “If you don’t struggle, I shan’t make it long.”

 

“Fuck you,” Alysanne hissed, grabbing a vase and tossing it at him. 

 

The ceramic shattered upon contact, but that seemed only to piss him off. “Fine then, whore, have it your way.” He lunged, knife glinting from the firelight. With a nimbleness that surprised her, Alysanne darted out of the way just in the nick of time. Heart pounding, she grabbed at whatever was in her reach. A goblet, a candlestick, a stack of books - all were thrown at the assassin, which delayed him but not enough for a vicious backhand to send her sprawling. “Why won’t you die, bitch?”

 

Coughing, the wind knocked out of her, Alysanne nevertheless glared darkly. Finding a carving knife used for fruit on a table beside her. “You will burn for this,” she ground out.

 

Snorting, the assassin heard a gurgle and turned to the crib. “Perhaps the little dragon should die first.”

 

In an instant, Alysanne sprang to her feet and charged, roaring like a dragon. Eyes red, she leapt on the attacker and sunk the knife into his shoulder. “Die!” she screamed, only for the man to slam his elbow into her gut. Twice in quick succession, and the wind was knocked out of her again, knocking her off. But Alysanne stayed upright, positioning herself between the crib and her attacker. “You’ll have to kill me to get to him.”

 

He cracked his neck. “Have it your own way.” Raising the knife, just as he charged, a sword thrust through his back. Blood sprayed everywhere while the assassin gasped, mouth frothing before he collapsed. 

 

Standing behind was Ser Jaime, face twisted in a mix of anger and determination. Brightroar covered in blood, he brought the greatsword down upon the man’s neck, beheading him as a precaution. Only when that was done did he look to Alysanne, voice softening. “Are you alright, Princess?” She nodded breathlessly, the weight of everything hitting her at that moment.

 

Alysanne had rushed to her son just as the door burst open, revealing a troop of Unsullied led by Ser Barristan. “Your Grace! The harpies attacked the main gate…” He took in the scene, and reacted automatically. “Double the guards!” he barked. “Seal down the entire top floor of the Pyramid.”

 

“Kessa, Ser Barristan,” the Unsullied stated in a broken common tongue, rushing off.

 

Ashara Dayne ran in behind him, darting for Alysanne. “Daughter!” She hugged him tightly. “Daughter, are you alright.”

 

She nodded feverishly. “Aye… thanks to Ser Jaime.”

 

The Kingsguard rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuckin’ harpies… must’ve started a diversion so to sneak this motherfucker in.” Turned out he was wrong about them not planning something.

 

But the Princess didn’t care to say I told you so’s, instead grabbing Daemon from his crib and hugging him close. Reassuring herself that he was safe. “The assassin clearly failed,” she said, cheek pressed against his. “What of those that attacked?”

 

“They made a hole in the wall and attacked inside. Most were killed, but a few got away.”

 

“Find them at once,” she ordered. Gingerly setting Daemon in his crib, the babe sleeping blissfully through the entirety of it - one thing to be thankful for - Alysanne kissed his brow before turning. Eyes falling on her mother and Ser Barristan… and then to Ser Jaime. My savior… “Mother, do you mind watching over Daemon for me? I…”

 

“I know, my sweetling,” Ashara replied, hugging her daughter close. “Go rest, I will watch him with my life.” 

 

“Thank you,” she murmured. Breaking the embrace with a kiss on her cheek from Ashara, she straightened into a regal expression. “Ser Barristan, have the royal quarters patrolled by Unsullied. Have signs and countersigns given in the utmost secrecy and let no one in without a thorough search for weapons.”

 

“Yes, your Grace. And I shall protect Lady Ashara and Prince Daemon personally.”

 

“Good. Ser Jaime, escort me to my chambers.” Silently, the Lannister knight followed, sheathing the bloodied Brightroar for later cleaning. A dozen Unsullied were gathered in the corridor, spears close to their bodies and standing at attention… clicking their heels as the Princess walked by. But just before they reached her chambers, Alysanne halted Jaime, taking his hands. “Ser Jaime… you saved my life and that of my son. Thank you.”

 

He waved it off, though this time it was with genuine modesty. “It was my duty, your Grace.”

 

She shook her head. “I know, but still, thank you. Tonight, you were our savior.” A smile crossed Alysanne’s lips. “My savior.” He returned the smile, thumb ghosting over the skin of the back of her hand.

 

Neither knew who made the first move, but in a split-second their lips were pressed together, tongues meeting in a heavy clash. Alysanne stumbled backward while her hand flailed for the knob to her chamber door. Finding it, she opened the door and pulled him in with her, their lips never leaving the other. 

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

“Gods,” Alysanne gasped, rolling off the sweaty chest of her newly-christened lover. “If I had known you would be that skilled in bed, I wouldn’t have dithered around.”

 

Himself seemingly breathless, Jaime Lannister chuckled. “I’m not sure I believe you, your Grace, but I do appreciate the sentiment of my carnal prowess.”

 

Shifting in bed to throw the covers atop them - a light sheet of silk more to ward off the errant sea breeze rather than actual warmth - Alysanne raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh? And why do you think that?” Still needing closeness after the harrowing clash in the nursery, she curled to him, placing her head on his chest while continuing to look into his eyes. “I am a woman grown, a Princess with authority, and a dragonrider. We don’t ask, we take what we want.” Smirking, she reached down to brush over his flaccid yet still impressive length. “And I certainly took what I wanted, Ser Jaime.”

 

“That you did,” he chuckled, a hand resting on her bare back and stroking her spine softly. It tickled her skin, but after a moment’s discomfort Alysanne relaxed. It was soothing - made her sigh in contentment. Aerys never did this… not even before… Loving as he had been, he wasn’t much of a cuddler. “But I think you still would’ve refrained, regardless”

 

“You speak with confidence, Ser Jaime.” She released his member, merely draping her arm across his hard abdominals. “Do you know more about me than I have given you?”

 

There was a slight silence, followed by a sigh. “Just what Barristan told me… of what your mother told him.”

 

Those two are growing close. While much more adept at masking their flirtatious behavior than Alysanne was with Jaime, she could still tell. It wasn’t hard for her to put the name to the ‘dashing knight’ her mother would speak of in stories of her youth once Barristan the Bold reentered their lives. “And what, pray tell, did my mother tell Ser Barristan?”

 

He snorted. “Pray tell? Are you a septa trying to teach me my letters?”

 

“After what I just did to you, you’d seriously ask me that?” They both smirked at each other, and Alysanne found she quite enjoyed such banter. It was enjoyable when they were still an arm’s length apart, and it was enjoyable now that they crossed the threshold into being lovers. He enjoys a woman with wit and intelligence, as my nephew does with my sister. “But answer the question.”

 

Imperceptibly, she felt him hold her ever so tighter - as if he feared she’d depart from the bed if he spoke. “She talked of your brother, the one you married.” Alysanne tensed. She once loved Aerys, but memories unbidden by little Daemon all tended to be painful, whether of the abusive times or the wonderful times that only made more glaring his transformation. “Of how I should keep distance from you because of it.”

 

Without words, she merely pressed her cheek into his chest, nodding. “I’ll admit, that thought crossed my mind too. That I wasn’t ready to move on even with how far I’ve come.” A pregnant, scared girl on the run to her half-sister and nephew now the ruler of the Bay of Dragons, rider of a dragon herself. “Daenerys told me when I spoke of it to her, ‘If I look back, I am lost.’ I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I do.” Leaning her head up, a small smile graced Alysanne’s lips. “You may be a right cunt most of the time, but I enjoy your company, Ser Jaime. I never have to feel you’re trying to control or manipulate me when we have our little…” She trailed off, trying to find the right word.

 

“Sparring sessions of the tongue?” he replied cheekily.” Alysanne smacked him on the chest for the innuendo, but giggled. The giggle died when his expression shifted more serious. “Subordinate to you that I am, Princess, you’ve never done the same to me and I am grateful.” Jaime shook his head. “It’s almost the inverse of whatever sorts of relationships I’ve become accustomed to between man and woman.”

 

A moment’s confusion crossed Alysanne’s eyes before she understood. “Your sister.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“Aye,” he replied softly. “My sister.”

 

Many from both continents would judge him for such a relation - Alysanne was the last person who could judge considering her House. It seemed pointless, when such familial relations had forged the greatest Empires in history. I don’t believe the practice caused the ‘Targaryen Madness.  Her father and brothers only succumbed long after birth, while her older brother, sister, and nephew were all free of such demons. But in Jaime’s case… “We needed not hide our lusts for our family given our heritage from outside Westeros, but such protection didn’t extend to you and her.”

 

He nodded. “We were twins, together since the womb. It creates a bond not easily broken, but Cersei… she knew just how to manipulate me. Even as children, whenever she couldn’t get what she wanted on her own accord, I was the perfect means for her to acquire it.” He laughed, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ironic, I only joined the Kingsguard because of her. The only action I did not her instigation was… killing your father.”

 

“If what Daenerys and Jon told me is true, then I cannot blame you for your actions, Ser Jaime.” In regards to Cersei, her hate for the woman that caused nothing but pain and misery grew - in Jaime’s darkest moment, effectively she used his isolation to twist him into a sexual plaything of sorts. Why? Alysanne knew Aerys genuinely loved her underneath his growing madness, but from what she knew of Cersei… she was incapable of actual love. Obsession perhaps, but not love. 

 

She wished for someone she could control

 

“I would’ve done anything for her and my children. The things I do for love…” Jaime chuckled dryly. “Now that I think about it, I don’t remember her ever telling me those words… that she loved me.”

 

Alysanne held him tighter. “Forget about her, Ser Jaime. She is nothing, not a quarter the person you are.” 

 

“You truly mean that.”

 

“I do.” She looked up at him. “I don’t say what I don’t mean.” They stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed time interminable… until his look disappeared into a grin. “What?”

 

His grin widened. “I think we’ve done enough talking for the moment.”

 

Oh, you lecherous lion. “Have we?” she replied impishly… cut off when he pounced on her. Oh yes...

Notes:

Lyanna got her chance to challenge Robert

If we get 30 comments, we’ll update Next Saturday

Chapter 61: Offensive Actions

Summary:

1) Jon leads against Janos Slynt.
2) Arya makes an untimely visit to White Harbour.
3) Garlan is forced to abandon Highgarden.

Notes:

Hey all. Good news, my grandfather is out of the hospital and back to his old self - he's 93 so as well as he can be. It was touch and go for a while but all's good now... thank God.

New chapter's out. Some awesome battles coming up as the War of the Two Kings heats up.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Targaryen

 

The King of Westeros disbelieved what he was being told. “Not one?”

 

Arthur Dayne shook his head. “Not a single scout, cavalry or foot, your Grace.” Clipped to his belt was the sheathed Dawn, Jon giving it back to him.

 

Muttering under his breath, Jon had been in enough battles to view such gifts to his forces with suspicion. “No one can be this stupid. There has to be some angle here.” He was exhausted, but he couldn’t afford such - not at this juncture. Six thousand of his eight-thousand strong advance army of Northmen and Wildlings had taken to the hills east of the Green Fork of the Trident. A night march away from their camp where Daenerys still resided with both dragons, even with the direwolves and wildling wargs it was still horrendous to assemble all the men into some sort of order for what was to come. Especially since a heavy mist descended over the approaches to the Kingsroad.

 

And now there was a huge development so insane that Jon couldn’t look at with anything but wariness.

 

“Stormlanders maybe, considering they fight in the thick forests of their home and are expert woodsmen, but the knights of Blackwater Bay prefer the Reach tactics of mass cavalry charges and open engagement… and I doubt they’ve fought in anything but a tourney in a while.” A snort followed from the Sword of the Morning. “Not to mention the commander is Janos Slynt.”

 

Now Jon understood. “Why am I not surprised that that sniveling cockroach still seeks to irritate me?”

 

“Oh? You’ve encountered him before, your Grace?” Arthur, just like his parents, knew of Jon’s… prophetic return from a timeline not their own. He was trusted, and considering Lady Stark breathed the reality to her dolt brother Edmure there were far lesser people that were privy to the secret than Arthur Dayne.

 

Jon rolled his eyes, nothing but disgust about the memory. “Cowardly shit. Helped kill my uncle in King’s Landing, then showed up at the Wall with all the arrogance in the world before promptly hiding during battle like a pussy.”

 

Arthur chuckled. “Seems you had strong feelings regarding him. What happened after that?”

 

“I beheaded him for refusing a direct order.” As Arthur laughed, Jon allowed a grin to his face. “And I’ll get the satisfaction of killing him again. Seems the gods do shine upon me.”

 

“In some way or another, you get that from your father, your Grace.” As thrilling as it was to his inner child that he was serving with the Sword of the Morning himself - the one non-Targaryen he always insisted on playing during his and Robb’s adventures - Jon found that he and Ser Arthur worked well together. First his father and now him, perhaps Arthur was simply instinctually good in dealing with dragons. Rhaegal tolerated him, as did Sarogon and Arogon. “You also get his flair for the dramatic, at least in tactics. Robert’s army was completely surprised by his forced march at the Trident.”

 

Happiness at being compared to his mighty father changed into sorrow. “A lot of good it did him,” Jon mused.

 

“He’s here now, as am I and your mother.” Arthur placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder. They were the same age for the most part, but Jon could feel the wisdom held in Arthur’s gaze - he had the same wisdom. “Was never much of a believer in the divine, but given all that is happened damned if I don’t think this was all preordained.”

 

“Sounds like Dany was… then she met me.”

 

“What did she believe before… well, all of this?”

 

Jon remembered the words as if they were yesterday. “She had faith in herself, the same woman that endured a lifetime of abuse only to walk into an inferno and hatch three dragons.” That wasn’t the Daenerys he now called his, rather the Daenerys always and forever lost to him, but both rang true. In all fates, Dany was always meant to be the Mother of Dragons. And to love him, as mad as it still seemed to Jon.

 

Arthur nodded. “You were a bastard all your life, your Grace, much as it pains me for my failures.” He had long ago forgiven his uncle for that fate, but Jon did understand Arthur’s sentiment. Would I have been better off knowing who I was from the start? Living in exile with Dany? Questions that never would be answered. “You were beaten down till you accepted being nothing but a bastard, but I hope you can do the same, your Grace. Have faith in yourself as we all do.”

 

Blinking, Jon could only nod. “Thank you, Ser Arthur.”

 

“Good, now seek to get some sleep. Even an hour would do - tomorrow’s a big day.”

 

“I know how to prepare for a battle, Ser Arthur.”

 

He held up his hands. “Just a word of advice, your Grace. If you’re anything like Rhaegar, you’ll brood until you get a migraine and then you’d be useless.” Chuckling, Arthur bowed and excused himself for his own position.

 

Jon sighed and laid down in his foxhole - one he dug himself, not the sort of King who was afraid to fight as his men did. Ghost curled against him, providing both warmth and a soft, fluffy field pillow for himself. Looking up at the sky, Jon reflected on Arthur’s words. Wear your bastardy like armor - the world will never let you forget it.

 

Now there's a rare sight. Not only a bastard, but a traitor's bastard. Blood will always tell. You'll hang for this, bastard.

 

Aegon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryen.

 

Protect him, Ned. Promise me.

 

An entire lifetime, now lived again. They may have been different worlds and different eventualities, but in them was the same fate for young Jon Snow - the Bastard of Winterfell. Always thought of as such first and foremost, even by his siblings. They loved him, even Sansa in spite of her appeasement of her mother’s wishes, but he was always their bastard brother. 

 

A warmth came on him, filling him as Jon thought of the one person who hadn’t seen him as such when they could have. Dany . At first he was but a potential ally who stubbornly refused to bend the knee, but as they grew close that changed. She saw not a bastard boy but a man worthy of her love. Someone she adored inside and out, even before his true identity was revealed. He cupped his heart, the wound over it and how that same wound marred him in his past. Dany rescued me from that death, saved my soul free of the bastard armor.

 

And he let her die for it. Let their child die for it…

 

Jon shut his eyes. No! He was here, she was here. They were both alive and happy, with a family. Rhaegon, Uncle Ned, his siblings, his mother, his father, and his unborn child and sibling to be. His and Dany’s hand had forged this second chance, and it was on them to see it through to the bitter end.

 

As he fell asleep, yes, Jon knew he could have faith in himself. For without it, there was no hope for victory.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

It turned out Janos Slynt was the same arrogant idiot that Jon remembered him as. His army of fifteen thousand Crownlanders and citizen levies from King’s Landing were just marching along in their columns without much of a care in the world. Not a single scout in the hills, no screening cavalry off the winding road. No sort of watchful eye in the middle of an intense mist that blanketed the Green Fork of the Trident. Never change, Janos, never change. His two, newly-forged blades, courtesy of Gendry, would taste his blood today - and Jon would savor it.

 

The twin Valyrian steel longswords flashed when they caught the light. His left hand bore the sapphire-eyed wolf pommeled blade, Icefang . His right bore its ruby-eyed dragon pommeled twin, Fyreclaw . They felt just as comfortable to wield as Dawn had. As Longclaw had in his past.

 

The Kingsroad led along the east bank of the river atop a long stretch of white cliffs twenty or so feet above the water before climbing away through a defile at the north. To the east rested a range of low hills completely forested over, leaving very little open ground for any army to traverse. Based on their scouting the position once spotting Janos’ forces marching north to threaten the Twins from the east, Jon had Daenerys make camp, near the defile. With the dragons roaring and resting within them, it was obvious to Slynt where his enemies were. 

 

Not able to see more than ten feet in front of him, Jon nevertheless had a secret weapon. He wasn’t in his own body. Instead, the blood of the wolf within him brought a long-hidden magic, one his old self had been too reserved to explore and one his new self had been too concentrated on honing his draconic side to imagine. Yet here he was, wearing Ghost’s skin, scouting the battlefield impossibly close to the treeline.

 

The mist was less around the Kingsroad, and through Ghost’s eyes Jon could see the marching army. Crack heavy cavalry were in the front, followed by the citizen levies and then the men at arms of the Crownlands banners. Ghost had keen senses, and Jon immediately spotted the distinctive smell of Janos Slynt. He wore a helm that covered his face, but that was him.

 

Of course he’s the gaudiest cunt in Robert’s army. Gold-lined armor, expensive ostrich feathers adorning his helm, and a cloak of silk. Unbelievable. Were there whores walking behind him as camp followers? Jon had to resist Ghost from just bounding over and ripping his throat out right there.

 

But another smell, one that scorched Ghost’s nostrils. Wildfire. Four mobile scorpions and three smaller ballistae were being wheeled along with the army, tipped with the noxious substance. Jon’s planning made greater and greater sense. Come back to me boy. As the direwolf began racing back to their positions in the hills, Jon felt his vision go white…

 

Before the King could gasp himself awake, Grey Worm clasped his hand atop his mouth. “ Quiet, Khal ,” he murmured in High Valyrian. “Lest, Andals hear you.”

 

Jon nodded his understanding, calming his heart. Speaking with Bran about his newfound warging abilities, the young greenseer had told him it would feel like the wind was knocked out of him for a while till he got used to it. Riding dragons was easier than that.

 

“Did you find the enemy commander?”

“Aye,” Jon replied in perfect Valyrian. “He’s in the middle behind the cavalry, but they have Wildfire ballistae in front.” Grey Worm nodded. “Get runners - have the giants and Thenns attack the head of the column and destroy the ballistae. Then sound the horns.”

 

“Aye, my Khal.” Ever dutiful, Grey Worm scrambled out of the foxhole towards the rest of the command, joined by several wildlings.

 

“I dunno what yer’ said to the cockless lad, but he’s a fighter that one,” Tormund stated.

 

“I’d rather have a cock and fight, thank you,” grumbled Sandor Clegane. Jon was surprised he showed up out of the blue with his brother Robb, but couldn’t deny the not-knight a position in his army. Sandor had fought with him against the dead to the bitter end, not a man you didn’t want in a fight. “So when is this fuckin’ starting?”

 

Jon felt Ghost slip into the foxhole, curling up against him. “Soon. Wait until they engage with Dany’s forces.” What few Rivermen men-at-arms they had were stationed ahead of their camp at the defile. Dragons there, the hope was Slynt would think that their main camp. Just a little further you fucking coward. A little further…

 

Twin roars echoed loudly over the landscape. Ghost wagged his tail and nudged Jon, knowing exactly what they meant just as his master did. The leading columns of the Baratheon army - coincidentally, the only forces that were drawn up in any sort of combat formation rather than the faster marching formation - had made contact with Dany’s Rivermen. “This is it, isn’t it?” Tormund said, excited. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”

 

“You scum better fight as well as you loot and shit the place,” Sandor grunted. 

 

Tormund grinned. “You just worry bout yerself, scar-cunt. My boys’ll fuck them up.”

 

Sandor’s brow rose. “‘Scar-cunt.’” He pursed his lip. “I’ll have to say, hadn’t heard that one before.” 

 

Jon rolled his eyes at their conversation, waiting… waiting… waiting… At a second chorus of roars from Sarogon and Arogon, he pumped his fist in the air. “NOW!” 

 

At that moment, the signal was given with the sounding of dozens of trumpets. Due to the mists, the Baratheon columns could hear these signals booming from the hills but nothing could be seen - shrouded by the fog. Confusion predominated, soldiers milling out of formation while even the well-bred cavalry horses neighed and stumbled. Slynt looked around, puzzled. “What’s going on?!” he kept asking his more experienced subordinates, but they were too busy rushing to their commands, shouting orders for they knew what was likely coming. 

 

But it was already too late. It would have taken hours for the marching Baratheons to convert their formation into a proper battle array. Something Jon had hoped for but was delighted that Slynt had simply walked into his trap. 

 

With a howl from Ghost and Grey Wind, the four columns of wildling and northern warriors surged out of their hidden positions in the hills and forests. Gunning straight for the Baratheon command. Sigorn of the Thenns and Wun Wun of the giants leading the most northern of the pincers, Jon and Mance Rayder leading those in the center, while the northern men-at-arms charged with Prince Robb upon a wholly unprepared enemy. The perfect trap.

 

The charge lasted but an instant in the scheme of things. Ghost bounding ahead of him, Jon led the other wildlings into what quickly became a veritable slaughterhouse. Drenched in blood not his own, the Targaryen King raised his swords and cut down all that dared get in his way. The weak, cheap chainmail of one soldier that swung blindly at him was no match for the powerful steel. Blood sprayed from his mouth, guts spilling from his intestines as he collapsed to the ground.

 

“Sound the horns!” bellowed Jon. Enchanted steel clashed against castle-forged steel of a knight wearing the colors of House Rosby, but Jon thrust forward with his second blade just as the chorus of horns blew into the air. He screamed with blood-orange eyes when another sword crashed against his shoulderplate - it didn’t penetrate, but it hurt like the seven hells. Jon had his revenge by burying his sword through the second knight’s neck just as the two dragons appeared in the sky. Dracarys, Dany.

 

As if she read his mind, the flames descended upon the enemy formations. Green explosions rocked the ground, Sarogon and Aragon winking off across the green water of the river.

 

Saying not a word as he parallel sliced a dismounted knight, the enchanted swords cutting through plate as if it were mail, Jon suddenly spotted a sight. One that made his eyes darken as a vicious smirk appeared on his lips. “Janos Slynt!” he called out, voice booming like the dragon he was.

 

Still dressed in all his splendor, the commander of the Baratheon host managed to draw his sword. That put him well ahead of his actions during the Battle of Castle Black, but the sword was completely clean. He trembled atop his horse, head frantically swiveling around until Jon’s voice drew his attention. The King trudged to him, eyes locked on Slynt’s helm. The enemy troops around him didn’t even faze Jon, hacking and stabbing them dead without taking his gaze off of Slynt.

 

With the Valyrian scaled armor and three-headed dragon on his breastplate and gorget, there was no denying who Jon was. He knew Slynt knew it too, for the cowardly shit reared his horse back and charged at him, sword out and ready to swing.

 

Jon stood his ground, waiting for the horse to get closer. He could feel the pounding of the hooves on the ground, the loud yet unsure cry of a fearful man atop the horse. Suddenly he crouched, using the momentum to spin around just as the sword shot overhead… feeling the wind brush across the top of his head. With a grunt, Jon slashed with one sword - then the other. Cutting through the legs of the poor beast.

 

With a screech the horse collapsed, tossing Slynt off and into the air. Jon heard the man’s scream of terror but ignored it for now. Walking to the fallen stallion, he cut down another attacking trooper with a side stab before turning his attention to the beast. It was dying. Jon stabbed it through the head, putting it out of its misery. He would never be cruel to an innocent animal.

 

To the enemy commander… that was a different tale. Seeing him start to crawl away, the Targaryen King was upon him quickly. A swift kick shattered his kneecap, the subsequent scream of agony surprising Jon by how much he enjoyed it. “Look at me, you cunt!” he hissed, flipping Slynt over. Some other soul, a tougher one, may have had a dagger in hand to try and stab him. Slynt was not tough. “Did you really think you could face me in battle, Slynt?”

 

Slynt trembled, hands up as his flabby jowls shook. “Mercy,” he begged. Jon sniffed the pungent stench of urine - sure enough, the man with ‘many friends at court’ had soiled his trousers. “Please, mercy.”

 

The darkest of grins curled on Jon’s face. “Are you afraid, Slynt?” The man bobbed his head. “Were you always afraid?” Before he got an answer, Jon roared and slammed his sword down into Slynt’s neck. Beheading him for the second time in his life.

 

Gods, it felt better than the last time.

 

Unfortunately, his personal quest for revenge had drawn his attention away from the actual fight. No sooner did he notice the galloping hooves coming for him did Jon turn his head and watch the knight riding it disappear into a torrent of dragonfire. Unburnt that he was, the King still covered his face with his hand to shield himself from the heat. Arogon roaring, it wasn’t until the Free Folk began to surround them as they pursued the fleeing enemy towards the river itself did Daenerys dismount. She looked absolutely beautiful in her armor - their babe wonderfully protected under the Valyrian steel plate - but her expression belied her anger. “You idiot!” She struck him. “Be more careful!”

 

“Sorry, my love,” he murmured, chastised. “Something I had to take care of.”

 

Around them, the sounds of battle began to die down. Daenerys seemed to take stock of it, so she launched herself into his arms. “I’m so happy you’re alive,” she said, voice close to breaking. Whatever battles they had lived through, no matter how good the odds were, the feeling was the same for the both of them. Jon merely hugged her back, kissing the nape of her neck.

 

“Your Grace!” Breaking the embrace, Jon could see Arthur race up, followed by Robb and Grey Wind. “The enemy rear is fleeing. We’ve won a great victory!” 

 

“How many escaped?” Jon was not about to rest on his laurels. 

 

Robb shrugged. “Most of the banners of the crownlords. The Umbers and Manderlys savaged them but they withdrew in good order, but we completely annihilated the rest of their foot and their entire horse.”

 

Daenerys nodded. “Excellent. Send our cavalry to pursue. We can secure the Green Fork as far as we can, force them to the Ruby Ford.”

 

“You heard the Queen, get it done. Arthur, round up the prisoners.” Both bowed and trotted off to find horses. Sighing, Jon turned back to Dany and kissed her hard. Relishing yet another battle survived.

 

“But you, Lord Snow, you'll be fighting their battles forever."

 

He’d fight every battle till the end of time if it meant his family would be safe.

 

Arya Stark

 

Was this everything Arya dreamed of being? Perhaps not, but it was damned close nonetheless. Astride her mount, a young palfrey perfectly excitable enough for the fierce she-wolf with her Aunt Lyanna’s temperament - gods, did Arya wish she knew her aunt while growing up with how simply amazing she was - she looked around at the wonders of the city of White Harbor. Cobblestone roads, three to four story houses and buildings made out of brick and stone rather than wood and thatch, and a harbor teeming with ships transporting grain into the North and lumber and metal ore out, this was something the girl born and raised in Winterfell was not used to.

 

And they say King’s Landing is fifteen times this size. Had her father accepted Robert’s request then she could’ve gone there with Sansa like Jon had told them. Just thinking about it made Arya’s lips curl in disgust. I’m not stepping one foot in that fucking city until Jon and Dany sit on the Iron Throne. When she made a promise, she kept it - something she learned from her father. White Harbor was plenty enough to sate her curiosity, and by the old gods she enjoyed riding right behind her father astride her horse, dressed in the fitted clothes of the Stark Guard and with Needle clipped to her belt. It made the year of training under Syrio feel worth it.

 

She was baptized by fire during the Bolton attack, and now looked the part of a mighty warrior princess like the Targaryens and Rhoynar she had so read about. And now my family is filled with Targaryen Princesses. Arya couldn’t help but smirk at how many a dream came to pass.

 

As the crowds gawked at the Stark guards and bent the knee for their King - her father tall and proud with the crown of the Kings of Winter perched on his hair - Arya could see the walls of the New Castle loom larger and larger along the main avenue of the city. The pale stone walls were built atop a hill rising above the city's thick white walls. Arya took in the many fluttering merman banners flying from its towers, Lord Manderly obviously going all out to welcome his liege.

 

Passing under the gates of the city, the Stark contingent found itself greeted by a maze of staff... hundreds of servants, guards, and maids that dwarfed Winterfell’s several times over. There were fewer armed men than Arya would expect, but understandable given House Manderly had committed many of his bannermen to the war in the Riverlands. 

 

In the center were the fat Lord himself, flanked on either side by two beautiful maidens around Sansa’s age - his granddaughters no doubt. As Ned dismounted, Lord Wyman had to hold onto one of his guards as he bent the knee, followed by the entire staff as they did so onto the cobblestone ground. Her father nodded respectfully then moved to help Arya down from her horse. Not that she needed it, but the daughter always appreciated the father’s loving touch. “Thank you, father.”

 

Ned kissed her cheek before moving to where Lord Manderly was, bidding him and his household to rise. Intent on joining him, Arya was nevertheless halted by heavy steps behind her. “Not gonna get rid of me that easily… your Grace.”

 

Arya rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to be watched over, Bull.”

 

“Your cousin, the King, disagrees,” Gendry Waters replied, dressed in his own leather armor and balancing a warhammer on his shoulder. “He asked me to watch over you and I’m loath to disobey the command of someone with a dragon.” He looked rather dashing with thick muscles and cornflower blue eyes - much as the stories about Robert Baratheon back in the day… without being a garrulous, whoremongering drunk.

 

Groaning, Arya cursed Jon. Robb or father would be one thing, but what is my cousin’s angle? Being from an alternate future, did he know something she didn’t with hugging Gendry to her? To this day she thought he was only brought in to teach Mikken how to work Valyrian steel, but now Arya wasn’t so sure…

 

Such would have to wait as she heard the giggling whispers of Wyman’s two granddaughters. Get ready Arya… you’ve trained for this. Enough time listening to Sansa and Jeyne Poole gossip and giggle over stupid crap… “Lady Wylla. Lady Wynafryd.” 

 

“Your Grace,” they both curtseyed. Both were rather pretty, though one had her hair dyed a garish green while the other was a more natural shade of brown. House Manderly was always more ‘southern’ than the other Northern houses. “Welcome to New Castle.”

 

“Glad to be here, I suppose. Would much rather be fighting with my cousin, though.” She was still smarting that Jon didn’t take her with him… even if she secretly admitted that he had a point regarding her training needing work. Dany is a slight woman and she’s amazing with a blade. So is aunt Lya.

 

The two Manderly girls practically swooned. “I hope King Aegon visits White Harbor one day. They say he is the handsomest man in the entire North.”

 

Arya bit back a groan. “Sorry, ladies, he’s taken.” Wylla seemed to shrug it off while her sister was crestfallen. “I’m sure my sister Sansa would know an eligible southern knight or Lord for you to pursue.”

 

At her mentioning Sansa, they perked up. “Is it true that your sister killed the Bolton bastard all by herself?” Wynafryd asked. “We have heard so many things about the battle with those horrid flayers, but can’t separate rumor from truth.”

 

This time Arya laughed. “Aye, Sansa stuck that cunt right through the middle. Exactly what he deserved, given what he was capable of.” They have no idea. Everyone in the family breathed a sigh of relief that the monster who brutalized Sansa met his end. “It’s ironic, a year ago Sansa couldn’t tell which end of the sword to hold, now she’s on her way to becoming our aunt Lyanna.”

 

“I still can’t believe the She-Wolf returned, and married to Prince Rhaegar,” Wylla sighed.

 

“A true love story. Thank the gods she didn’t marry that oaf,” Wynafryd shuddered. “If his son could be a rapist, he was that way himself. Men like that are all alike.”

 

“No argument there, Lady Wynafryd.” Arya was actually enjoying talking to these two.

 

Suddenly, horns sounded off from the towers of the Wolf’s Den, the old keep since turned into a guard barracks. Arya tensed, hand darting to her sword while the two ladies looked about in confusion. The shout from one of the guards made her blood run cold. “Enemy banners! Advancing from the south side!”

 

“How the fuck?!” Arya heard Wyman Manderly sputter… only for him to grow red with rage. “Locke! That traitor!” The keep of House Locke protected the passage to White Harbor from attack. Its previous lord died with Roose Bolton, but no one expected his heir to side with the Baratheons and Lannisters. Stupid fools… Arya could’ve guessed he’d turn traitor. “To arms!”

 

“Arya!” Ned bellowed, “get inside the keep.” He drew his blade and followed his guards.

 

Seeing him turn the corner, Arya rolled her eyes. “Like I’m gonna miss this.” She booked it too, but found her massive shadow following her. “Do you mind, Gendry?”

 

“Just following his Grace’s orders. If you fight, I’ll fight beside you.” Arya said nothing else, the two of them falling into line behind a gaggle of Stark Household guards.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Helm knocked off, the bannerman with the sigil of House Westerling on his surcoat staggered back from the kick. His eyes blazed fury. “You bitch…!”

 

Cutting him off, Arya grabbed the steel helm and swung through the air. It crashed against the knight’s temple and sent him collapsing to the ground. Arya was on him in a flash, dagger drawn and stabbing the poor bastard over and over again through the face and neck. Blood spurted all over her but she didn’t give a shit. With the stench of death and sounds of terror all around her, all Arya cared about was coming out of this alive.

 

A sharp kick sent her flying off the corpse, skidding on the ground. Scrambling to her feet, Arya saw the attacking bannerman just in time. She sidestepped his morningstar, drawing Needle and stabbing through a gap in his plate right under the armpit. The man gasped, falling to the ground, bleeding out. 

 

“Arry!” she heard Gendry bellow. “We have to go!”

 

Hearing the horns blow, Arya grabbed Gendry and tugged him away from the carnage. The Stark guards formed a shield wall behind them as they ran, taking a fusillade of crossbows in a fighting retreat through the streets of the city. “There’s not enough of us,” Gendry told her when they turned the corner.

 

“Don’t be a fucking defeatist, bull,” Arya shot back. He said nothing… but the Princess of the North worried he was right.

 

Sure enough, there was her father. He was himself coated with blood and had a cut on his cheek - not deep but still red and bleeding. That didn’t stop a relieved smile crossing his face at seeing Arya unharmed. “Thank the gods you are safe, Arry.” 

 

Looking at the various members of the Manderly and Stark households either mounted or in wheelhouses, Arya furrowed her brows. “What are you doing, father? You’re going to abandon the city?”

 

Resigned, her father nodded. “They already burst through the walls, and we don’t have the manpower to fight them block by block forever.”

 

“But the ships…”

 

“The Vale and Crownlands can supply more ships than us… Tywin Lannister knows that,” Wyman Manderly spat. For someone so large as to be called Lord ‘too fat to sit on a horse,’ he had managed… even if the horse was practically the largest breed known to man. “We’re not gonna fuckin hold, so best withdraw and fight another day.

 

Arya looked skeptical, but Ned overruled her. “You’re coming daughter, or else I’ll drag you by your hair.” She said nothing but nodded, sheathing Needle. “Now get on the horse. We’re leaving!” As if punctuating his order, a wave of flaming projectiles slammed into New Castle, marring the pristine pale beauty into a mess of charred rubble and scorched hollows. Arya didn’t dither after that, quickly mounting her horse and taking off as the procession raced for the gate leading up the White Knife.

 

All around them in the streets were throngs of smallfolk, some carrying sacks with all their belongings and some with just the shirts on their backs. They tried to follow, tried to crawl atop the wheelhouses only to be forced off by the Manderly guards. Arya felt for them, knowing the fate they’d suffer under occupation by the Lannisters.

 

Inside, her anger burned as hot as Jon’s dragon as they finally left White Harbor, pyres of greasy black smoke already reaching out into the sky like gnarled fingertips as the remaining Northmen did their best to stem the tide of the attacking Crownlanders and Valemen. Winter would come for Lord Tywin. She’d see to it herself if she had to.

 

Garlan Tyrell

 

It was a disaster in the making, something the acting Lord of Highgarden truly wished to avoid… but there was no avoiding it. Across the Mander from Highgarden castle was the massive army of the Faith Militant, proud knights of the Warrior’s Sons leading the mass levies of the Poor Fellows plucked out of the slums of Oldtown and the lush fields of the Honeywine river valley. His own forces were outnumbered, and in spite of excellent defensive positions they were sandwiched between the Faith and the Crown’s forces to the North.

 

Robert is ‘Defender of the Faith.’ They will fight for him.

 

To make it all worse, he had to hear the insanity being told him by one of the few loyal Reach Lords remaining. “How many left?”

 

“Ten thousand, my Lord,” said Lord Roxton, his eyes downcast. “Whether influenced by the Faith or tempted by the Starry Sept’s gold, the banners you placed on the western side of the river have given their command to our foes.”

 

Feeling Ari’s hand wrap around his wrist, Garlan’s normally sunny demeanor changed to a dark frown. Ten thousand… half my own force. All left were his Tyrell banners, the horse of House Roxton and House Meadows, and Randyll Tarly’s elite men. If it wasn’t for Ari’s Dornish countrymen we’d be fucked. Twenty-five thousand wasn’t thirty-five thousand though, and the forty thousand strong Army of the Seven who are One now dwarfed him two to one.

 

“We need to go on the attack,” Randyll stated firmly. “Have the Dornish attack across the river while I’ll lead the horse and heavy infantry to the bridge we still control and hit them from the rear.”

 

“Of course, use us as meat shields,” sneered Lord Ryon Allyrion, the Dornish commander. “We don’t need to attack. Stay in our positions and make them come to us. They’d bloody themselves so badly that their army would dissolve if they did.”

 

And so it was. Garlan heard this argument every night even though hostilities weren’t officially declared. The Reachmen wanting an attack, the Dornish wanting a defense, and every few days a Septon crossing the river and begging him to pledge himself to the Seven who are One. It was maddening.

 

“My Lord.” It was Ser Vortimer Crayne. “Some visitors in the garb of the Citadel arrived at the gates. Apparently they snuck out of the enemy camp and crossed the river.”

 

“I have no time with this,” Garlan bit back. “Deal with it yourselves.”

 

“Forgive me, my Lord, but one of them informed me that her name was one that Lady Arianne would recognize.”

 

Though it was obviously hard going from ‘Princess’ to ‘Lady,’ Arianne didn’t voice obvious displeasure at the title shift as she had early in their marriage. “Who?”

 

“A one, Sarella Sand.”

 

Her eyes widened, understandably so since Garlan recognized the name as the girl in the Citadel… the one that passed the information about the wildfire ballistae. “Send her in,” Garlan ordered.

 

Lord Tarly seemed affronted. “Ser Garlan, we are in a meeting of your war council…”

 

“Those two were my eyes and ears in Oldtown, Lord Randyll,” Garlan shot back. “If they were forced to escape here, then something bad has happened that this council would need to be aware of.”

 

The Lord of Horn Hill’s brow rose. “Those two?” At seeing whom the guards brought in, he averted his gaze and groaned. “Oh, seven hells…”

 

“Ari!” A young woman with dark skin, close-cropped hair, and a pretty face launched herself at Arianne. 

 

“Sarella, thank the gods you’re alright.” Arianne hugged her tightly. “What happened? Why are you here?”

 

“The Hightowers are throwing their support behind the Faith Militant,” said the portly boy next to Sarella - Samwell Tarly if Garlan remembered correctly. “He is effectuating the alliance he made with Lord Tywin and deems you enemies of the Crown.”

 

Garlan’s eyes widened as big as saucers. “Are you sure, Samwell?”

 

“You better not be lying, boy,” Randyll growled.

 

He paled at his father’s gruff threat, but Sarella interjected in favor of him. “We saw it on our ride here. The Hightower banners are marching and ready for battle. I heard in the camp that the Stars and Swords think they’ll arrive within the next two days.”

 

Arianne seemed to sense Garlan tense up - he had every reason to. My own grandfather… He squired for him in his youth even. “Sarella, why don’t we arrange for you and Samwell to get a hot meal?” 

 

“Yes, that’s what he likes. Hot meals,” Randyll grumbled under his breath, loud enough for Sam to hear.

 

Garlan didn’t have time to deal with this right now. “Everyone get out!” he barked, slamming his fist on the table. “Leave me and Lady Tyrell to solitude!” He may not have been his grandmother, but he carried a room as Olenna did and even Lord Tarly obeyed. Hearing the door shut as the last of his councilors left, Garlan hunched over the map table. He splayed his hands out against the wood, leaning his head down with his eyes closed. The weight of it all seemed to be crushing him and it was all the Tyrell heir could do to keep a steady breathing.

 

“Garlan?” The soft touch of Arianne on his back calmed his racing mind. “My love? Are you alright?”

 

He let out a sigh. “No, Ari. I’m not.” Garlan shook his head, tearing away from the table and pinching the bridge of his nose - allowing Arianne to simply draw him into her embrace. “Thank you,” he murmured. Their marriage was arranged, but as it seemed from Margaery’s correspondence of her betrothal to Robb Stark, he and Ari just fit perfectly together.

 

Arianne smiled up at him. “No need to thank me, I love you.” She kissed his chin. “Tell me what truly bothers you.” There was the obvious, but if it was that he knew she wouldn’t need to ask.

 

To any leader of men in battle - at least one worth their salt - they knew what looked to be a battle won, a battle in the balance, and a battle headed for certain defeat. Garlan was trained enough in the arts of war to recognize such. “There is no hope for us to win, Ari. If we stay here, we’ll be doomed, whether by siege or by open battle.”

 

She frowned. “Highgarden has provisions and stout walls… we could…”

 

“We only need around two thousand at most to defend the walls. The rest of our banners would be only a hindrance.” Garlan broke away from the embrace, going to the map table and the markers displayed. “The Stars and Swords outnumber our forces now that my grandfather has declared for them and the Crown.” His fists clenched at the betrayal of his family. He betrayed his daughter… and his own blood… But there was nothing to be gained with anger at this point. “If we give battle here we die, and if we withdraw into this keep we just leave the rest of our levies to die or withdraw without adequate food.”

 

Biting her lip, Arianne seemed to understand. “You’ll have to abandon this keep.”

 

Garlan nodded. “Without the walls, our castle is indefensible.” The knightly tradition of the Reach, if they had enough horse to overwhelm their foe then this ground was perfect for set piece battle, but the Hightowers and Faith Militant had so much of an advantage that any assault would be enveloped and crushed before they could even break through the line. “Retreat with our food and our forces is the only choice.

 

“They’ll sack and raze the place.”

 

“I know. That’s why I hate it so.” He buried his face in his hands. “Gods forgive me, ancestors. I am failing you so badly…”

 

She hugged his waist from behind. “No, Garlan, you’re not. Don’t speak so lowly of yourself - I won’t have it.” Arianne made him turn, look into her brown eyes. “Listen to me, your first duty is to your men, not your castle. We Dornish know this more than any other Kingdom.” In their fights against the Targaryens over the centuries, only by abandoning their keeps and instead taking their men to the hills and mountains did they survive… ironically against the efforts of his family as well. “Do what you must and never feel ashamed of it.”

 

Nodding, he leaned down and kissed his wife… seeking comfort that Arianne readily gave, their tongues dueling. Garlan wanted nothing more than to lose himself in his wife, but that would have to pause for the moment. He drew back, going to the door and throwing it open. “Ser Vortimer!”

 

The master-at-arms straighted. “Yes, my Lord!”

 

“Give the order to the banners. Tell them we march once darkness falls with all the food and provisions.”

 

His eyes widened. “All of us?”

 

“Aye, we’re abandoning the castle. Do it!” Ser Vortimer clicked his heels and dashed off. Garlan shut the door, looking to his bride - who had bitten her lip and was looking demurely at him. “Won’t be long before the Lords come looking for me,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Not at all,” was her reply. “You’ll have to make it quick then…” Arianne was cut off when he pinned her to the wall, kissing her fiercely before starting to hike up her dress…

Notes:

Jon got a victory and Tywin did as well.

The battle was based off of Hannibal's great victory at Lake Trasamine.

Chapter 62: Marching Hard

Summary:

1) Jaime takes shaky steps forward with Alysanne.
2) The High Septon presses his crusade onward.
3) Catelyn gets a dressing down from Daenerys.
4) Robert has a rematch at the Trident.

Notes:

Colin: The war for the Iron Throne escalates, and all are stepping up their game.

Longclaw: Before we continue, I have something to say. I am a reader of fics as well as a writer of them, and in my library I have a little quirk. When I get invested in a story and really enjoy it, I sometimes make little guesses of where I think the fic would go or little requests of where I would like it to go. This is all in good faith because I'm so engrossed in the story that I kinda get carried away sometimes. Nearly all writers I have done this with find it complimentary and it often creates discussion about the background behind the story for example.

But apparently one person, who knew in the past that I found their story well-written, took offense to that and assumed the worst of me in an insulting message. I was floored, since I knew I had no ill intentions and all my faithful readers know that if I don't like a story, I don't read. I've had hateful, sexist, and islamophobic comments made to me personally and my characters, so I know how bad hate comments can be. I would never do that and for someone to assume I would and respond by making a sexist, islamophobic, or other type of hate comment back is greatly disheartening.

What do you think? Is "Constructive Praise" as I call it an insult or a compliment to a writer who gets one? Was I in the wrong, or was the other person?

All I'll say is that I don't find it insulting. If anyone wants to make a request, suggestion, or guess, please feel free. I welcome it as long as it's done in good faith. :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Jaime Lannister

 

Eyes closed, Jaime could only hear the luxurious moans murmured directly into his ear, feel the smacking of sweaty skin and the hot, tight cunt that clenched hard around his cock. It felt absolutely glorious, like the Lannister knight was finally where he belonged. It was a heady emotion that he had once thought when in Cersei’s embrace. Making love to her, conceiving their three children.

 

“Oh yes… my Lion… kessa… ” But that voice wasn’t Cersei. Not even close.

 

Eyes prying open in spite of a sudden spasm that made him gasp, Jaime was brought face to face with the beautiful face of Princess Alysanne Targaryen. Honeyed skin flush with their passion, violet eyes dark as they bored into his. “You… want more?” he growled, sucking the column of her neck.

 

Fingers digging into his back, Alysanne moaned her assent. “Please… I need it,” she begged in High Valyrian, rolling her hips to meet his thrusts. Not even Cersei was so wanton, so desirous of him as to open herself completely for his ravaging. Jaime had been demanded to surrender himself by her, while for his Princess he gave it as willingly as she did. “Kesssssaaaa…”

 

She was close. He knew enough from their past couplings to read her facial cues for all they were worth. Gripping her ass, tightly enough to be sure to leave bruises, Jaime adjusted their angles so that he could thrust ever faster. Alysanne screamed… or tried to scream, instead biting down on his shoulder with sharp teeth. “Ahhh… fuck!” he grunted, only increasing the ardor of his motions inside her - if that was possible. 

 

“Jaime…” she murmured, filled with lust and… affection? Adoration? Cersei would say his name but never in such a manner, more proudly, like she was delighted in claiming him rather than simply him. Was I always this blind? Did it take meeting Alysanne to… She cut off his thoughts by kissing him, and soon the kiss became frenzied and desperate as she shattered around his cock.

 

For Jaime, it took another half-dozen thrusts into her wetness before he also tumbled over the edge. Practically pinning her flush against the wall as he rode his climax with her.

 

As they were reduced to simply panting from their exertions, Alysanne weakly thumped his arm. “I hate you, Ser Jaime.”

 

“If that is your treatment to those you hate, I hope to one day find out how you treat those you like.”

 

“You know what I mean, Ser Jaime.” Much to his sorrow… and hers, based on how her eyes dimmed, she disentangled her legs from round his hips and let his cock slide out of her. Feet dropping on the ground. “You got enough last night, and all I asked this morning was for you to help me dress.”

 

Grabbing a washcloth adjacent to a basin of water, Jaime cleaned himself off of her juices and his seed. “That simply shows you set me up, your Grace .” 

 

Still nude, she put her hands on her hips. “How is it that me saying ‘Can you lace up my dress,’ indicates I intended for you to rip the dress off my body and defile me?” Alysanne seemed to catch his appreciative stare, and scowled while grabbing a dress to cover herself. “Lecher.”

 

“Firstly, you said so with your body language.” That caused an eye roll. “Secondly, you happen to love my stare.”

 

Dressing in a less labor-intensive white gown, Alysanne grabbed a brush while smiling softly. “Mayhaps I do.” She brushed out the knots of her hair - there were many since they had spent last night as well as this morning in the throes of passion. “Just because I love you…”

 

Having thrown on his trousers, Jaime was about to pick up his tunic when he stilled. Eyes widening in spite of himself. “What?” Turning, he found her frozen as well, gazing at him through the looking glass with the expression of an owl. “What did you say?”

 

Alysanne rose from the vanity, hair half-brushed and without makeup or jewelry - not that she looked any less stunning. “Forget I said that…”

 

While his first instinct was to just let it go and avoid causing her distress, Jaime found himself changing course. Cersei never told him of her love - Jaime honestly doubted she even knew what love was. He’d clung to her all the same for reasons he still couldn’t fully understand, but here was someone that was everything Cersei wasn’t, who said it of her own accord. “Your Grace, forgive me, but this isn’t something I can forget.”

 

She shook her head. “Then I command you to!” Alysanne didn’t look angry, but alarmed.

 

Jaime bowed, donning his tunic right after. “Of course, your Grace.”

 

But Alysanne wasn’t done. “I mean… no, I can’t… not after… I gave my heart to him and he…” Hand on her chest, she raced out of the chambers, likely to either her dragon or the nursery - Jaime knew her well. That’s the problem it seems.

 

Outside, Nymeria Sand poked her head in. “Trouble in paradise, Lannister?”

 

“Shut it,” he growled, not in the mood to deal with this. He went to the bedside table and grabbed Brightroar propped against it - tying the scabbard round his waist. “This is none of your concern.”

 

“My Queen entrusted all of us with protecting the Princess, so it is my concern.” The young Sand Snake wasn’t going to budge - somewhere deep down, Jaime realized it. He merely steeled himself and walked out of Alysanne’s bedchamber. Probably the last time I’ll be seeing it in a while. For the last weeks, he’d been sleeping only there so it would be difficult to adjust to his less comfortable lodgings. “Normally she leaves all smiles and you with that disgusting, self-satisfied grin, so what gives?”

 

Jaime knew why this happened. It made his blood boil thinking of what Alysanne’s half-brother had done to her, making him wish to take Brightroar and run him through the stomach… Even a little bit of affection would destroy her - much like Tyrion had been after the whole Tysha incident. Gods, Jaime still felt guilty over that. “It’s nothing,” he replied.

 

But Nymeria, like the other Sand Snakes, didn’t give two damns what he wanted. “What happened? You tried to put your cock in the wrong hole? I have to tell you, if you prep the woman first she won’t complain…” She tapped her temple. “Sorry, if that had happened the Princess would’ve roasted you alive. Did you drop the l-sword?”

 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

“Ah, so that’s it!” Nymeria grinned. “She shoot you down?”

 

“No… she said it.”

 

“Oh?” Nymeria looked curious. “That’s weird… I’ve never dealt with that situation before. My sisters and I have only gotten men… or other women… telling us they love us…”

 

Thankfully, they reached the council chamber and Jaime could break away from Nymeria. She was on guard duty, while even as a kingsguard he had reached the position of councilor. Standing at the head of the table, Alysanne scowled - which he expected… but Barristan, Ashara, and the other councilors were also grim. Something was going on. “Did I miss something?”

 

“Aye, Ser Jaime,” Barristan replied. “Astapor and Yunkai overthrew their garrisons. The masters are back in charge and threatening to overtake us.”

 

Pursing his lips, Jaime met Alysanne’s eyes. The violets initially sought his out, but then averted them. Gods… can nothing go right? He supposed the happy moments of his life couldn’t last. Weren’t ever meant to last. 

 

The High Septon

 

“Shame!” shouted the Septa, proceeding down the streets of Highgarden town, ringing her bell. “Shame!” Another ring. “Shame!”

 

Surrounding the cluster of bare men and nude women - heads roughly shaved by Poor Fellows that very morning - Faith Militant and Hightower men-at-arms flooded the deserted town and heaped on them with jeers and insults. “Traitor!”

 

“Cunt!” 

 

“Whore!”

 

“Dragon-lover!”

 

Volleys of rotten fruit, manure, and even stones and rocks were cast at them, only a dozen heavily-armed Poor Fellows and the two Warrior’s Sons leading the procession serving to keep away the frenzied attacks. “Quite amazing, isn’t it?” said Archsepton Marsh of the Most Devout. “The Faithful emerging in the souls of all, from the highest Lord to the lowest smallfolk.”

 

Wrinkled face curled in a frown, the High Septon shifted his gaze away. “It is but the urge to seek out the suffering of those that they hate.” He shuffled away, bare feet caked in dirt and grime - the one formerly known as the High Sparrow, in spite of adopting the finery of the highest-ranking earthly representative of the Seven who are One, was determined not to fall to the sumptuous temptations of the flesh and stomach as many before him. “But if such sins can direct them towards the path of righteousness, then a necessary evil to follow.”

 

“Only a shame that the Tyrell heir and his Dornish whore fled like cowards,” grumbled Grand Captain Theodan Wells, a sour frown affixed to his face. “He will not escape the judgement of the Stranger and disgust of the Warrior, I promise that to you.”

 

“Patience, my son,” the High Septon relayed as they walked into the castle, surrounded by a dozen men in thick plate, rainbow cloaks, and crystal-crested helms. “As the Seven-Pointed Star says, ‘only through the meek and the patient will the Father bless everlasting glory, on and off the field of battle.’” Theodan, as warlike as he was pious - likely a trait bleeding over from his northern blood - merely scowled but said nothing in return. “Marsh, go see the preparations of our camp. Ser Theodan and I shall be sufficient to attend the war council.” The Archsepton bowed and darted off, escorted by four of their knightly contingent.

 

The former council chamber of Highgarden had once served the Gardener Kings of old, the last rulers of this fair land that actually respected the tenets of the Faith according to the High Septon - that this keep had been first built when they were followers of the old gods didn’t occur to him. Now, the trappings of the Tyrells were removed and religious icons and symbols joined with Hightower banners to properly cleanse this place of the dragon-tinged sin that so infected it. That said, he and Ser Theodan were the only representatives of the Starry Sept allowed in. All others were Lords or knights under Lord Leyton.

 

Ever deferent to religious authority, Leyton led the others in a bow. “Your Holiness, welcome to this council.”

 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” the High Septon replied. “So what are the dispositions of the heretics and blasphemers against the Seven who are One?”

 

Clearing his throat, Ser Imry Florent pointed to the map strewn about the table - it had been that used by the Tyrells, and still bore their rose sigil upon the edges. “The Oceanroad and Roseroad are both secure of enemy forces based on scouting reports. We are unsure of the combined contingent of Ser Garlan and his Dornish allies, but the last our scouts have seen of them point to the use of an old road of the First Men towards the foothills of the southern Gilded Mountains.”

 

“Invading the Westerlands?” asked Lord Beesbury. “Are they mad?”

 

“The last Lord whose keep has been untouched by us is Lord Roxton, and he still marches away from it? I find that hard to believe.”

 

“Regardless of their intent, they are a significant threat to us,” Ser Baelor, Leyton’s heir, remarked. “And the Crown, by the hand of Lord Tywin himself, has instructed our forces to march for Harrenhal immediately to provide reserve support.”

 

That drew murmurings. “And the Dornish?” Paxter Redwyne was safe in the Arbor, but Dornish raiders often plagued his house before Daeron II integrated them into the Seven Kingdoms. He was not keen on returning to that eventuality. Married to the daughter of Olenna Tyrell, he was always the shakiest member of the alliance and had to be placated.

 

Ser Baelor knew this, and thus had leave of his father to make necessary preparations. “Lord Peake and half the Ashford men shall mind the fortresses in the Dornish Marches, joined by half the Oldtown City Watch. Besides, most of the Dornish army not assigned to Garlan’s host was lost in Essos.”

 

“Lost? To who?”

 

“One of the Targaryen pretenders or something of the nature. All that matters is that they are gone and Dorne itself is no threat.” Leyton waved them all off. “We are to march, but first the threat of my grandson and his bride have to be… neutralized.” The High Septon noticed that the Lord was sentimental about his daughter’s son - admirable, but unfortunately against the will of the gods. 

 

Baelor was just as sentimental. “Father, may I have leave to begin negotiations with Alerie. Perhaps if we seek neutrality with the Dornish, they would be more willing to head back home while Garlan and Alarie pledge to our cause…?”

 

“No.” The High Septon was firm. “Sinners and traitors against the Father do not deserve such validation. His name is merciful but just as well. They must be punished, only then can forgiveness and atonement be considered.” Baelor looked affronted, while Lord Leyton was passive. “My Lords, obey the King’s directive, for he is the Defender of the Faith. The forces of the Warrior will hunt down the enemy and destroy them,” he proclaimed with a flourish.

 

The Lords looked amongst each other. 

 

Of all of them, the Faith Militant had swelled to the largest force of all of them due to the massive number of levies they had called up in both Oldtown and King’s Landing - but they were largely Poor Fellows. Untrained, undisciplined rabble, with many of the best among them knighted and inducted into the Warrior’s Sons. They were also prone to the way of fighting by the ‘Andal traditions’ of old that didn’t sit well with the others.

 

But perhaps that was their saving grace. “Very well, your Holiness, you may lead the armies of the Faith personally to subjugate the sinners… but my family is to be captured alive and unharmed,” Lord Leyton demanded.

 

“Those willing to accept the light of the Father unto themselves shall be afforded forgiveness,” the High Septon replied.



Catelyn Stark

 

Winterfell was in chaos. 

 

It had been such since the harried party of Ned and Arya galloped through the gates with the news of the Lannister takeover of White Harbor. Never before did any southern army - not even the Targaryens with their mighty dragons - manage to conquer and occupy northern soil. But Tywin had seemed to do so much to the utter shock of all in Winterfell.

 

Catelyn Stark knew that the cooperation of the Vale was absolutely necessary for Tywin to do so. Lysa is dead. No matter what ranting letters reached her from the Vale with the Arryn seal, Catelyn understood her sister was no more. Likely killed or at the very least imprisoned by Baelish. And I thought I could trust him.

 

I thought a lot of things that turned out not to be true. If her husband and her children didn’t still love her… Catelyn was sure she wouldn’t have been able to go on. But go on she would - they couldn’t afford not to with the situation the way it was.

 

Through some sort of divine luck, twelve thousand Northern banners were still present north of Moat Cailin and were ordered to march back to Winterfell - deliberately skirting White Harbor like the pox. The wildlings also remained in Winterfell, and Jory and Syrio - who had taken over as master-at-arms with Rodrik’s death - set them to work reestablishing the defenses blasted away by the Bolton attack as well as preparing a new belt of them between the Stark keep and Castle Cerwyn.

 

Having giants pulling plows and dragging logs helped in this considerably. 

 

However, when the twin roars of dragons echoed over the flat plains around Winterfell, Catelyn let out a sigh of relief alongside her husband and the entire North. The raven to the Twins was returned with a curt reply, and only a day later did Sarogon and Aragon arrive with the King and Queen on their backs. “Let’s go greet them,” Ned insisted, pulling Catelyn to her feet.

 

The Lady of Winterfell was… apprehensive. “Ned… this is the first time I am to see Jon since… he left for Essos.”

 

She needn’t continue. Ned knew. “He’ll be fine, wife. You’ll need to atone, but he’s a good man.” They kissed sweetly and made for the courtyard just as the dragons were landing. Sighing in relief as the King made his way off of his dragon’s back and onto the freshly fallen snow, Ned rushed forward and embraced his nephew tightly. “Jon.”

 

“Uncle,” Aegon replied, his arms equally tight around Ned. “Thank the gods you’re alive. Don’t risk yourself like that.”

 

“I’ll try not to,” chuckled Ned, kissing the young man’s brow. “How are your mother and father?”

 

“They are well… the babes are both safe. How is…”

 

“Thriving. He loves his uncles and aunts.”

 

Pulling back from her husband, the warm smile on Aegon’s face disappeared as his expression shifted to her. For a moment there was a flash of… resentment perhaps? But it was quickly replaced with an emotionless mask. Catelyn, trying not to grimace at the treatment - well-deserved she had to admit - curtseyed. “Your Grace.”

 

“Lady Stark,” he replied as Daenerys greeted Ned. Aegon did not look to be in any sort of listening mood in regards to her. “Uncle, let us get this settled in the war council chamber,” he ordered respectfully but firmly - like a true King. Ned nodded and the two of them began their journey towards the keep. “Dany?” he called back over his shoulder. “You coming.”

 

If Jon’s expression was flat, Daenerys’ was downright murderous. “You go on. I wish to speak with Lady Stark for a moment.” She spared the most loving of smiles for her husband. “I’ll join you shortly, my love.” Catelyn could see Aegon nod, leading a worried Ned away. The Lord of Winterfell looked to object, but Catelyn silenced him with an inconspicuous wave of the hand.

 

This was something she needed to endure. After the sins she committed - ‘family, duty, honor’ indeed - this was a necessary penance. “Queen Daenerys… I am honored to finally meet the Mother of Dragons. My children cannot help speaking of you.” She hoped that would ease the tension.”

 

As Daenerys simply crossed her arms and glared, Catelyn struck herself glad that it wasn’t Lyanna she faced in that moment. “Forgive me if I am not delighted to meet your acquaintance, Lady Stark.

 

A sigh. “I deserve that.”

 

“Yes you do.” The Dragon Queen spoke with a wisdom beyond that of her outward youth - much as her husband. As such, she motioned for Catelyn to walk with her, taking care not to embarrass the Lady of Winterfell in her own keep. “Jon told me of the way you treated him growing up.”

 

“Your Grace, I…”

 

“Save your apologies for him and him alone, and do not dare to disturb the war effort to mollify yourself or else you will not enjoy the consequences.” Catelyn shivered. This woman had the ability to mix both ice and fire in her threats. “But there is something I wish to ask of you.” Daenerys’ violet eyes bore coldly on her. “Why?”

 

Catelyn gulped. “Why, your Grace?” She could guess, but wanted the question said explicitly.

 

The violet eyes narrowed. “Why did you treat him the way you did? He was just an innocent boy. He was no one that deserved hate, not a known Prince that threatened the Realm or a violent monster that coveted all that wasn’t his.” Dany sighed. “He is the man that deserved the world, and yet got shit.”

 

There was a tense silence, Daenerys glaring and Catelyn pursing her lips, preparing her answer. “I… I know I will never convince you that I was in the right of it. I wasn’t. But I was just a girl of ten and six, one that lost my first love to the…” Catelyn trailed off, biting her lip. Daenerys’ expression softened for the slightest moment, knowing what had happened to Brandon Stark at her own father’s hands. “In mourning, I was informed that I would marry Ned, and was told of his honor and goodness as reasons to not be worried of his nature.”

 

“His honor is unmatched,” Dany replied.”

 

“Aye, I know that now… but when he returned with whom he claimed to be a bastard…” A tear fell down Catelyn’s eye, be it at the shame of her actions or the feelings of that time. “Did I wish to hate him as Lyanna undoubtedly hated Robert? Did I wish to strangle my marriage before it even began? He wouldn’t even tell me whom he thought the mother was - Ned didn’t trust me with the truth, though I cannot blame him - so all that was left for me to resent was poor Jon.”

 

“You resented the wrong person.” Daenerys was still cold. “But those truly to hate were unknown to you at the time and I freely admit that.” She closed her eyes. “For this, you are one of the few villains of Jon’s past that I could come to forgive, but only if you seek to change your ways. I believe you can.”

 

Catelyn nodded. “I shall.”

 

Her eyes opening, Daenerys’ expression immediately bloomed into one of pure joy as Sansa approached with young Prince Rhaegon. The babbling babe reached out as if on instinct for his mother, and Dany scooped him up. “My sweet hatchling. Did you miss muna? Muna missed you.” She tickled his belly, causing Rhaegon to erupt into giggles. Even the hardest of hearts would warm at the sight.

 

Watching, Catelyn didn’t notice Sansa walk beside her. “Did you talk to Jon?”

 

Looking down at her daughter, Catelyn could see the woman oft spoken of - the one from Jon’s past, only not brutalized or abused - thank the gods. “No… but Daenerys said I should.”

 

“I agree with her. Make this right, mother, before it’s too late.” Wise words - her children were growing up.

 

Hopefully they would never learn the anguish of the pasts that so easily could’ve happened.

 

Robert Baratheon

 

Gripping his warhammer in his hand, Robert Baratheon sniffed in the cool air of the Riverlands. “It was here, Trant,” he told his Lord Commander. “Here, eighteen years ago, I killed the dragonspawn. Only fitting that just north of there, at the crossroads inn, that I begin the first battle against my traitorous former brother.”

 

“Ned Stark isn’t here, your Grace,” Trant was keen on reminding him.

 

A snort. “Robb Stark then. Ned will know the depth of his treachery when I send him his heir’s head.” Signalling to his heralds, he ordered the attack to begin.

 

Luckily for the forces of the Stag, Robert’s insistence for his cavalry to cross the Trident at the Ruby Ford ahead of the slower heavy infantry still marching from Stone Hedge paid dividends - eight thousand heavy and light horse and two thousand light skirmishers had assembled north of the Crossroads Inn just as Robb Stark’s force did, a little over half that number of mostly infantry. Laughing with a zeal for blood, Robert watched as the light northern cavalry were swept aside back among the tightly packed Northern infantry, though a few River banners such as Mallister, Blackwood, and Darry could be seen among them.

 

The attack would be pressed without delay.

 

With a shield wall formed, Robert was talked out by Bryce Caron and Ralph Buckler - his capable cavalry commanders - from sending in his heavy knights in a charge. Not wanting to waste their manpower himself, Robert agreed and watched as the light skirmishers joined the circling light cavalry to hurl javelins, arrows, and crossbow bolts into the Northern shield wall. This continued for time interminable, and Robert grew impatient.

 

“Fuck, what’s taking so long?! I’ve fucked an entire brothel in less time.”

 

“Patience, your Grace,” replied Lord Buckler.

 

“No, fuck this!” Horse taking his commands and galloping at the front of his line. Robert yanked up his faceguard and displayed his signature ruddy face and beard to the entire Stark army. “You ice-cunts! You wildlings! Do you really fight for a traitor?!” He bellowed laughter, waving his warhammer with absolute zeal. “You follow a mad dragonspawn, for what?! He is but a bastard and she a whore, only fucking fools would follow them!” The more tactical part of his mind told him to withdraw now but Robert was having too much fun. “Give up now, you cowards! Cower before the fury of the Storm King reborn! You young boys and old men cannot hope…”

 

But before Robert could continue, a figure darted out from Robb Stark’s line. His helm covered his face, but the King of All Westeros found himself flashed back nearly eighteen years to a battle fought not far from here. Red-black armor with a red three-headed dragon emblazoned on the breastplate, two dragon wings jutting out from his helm. Only those present that day could recognize it… and Robert could.

 

The figure carried a javelin and ran on foot in a headlong charge. “ROBERT!” he bellowed, voice almost draconic, tossing the spear with a fury unseen in generations. 

 

Momentarily paralyzed, the King watched the javelin arc in the air before he realized that it was being sent at him. Kicking his horse with his thighs, the beast just managed to lurch backwards when the spear slammed through its neck and shoulders. The beast gurgled a shriek, hot blood spurting all over Robert as it fell. Only by a miracle and agility beyond his still heavyset body did Robert manage to pull out of the stirrup and leap to the ground, avoiding his leg being crushed by the horse.

 

Stunned beyond belief, Robert gaped up from the ground at the lone warrior. “YOU’LL KNOW WHICH DRAGON ATTACKED YOU!” The Stark army erupted into cheers, banging their shields and hurling profanity at Robert’s forces. 

 

The words of Rhaegar… the mighty dragon roar that never left his mind since they dueled in the midst of the Ruby Ford - so named because he had shattered the Prince’s chestplate with his killing blow - Robert became enraged. More enraged than he had ever been in a generation. “YOU’LL DIE FOR THIS! LYANNA IS MINE!” Warhammer raised high, he gave a signal for his men to advance. One impossible to ignore or misunderstand.

 

Trumpets blared across the field as the light infantry parted and the cavalry advanced, lances depressed and barrelling towards the Stark line. The infantry followed, and it was in this that Robert was found by his Lord Commander, Ser Meryn. “We must head to the rear, your Grace,” Meryn insisted.

 

But Robert shrugged the pleas off. “There are no cowards in my Kingsguard, Trant. Full ahead! Do not stop until the dragonspawn is dead and Lyanna is mine!” Damn Tywin… damn Ned… damn Cersei and whatever scum were ever called his children to the seven hells. She will be with me, and together we will build a realm anew! Warhammer raised high, he charged with the infantry.

 

But Robb Stark was apparently ready for them. Sandwiched between the two lines of infantry were a thousand archers, and they took that moment to release every arrow they had at the charging Stormlanders. Barbed and of the sharpest steel, they peppered the knights and infantry, punching through their breastplates and shoulderplates… not to mention their unarmored horses. Scores fell dead in the first volley, hundreds more wounded. In addition, among the front lines were the Mountain Clans of the North, light infantry and skirmishers armed with javelins. They joined in at this furious ranged assault, even more effective than the archers had been.

 

In the thick of the fight, Robert cursed his men. Grabbing a dismounted knight of Estermont colors and shoving him forward. “No fear, men! For your King and your country! Kill them all…!”

 

His words were cut short as an arrow slammed into his shoulder, sending Robert sprawling. “Protect the King!” Meryn yelled, a dozen men forming a protective screen as another half dozen hefted him towards the rear. Robert groaned in pain, his hand on the arrow shaft - he opened his mouth to scream more orders when he noticed something small tied to the shaft. A strip of cloth, with a laughing weirwood tree emblazoned on it. The fuck…?

 

A maester was hastily procured, and as their King Robert received priority over all the other wounded… of which there were many. “Hold still, your Grace. I need to remove the arrow.”

 

“Be done with it!” Robert bellowed, given a gourd of wine. He drank about half of it before gritting his teeth. As the maester worked, he fought a snarl of agony. The urge to punch, to kick, to kill was overwhelming, anything to block out the pain or make someone pay for inflicting it on the king. More wine was sloshed into the wound on occasion, causing him to yelp from the sting. Eventually, his eyes were rimmed with tears, nostrils caked in snot and tried blood… but the arrow was out, the maester hastily dressing the wound.

 

As he finished the gourd of wine - sour but necessarily powerful stuff already starting to dull the pain of his wound - Robert saw a horseman gallop towards him. “Your Grace.” It was Ser Baelor Swann of the Kingsguard, his white cloak billowing behind him. “We’ve won the day! The Starks have been driven from the field.”

 

That perked the King up. “We have?! Did you kill the Stark whelp? Capture Rhaegar? I want him brought to me at once!”

 

Once elated, the expression of the Kingsguard dimmed at Robert’s questions. “Forgive me, your Grace… we’ve beaten them but they withdrew. We’ve taken the field but are too exhausted to pursue. It doesn’t seem as if Robb Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen are among the casualties.”

 

Robert blinked for a moment, only for his anger to return. “Get the men in pursuit! And find me a horse, I’ll fucking lead them myself!” He tried to rise, but his guards restrained him. “Get the fuck off of me!”

 

“Your Grace… you are wounded,” said the maester, his toothless mouth sounding like mush. 

 

“Fuck off, old man! I am a mighty stag in the prime of my life… the dragonspawn will die! Sound the charge! Run them all down!”

 

Lord Commander Trant, hesitating, knew enough to realize his King was in no position to keep fighting. “Give him the milk of the poppy, now!” he ordered the maester, who nodded.

 

Robert heard the words and snarled. “No milk of the poppy, damn you! I must fight! I must finish what I started!” Mixed with sweetwine though, the concoction went down his open mouth. He coughed and sputtered, but eventually swallowed enough. “He must die! The dragonspawn must die!” Robert continued to thrash about until a haze started to envelop him… “I must… I must… avenge her… Lyanna…” Her name was the last word on his tongue before the blackness of a blissful sleep overwhelmed the Stag King.

Notes:

Longclaw: Alysanne apparently has fallen for her lion and it scares the hell out of her.

Daenerys just delivered her long rehearsed verbal smackdown of Catelyn.

Ah Robert, you've gotten your first round against Rhaegar and Lyanna.

The battle was based off the Battle of Ruspina - Julius Caesar's strategic victory against Titus Labienus. The javelin story is well documented in the histories XD

More chapters are ready to go. If we can get 30 comments, we'll update on next Friday

Chapter 63: One More Victory and I'll be Ruined

Summary:

1) Rhaegar has some down time with his wife.
2) Ashara gives her daughter a good dose of motherly advice.
3) Tywin wins a Pyrrhic victory at the White Knife.
4) Jon recovers with his family after intense battle.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

They were alone, which surprised Rhaegar at first. A fight between the ‘Last Dragon’ and the Sword of the Morning never ceased to draw out the crowds in the Red Keep all those years ago… yet the thought was fleeting. He didn’t truly care, needing to burn through the complete fog of his mind with the heat of battle. 

 

Since seeking actual battle was foolhardy, this was the next logical choice.

 

And what an all-consuming experience it turned out to be. The fluid movements of Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight in his prime once again. Training blade in each hand, he turned his wrists and matched each one of Rhaegar’s furious attacks. Meeting Rhaegar’s rage with a cold determination of his own. As cold as the winter temperatures that surrounded them.

 

Breaking off, the two circled the other. Arthur twirled his swords, ever cautious. Letting his opponent make the first move. Rhaegar knew his strategy - the classic Dornish move, never attack, only counterattack. Any assault would be countered, so Rhaegar needed to act a few steps ahead… At a perfect angle the sun glinted off his blade, forcing Arthur to blink. Rhaegar grinned darkly and charged.

 

The Sword of the Morning fought back valiantly, one blade held level to his forearm while the other slashed and parried. Even distracted, he met each of Rhaegar’s attacks. Letting the Prince slow for just a moment before… With a grunt he managed to hit Rhaegar’s sword with a downward blow, sending it out of the way as the other twirled around and was thrust straight ahead. 

 

Rhaegar, stilled, began coughing. "Seven… hells…" The training sword brushed against his throat, a clean kill.

 

"Do you yield?" demanded Arthur, though through his panting his commanding tone was rather pathetic - if meant as such that is. "My Prince?"

 

Equally exhausted, Rhaegar lowered his blade. "Yes, I yield." Swords clattered to the cobblestones of the inner courtyard of the Twins, the two men struggling to not collapse from sheer fatigue. “Was this close to defeating you, Arthur.”

 

The Sword of the Morning chuckled, though it was half-hearted as he reached for a gourd of water. "I think only you could come close to defeating me, your Grace. You or your son, though I suspect Jaime Lannister might."

 

"My goodbrother probably could," Rhaegar shrugged, earning a raised eyebrow from Arthur. “Oberyn I mean.” 

 

“I figured,” Arthur said, stroking his neck - the wound likely still ached a bit. Rhaegar’s certainly did from where Robert hit him. Gods, it had felt good tossing that javelin. If only he had moved a little bit forward… Arthur took a swig and tossed it to Rhaegar. “Drink, my Prince.”

 

Rhaegar took the gourd, draining the lukewarm liquid. It felt wonderful. "Be thankful, Arthur." He paused. “You never lost an actual fight, one-on-one. I did… and it cost me everything.”

 

Arthur gave a sad sigh. “The past is the past, my Prince. No sense in weighing on it. Your wife forgave you, as did your son and sister. It is clear to me that they love you… seven hells, it’s clear to everyone. Lyanna is pregnant with your babe and Aegon and Daenerys named their son after you.”

 

Both their sons. Turned out he had been a fool in all their worlds… only in this one he had a chance to redeem himself. “Thank the gods for that, Arthur. I am unworthy of such gifts, but who am I to question them.”

 

Slapping Rhaegar on the back, Arthur smiled genuinely. “That’s the spirit.”

 

Trudging back to his bedchamber, an actual sword strapped to his hip, the various Stark guards all stiffened and bowed whenever he passed them. Rhaegar knew their stares, and what feelings resided behind them. Can’t go nearly two decades thinking someone raped and kidnapped their Lord’s beloved daughter without it lasting long. Lyanna was almost always as openly affectionate as decorum allowed when in public with him to counteract the thinking, but old habits died hard. They followed him and respected him, especially after facing down Robert at the Green Fork, so Rhaegar let it go.

 

None can hate me more than I blame myself for what happened. 

 

Still fatigued, though in a less angered mood than before, he slipped into his bedchamber only to see something that made his heart clench. Hunched over a chamber pot was his beautiful Lyanna. It was obvious to anyone what was transpiring when she retched into the pot, emptying her already empty stomach of whatever bile and juices remained. Sighing, Rhaegar made his way to the bed and sat down beside her - pulling her lustrous chestnut hair from her face and holding it back. “There there, Lya. Let it out,” he murmured, stroking her back.

 

“I hate this,” she groaned, hand on her stomach. “We already suffer when we give birth to all the babes in the world. Why must the gods torture us with this too?”

 

Rhaegar merely continued to rub her back, kissing the back of her neck. “Why must men endure the carnage of war on their own? Life simply works out that way.”

 

“Of course you’d say that,” Lyanna sneered, only to dry heave - her body trembling. “You… you wouldn’t ever be able to endure what we go through.”

 

“No, I suppose not… it’s why I love and respect you so much.”

 

There was silence. “Good answer, cheeky bastard.” Still shaking, Lyanna set down the chamber pot. “I… I think I’m done.” Her face was pale, eyes bloodshot. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “You’re too good to me, Rhaegar.”

 

He drew her in for a tight hug. “Just making up for what I missed last time,” he replied, kissing her forehead and letting his pregnant beloved meld herself to his body. “I didn’t get to witness all the milestones of your pregnancy with our son, so this is all new to me.”

 

“You had children before, my love,” she chuckled wryly.

 

“Yes, so I know what to expect, but not with you.” Rhaegar tilted her chin up and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “This is a new experience for me, so forgiveness if I greedily take it in as much as possible.

 

She smiled. “Such a shame all men can’t be like you or our son… though if that was the case then I’d have stayed with Robert.” At his scowl, Lyanna giggled, mood improving. “Is there a reason you didn’t kiss me on the lips. I did miss that when I got up this morning and you weren’t there.”

 

Rhaegar rose, helping her up. “As for the kiss, you don’t expect me to taste human bile, do you?”

 

“Fine, I’ll rinse out my mouth, and then you need to see my fast broken with me.”

 

“I won’t say no to that.”

 

Lyanna began to dress and clean herself up, while Rhaegar stripped out of his sweaty clothes… which he could see was distracting his wife. He grinned to himself, but knew they hadn’t the time to take advantage. Last night had been… steamy, and he planned to sate his wife’s desire for him at a later point in the day. Still grinning, he began to dress in a clean set of clothes befitting a Targaryen Prince.

 

“Rhaegar?”

 

“Mmmm…”

 

“Why did you leave before I woke?”

 

Blinking, Rhaegar turned to see Lyanna look at him with a concerned glance. He walked to her and took her hands in his. “Forgive me, my love. I adore waking beside you… but I needed to think.” She waited for him to continue. “I failed to kill Robert…”

 

Her face darkened. “I failed too, but it’s but borrowed time for him. He will die.”

 

“I’m going to have to act boldly if this will work, Lya. It could… end in my death. Had I killed Robert then it would’ve been over…”

 

“This will not end until Tywin, Renly, and all the others are killed or captured, Rhaegar.” Lyanna’s voice was firm. “And you won’t die.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

She smiled. “Because you are a dragonrider now. Rhaegal won’t let you perish.” Gods, Rhaegar wished he had his wife’s confidence. Jon’s plan was a bold one, and victory in it was firmly up to him.

 

Instead of replying, he merely hugged Lyanna. Memorizing her every sigh, kiss, and curve in case he’d never see her again.

 

Ashara Dayne

 

There was an air of tension in Meereen these days. Ashara could feel it, and knew exactly what it was. War drums. The feeling of impending death. Everyone understood it, from the masters that made peace with Targaryen rule - mostly lesser nobles that weren’t too invested in the slave trade or men with enough land to withstand abolition - the freeborn craftsmen and artisans, and the mass of freeborn workers. They knew the stakes better than the rulers did.

 

If the Wise Masters and Good Masters retook Meereen for the Great Masters, Alysanne, Ashara, the Kingsguard, and the armies would sail - or in her daughter’s case fly - to Westeros and be reunited with Aegon and Daenerys. The rest of Meereen would die or be reenslaved. As such, there was panic underneath a veneer of calm that the various civil authorities promoted. Grain stores were hoarded until the council declared them to be rationed, while commercial activity ceased except for grain and weapons coming in and gold going out. 

 

Meereen was preparing for a siege, and everyone from the lowliest slave-born child to Lady Ashara Dayne was playing their part.

 

For herself, Ashara assumed the role of ensuring their Princess was in good health and spirits for the coming fight. A tray of fruit and lemon cakes - as well as a pitcher of lime juice - served as a refresher for her run-ragged daughter. “Aly,” she called out sweetly, entering the solar… only to sigh in dejection. “Gods, daughter. This brings me great sorrow.”

 

An empty flagon of undiluted Tyroshi Pear Brandy empty on the surface of her desk, Alyssane groaned at the loud words Ashara was making. “Go away, muna.”

 

“Don’t you speak to me in that tone. I am your mother, Princess or not.” Setting down the tray, the first thing she did was grab a washcloth and start cleaning up the drool and brandy stains on Alysanne’s face, rolling her eyes as the Princess winced at the motions in her hungover state. “You saw the effect this stuff had on Aerys when he spent his nights drinking with his men.”

 

“Seems he had demons to get away from, as do I,” was the halting response, Alysanne sober but rolling every word as if talking at any faster pace would give her physical pain.

 

Shaking her head, Ashara poured her a glass of lime juice. “Here, drink this.” Her daughter complied, sitting up and leaning back in her seat. “Why did you spend your night drinking in your solar? Did you even see your son?”

 

“Yes I did,” Alysanne said firmly, massaging her temple as she sipped at the juice. “This didn’t happen till after I put Daemon to bed.”

 

“At least your maternal duties haven’t slackened since you told that nice man you love him.”

 

Her eyes widened, only for that to cause Alysanne to clutch her head. “Gods… muna, you know?” 

 

“Of course I know. I’m your mother, I know everything about you.” A slight lie… Nymeria told Tyene, Tyene told Barristan, and Barristan told her. Ashara felt for her daughter, knowing her pain since she went through the same thing with Aerys, but by the old gods and the new the situation wasn’t the same. “Daughter… Ser Jaime isn’t Aerys…”

 

She winced. “I know that, muna … gods, I can’t believe that I said it but… I think I meant it, at least at the time,” she hastily added.

 

Ashara wasn’t going to let her go that easily. “At least?”

 

“Fine, I meant it.” She put her head in her hands. “Why did this happen? I let this go too far and now I’m in too deep.”

 

“Being in love isn’t a bad thing, sweetling.”

 

“For me… the last person I love was someone that ended up going mad and abusing me… yet I still love the man he had been. With Jaime… what if he turns out like his sister? A bitter man that treats me the same way Aerys ended in treating me? I have a son, I can’t risk it.” She was starting to ramble.

 

Ashara stood and hugged her daughter. “Calm down, sweetling. Momma’s here.” They stayed there for the longest time, just holding each other. “Now listen, being fearful and cautious is normal. You’re a Princess and a mother, you can’t just jump into the bed of whomever you feel like.” Alysanne bit her lip and nodded. “But by the gods, if you let something real slip through your fingers then that’s a worse mistake to make. You can undo an ill-advised affair as long as you’re smart about it. Hardening your heart… it only causes you pain.”

 

She sighed, but nodded. “I understand, muna … perhaps after this… unpleasantness is dealt with I can approach this with a clearer head.” Ashara smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Can you pass a lemon cake? They smell wonderful.” Her mother laughed and did as commanded… just as Ser Barristan entered the solar.

 

Clearing his throat, Ser Barristan’s eyes shifted awkwardly to her. Ashara felt a blush on her cheeks, but remained composed… as did he. “Your Grace, Lady Ashara, Jaime Lannister requests your private audience.”

 

Alysanne groaned, face in her hands. Patting her daughter’s back, Ashara gave moral support to her daughter. Feelings aside, they have to associate. Jaime was her Kingsguard and one of her senior commanders, and a good one at that. The Princess would need to put her swirl of emotions aside for matters of state - even if Ashara hoped she gave into her feelings and let her heart be healed. “Daughter?”

 

Sighing, she nodded. “Let him in, Ser Barristan. Mother and I will meet with him in private.” The knight nodded and left. “Stay with me, mother,” Alysanne asked her. “I’m not ready to face him alone.”

 

Ashara took her daughter’s hands in hers. “What’s a mother for?” They shared a smile.

 

Clad in a tunic and trousers, Jaime looked as perfectly put together as any lion of Lannister would, not an unattractive man to Ashara’s eye. She could admit it, and didn’t fault her daughter’s taste. His green eyes found Alysanne and for a moment there was a flash of longing… but it ended as soon as it happened. Face both placid and firm in business. “Your Grace. Lady Dayne.”

 

“Ser Jaime,” Alysanne replied, almost croaking it out. He affected her still.

 

“Welcome, Ser Jaime,” Ashara cut in. “You wished to speak with us?”

 

He nodded. “Aye. I’ve studied the matter thoroughly and I believe I have a strategy to lure the enemy out and defeat them on our own terms.” In the crook of his arm, there were several rolled up scrolls - maps, Ashara determined. “Do I have leave to brief you?”

 

Alysanne shrugged. “You are my sworn sword and military commander. I would be remiss if I… failed to heed your strategic counsel.” Her voice sounded unnaturally cold to Ashara. It was Alysanne’s way, she knew… hopefully if Jaime cared for her as much as she thought, then he’d understand.

 

If Jaime noticed or took offense, he didn’t give anything away. The opposite of Aerys, who even before his madness wore his emotions on his sleeve, for good and for ill. Unfurling a scroll, he revealed a map of Meereen and the surrounding countryside. “What Dothraki scouts we have determined the likely marching path of the Slaver army. They’ve essentially scraped the bottom of the barrel, but outnumber us significantly with the inclusion of foreign sellswords from Yi Ti.” That was surprising, but from what Ashara remembered hearing, the lands east of the Bone Mountains had just finished fighting a civil war and were likely in desperate need of gold.

 

“You wish for us to maintain a defensive posture?” Ashara guessed. Had the Dothraki remained, they could’ve skirmished and raided them, but as of now the masters outnumbered them significantly in terms of cavalry.

 

But Jaime shook his head. “Let them come and besiege us. I intend to lead the army, with you and Ragnar, away from Meereen using the Dothraki women’s horses.”

 

Both Alysanne and Ashara looked up at him with wide eyes. Expressionless before, now Jaime was smirking. What cursed thing are you planning, Ser Jaime? Soon, with the other map unfurled, he showed them very clearly. Ashara found herself in full agreement, and upon looking at Alysanne she found something similar. Her eyes were sparkling with a draconic excitement for the first time in weeks… and something else as she looked at Ser Jaime.

 

Ashara recognized lust and longing.

 

Tywin Lannister

 

He didn’t see the dragons.

 

Most would suppose that a good thing, but Tywin Lannister didn’t. Watching the Army of the North begin to cross the western branch of the White Knife, Tywin hated unknowns. All else were arrayed in the open - the half-dozen giants, the mass of mutilated Thenn warriors, mammoths mounted with small castles of northern spearmen. Eddard Stark had brought every bit of his strength to face off against the army that he… essentially matched in size but not necessarily in quality.

 

That is, except the dragons. Watching alongside his compliment of five-hundred heavy knights of the Westerlands, battle-hardened veterans he’d trust with his own life in battle, Tywin felt no fear of the giants or mammoth. They were visible, known threats he could counter with. It was that which he couldn’t see or couldn’t know that brought him fear.

 

“Lord Hand?” Turning, the Lord of Casterly Rock gazed upon his war council. A half-dozen senior commanders, four of the Westerlands and two of the Vale. The one that spoke was Yohn Royce of Runestone. He looked… less than enthused to be here and Tywin didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, but the man served a purpose. Another fool with ‘honor.’ “Perhaps we can seek a parlay, avoid bloodshed?”

 

Ser Stafford Lannister - Tywin’s cousin and the brother of his late, beloved Joanna - scoffed. “Parlays with the dragons work, right… just ask my cousin, Kevan.” While it had been somewhat amusing to see Kevan shaking so, Tywin’s fists clenched at the words the jumped up Targaryen bastard had said. I’ll have Ser Gregor bash him against the wall and do to his wife what he did to Elia Martell for what he said of me. Unlike last, which was merely business, this he would enjoy. 

 

“Lord Eddard is not a Targaryen,” Royce replied.

 

“King Eddard, old man,” said Ser Lyn Corbray, the Valyrian steel sword Lady Forlorn at his side. He was a Valeman that Tywin didn’t truly doubt, mostly since the man enjoyed battle and was eager to advance himself as a second son. “Or at least he calls himself that. A traitor that knows a hangman’s noose awaits him if he loses. We should attack now while they’ve taken our bait and crossed.” With the ground closest to the riverbank uneven and problematic for his tightly packed formations, Tywin had retreated to flatter ground to the south… and the Starks were advancing.

 

“No, hold here and assault them when they get onto level ground,” insisted Tybolt Crakehall. Leo Lefford and Addam Marbrand, the other Westermen of the war council, agreed with the heir to Crakehall. “We can use our cavalry to a greater advantage to try and flank them.

 

“If you think those horses would stand strong against their giants then…”

 

“We wait for them to cross,” Tywin announced. “When they rout, we can cut them down while they’re out of formation in the water.” There was no room for argument, though Lord Royce looked like he wished to. Tywin’s word was law, and his goals were the army’s goals. Battle would be given on the south bank of the western White Knife, the road to Castle Cerwyn and then to Winterfell in the balance. 

 

Twenty-five thousand soldiers, the best troops Tywin had. Fifteen thousand Westermen and ten thousand Valemen. His tactical assembly wasn’t the most ingenious but it had served him well in every war he fought - five thousand cavalry on each side, a mix of heavy knights and lighter horse combining the two kingdoms, for he wouldn’t trust the Royce and Belmore contingents without his Westermen. Sandwiched in the middle was a massive set of infantry tercios, something of Tywin’s own invention. A large block of heavy spearman and crossbows guarded in the gaps with lighter men-at-arms and skirmishers of the Vale mountain clans, purchased with considerable coin from the Crown’s vaults. The elite Westermen banners including house Lefford, Marbrand, and Westerling held the right, the majority of the Vale infantry the center, Tywin’s own personal banners the left-center, and Lyn Corbray the right. Longbowmen of the Vale were in the rear, with Tywin’s five hundred in reserve. 

 

Eddard Stark seemed to have massed his force similarly. Three blocks of somewhat disciplined yet far more mobile Northern men-at-arms in a tight shield wall - stabbing and slashing swords and axes instead of the Westermen spears - and the mass of fierce wildlings in between. They congregated in a huge block, bellowing their warcries. Archers among them let loose ragged volleys without coordination. They lacked the mass effect of a proper volley, but iron-tipped arrows launched from the composite bows just kept wearing down at the advancing Westermen. Not to mention the sheer terror value. Weaker than the heavy knights, the Northern cavalry embraced this with giants mixed within them.

 

Tywin forced himself to stay in the rear. He’d be better served here, once again a battle in the balance.

 

There was a chance he wouldn’t win this.

 

Too late now. In his ear, Tywin could’ve sworn the ghost of Aerys was cackling.

 

The first to clash were the light cavalry on the wings - which were the entire Northern cavalry contingent. Free-wheeling Karstark and Hornwood horse assaulted with javelin and longsword against the Swyft and Banefort light horsemen, each striking and pulling back in loops before finally meeting each other into a giant melee where they fought astride their mounts like infantry. It quickly bogged down.

 

In the center, the Northern shield line crashed against the Lannister Tercio, volleys of arrows weakening the latter while the crossbowmen unleashed devastating attacks onto the former. The furious charge of the northmen and wildlings petered out, and it became a slogging match… no clear winner as the snows were stained with blood.

 

Trumpets blared through the chilly air, Tywin giving the order for the heavy cavalry to make their charge. The thunder of the horsemen eclipsed all others on the battlefield, until loud bellows began to spook them and quiver the charge. Guiding the mammoth alongside them, the giants made their attack against the Lannister and Vale knights. Trained to charge shield walls and spear nests, the well-bred heavy horse nonetheless began to panic from the unseen monsters and the charge was halted where it stood.

 

“Send in the cavalry at the wings! Envelop them!” That would win the day, catching them in a double envelopment. It was the only way…

 

“Lord Hand… the giants?!” 

 

Glaring at the dispatch rider, Tywin couldn’t deny that the complaint had merit. He thought and thought… How had Harwyn Hoare defeated the war elephants Arlen Durrandon hired all those centuries ago? His mind lit up. “Have the Hill Tribes skirmish them with javelins! They’ll know what to do.” They were dumb and drunk enough to do anything.

 

His blood went cold, however, when twin shrieks nearly split his ears. From the northern hills, much to his horror, the dragons finally appeared. A grey monster and a slightly smaller red demon, their wings beating frantically as they charged straight for the right-center of the Lannister line. Tongues of flame descended and enveloped hundreds of Vale infantry in a single moment. Tywin could feel the heat even all the way in the rear. Hearing the screams of men dying and smelling the roast pork scent of burning human flesh.

 

But the worst of all… the line was collapsing in the worst possible point. He acted quickly. “With me, men! Forward!” Banners flying, the five hundred heavy knights charged straight for the gap. Rallying the Valemen and crashing right into the screaming wildlings that sought to take advantage of the gap.

 

Each dragon turned in a wide arc, the red one breaking for the Lannister camp and unleashing more flame upon it. Igniting the tents and devastating the baggage train. The grey beast tried to wink around for another attack run on the infantry, but met Tywin’s little surprise. Unlike the fool Janos Slynt, Tywin eschewed the massive scorpions for dozens of small ballistae… ones that fired smaller wildfire-tipped projectiles in a quantity over quality approach. Hopefully enough to ward off the dragons.

 

But even the dragons couldn’t change what was transpiring on the flanks. Against all odds, the hill tribes of the Vale succeeded to overwhelm the giants. Lightly armored and nimble from growing up in the crags and cliffs of the Mountains of the Moon, they were able to launch their javelins and still largely escape the charges of the great beasts. None were killed, but many bled from dozens of wounds and were forced back along with the mammoths they guided… enough for the mass ranks of Westerland and Vale knights to charge straight at the flanks of the Northern shield wall.

 

Sword slashing furiously, catching a wildling upon the shoulder and disappearing the fur-clad barbarian in a gush of blood, the roar of battle echoed within Tywin’s helm. Steel clashed, the woosh of arrows and crossbows sailed back and forth, the dragons roaring as the smaller ballistae let loose their wildfire-tipped projectiles into the air… fuses oft detonating midair and releasing massive clouds of smoke and green flame that fell upon the battlefield. The snowy ground helped dampen the flames, but those that showered the Northmen or Westermen caused terror.

 

One explosion shook close to one of the dragons, the massive grey one that had just begun an attack run on the center. Roars changed to pained shrieks, wingbeats frantic as the rider - be it the bastard pretender or Aerys’ brat, Tywin didn’t know - struggled to right the beast. More projectiles lanced up, a flurry of them that strove to drive both the grey dragon and its red companion off to the rear. Tywin bellowed a war cry and drove forward, sword slashing. His heralds next to him, waving their banners and trumpeting, served to galvanize the Westermen.

 

Spears and shields firm, they advanced for the first time that day.

 

With the heavy horse advancing, there was a chance to break the Northmen and rout them completely… but the damned red dragon let loose tongues of flame as it retreated. Not enough to save the day, but enough to save the army. Eddard Stark and his battered forces retreated to fight another day, leaving many dead upon the field.

 

Completely exhausted and bloodied, Tywin chose not to pursue.

 

Hours later, the sun began to set beyond the western horizon as the Northern army finally disappeared. Already the non-combatants were combing the field for the dead. Their own would be placed in funeral pyres as befitting dead heroes. The northmen and wildlings would be thrown into mass graves to rot - Tywin himself would’ve done such to all the non-highborn dead, but morale would’ve plummeted, especially for the Valemen whose loyalty was suspect anyway. Sentimentality doesn’t win battles, but I suppose it wins campaigns.

 

“Cousin!” Fresh from his successful command of the right-wing - not an achievement Tywin held in high esteem since those were his best troops - Stafford reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. Joanna’s brother looked elated. Triumphant. “Congratulations on our great victory!” 

 

Our victory? Tywin scowled tiredly. “Victory? You call this a victory?”

 

Stafford blinked, his doltish brain likely unable to comprehend all but the obvious. A less-capable version of Kevan, cause at least his brother had tactical sense. “What do you mean? We’ve taken the field, faced down the dragon and beaten them back!” He waved his arms, insulated from the worry of Tywin’s wroth due to their shared blood. “We’ll be in Winterfell in less than a moon!”

 

Instead of responding, Tywin looked at the men. Whole units shredded, smeared in ash and smoke from the dragons. And those were the lucky ones. They had won, aye, but each of their losses added up. With their camp destroyed - it would take days for them to bring back supplies upon barges up from White Harbor. A dangerous supply line through the land of their enemy. One they knew well. Only a decisive, crushing victory where the dragons died and the Northmen were wiped out could be counted as a true victory.

 

That’s why we came here. That’s what it takes to win…

 

“One more victory like this, cousin, and we’ll be ruined.” With that, Tywin turned away and walked towards his horse, resolved for a gourd of wine in his tent.

 

Perhaps Tyrion is more like me than I care to admit. That did nothing to improve his mood.

 

Jon Targaryen

 

With a deep, grief-filled sigh, Jon gently stroked the large scales of Sarogon’s snout. The dragon’s warm skin gave off a sense of comfort, both against the harsh winds of the North and a deeper, more spiritual need of his. “Forgive me, boy,” he whispered in High Valyrian. Normally he didn’t speak it, but now it seemed appropriate. A sense of closeness with the ancestors he hadn’t known about for most of his life. “I blame myself for your wounds.”

 

‘It wasn’t your fault, kepa,’ the dragon told him, though Jon could hear the pained winces in his hisses and growls. 

 

“I am your kepa, and I rode you into battle. It is my fault in the scheme of things.” He shivered, almost feeling the bitter cold of death - a pain he had endured twice over. A nuzzle of Saragon’s snout brought a smile to Jon’s face in spite of himself. His affections for the grey dragon were as strong as that towards Ghost, Rhaegon, or the new babe in Dany’s belly. ‘Not beasts… my children.’ Oh, had Dany’s words from the past so stuck with him, only long after Jon realizing just the gravity of what they meant. “You’ll be alright, boy. I promise.”  

 

Cooing softly at his rider, Saragon snapped his jaws lightly. ‘Of course… I have a lot of payback to give.’ Jon laughed, patting the dragon’s scales.

 

It was then that Jon felt twin arms snake around his waist from behind. He didn’t have to have eyes at the back of his skull to know who it was. “Seeking warmth from your King?” he asked.

 

“Mmmm… always,” Daenerys replied, pressing her cheek against the fur cloak draped over his back. She knew just what to say… or to do. There was a reason their love lasted through three lifetimes. “Is he alright?”

 

Jon knew what she was speaking of. “Luwin looked him over. Said his wounds are extensive but mostly superficial… though perhaps some broken bones. That he shouldn’t fly for a while lest absolutely necessary. 

 

Dany made him turn around, looking into her beautiful but saddened eyes. “I didn’t know he was an expert on dragons?” The statement could’ve been a jape… and also a sarcastic barb directed at the old maester, but Jon could tell she meant neither. More a hope that her son wasn’t as injured as Luwin worried.

 

Unfortunately, Jon knew it to be true. "He was too weak when we flew off the battlefield, Dany," he told her, sharing his fellow Targaryen's pain. "His breathing was labored and his wingbeats were frantic… but I have no doubt he’ll heal." Jon rubbed his scales. “Strong and hardy, just like his kepa.”

 

That brought a wan smile to her face. “Aye, just like his kepa.” She leaned up and kissed Jon’s jaw… then his lips. “Have I mentioned that I love his kepa?

 

“Once or twice,” he smirked. “Though I do like to hear it as often as I can. The most beautiful woman in the world proclaiming her undying devotion to me that spanned lifetimes.”

 

“As if your ego could get any bigger, Aegon Targaryen,” Dany replied. “I’m starting to miss the dour, modest Jon Snow.” Her grin belied her teasing, and she dropped all pretense when she pulled him down and slanted their lips against each other. They broke apart when Sarogon whined and shifted his head away, as if disturbed. “Aye, he’s your son alright. I saw that same expression when we heard your parents through the wall…” Now it was his turn to whine and shift his gaze, causing Dany to laugh. “See, that one!”

 

Eventually, the King and Queen made their way to a war council, hearing the concerns of their bannermen and the wildlings of the fear at Tywin Lannister’s victory over them at the White Knife. “I wouldn’t be so concerned about Tywin,” Oberyn remarked, arms crossed and a ghost-like smirk on his face.

 

“Tell that to the wives of my dead bannermen, you sword-swallowing cunt,” replied Smalljon Umber, glaring. The wildlings nodded in agreement, only Mance among them not succumbing to their anger over their losses.

 

Jon raised his hands to push peace among them, but to his surprise Oberyn laughed. “When that is my desire, I have my sword swallowed instead, Lord Umber… interested?” The Lord of Last Hearth flushed red at the proposition, losing his wildling support as Tormund and Karsi burst out laughing at his expense… joined by the Mormont sisters and even the prickly Rickard Karstark. “But I am right about this. Tywin’s losses are nothing to brush off. He needed a rather bloodless victory to consider it a strategic success and he didn’t get it. The dragons, the giants, and your own men savaged his infantry formations significantly, and unlike us he has logistic problems.”

 

Snorting, Olenna rubbed her hands together. “A Victory of Tywin… a victory that’s a loss. I’m gonna do my damndest to get that to stick,” she chortled. “The Rains of Castamere will have nothing on that by the time I’m done with him.”

 

Jon grinned at the Queen of Thorns. “I wouldn’t wish to make your enemies list, Lady Olenna.” He tapped at the map. “We still have a lot of space and time. Let them advance, the cavalry and Free Folk can harass them all along the way. We will engage them on the ground of our own choosing once our men are rested. This is concluded.” With that, Jon dismissed the council.

 

There was more to be done, much more to be done, but they were tired. Jon was exhausted, not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. In need of the comfort only family could provide… In this, as he headed to the courtyard to continue his Kingly duties, he was stopped by his uncle’s insistent grasp of his wrist. “Go, spend some time with your family, nephew.”

 

His instinctive honor reared its head. “Uncle… I am the King and I must…”

 

“You are in no shape to be the King we need if you work yourself to death when you obviously need a night of rest. Go enjoy an evening with your wife and your family. Let your dear uncle handle the arming of his keep.” Jon smiled at his uncle, hugging Ned close. His father may have returned, but Ned would always be the man that raised him - someone closer than any common uncle could ever be.

 

Daenerys, unlike him, needed no prompting to grab the gift by the horns and milk it for all that it was worth. Their first stop was for the nursery, his wife quickly snatching up little Rhaegon and holding him to her breast. Violet eyes wide and silver hair shining, he waved his arms excitedly at this visit by his beloved parents, Jon laughing merrily and enveloping the two of them. One arm tugging Dany from round her waist to him and the other resting against the ever so slight swell of her belly. Everything he could ever want was here with him as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

His parents, his siblings and uncle… all were merely a wonderful bonus that Jon sometimes thought he didn’t deserve - yet the bastard Jon Snow would brood about that. The mighty King Aegon Targaryen would accept it as the gift that it all was.

 

Over an hour simply playing with their son - not a chore at all, for every moment with Rhaegon found him doing some motion or expression that brought the greatest fascination and affection from his kepa and muna - led to hungry stomachs. The family dining chamber was already full with the various Starks. Arya, Sansa, and Rickon all cooed over their nephew while Bran was quiet, yet smiling. Catelyn, in spite of the history between her and Jon, was warm… though there was something off with her that didn’t seem unpleasant or hostile. A hearty meal of stew, meat pie, and warm bread was served that Jon devoured. Not with the same gusto as Daenerys, who was eating for two. 

 

“Maybe three or four,” Arya replied with a cheeky grin, leading to Dany miming chucking her spoon at her. Jon laughed, though the idea of twins or triplets made his eyes water. In spite of her glare at the idea of birthing two or three babes at once, it was clear Dany gave the same level of emotion to the idea.

 

Ned was a late arrival at the dinner, though plenty was left for him to enjoy. Everyone stayed till he finished even as their plates were empty, the Starks sharing a moment where all else was forgotten. It was almost like it was pre-war, only better in fact now that Jon had his family and Catelyn was accepting of him - Robb’s absence was missed, as were Lyanna’s and Rhaegar’s, but knowing they were safe sufficed.

 

Finally, after goodnights were given and Rhaegon sweetly put to bed, Jon led his beautiful bride into the bedchamber. As soon as the door closed to their chambers - Ghost yawning and resting right outside the door - Jon reached out and pulled Daenerys to him. Gazing in her eyes for any resistance, Jon saw only two lust-filled violet eyes that so begged him to devour her.

 

Who was he to deny Daenerys anything?

 

Jon tugged her chin slightly up, crashing their lips together. It was soft yet also frantic, needing her comfort and passion. The kiss made her breathless, Dany powerless to resist him as he began kissing down her cheek and latching to her neck. He wanted her more than anything else in his life. Jon knew it would never change.

 

His savage kisses and licks against the pale expanse of her neck coaxed out a deep moan from Daenerys. She rolled her hips against his, clearly seeking out contact as her head involuntarily tilted to the side to give him more access. “Please, Jon…”

 

“Please what?” His hands tugged at her dress.

 

“Take me… make me yours…”

 

Feeling her hands tug at his hair, freeing it from his topknot, Jon resumed their heated kiss. Working at her dress as she did the same to his tunic and trousers. "Mine, Dany," he choked out against her lips. "You're mine." They broke apart for a moment for her to strip him bare, her own dress pooling at her feet to reveal the supple, alabaster flesh that made his mouth water. Growling, Jon shoved her on the bed. "No one will take you from me."

 

Daenerys moaned as he climbed over her. "No one. I'm yours." 

 

Eyes swirling with lust and love, they lost themselves in each other. Mouths slanted together in a sloppy yet sensual frenzy. Jon gasped into their kiss as Dany grabbed his cock, squeezing it with her dainty fingers. She clearly was already ready for him. Begging silently not for him to delay... Not with how she needed him. Never breaking their kiss, Jon lined them up and slide deep inside his pregnant wife. Reveling in her moans.

 

Jon fought a groan. Every time inside Dany felt like their first. Automatically he thrust up, working his way until he was fully sheathed by her, root to tip. Rocking in a powerful motion, Jon leaned down to sucked a nipple in his mouth. Coaxing the most delicious moans from her. All because of him, the Mother of Dragons coming undone beneath him. Gods, he loved it… loved her.

 

"Jon…" he heard her sob with desire and pure adoration. "I love you so…"

 

"I love you too, Dany," he gasped, feeling her clench around him. “Gods, I love you!”

 

"Aegon! Nuha zaldrizes!"  

 

They fell into the abyss of pleasure, eyes gazing into the other, bodies flush together.

Notes:

Tywin's got a victory, but what did it cost him? This battle was based off of the Battle of Asculum between the Roman Republic and Pyrrhus of Epirus - it's where the term "Pyrrhic victory" comes from. I guess in this world, the term is now "Victory of Tywin."

Chapter 64: Pieces in Place

Summary:

1) Margaery weds her wolf.
2) Aerys turns his gaze toward Westeros.
3) Tyrion strategized with Jon and converses privately with Talisa.
4) Yara enjoys rough talk with Ygritte off the coast of Seagard.
5) Lynesse asserts her dominance as Lady of Casterly Rock.

Notes:

Hi everyone. We have some awesome chapters ahead as we get into the middle of the War for Westeros

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Margaery Tyrell

 

Ruddy eyes and a wrinkled but warm face looking upon the two before him, the balding septon cleared his throat. "Who comes before the gods tonight?"

 

Her father’s hold of her arm being all that steadied her, Margaery had long since prayed for this day - dreamed of what it would be like. Imagining it in Highgarden, then the Red Keep, and finally in Winterfell’s godswood… the latter was still likely to happen for the benefit of the Northern lords, but as of now she had never thought it would be in the tiny great hall of the Twins. But thankfully, the man on the opposite side of her father, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes, was no Frey but a handsome, stunning direwolf.

 

She composed herself as best she could, aware that dozens of eyes were trained on her. "Margaery of House Tyrell," Margaery heard her father speak, voice warbling with pride and joy at seeing his little rose finally be wed. Oh, father... "Highborn daughter of House Tyrell. A woman of age and true of birth."

 

"Who gives her away?" the septon asked next.

 

"Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Warden of the South and father of the bride." She knew that with Loras and her grandmother… along with most of the Tyrell retainers remaining in Winterfell and Garlan back in the Reach that she wouldn’t get the celebration with her family, but marrying the man she had grown to love was worth it.

 

Her father being there was just a wonderful addition.

 

"Who prepares to claim her?"

 

Eyes shifting to the groom, Margaery watched as he hitched his throat… looking at her wearing her veil. "Robb of House Stark, Prince of the North and Heir to Winterfell." At that point her father drew back the veil covering her face and exposed her to the waiting eyes of the crowd of Northern bannermen, Riverlands lords, and even Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna seated together. Robb had an intake of breath - he had seen her so many times before, but it looked now as if she were the most beautiful creature on earth.

 

Margaery blushed at the gaze, but her eyes twinkled. “I hope I don’t disappoint,” she teased with a smirk, seeing how his eyes rakes over the cream dress with gold patterns that exposed her arms and a generous hint of cleavage - Margaery’s hair was let loose in the style of the North, and honestly she felt she looked even more beautiful because of it. Robb evidently agreed.

 

His mouth dropped as he stammered over what to say, only managing to croak… “Gods no… you’re perfect.” Her blush grew redder at that.

 

Ceremony beginning in earnest, the septon told the groom, "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Broken from his reverie, Robb managed a nod and slowly went for the cloak of House Tyrell… a golden rose on a green background, and gently removed it from her shoulders. His fingers brushed against her skin and she shivered… not from the cold. Gods… It was a heady tingle, though she wasn’t exposed for too long when the grey cloak with the direwolf sigil was draped over her. It felt… right.

 

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." His hands tied a ribbon around Margaery’s left and Robb’s right, their palms and fingers touching and sending even more tingles through her system. "Let it be known that Robb of House Stark and Margaery of House Tyrell are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." 

 

He removed the ribbon, but as Margaery tried to take her hand away, Robb grasped it and weaved their fingers together. She made a silent gasp… only to smile as he looked upon her with great affection.

 

“Look upon each other and say the words,” the Septon announced. 

 

Hands still woven together, Margaery turned and stared into her groom’s blue eyes. The words were simultaneous. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..."

 

“I am his…”

 

“I am hers…”

 

“And he is mine…”

 

“And she is mine…” Margaery swooned at the words.

 

“This day, until the end of my days.”

 

Smiling - sheepishly at first but with increasing boldness - Robb cupped her cheek. Margaery leaned into the touch. "With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Her eyes closed and world grew warmer as their lips touched, Margaery losing herself into the kiss even as the mass of Northmen began cheering for their Prince and commander.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

“Thank the gods,” Robb said as he led her into the bedchamber. “I don’t think I could take any man touching you during the bedding.”

 

“Nor I with other women touching you,” Maegaery told him, admiring how his face looked in the low firelight. “And plenty looked at you in that manner.”

 

“Not as much as men do to you… though now I am the only man that can go beyond looking,” he smirked softly.

 

“That you are, Robb,” she replied, only then noticing a package waiting on the bed. “Is that the gift your aunt Lyanna spoke of from the King and Queen?” The Targaryen Princess had insisted they see it in private, her eyes twinkling.

 

“Most likely.” Robb walked to it. “Seems light. Do you want to open it, wife?”

 

She nodded, curious. “A gift from the King is a great honor.” She opened the cloth packaging and removed a… “Is this a dress?”

 

Robb gawked. “No, it can’t be.” Margaery’s cheeks burned as she displayed it. Clearly a dress from Essos or something, it pretty much only covered her breasts and part of her sides, exposing the arms, belly, and most of her chest and shoulders. “Jon certainly has a sick sense of humor… no, I think this was Daenerys’ doing.”

 

“Huh, looks like they left notes,” Margaery managed to stammer out, seeing the two folded pieces of parchment, one with her name on it and the other with Robb’s. She set down the ‘dress’ and picked hers up, unfolding it. “It’s from the Queen.”

 

Goodsister,

Most congratulations for your marriage. I know you’ll make my goodbrother very happy.

It was the greatest honor to get to know you, though it wasn’t hard since I always did enjoy the company of your grandmother quite well. Hopefully this gift will give you an even greater joy than our talks gave me.

Daenerys

 

Margaery blushed, thinking of how the dress could give her joy. That was sweet of her. Not only did she get Robb through this marriage, not only did she get the North, she also got a very close and very loving family. There was nothing wrong with that.

 

“That smug little shit…” she heard her new husband mutter under his breath.

 

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Something the matter, husband?” Husband… Margaery rather liked how that sounded on her tongue. Her handsome Robb, the maroon and blue Tully beauty mixed with the ferocity of his wolfsblood for a rather stunning combination. While the half-Valyrian King Aegon was objectively more beautiful - having the blood of Old Valyria in him - from the moment she had seen him Margaery was captivated by Prince Robb… the most beautiful man on earth in her own opinion.

 

And now he was hers.

 

Groaning, Robb handed his own note to her. “My brother likes to irk me.” Margaery, frowning, read the parchment.

 

Robb

I hope this dress gives you as much pleasure as its twin gave me. I’m pretty sure I conceived my newest babe thanks to it.

Jon

 

Biting her lip, Margaery did her best not to burst out into uproarious giggles. It wouldn’t be proper to laugh at her new husband on their wedding night. “You have a good brother, even if he’s your cousin in reality.”

 

“What’s good of him teasing me with his own intimate life… I heard and saw far too much for my taste while I was in that Dothraki camp of his.” Robb buried his face in his hands, groaning.

 

Frowning slightly, Margaery knew what she had to do. “Robb… wouldn’t you want to see me wearing this dress?” Putting on an impish, innocent smile, she waited until the Stark Prince looked up, his eyes wide and dark. Perfect. “I could try it on if you like,” she cocked her hip to one side in a sultry manner, knowing her grandmother would be proud of her skill. “Would you like that, husband?”

 

He opened his mouth… only to close it when the words didn’t come. His trousers were quite tight, so Margaery knew she was having an effect. “I… I don’t want you too.” Her face fell, but then Robb stood, his eyes black. “Another time, you will wear this dress for me. Tonight, you are to not wear a single scrap of clothing.”

 

The wolf growl that he used made her tremble… though not from fear. “Is that so, husband?” They were now standing face to face, Robb a quarter head taller than her and a hungry expression on his face. One a wolf would give when stalking their prey. Her body approved, feeling her smallclothes dampen.

 

“Aye… it’s so.” Apparently done with words, Robb grabbed her chin and angled her up - taking advantage and slanting his lips against hers. Margaery moaned and parted her lips, letting him plunder her. There would be time to show Robb just how strong the dainty Rose of Highgarden could be. Now, her first time, she wanted to be taken. For her husband to make her a real woman. His arms pulling her flush against him, Robb groaned in her mouth. “Fuck, Marg… the things you do to me.”

 

Her heart skipped a beat. “Show me what you do to me.” To her delight, his hands moved to the laces on the back of her dress, hurriedly undoing them and pushing the straps off her shoulders. Now the cool air in the room hit all of her skin and Margaery shivered… though it was nothing like the effect on Robb. She had shunned breast bindings, only wearing smallclothes over her intimate parts. “Do I please you?”

 

He nodded dumbly. “You’re a goddess.”

 

Margaery was her grandmother’s daughter, but at that she felt like a besotted maiden from the songs. “No I’m not…” she remarked modestly, blushing at the praise. “Daenerys…”

 

A finger shushed her. “She is beautiful, aye… but you are my goddess.” Heart soaring, this time it was Margaery that crashed their lips together, a desperate desire overtaking her. Robb was pushed upon their bed with a wide-eyed look. Margaery smirked and quickly divested herself of the last scrap of clothing, leaving her completely bare for his pleasure. “Margaery…”

 

“I find it quite unfair that you are with clothes, Prince Robb. As your Princess, I command you to strip bare as I have.”

 

Robb raised a brow. “You dare command me?” The tiny grin belied his teasing intent.

 

She smirked, hands on her hips. “If you wish to deny yourself the right to take my maidenhead then I will simply have to find another…” Margaery yelped as she was grabbed and tossed on the bed, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

 

“No one else. Only me till the end of your days,” he growled, ripping off his tunic and barely not tearing his belt in half. “You’re mine, wife. Say it.”

 

“I’m… I’m yours, Robb,” she said truthfully, watching as his cock was bared before her. Margaery hadn’t seen any, but could figure her husband was quite well-endowed - making her a very lucky girl. “Now please claim me.” She spread her legs, inviting her husband into their marriage bed. Eager to begin her new life with Robb, her new life as Margaery Stark rather than Margaery Tyrell. He grinned and climbed atop her, their lips meeting again.

 

She found out that his mouth was quite pleasing to hers. How it plundered her own. How it sucked down her neck and made her squirm. How it brought the rose tips of her nipples to the most burning pleasure. She was soaked, and bucking her hips to meet him. “You ready, love?” she heard him ask, a concerned look in his blue eyes.

 

That made Margaery love him more. “Aye… take my maidenhead,” she murmured, reaching down and wrapping her dainty fingers around his cockhead, squeezing and tugging it to her cunt.

 

Her hand was swatted away, Robb lining up with her and pushing just slightly in. Teeth clenching, Robb then continued until he reached her maidenhead, breaking it. Margaery winced in pain and discomfort.

 

Minutes later, the newly proclaimed Lady Stark was shocked she could’ve ever felt pain at her husband’s thrusts. Many ladies that dined in Highgarden spoke of how they merely endured their marriage bed, but Margaery couldn’t think of that. Her legs wrapped around his, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as she urged him on with filthy, wanton moans. “Gods, Marg… I love you,” he blurted into her ear, unable to concentrate on anything except pounding into her.

 

“I love you too,” she moaned back, tightening her legs and rolling her hips into his thrusts. It wasn’t long before she climaxed from his efforts… feeling him empty into her soon after. Let this be but the beginning. 

 

It was her intent to serve her house and marry for the best alliance possible, not to find a man she could love. Sometimes, life simply worked out that way.

 

Aerys Targaryen

 

“Get up! I’ll give you one last chance to get me!... Unless you’re too feeble.” A dark smirk snaked across the mouth of the dashing, yet dangerous Targaryen king-claimant.

 

Chest heaving and sweat pouring down his face, Ser Bronn sucked in a deep breath and unsteadily climbed to his feet. Swaying with dizziness, he almost fell over again until Daario yanked him back up by the scruff of his neck. “Careful there, old man,” the Tyroshi captain chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to kick the bucket before cashing in on your pension.”

 

Bronn shook him off irritably. “I’m actually younger than you, so bugger off.” Refocusing on Aerys, he raised his sword and charged, aiming low for the stomach. Blackfyre parried easily and a few quick cuts later, he found himself sprawled out on the stone ground.

 

“Pathetic,” scoffed Aerys. "Your turn, Naharis.” He pointed Blackfyre at him. The sellsword’s cocksure grin melted and his hand barely brushed the hilt of his arakh. Daario clearly could watch it, but he sure couldn’t do it. That was another thing he appreciated Bronn for - that one at least put his money where his mouth was.

 

“Your Grace!” Jon Connington strode up from behind, his red wolf skin cloak billowing in the balmy Lysene breeze. Aerys sighed and sheathed his blade. “Saved by the call, Daario. We’ll finish our practice later.”

 

Daario’s insufferable grin lit up again. “As you command, your Highness… Bronn, my boy, drinks are on me.” As the two sellsword captains made their way to a nearby tavern, Connington approached his king, an unwrapped parchment in hand and a rare look of satisfaction upon his lined visage. Rarely did the old Griffin ever turn his frown upside down, so Aerys was curious to know why the sudden good mood.

 

“Spare me the details, Lord Hand and get to the point.” He had no patience for reading yet another dispatch from the Braavosi about their micromanagement of the naval campaign against the Three Daughters. As if impressing him about every pull of the oars and flap of the sails would get him to renegotiate their deal. In exchange for handing over Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys to the Sealord, the Braavosi fleet would aid him in conquering Westeros. Now, that greedy purple lord was getting stingy about funding direct hostilities with the Seven Kingdoms. He demanded a greater share of the loot for himself.

 

Fortunately, the Iron Bank interceded and assured him that expansion of their operations over the four conquered cities would more than cover the costs, but Aerys was not placated. One does not demand from a dragon without paying the proper price. The deal struck, by all means, was fair and square for both sides.

 

“Tyrosh has fallen, your Grace. The people rose up and overthrew the Archon soon after the city ran out of food due to the blockade. The Braavosi call for us to rendezvous with them at the Stepstones in two weeks' time.” Connington was practically bouncing on the inside. Home was the only thing he’d dreamt of for almost a score of years now. That and restoring House Targaryen to its rightful place on the Iron Throne.

 

“I doubt the men are in a hurry,” Aerys snorted, gaze flying over the palm and fruit trees that dotted the shoreline. Behind further inland were the famous Lyseni pillow houses that were a delight to anyone who walked in the footsteps of Aegon the Unworthy. The men of the Stormcrows, Second Sons, and the Company of the Rose had heartily indulged in the nubile flesh of the bed slaves immediately after the port had been taken, leaving the Golden Company the work of subduing the remaining resistance. Afterward, he’d banned the heirs of Bittersteel from partaking in the mass fucking. Discipline is their mother’s milk. I will not have a wet nurse to spoil it.

 

At least Myr fell without delay and without distraction.

 

Aerys rubbed his chin thoughtfully and looked to the mix of galleys, cogs, and carracks bobbing at anchor. “Our debt is paid, Lord Hand. Now, those purple exiles must make good on their word.” Eyes glittering darkly, he snickered. “Or I shall include interest.”

 

“The only concern are the ships.”

 

He looked back at his Hand. “What about them?”

 

“We’re dealing with a large number of troops and most of the ships captured are smaller trading cogs and war galleys. The massive grain transports were largely used by Volantis and… well…” he trailed off.

 

Aerys sighed. This was all getting tedious. “Can our armies fit on the ships? The horses and elephants?”

 

Connington shifted his feet. “Enough room for elephants and half the horse and infantry, we’d have to make another trip otherwise, both times filled to the brim. One storm and…”

 

“We sail. It’s beyond time we return home, Lord Hand. My idiot nephew and the usurper will destroy themselves and then I will be there to pick up the pieces as the savior both the Realm and Dany need.” 

 

A shadow crossed him overhead. Rhaelyx swooped down to land by her rider’s side. Slick from seawater, she had a dolphin flopping flippantly between her jaws. Flesh, bone, and blubber were torn to shreds as she devoured her meal. Blood stained stone and sand a bright red shade.

 

Aerys watched her in approving silence.

 

I am coming back, sister. Coming to you through fire and blood.

 

Tyrion Lannister

 

“Do you know why I brought you here, Tyrion?”

 

Hearing the King - the Targaryen King, to be specific - speak to him, Tyrion turned his head to meet the grey eyes of the hidden dragon who was once known as Jon Snow. “Well, your Grace, it is said that your ancestor Viserys I liked to keep his royal fool Mushroom the Imp quite close wherever he went just in case something stressful or gloomy came up and he needed a laugh.” The Imp cocked his head. “No one says I am a silly man such as that, but I have been known to possess a wit that some find amusing.”

 

True to form, some in the riding party chuckled at Tyrion’s response to the Targaryen King. Queen Daenerys stifled a giggle, while Aegon looked rather… bland, as if he expected it of him. Tyrion didn’t assume how, unless their paths had crossed sometime in the King’s own past. Hmmm… wonder how I found myself with the Targaryens then. The answer was obvious, likely coming from his father and sister exiling him after their patience ran thin. I am doomed to not know a good family no matter where I originate from, it seems.

 

The weather had inexplicably cleared in the weeks since the Battle of the White Knife. No further snowfall was seen, the sun was out if not as high in the sky as in summer, and warmer temperatures were even melting much of the snow. Mud became common, but as temperatures stabilized things were steadily drying. By the time Tywin’s army arrived, Tyrion was sure the mud would clear for the most part at least.

 

Warm as it was for the northmen, Tyrion wrapped the extra layer he wore still tighter, as did the Queen. Being married to a half-wolf didn’t make one a wolf, it seemed.

 

Question still unanswered, the King looked at him with a brooding frown. “While I appreciate your attempt to lighten all of our moods, Lord Tyrion, I still proffer the question. Why do you think I brought you here to the ridges south of Castle Cerwyn?”

 

Tyrion furrowed his brows. “Well, from what I know of this place is that it’s the closest castle to Winterfell itself being only half a day’s ride. The defenses aren’t as firm, but Winterfell’s are not in the best of shape given that the Bolton attack pretty much reduced the place’s effectiveness to handle a siege or assault, not that I am an expert in either.” Aegon and Daenerys shared a look, one not apparent to a casual observer but one Tyrion could tell contained… amusement? Irony? He was confused, but put it aside. “From that I believe you hope to halt my father’s army here.”

 

“Aye,” Jon admitted, looking out at the ground, and then at Castle Cerwyn wreathed in the freezing fog of the early morning. “You know your father’s mind well, Tyrion. What would he think of me making a stand here?”

 

Ah, so that’s why he was here. The Imp was no military mind in the slightest, but as a window into the mind of Tywin Lannister he was an expert - forget love, the best way to know a person inside and out was to be their bane and know what barbs met soft flesh rather than hard armor. Lest you’re the King and Queen, spending their nights barely sleeping… When one fucked more often than rabbits or whores it became easy to know one’s partner, but Tyrion was getting side tracked. “He won’t take the bait.”

 

“What do you mean by that, Lord Hand?” asked Trystane Martell, having accompanied his uncle on this scouting mission. 

 

Tyrion was happy to explain it to all of them. “The simple truth is that my father is the best military mind of his age. He knows that he cannot afford to be bogged down in a lengthy siege of a place that has little military value besides as a base of operations to besiege Winterfell.” A glare came from Lord Cerwyn and his heir, but Tyrion ignored it. “And he doesn’t need a base of operations for a siege since I’m sure my father knows just how badly the Boltons battered Winterfell. One infantry assault would seize it, especially if he has wildfire.” A chuckle, a mirthless one. “If you expect him to attack prepared defensive fortifications just to get at your army, he won’t.”

 

“You speak plainly, Tyrion,” replied Daenerys, speaking for her husband. “I have no doubt you’d be right on that… which is why we won’t cower behind defenses. We will meet Lord Tywin in open battle, here on this ridge.”

 

Eyes widening, Tyrion looked at the others present. All, apart from Oberyn and the hulking wildling with the thick ginger beard, were just as surprised. Fuck, I need some wine right now. “Pardon, your Grace?”

 

Daenerys laughed, joined in chuckles by Aegon - she, one of only a few, drew him out of his brooding shell. “I’m not a fool, Tyrion. I know he needs a decisive battle to annihilate my army and win this campaign, so I’m going to give it to him.”

 

“Your Grace, I urge you to reconsider,” begged Mace Tyrell, also having joined them. Winter rations had caused him to lose a bit of weight so he no longer looked ridiculous in his armor, but the man was never the martial type. “Such is too risky, especially considering what happened at the White Knife.”

 

“I’m well aware of that, Lord Mace,” Aegon shot back, quieting the Warden of the South. “But I don’t intend to lose. He will fight me on the ground of my choosing, not on the ground of his.” He looked back to Tyrion. “You know your father… will he give battle if I deploy my forces?”

 

Looking at the terrain, it was hilly but flat, suitable for cavalry and the Lannister tercios alike. Perfect ground. “Aye, he’ll attack. He needs to.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Riding full tilt to Castle Cerwyn and riding back in a single day had been exhausting. Unlike the King and Queen - whom he was rather miffed and envious of at the same time - he had no dragon to ride that could cover the distance in barely a half-hour. It’s not like I, a simple Lannister, could master the greatest creatures on earth, cover distances it takes months to travel in a simple day, and then retire to my rooms well-rested for a night of torrid fucking. Inquiries with the servants and guards indicated that was exactly what their Graces were doing. Lucky cunts. His own visits to the brothel were… infrequent as of late with all the work to be done.

 

Tyrion wanted no more than to fall in his bed and go to a blissful sleep, but a different sort of duty took precedence. Walking slowly through the halls, he reached the chambers in question and was surprised to find the person he sought to spend his remaining waking moments with entertaining. “Uncle,” Myrcella said, smiling. “Do come in.”

 

Smiling softly at his beautiful niece, Tyrion stepped inside and looked over the other woman in the chambers. “Lady Talisa. Of what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

The healer looked at him with a smile, though it only half reached her eyes. “I was finished with my duties caring for the wounded from the White Knife. All the wounded that can survive are either recovered or don’t need my care to heal, and as for the rest we… give them whatever comfort we can.” Talisa looked down, leaving the rest unsaid.

 

“Oh Tally,” said Myrcella, clearly thinking the Volentene a good friend. They hugged… only for the girl to yawn.

 

Tyrion’s uncle instincts kicked in. “Perhaps you should go to bed, dearest niece.” Protesting weakly, the golden child of House Lannister was out like a light when Tyrion let her head hit the pillow. “My Lady, allow me to escort you to your chambers… forgive me if I’m a little slow, tiny legs and all that,” he said with a grin.

 

Talisa giggled, seemingly charmed. “Alright, Lord Tyrion. I shall endeavor to keep pace with your stride.” Hands clasped in front of her, she kept her word, walking slowly. “Your niece is delightful.”

 

“Poor girl never had many friends, I’m glad she’s making them with you and with the Starks.”

 

“We… we have a lot in common - both losing most of our families.” 

 

A sad sigh… “I don’t think she misses Joffrey much, he was always cruel to her - if not physically then in other ways. But Tommen…” He felt a pang of sorrow at the way his plan failed with the boy. “Cersei’s as good as dead to her, and Jaime… he’s off on the other side of the world. My dear father is too busy sireing a new family from my stepmother so…” He trailed off, summing it up. “The House of Lannister, hear us roar,” Tyrion proclaimed sarcastically. “At least your family was a great one.”

 

“If you can call centuries of brutal slaveholding great,” Talisa muttered. “But I miss my father and mother… and yes, even my uncle. They always loved me, if they didn’t extend such kindness to those they held in bondage.” But it seemed she was sad about something else… it had been enough time for her loss over her family to reach acceptance, and Talisa didn’t seem to be one to let grief fester.

 

“Pardon me, but is there something else bothering you, my Lady.”

 

She looked at him and shrugged. “I shouldn’t be feeling this… it’s a bit pathetic, but Prince Robb…”

 

“He married… oh, he's married.” Tyrion knew that look. “You fancied him?”

 

“I don’t know… we had a connection I think… gods, I’m an educated woman. I shouldn’t feel like a young maiden.”

 

Tyrion chuckled. “You’re young and you’re a maiden. It’s how you should feel - Robb and Margaery were promised to each other long ago, my Lady, and he is the most dutiful and loyal follower of both his father the King and his cousin the King. It… wouldn’t have worked out, but a young and beautiful maiden such as yourself shouldn’t fret.”

 

A small smile graced her face. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion. You are good with words.” Leaning down, she kissed the top of his head and disappeared into her own chambers, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 

Yara Greyjoy

 

“There it is,” the female captain heard her uncle proclaim at the prow of her trireme. “Seagard, where your brother died.” Victarion snorted. “He outnumbered the Mallisters three to one. Always blamed him for losing, much as your father likes to blame treachery.”

 

Feeling the sea spray shower her face, soaking her leathers in the fine salty odor - as much a perfume as the Ironborn and her in particular would ever use - Yara snorted. “To be honest, uncle… I don’t even remember what my brother Rodrik looked like.” She remembered Maron, though his cruel taunts and vicious teasing left a sour memory of him in her mind. 

 

Victarion laughed. “You’re lucky. He looked like a cliff made man - ugly as the sin a septon preached against.”

 

“You are so sentimental, uncle,” Yara rolled her eyes, leaving him where he was. The poor cunt had his wife seduced by Euron, so Yara didn’t blame him for not having such a kind regard for familial relations.

 

Thwack!

 

Slamming into a nailed in board of wood against the main mast, the arrow protruded out of the painted bullseye almost perfectly. Tracing the path it had taken, Yara found her wildling goodsister not resting on her laurels and instead removing another arrow from her quiver, nocking it and releasing the bowstring. With another thwack, it impacted only a fraction of an inch beside the other.

 

“Impressive,” Yara called out, approaching Ygritte.

 

The wildling woman huffed. “Usually I ‘kin cleave the other arrow in two with mi’second one. Babe’s making me lose my touch.” Ygritte patted her stomach, hidden by the sea leathers of the Ironborn unless one looked closely.

 

Yara’s expression softened at seeing the form of her niece or nephew. “Babe bothering you?”

 

“Surprisingly no. Was quite sick on land, but on the water… nothin’.”

 

“The babe’s a Greyjoy alright,” Yara grinned, unable to help herself. “Can sail before he’s even born!”

 

“How do you know it isn’t a girl?”

 

Snorting, Yara shrugged. “Honestly, I’d prefer it be a girl. Means my father’s castle’d be inherited by a woman.” Thinking of her father’s face… the person she and her uncle had betrayed in accepting Theon’s offer - no, there were no regrets. He was a delusional fool to think he could win back the independence that had been crushed the last time around.

 

Ygritte’s eye rose. “Aren’t you older than Theon?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Then you should inherit.” She spread her arms. “Theon’s more at home in the snow than on the water, and I can tell you’d want it.”

 

“Is that the rule for the wildlings? That the eldest child takes over the clan?”

 

A laugh. “Inherit? The clans follow the person who can git them food or take on the cave bear or ice spider that threatens ‘em.”

 

Yara shuddered, unable to help it. “Ice spiders?”

 

“Aye,” Ygritte smirked. “Big as dogs… big dogs mind you.”

 

“Forgive me if I never visit north of the Wall.” She could take on any Northern warrior or Lannister soldier, but Yara drew the line at large dog-sized spiders. What’s next, keepin’ em as pets? One would need to be a hulking idiot the size of a house to do that. “Anyways…” Yara finally remembered something Ygritte said. “You think Theon would step aside for me?”

 

A nod. “Told me his’self… but only after the wars were done. Doesn’t want to rock the boat.” She laughed at her own pun.

 

Yara snickered at it too. “He’s gotten smart, he has. Was always an idiot growing up, but Ned Stark raised him well.” She would have to thank the King in the North for that if they ever crossed paths. “Plus… he married well.”

 

Looking at her, Yara could see Ygritte gazing back with genuine appreciation. “Thank you.” There was an awkward silence. “And aye, I guess we were married.”

 

“You’re not sure?”

 

“Depends. Would your prissy septons or whatever they’re called accept a Free Folk weddin’?”

 

“Fuck the septons… we don’t care for them. As for the Ironborn… Theon’s one of us and you’re birthin’ one… and can take down a man between the eyes from a hundred yards. No one will insist your child be named Pyke.” The wildling girl gave a crooked grin… only for a far off roar to distract them. Looking up, Yara saw a green dragon - one about half the size of the ship - soaring through the air. Roaring and hooting at them. “Now if I had that, I could see how I could get away with marryin’ my brother or sister.” Good thing they allied with those beasts. Could’ve gotten ugly.

 

Lynesse Lannister

 

“I trust that you are familiar with the words of our institution, my lady?” The dour, pinched face of the Iron Bank envoy asked. 

 

Lynesse Lannister scowled at the man’s lack of deference. She was the Lady of Casterly Rock and would be treated with the appropriate respect. “The Iron Bank will have its due as my lord husband promised. You’ve simply come at the wrong time to ask to be repaid. All the royal treasury has is needed to fend off the Targaryen pretenders and Stark traitors.” Counting coppers was old business to a Hightower. Oldtown rivaled King’s Landing in wealth; she could easily call on her father to extend the Crown a loan to service the debt that King Robert racked up. That was until the High Septon called upon him to increase funding for the Faith Militant. The Stars and Swords were to be expanded to numbers unprecedented to enforce his will over the realm.

 

Noho Dimittis drummed his fingers on the table. The two were seated in the Small Council Chamber, which was empty save for them. “The Lannisters always pay their debts, but do they pay them on time? Three million gold dragons are owed and already the Crown is late on the first installment.” He sat up straighter. “You do realize the bank’s policy to those who fail to fulfill their obligations to us?”

 

“The Iron Bank will get its money when the rebellion is over.” Lynesse flicked her dainty hand to remove a bit of dust from the table. “Rest assured, my lord husband never fails to see through the good of the Realm.”

 

“I am afraid that is not good enough. Promissory notes are backed in coins, not words. The bank insists on at least a quarter of its loan back upfront. Otherwise, we shall start calling in all outstanding debt your lords owe to recoup our losses. Also, we will refuse any new loans until the Crown pays its share in full.” 

 

He dares seek to blackmail us. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind. Was money all anyone cared about in the world? But she would exercise prudence now. She learned the hard way what it was like not to with a certain dirt-poor northern barbarian years ago. So she clenched her teeth behind petulant lips and held her temper.

 

“I believe our time is done here. Mayhaps we can meet again when Lord Tywin returns to the capital for more fruitful negotiations.” She gestured to the door with a dismissive wave.

 

“My lady,” Noho Dimittis bobbed his head and took his leave.

 

Despite her cavalier attitude with the insufferable banker, Lynesse was privately very concerned with the state of the Crown’s finances. Her lord husband had enough coin to cover the debt in installments, but the war had diverted most of Casterly Rock’s gold to the frontlines. If no payments were made soon, the Iron Bank would make good on its words to claim its due.

 

Given the Targaryen resurgence, Lynesse knew very well the first usurpers they would back.

 

A warble was heard inside the nearest doorway. Queen Cersei’s chamber’s doors were slightly open ajar and the babbling was streaming steadily out. Lynesse strode inside, not caring about the propriety of entering a royal’s room without leave. Prideful and snobbish she was, children were her soft spot. Who in their right mind would leave a scarcely newborn babe alone?

 

Picking the little form of Lyanna Baratheon up from her bassinet, Lynesse smiled down at the infant girl who gazed back at her with wide stormy blue eyes. “Hello there, sweetling. I see you are a happy, healthy princess.” A toothless smile and a wave of hands were in response. “Where’s your mama, little one?” She rocked Lyanna back and forth gently. The babe yawned and stretched out her tiny arms. Lynesse ran her soft hands through Lyanna’s raven-haired locks and for a moment, wistfully thought of the daughter she once wished to have.

 

That foolish idea she’d long since put to rest. Sons were born to lead while daughters were born to breed. What she’d seen of even Cersei Lannister only reinforced her conviction that only by joining with and using an equally powerful man could women hope to rise in the Seven Kingdoms - Tywin was such a man, and through him and the son she likely bore in her belly at this very moment would Lynesse obtain the power she so desired. Jiggling Lyanna, she remembered Jorah Mormont, the hopelessly naive lovesick knight who she had plenty of practice on. Their marriage did bear fruit… it just had to be broken first.

 

“What are you doing with my daughter?” Turning to face the scowling visage of Queen Cersei Lannister, Lynesse fought the urge to roll her eyes as the she-lion not-so-gently pulled Lyanna out of her grasp. Cersei held her daughter close to her breast as the babe fussed and squirmed. “Settle down, little one. Give mama some needed quiet.”

 

Lynesse watched Cersei place her daughter back in her cradle and tuck her in. “Beautiful is she not? Aside from her coloring, she’s your spitting image. I imagine you would look so too if you were His Grace’s child.” She smirked as the queen’s face turned red with fury.

 

“How dare you!” She hissed, flipping her long, golden tresses back. “I would have your head for your insolence if you were not wed to my father. To think he would remarry after my mother died… Mayhaps he didn’t love her enough to respect her memory.”

 

Lynesse might have felt pity for Cersei, but poking fun at someone else’s pain she had come to take pleasure in. Oh, the humiliation she felt when she’d at last returned to Oldtown. Her relatives jeered and mocked her for her failed marriage, as if it were her fault that Jorah Mormont couldn’t look after her. Well, no more. Not when she’d climbed to where she was now.

 

“Your lord father has excellent taste in women, I must say.” She matched the queen’s piercing green orbs with her flashing blue eyes. “I do hope that I can exceed his expectations. Unlike your mother, I have no intention of birthing even one failure of children.”

 

“I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! That is the greatest victory a lady could ever have, and one that you never will!”

 

Crossing her arms, Lynesse smirked. “You are queen to a drunken whoremonger king. Your twin brother was a kingslayer and your little brother is a dwarven monkey. I find it astounding that the mighty House Lannister could sire such shame.”

 

Cersei flushed angrily. Her teeth gnashed and her fists clenched so fiercely her knuckles turned white. “Look who’s talking. You were married to a slovenly northern ape. Explain your standard of taste in men.”

 

Lynesse’s nostrils flared and she really, really tried not to slap Cersei’s face. A generation had passed and still the memory of Jorah Mormont hit a raw nerve. “Oh, you have no idea. I was just like you as a maiden, swept up in the songs of chivalrous knights and gallant lords… I learned the hard way that life is not a song when I wedded Mormont. Bear Island was an abysmal ramshackle. If it wasn’t on water, it’d be beyond the Wall.”

 

She wrinkled her nose and crossed her arms. “At least Robert Baratheon gave you all the perks and prestige of royalty. Jorah couldn’t even manage a proper meal - burnt venison and grainy ale - bleh. A proper Hightower requires roast auroch and sweet Arbor red.”

 

“Devotion is also a virtue of marriage,” Cersei shot back. “Something you’ve clearly failed at, not me.”

 

“Because of Robert’s love or his power?” Silence rang between them. “I thought so. Anyhow, it was Jorah who ended our marriage, not me. He wouldn’t let me go. Not even after I drove him into bankruptcy, slaving, and exile to keep up with my lifestyle.” Lynesse laughed bitterly. “The besotted fool couldn’t take the hint. Only after I ingratiated myself with a certain Lysene merchant prince who threatened to enslave him did he relent.” She spread her hands triumphantly. “And the rest is history, your Grace.”

 

A grudging admiration could be seen in Cersei’s eyes. “You and my father deserve each other,” she finally said.

 

Lynesse smirked. “Aye, we do. And unlike you or your mother, my children and I will be the future of House Lannister.” With that she left Cersei standing there fuming - there was no contest. She was the true master of King’s Landing.

Notes:

A good gift from Jon and Dany. That dress for Marg, it's the same one that bared Dany's midriff in season 4. 100% that Jon had already coupled with Dany while she wore that dress, so why not extend it to Robb and Marg? Anyways, a good marriage is formed :)

Jon already has plans to save the North from Tywin's invasion.

Next chapter is up in a week, all battles, if we can get 25 comments :D

Chapter 65: Words of Regret

Summary:

1) Arianne helps manage Garlan’s strategic retreat to the north.
2) Lyanna bears witness to Rhaegar’s acumen as a general.
3) Catelyn repents her mistreatment of Jon.
4) Yohn Royce faces a choice from the Spider.

Notes:

Hey guys. We're glad to get this chapter out and hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Arianne Tyrell

 

“My Lady, what are you doing?” Her guards watching in confusion as she quickly swung off her horse, Arianne felt the mud of the last few days’ rain staining her boots and the hem of her dress - a simple green and gold outfit of Reach design fit for riding - but couldn’t care less. Without hesitation, she approached the cluster of haggard women and children that were milling about on the muddy dirt track. 

 

One of them spotted her and immediately curtseyed with wide eyes. “Mi’lady…”

 

“What’s going on here?” Arianne asked, her precise Dornish lilt contrasting with their rough, homespun Andalic accents - she doubted any of them could even read, though unlike most highborns she didn’t look down on them for it. “Is someone hurt?”

 

One of the young children, a boy whose face was covered in tears and snot, nodded. “Aye… mi’mum, mi’lady. She fall and ‘urt her foot ‘un ‘ead.” An unconscious woman was resting in the mud… heavily pregnant. “None of us ‘kin pic’ ‘er up.” The boy was on the verge of breaking down.

 

Arianne found her heart breaking. “Where’s your poppa?”

 

“He… he in mi’Lord’s army. Dunno where he is…'' one of the women told her. 

 

Turning to her guards, Arianne signaled to them. “Pick her up.”

 

They looked shocked… senior knights of House Tyrell that were so used to the courtly life of Highgarden that they had divorced themselves from whatever humble upbringing their lines had once endured. “My Lady, we have no time to worry about such useless rabble…”

 

Her ire was triggered, and Arianne narrowed her eyes at them. “You dare countermand a direct order from your Lady? Pick her up and carry her to one of the wagons. Her son can ride with her until she wakes… and find a Maester!” A fiery Dornish Princess - descended from Nymeria of Mother Rhoyne - Arianne’s small stature belied her fury and no one dared to disobey her. But her fury was only reserved to those who truly fought her. To the boy, staring up at her with awe at someone so exotic compared to those he was used to, she gave a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, your mother will be fine.”

 

There was a reason that those of Highgarden loved their new Lady in spite of her Dornish origins. 

 

Mud-splattered and having been forced to tie back her lustrous hair into a sloppy bun after sweating in the strain of the day, she rode up to Garlan’s tent on the other side of the bridge over the large river running down from Goldengrove… something the large column of forces as well as the massive swarm of refugees fleeing the Faith Militant had to cross in their retreat from Highgarden. He had ridden ahead of them to secure the bridge and set up camp to oversee the crossing days before, Arianne missing him fiercely but insisting to stay with the refugees.

 

Finally she saw him, and felt the stresses of the day dissipate. He saw her too and smiled… only to sigh when he took in her state. “Gods, Ari. I told you to not overexert yourself.” Though generally clean, his aversion to filth didn’t stop him from striding right up to her from his map table and melding their mouths in a powerful kiss.

 

Ari loved him for it. “Some ladies are prissy like that. I may be a delight at feasts, but I’m not prissy.”

 

“No, you are not.” He buried his face in her neck, clearly not caring that Randyll Tarly, Lord Roxton, and Lord Allyrion were watching him - Roxton rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, Tarly looked as sullen as ever, while Lord Ryon grinned at Arianne. She grinned back until Garlan spoke. “I need you, my love,” he whispered.

 

She pulled back to stare into his eyes. “You have me. What’s going on?” He sighed again and brought her to the map. “They don’t have as many horses as we do, but the refugees are slowing us down enough for them to keep up close behind.” He gestured to the rear of the column… Arianne gasped as the front of the Stars and Swords was only half a day’s forced march away. “We need to put as much distance as we can in order to set up defenses on the ground of our choosing.”

 

“Abandon the refugees,” Randyll said gruffly. “They’re useless to us.”

 

Arianne glared at him. “They are under our care and are innocent in this.”

 

“They are liabilities,” he shot back. “Some will live, I don’t doubt. The Sparrow won’t kill them all.” Garlan had privately told her he expected the Stars and Swords to apply the rules of the Oldtown riots… thousands would die regardless. “We need to save our fighting men.”

 

“The lady’s right, Randyll,” Roxton remarked. “The vast majority of them are the families of our fighting men. If we let them die then morale will plummet.” 

 

Randyll narrowed his eyes. “And if we get massacred by the Faith Militant, how far will morale plummet then?”

 

“Your wife and daughter are among the refugees… should we abandon them too?” Randyll had no retort, simply crossing his arms and glowering. Arianne doubted she had seen him smile once in his life, cold bastard that he was.

 

Lord Ryon, normally a jovial man much like her uncle but rather sanguine and decisive when he needed to be, tapped his hand on the table. “There is only one choice before us since we’re not abandoning our smallfolk. We must leave a holding force close to the bridge in order to fight back the onrushing tide of the Faith.”

 

It quickly dawned on them what that meant. Arianne didn’t wish for that either as she gasped. “You mean sacrifice our soldiers?”

 

“Aye, that’s what I mean.”

 

“I won’t allow this!” Randyll hissed. “Our fighting men are our only asset that can save us!”

 

“And they will save us,” Ryon shouted back. “An equal number, two thousand Dornish spears and two thousand Reach men-at-arms. They can hold the bridge against the Faith and perhaps bloody them enough to whittle down their numbers advantage.”

 

“There has to be another way…”

 

“Do it.” Garlan’s words cut through all of them, including his wife’s. “We need to save us all, but only accept volunteers. I won’t be ordering men to their deaths without their choice in the matter.” Lord Ryon and Lord Roxton nodded, not happy but knowing what had to be done. Arianne simply covered her husband’s hand with hers.

 

There were no easy choices in this war.

 

Lyanna Stark

 

There had been many reasons that Lyanna Stark had fallen hard for Rhaegar. His traditional Valyrian beauty couldn’t be denied, though Robert had been outwardly handsome in his own way and Lyanna didn’t give a damn. For the most part it had been his kind heart - oh, how did he admire her for standing up for poor Howland Reed when the Lord of Greywater Watch was set upon by a trio of scum - and his love for her wild, fierce nature. However, she couldn’t deny his… kingly nature as something that hadn’t charmed her both in her innocence and to this day.

 

Rhaegar wasn’t just a warrior Prince, quick to draw his sword and plunge into a fight. He was a cultured man, immersed in poetry, song - gods… his singing probably was what made her realize she loved him as desperately as she did - and history. It was the latter on the fullest of display now that the entire northern raiding force had landed in the Westerlands and threatening the Banefort looking in the distance. “We are to march to Ashmark.”

 

“Without taking Banefort?” asked Ardos Flint, one of the elite raiders that the mountain clans tasked with the raiding force. “We’ll be lost in the fuckin’ home of Tywin fuckin’ Lannister.” Gods, I missed the North. 

 

Maege Mormont shook her head. “We can live off the land… no one has plundered these places since the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion.” Those of Bear Island were hardened warriors, living at almost constant warfare against Ironborn and wildling raiders over the millennia. Maege and her daughters weren’t keyed in on the plan, but didn’t need to be to see military reality. “What worries me is whatever force the Lannisters will scrounge up.”

 

Rhaegar nodded. “I had Lady Dacey conduct scouting of the keeps to the south. Lady Genna Lannister - the highest-ranking relative of Tywin still in Casterly Rock - has dispatched a force that outnumbers us by about a thousand to two thousand to the Crag.”

 

“What is their composition?” The question came from Lord Mallister, commander of about five hundred horse. Two hundred were his own bannermen and three hundred were former Frey irregulars hired as mercenaries… though Lyanna was sure they were eager to follow their new overlords… or at least to show her dragonriding son that they didn’t deserve the same fate as their now dead Lord. The rest were with Robb’s force.

 

We’ll take what we can get. 

 

“Mostly local militia… and the scrum they could dredge up from the dungeons and alehouses of Lannisport.” Rhaegar grunted. “Also the remaining garrisons left in the central Westerlands keeps. Not the best, but they still outnumber us.”

 

“Which is why you’re seeking Ashmark?” asked Alysane Mormont. “Get good defensive ground to face them?”

 

Even Lyanna was surprised when Rhaegar shook his head. “No, we wait till they march to Ashmark and then we move to the Crag.”

 

Looks of indignation and confusion predominated in the command tent. “You would have us abandon defensive positions in favor of open battle against a foe that outnumbers us?!” Lord Mallister was utterly shocked. 

 

“Love,” murmured Lyanna. “What are you thinking?”

 

He covered her hand with his palm. “Trust me, Lya,” he whispered back, making her gulp and nod. The things he can do to me with a simple touch. Her swollen belly laid bare the results of his effect on her. “We march from Ashmark to the Crag and back to Ashmark - make them follow us or threaten to lose each keep. With the Lannister army in the North and any reinforcement from Robert pinned down either at Riverrun, Raventree Hall, or advancing towards the Twins, they cannot afford to lose any keep to us.”

 

Lady Maege was starting to understand. “That’s why even our footmen are mounted. They won’t be able to keep up.”

 

“Aye. Same tactic King Theon Stark used in his invasion of Andalos.” Rhaegar spread his hands out on the table, leaning forward. “Five thousand northmen defeated fifteen thousand crack Andal warriors by using an entirely mounted mobile force, and I intend to use the same tactics. The enemy doesn’t have nearly those numbers.”

 

Grinning, Lyanna put her hands on her husband. Clearly claiming him and indicating her support in front of all the Northern and Riverlands Lords and Ladies. You beautiful, beautiful man. “And we have a dragon, however small he is. Another advantage that the Hungry Wolf didn’t have.” That got a chorus of nods from around the table.

 

“Your husband is bold,” declared Dacey Mormont as Lyanna relayed the happenings of the war council to her - exhausted after her scouting mission, she had been fast asleep in her tent for most of it. “Consequence of the dragonblood, I assume.”

 

“A contributing factor for sure,” replied Lyanna. “Though he can be very brooding and gentle when he wants to be.” A grin adorned her lips at thinking of just how gentle Rhaegar could be.

 

It was one that Dacey noticed. “Lecher,” she laughed. “The love you bear for him is obvious - how none of us didn’t see it was an atrocity.”

 

Lyanna sighed. “It wasn’t your fault, Dacey. You were but eleven namedays.” Not a day went by that the she-wolf didn’t pour over the past - those fateful days that both brought her the greatest of happiness and yet set in motion the chain of events that nearly destroyed them all. “The fault on that lies with me mostly. We hid our love.”

 

“Not taking into account the Prince crowning you Queen of Love and Beauty upon the tourney grounds.” That coaxed a blush from Lyanna. She remembered that moment vividly. “If it helps, I found it very romantic. Worthy of a song by Bael the Bard,” she swooned exaggeratedly.

 

“Shut it,” replied Lyanna, though she couldn’t help but giggle at it. A mother to a mighty King, a Warrior Princess with battle experience, and bearing another Prince or Princess in her belly and still Rhaegar caused her to feel like a blushing maiden - she hoped it would never change. “Someone sabotaged us, betrayed us even, but we could’ve handled it better so as not to give Robert the chance to spin it in his grotesque way.”

 

“I remember that moment well. His claims were compelling, though now it makes me disgusted that the North fought for him and not Rhaegar.” Dacey sighed. “He’s the King we should’ve had, followed by your son.”

 

“They are two of a kind, aren’t they?” In spite of all that was thrown at him, Jon had become just like his father… no, better than his father. Rhaegar had told her as much and Lya agreed. Jon and Daenerys learned from our mistakes...

 

Now it was her turn to do so. “Better get some rest before we start riding. Don’t want the Lannisters to reach us before we even march.” Her most of all, considering her stomach.

 

“Will the Prince even wish you to ride?” Dacey asked.

 

Lyanna grinned. “He always said that I was born a Dothraki bloodrider… though if he’s worried then I could always ride with him on Rhaegal.”

 

“Lucky bitch.” The she-wolf’s grin widened.

 

Catelyn Stark

 

“Mother!” Already tense as she could be, Catelyn nearly jumped from the sudden call of her name before she realized it was only Sansa. “There you are, I need your help.”

 

Turning, the hem of her dress brushing on the stone floor beneath her, the Lady of Winterfell watched as her daughter was quickly walking to her. In Sansa’s arms was the silver-haired babe of Jon and Daenerys, his gaze eager and inquisitive. Catelyn knew such a gaze - his father was the same way when he was a babe. The only difference was the reaction that she felt towards the babes. “Yes, Sansa?”

 

To Catelyn’s surprise, Sansa reached out with her arms and offered the toothless, smiling babe for Catelyn to take. “Can you watch him for me?”

 

Catelyn bit her lip. Without context she would’ve loved to. Rickon was getting older and older and she craved the ability to hold another little darling in her arms, and it was no trouble for her. But Rhaegon wasn’t just any babe. The son of Daenerys Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen - Jon Snow. Once my husband’s bastard… only never a bastard. The same man she was on her way to see. “Why do you need this done?” she finally asked. “I believe that you asked to be able to care for him.”

 

A sigh. “I do it happily each day since Missandei isn’t here, but Rhaegon prefers his family to the servants here and Trystane asked me for a walk within the godswood and Arya’s too busy sparring with Daenerys and…”

 

Hearing her grow exasperated, Catelyn clasped her daughter’s shoulders. “Alright, Sansa, alright.” The put out expression on her beloved daughter’s face was slightly amusing. “Oh, where did my sweet little pup go?”

 

“Mother…” Sansa whined. Once, she had been a sweet girl that wanted nothing more than to live the life of a southern lady. Said woman was still there, Sansa having kept her proper manners and prim dress but adopting more… Ned would always call it ‘the Wolf coming out to play.’ She adopted swordplay - well enough to kill Ramsay Bolton, something Catelyn was so proud of her doing - listened hard to small council meetings, and became a rather adept rider… often seen riding through the wolfswood with Arya and their two direwolves.

 

That her and her sister had finally gotten along brought Catelyn the biggest joy. “Sorry, Sansa. I just can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” Trystane was an honorable man unlike Joffrey, and Sansa was much smarter and capable. “I trust you, and of course I’ll watch over the Prince.” She took Rhaegon into her arms… cradling him, finding her skills at childrearing having not lessened with the long gap since Rickon was born. She’d need it for the future, considering what she knew now. “Probably for the best, considering I’m going to see his father now.”

 

Sansa blinked. “You are?” She crossed her arms. “Jon wouldn’t hurt you if you came without his babe. He’s not like that.”

 

“I know.” Catelyn’s shoulders sagged. “Something I should’ve realized long ago.” 

 

“Aye, you should’ve… I should’ve too, but at least I had the benefit of youth.” But Sansa didn’t hold a grudge, walking up to her mother and kissing her cheek. “Good luck.”

 

The babe was a quiet one… or at least he was when with her. A true delight, from his Valyrian coloring to his smile - almost a perfect copy of Jon at his age. Such made it ever harder, especially when she passed the guards protecting the solar that his Grace had taken for his own. As the Queen in the North, she was afforded entry, or perhaps it was because of the young prince in her arms.

 

Jon was hunched over a table, shoulders tense. A map was unfurled, one of Winterfell and the lands around it… rather detailed that Catelyn could see. She studied him, seeing how burdened he was - for such a young man, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Granted, Jon did, but he had always been like that. Catelyn bit her lip. Such was her fault.

 

“Queen Catelyn,” he said flatly. 

 

She blinked. “How did you know it was me?”

 

He snorted, though didn’t turn. “My guards let you in without informing me, which meant you are either Daenerys or my uncle’s family. Your steps were soft so you were a woman, and Dany, Arya, or Sansa would have approached me quickly.” Again, he didn’t turn, remaining hunched over the table. “I find myself at a loss of why you would come to me, Lady Catelyn. You never availed yourself to my company for the sixteen years I was a guest in your keep.”

 

Catelyn was prepared for this. There was no anger, not like Daenerys had exhibited, but the bitterness and wary contemplation was heavy in Jon’s voice. A man that had recovered his confidence, yet still retained some semblance of his bastard identity - perhaps it was just around her, or the keep itself. Most likely her and it brought Catelyn guilt and pain. “Queen Daenerys said I needed to set things right, and I happened to agree with her.”

 

There was a pause, and then Jon chuckled. A dry one. “Dany told me not of this. Odd… though I would imagine your pride could’ve kept you away since.”

 

“I was coming regardless, but I think someone wants to see you.” At that point a babble came from the Prince, and Jon immediately turned. His sullen brooding was transformed into the most serene and loving of smiles, quickly walking to her and scooping up his son in his arms. Kissing Rhaegon’s brow and nustling his nose, which made the babe squeal with joy. “He certainly loves you.”

 

“Mmm-hmmm, and I love him.” Another kiss. “He is the most precious thing in the world to me.”

 

Watching Jon cradle the babe - the man that rode dragons and fought like a monster in battle looking the most caring soul in the world - it brought a smile to Catelyn’s face. “You are a good father… you remind me of Ned with Robb… and you.”

 

His smile left, but the look he gave her was not of cold anger… but of a bitter regret and pain. “My father loved me, my real father… my kepa . He never got to raise me, to see me grow and become a man, but I was luckier than most. I had my uncle as a father, and I had Robb, Bran, Rickon, and especially Arya - they gave me love.” Jon turned, walking towards one of the windows, cuddling his son who was drifting off to sleep in his father’s arms. “But my mother was dead. I never had her till now, and my uncle couldn’t be a mother to me as well as a father.”

 

There it was. He hadn’t overtly said it as Daenerys did, but the implication may as well have been from his dragon spitting dragonfire. Catelyn knew she couldn’t hide behind fear and her children anymore. “Your Grace… Jon…” Gods, he had always been awkward and afraid around her, and now the tables were turned - not undeservingly so. “I would like to apologize to you… actually, I beg your forgiveness.” Catelyn still remembered the moment she had learned the truth from Ned. How instead of doubling down, she felt the immense weight of guilt collapse onto her like a falling wagon. Sansa felt the same, but she had the advantage of being his sister in all but name. Jon was more inclined to forgive her and love her as if nothing had happened. Nothing so easily would happen to Catelyn, and she knew it… but she could still try to show Jon that her apology was genuine. “My behavior while you were but an innocent babe was horrible… It was shameful. I… I made a mockery of my house’s words and brought dishonor to myself and to all of House Stark and House Tully… all because I was so petty to welcome a motherless boy into my household with open arms.”

 

Tears pricked at her eyes, ones of shame and sorrow. An innocent boy, dying of an illness she had wished on him. Catelyn prayed for his life and made a vow to the gods, only to break it. What happened in his past - in Dany’s - Ned blamed himself for his shortsightedness. Robb blamed himself for his stupidity and impulsiveness. Sansa blamed herself for her naivete and infatuation for Joffrey. But Catelyn knew it was her broken oath with the gods that caused the calamities to befall her blood… all because she couldn’t love a motherless boy. 

 

She forced herself to look up into his eyes, and found something unexpected. Anger would’ve been normal, even warranted, but instead he simply looked sad. “Yes, you should have,” Jon finally said, rocking his son. “When I was young, I thought you were my mother, since Robb was my brother and he called you mother.” A mirthless laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “When I called you that, you slapped me and sent me away without supper. Afterwards, I never made that mistake again.” 

 

“You didn’t deserve that… gods… you were but a boy - it was all for a lie and yet even if you were Ned’s it didn’t matter. I should’ve been the mother you wanted, you needed and I don’t know how I can forgive even myself.” She buried her head in her hands, all the pain and revelations she had suffered since Ned finally confessed the truth simply pouring out.

 

Catelyn heard a sigh leave his lips. “It’s not completely your fault, Lady Stark.” She opened her mouth to counter, but he silenced her with a glare. “I understand that you were a young woman who thought you could trust your husband, but then this. I don’t blame you for being upset and bitter.” His admission stunned Catelyn - clearly Daenerys was right. Jon was truly the better person in every respect. “However, what I find it hard to forgive is what you did with my siblings. Did I ever truly have a family when almost everyone always regarded me as a bastard rather than a blood brother? Even Robb… though he always loved me. Did Sansa always love me as he did?” Catelyn reacted if struck. “She made me certain I didn’t think so at times.”

 

“Do not blame Sansa, please,” she begged.

 

“I don’t. She was but an impressionable girl.”

 

Moving forward, tears flowed down her cheeks. “She loves you, she always did…” Gods… what had she truly done? If Sansa hadn’t managed to get over her upbringing and disdain...

 

Jon raised an eyebrow. “We both know that she tried to emulate you in whatever she did. Likely had Arya not been so wild then she might have done the same.”

 

“Yes, I know, it is I that is responsible. I sowed seeds of doubt and mistrust. I do not deserve your forgiveness, but for the sake of our family… of your new cousin…” she cupped her stomach, causing his eyes to widen. “I beg you for it anyway.”

 

For the longest time - or at least it seemed that way to her - Jon said nothing. His gaze directed at her, powerfully so. A pure wolf but clearly a dragon underneath, filled with fire. She couldn’t help it, starting to sob softly. Not for herself, but for him - for her children and for Ned. None of them deserved this, they were innocent or simply doing their duty by their family. Unlike her.

 

Catelyn was brought out of her reverie by a hand on her shoulder. It was Jon, who looked at her with a sad smile. “You are the mother to my siblings, Lady Catelyn. I cannot say I can forgive you so easily, but if you are genuine in your remorse then I am sure it will happen.” He withdrew back to the table. “Take care of my new cousin. He deserves to have a loving mother alive to raise him.”

 

At that moment, the door opened and Catelyn saw Daenerys breeze in. Her face exploded in happiness at seeing her husband and child… only for a small scowl at the sight of Catelyn. “Lady Stark,” she said with a guarded neutrality. “Is something the matter, my King?” She walked to him and hugged him, but never let her eyes off of Catelyn.

 

“Everything’s fine, my Queen,” he replied back. “Lady Catelyn was simply bringing Rhaegon to me. Apparently Sansa had to go run off with her suitor.” 

 

How did… Catelyn shook her head. Jon knew her children better than she did sometimes. “Like with Robb, I believe there will be a wedding soon.”

 

Jon nodded. “Gods knows she needs it, after… Well, our Sansa didn’t need such a wedding but it is fitting, no?” He looked at Dany with a smile.

 

“Aye, she does.” Dany looked to Catelyn. “Are you going to tell Lord Eddard of the news?”

 

Catelyn raised a brow. “How did you…”

 

“A mother knows, Lady Catelyn. War comes soon, and as you’ve demonstrated here it’s best not to have any regrets.”

 

Nodding as well, Catelyn had no disagreement.

 

Yohn Royce

 

Latitude and elevation, they were completely similar concepts. The higher one journeyed north the colder it was, and the farther in the sky one went the same cold would follow. Cloak pulled tightly over his shoulders, Bronze Yohn Royce was better suited to the blistering cold of the land ruled by his friend Ned Stark than most. Granted, the Vale itself was rather cold - and the high elevations of the Westerlands too now that he thought about it - but only those that lived high in the mountains truly understood what cold could be. 

 

Huddled in his tent, Royce was comfortable as he read his dispatches - better than the other Lords that sought out the burning braziers and campfires, let alone the common men-at-arms. 

 

The army was marching towards Winterfell at a pace nigh grueling. The fast travel had a way of warming a person up, but the men grew exhausted especially through the snowbanks they needed to trudge through. They were elite so they attacked their challenges with professionalism, but Royce could see it in his men. Especially his men. A sense of disillusionment in the folly of their Liege Lord siding with the Baratheon Crown.

 

With Lord Tywin in effect - Yohn was not dumb enough to think Robert truly called the shots. Ned probably had been… until out of nowhere getting the independence of the North. Now, Yohn could see it was all for his nephew. Smart, Ned, smart.

 

Writing to Baelish, a missif asking for this campaign to be the last for the Vale fell on deaf ears. The Lord Protector - appointed by the Crown to oversee young Robin’s regency - said in no uncertain terms that it was the will of House Arryn that they fight hard for King Robert’s cause. Sniveling snake. Gods, did Yohn wish that he could take Lamentation and lop the cunt’s head clean off. He didn’t truly know which side he would’ve chosen for himself after Ned declined the betrothal offer between Andar and Sansa, not that he held any resentment for Ned choosing the Martells for it was a smart move, but one thing was for sure he knew he wouldn’t listen to Petyr Baelish of all people.

 

Tywin was clear though. They marched for Castle Cerwyn, would get a day’s rest there upon the capture of the keep, then onward to Winterfell to finish what House Bolton should’ve managed to do. The lion’s words, not his. 

 

Gods, he felt old.

 

The tent flap brushing back - bringing with it cold gusts - drew his attention. “Close that thing before all the heat goes!” Yohn bellowed, his hard glare softening upon seeing a page boy arrive with a stack of firewood. “Yes, place it by the brazier.”

 

“Of course, mi’Lord,” he said, dipping his head. When the task was complete though, the boy took out a slip of paper and placed it on Yohn’s camp desk. “Compliments of the Spider.” And with that the boy dashed out, leaving nothing but the fresh firewood and the slight rustle of the tent flap to signal he had ever been there.

 

Brows furrowing, Royce took the letter and unfurled it. His ruddy eyes scanning each line of the scrawl.

 

Lord of Runes

The wolf worries for you, fighting at the behest of a mockingbird that killed the trout. Perhaps such a bird is not one you should be following.

Choose wisely.

 

Cryptic, but obvious if you knew the players involved. Royce did. Mockingbird… Baelish. Trout… Catelyn Tully, Edmure Tully, Brynden Tully, and Hoster Tully were all alive so it had to be Lysa, killed by falling out the Moon Door according to Baelish. The wolf was clearly Ned. By this, Varys had accused Littlefinger of murdering Lysa to take control of the Vale.

 

Yohn didn’t find that out of the realm of possibility. And with that, did Tywin know? Did he sanction it? Questions that could go either way, and that rocked him.

 

Did he truly want to fight for those so vile as to engage in this - engage in it against his kingdom and liege?

 

Nothing replied to his questions other than the howling of the winter’s wind.

Notes:

Colin: Another dive into these colorful characters we love so much.

Longclaw: Hope y'all liked the final Catelyn/Jon conversation. He wasn't going to be vindictive, but he certainly made her work for it. And Ned becoming a father again just as Dany and Lya are both pregnant. You get a baby, you get a baby, you get a baby! XD

You know the drill. 30 comments and chapter in one week. Big battles up ahead: Rhaegar v. the Mountain, Garlan v. the Faith, and Alysanne finally confessing her feelings to Jaime. Stay tuned!

Be sure to check out our other stories.

Chapter 66: Three Battles, Three Victories

Summary:

1) The campaign in Slaver’s Bay nears to a close.
2) The Dragon’s Wroth returns to Dorne.
3) The Tyrell Rose vs the Seven-Pointed Star.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi everyone. It's my birthday today! But we wanted to get this out there for all of you :D

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alysanne Targaryen

 

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

 

An old Valyrian saying, one Alysanne’s mother had often told her and Aerys when they were but children. It stuck with her because it often came in the middle of many stories about the great dragonlords before House Targaryen fled Old Valryia - of the wars they fought where hundreds of the great beasts were deployed, where the families that ruled the Freehold rained death and destruction in ways only the gods had previously done.

 

Only later did Alysanne understand the message of such a phrase. With the power of the gods in one’s hand, no one able to give challenge in any meaningful way, the temptation towards moral corruption and selfish brutality in the place of joy, restraint, and amity was too great. Aerys once embodied this… until his trip to the motherland resulted in his madness rejecting such discipline. Aegon and Daenerys had taken these lessons to heart, shaping their good and wise natures in this world.

 

Alysanne hoped to follow in their examples and not in her half-brother’s. But gazing at the column of prisoners, her resolve was sorely being tested.

 

"Forward!" There were those that would enjoy something like this. Men taking a pleasure or simple cruelty that all were capable of in abusing and ridiculing an enemy. Alysanne was no exception, and she was sure many of the Dothraki or her own council would think the same - but even the blunt Sand Snakes didn’t dare conduct themselves in that manner around Jaime Lannister. "Stay in your line. Go faster!" At his gesture, an Unsullied spearman smacked his spear-shaft into the side of one of the marching prisoners. “Stay in your line!”

 

He was the consummate professional soldier. A paragon of knightly virtue and courage… at least on the outside, but Alysanne knew that side of him was gone. She knew… but still hadn’t spoken to him in weeks besides what was absolutely necessary. At that moment, their eyes met from where she waited on the dias in the middle of the main square of the recently recaptured Yunkai - taken in Jaime’s own flanking maneuver that saw them slip through the Lhazareen lands and attack the city while it was undefended.

 

A brilliant maneuver and Alysanne tried many times to thank him for the brilliance… but each time ended as in now. Either his gaze was averted, awkwardness sending him away, or she blushed, shame sending her away.

 

‘I love you still… truly I do…’ The words she longed to say always died on her tongue.

 

“Are you ready, daughter?”

 

Thank the gods for her muna. She was her rock in these trying times. “Aye, I am.” Perhaps after she could muster the courage to talk with Jaime finally. Now though, this would need a different kind of resolve. Silently, she reached out to Ragnar. Come, my child… we need you.

 

The screeching bellows from the blue dragon as he swept down from where he was circling the city made many of the “Wise Masters” stumble upon the ground. The apprehension of what Alysanne would do to them - while the leaders of the city had followed the armies to Meereen, only those martially inclined joined them, the rest staying put behind the apparent safety of their walls and luxury of their newly reenslaved servants - now turned into pure terror, evident by the pungent stench of soiled garments among the stalled prisoners. While the dragon wasn’t the biggest… wasn’t the monster Balerion the Black Dread or the great beasts ridden by the King and Queen, he was big enough. Watching over them like a wolf did over lambs.

 

Alysanne had dressed for the occasion, and even with her Dornish features and raven hair, her draconic origins were on full display. The black Targaryen battledress and red cloak gave off a ferocity not seen since Visenya Targaryen… perhaps a better comparison being Princess Alyssa or Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was - two non rulers but still powerful dragonriders and warriors. Someone to both bow in awe and cower in terror before.

 

Wordlessly, Jaime dismounted his horse and ascended the steps. Their eyes met again, but he only gave a curt, businesslike nod - Alysanne appreciated it, sensing him standing right beside Ser Barristan and the Sand Snakes. Waiting for Ashara to begin. "You stand before Princess Alysanne of House Targaryen, Viceroy of the Bay of Dragons. Representative of Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, and Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name. Rightful King and Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, King and Queen of Meereen, Khal and Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protectors of the Realm, the Unburnt, Breakers of Chains, Friends of the Free Folk and Father and Mother of Dragons." She was breathing hard by the end of all their many titles, but it was nonetheless impressive to list them out.

 

Alysanne felt a great urge to make such great ones as her half-sister and nephew proud.

 

Silence followed, pierced only by the coughs of the prisoners and grunt of Ragnar behind the platform. "Gathered masters," began Alysanne in High Valyrian. "Long ago, my sister and nephew took this city with fire and blood, but gave mercy by sparing your wretched lives. You have repaid this mercy with the same callousness and brutality that you have always displayed in your engagement in the mass suffering and bondage of human beings. Profiting from it.” She paused for effect, looking among them. “When I retook this city for them, those that stayed loyal were identified and rewarded. For the rest of you, I shall not be as merciful as they were."

 

"Foreign slut!" One rather brave young master shouted. "Your pathetic army will fall before our chariots!” Ragnar shrieked, making the man cower.

 

Regarding him in the way she would an ant, Alysanne shook her head. " Regardless of what happens, you shan’t be there to see it. Fire and blood comes for you." It had been obvious what was going to transpire, but hope springs eternal. Only now did realization dawn in these pathetic men, many falling to their knees to plead for mercy, shouting their innocence or simply weeping. Only a few stood tall. Stoic in the face of death.

 

Alysanne could respect such courage - at least one worthy virtue showing in men who engaged in the worst of depravity. The others were no more than insects. And with insects, Alysanne knew the only proper action was to squash them. She looked at Ragnar. "Dracarys."

 

Ragnar hadn’t yet reached the size that could immolate hundreds in the blink of an eye. His steady stream of flame engulfed them, but in a manner that they twisted and screamed for many agonizing moments in an unimaginable pain. The screams still haunted Alysanne whenever she closed her eyes hours later as night fell and she retired to the quarters in the main pyramid - she didn’t regret giving the order. They deserved their fate, but brutality sickened her.

 

There was a silver lining, that with her disgust came the knowledge that she wouldn’t succumb to madness, but it was a mere balm rather than a cure for what ailed her. Holding and cuddling Daemon helped, but only as long as he was awake. Having been put to bed, Alysanne was on her own.

 

Not for long, as the door opened to reveal Jaime Lannister - the source of her deepest stress. “Your Grace,” he said formally, bowing his head.

 

“Ser Jaime.” The latter came out awkwardly, Alysanne remembering how she said it over and over again when he brought her to climax. How she loved the name on her tongue. “You have words for me?”

 

Jaime nodded. “Word from Meereen. The capture of Yunkai reached their army and they began to march south to meet us in battle.”

 

“Good, I presume you’ve picked a spot of ground to face them.”

 

“I have, your Grace. An excellent position.” At Alysanne’s nod, Jaime bowed again. “I must be off to my chambers. Goodnight, your Grace.” 

 

Her hand grabbed his wrist… just managing to stop him from leaving. “Wait Jaime… please.” He stilled, but didn’t turn. “I don’t want this to continue.”

 

“It’s best we don’t talk about it, your Grace.”

 

She closed her eyes, willing pain at his words to stop - Alysanne wouldn’t believe she was too late. “I meant what I said, Jaime.” Finally, she was strong enough to confess what she wished to for so long. “I love you. I’ve fallen for you, and I know you know what I feel is much different than what Cersei felt.” Just thinking of her made Alysanne’s blood boil. “My past with Aerys made me mistrustful of love, and gods’ know that I cannot risk my son Daemon in anything, but that doesn’t negate the fact I have fallen in love with you, Jaime. My lover, my advisor, my handsome knight.” Tears pricked at her eyes. “You not need say it back… you need not return my feelings, just know that I did mean it and I do love you.”

 

She closed her eyes again, still clasping his wrist - the fierce dragon, scared of a lion… Alysanne could almost hear Aerys laughing mockingly at her. But it was true, she did fear his reaction and heartbreak… all her thoughts vanished when a pair of warm lips pressed against hers. Her instincts took over in reciprocating hungrily. Gods, I missed this…

 

The kiss lasted for what seemed like forever when Jaime pulled back, looking into her eyes. “I understand why you waited… it took me time to process my feelings given what I had dealt with.” He cupped her cheek, and Alysanne leaned into it - seeking his touch. “But I love you too.”

 

“You do?” Her heart soared. 

 

“Aye, I do… if you’ll have me.”

 

She grinned brilliantly. “Of course, you stupid fool.” The kiss resumed, and soon he had deposited her in the bed, their hands roaming… “We march out tomorrow,” she murmured against his lips.

 

Jaime kissed down her neck. “We do… so we should take advantage of the soft bed.” Oh, how Alysanne looked forward to that. 

 

Doran Martell

 

It had started as a normal day… a day of mourning for the Prince of Sunspear as he had routinely done since news of Quentyn’s death in Essos reached him. Often a goblet of wine next to his chair, there was little to do but drink the day away since he was utterly alone. Arianne married to Garlan Tyrell… Trystane and his brother’s family in the North. Mellario could’ve given him comfort, but she stayed in Norvos with her family.

 

He got her letters though. Angry missives about how she would castrate him slowly for putting her children in harm’s way through his schemes - not that Doran blamed her for her loathing. Their marriage died on the different customs of the Norvoshi and Rhoynar. The lack of slaves to do her bidding had irritated her at first, and her motherly instincts were frayed by Doran’s insistence on fostering. He couldn’t blame her for the latter.

 

Yes, a normal day of drinking and brooding… but suddenly he had been awoken by his faithful guard, Areo Hoteh… The smell of smoke and flame filled the air of Sunspear. Hobbling towards a window, he saw it. A massive rust-colored dragon descending upon the town and the defensive forts surrounding the keep. Gouts of dragonfire erupted from its maw, routing all of them into the seven hells.

 

It had come from the sea, and already a massive number of ships flying the three-headed dragon and the skulls of the Golden Company were anchored at the docks, unloading thousands of troops.

 

Not much time needed to pass watching this horror for the attack to reach the keep itself. A furious clash of blades hitting the door to his private balcony. Doran pitched back, falling into his chair. 

 

“Stay behind me, my Prince,” said Areo, readying his axe as the bangs on the door grew ever louder. Doran dug his fingers into the handles of the wheelchair, door finally snapping off its hinges and collapsing to the ground. In dashed men in the armor of the Golden Company, swords high. With a bellow, Areo slammed his axe through the breastplate of one, shattering his chest. Ripping it out, he parried the swordstrike of another, blade caught in the curves of the axe and then wrenched out of the attacker’s hands. The stunned soldier then found his face caved in from the axe.

 

“For fuck’s sake!” Out of the breach came another, a slender yet clearly skilled man with a curved arakh as if a Dothraki screamer. While the third man-at-arms was also quickly dispatched, this one was far harder as he danced and weaved around Areo’s furious hacks. He fought almost like Oberyn, darting in and slashing at exposed parts of Areo’s armor until finally a blow hit true and severed his arm.

 

Areo howled in pain, something the attacker didn’t revel in but instead silenced by driving a dagger through his throat. The loyal guard collapsed to the ground, dead.

 

The attacker didn’t rest on his laurels. “Secure the area.” He advanced on Doran. “Got any weapons on you, old man?”

 

“Fuck you,” Doran hissed, spitting on the lowborn rat. He grew angry and punched the Prince in the face, sending him sprawling.

 

“Check him for a dagger or something, and don’t make it easy…”

 

“Enough, Naharis.” A voice of authority, one all of them were suddenly deferent to. “Get him back in his chair and leave us.”

 

“Your Grace…”

 

He did not take kindly to that. “Leave us!” They did as commanded, Doran finally face to face with the one who had attacked Sunspear with the intensity of the seven hells themselves.

 

Fair-haired and with the piercing purple eyes the Targaryens were known for, Doran felt a sense of complete surreality. The King-claiment looked an almost exact copy of Rhaegar, his goodbrother, the only difference being a slightly more slender form, more like Aerys the Mad King.

 

This boy was Aerys the Mad King reborn, both in temperament and in name… though in his eyes there was no true madness. He is Maegor the Cruel. Ruthless, amoral, and completely suited to the conduct of war. “Well, Prince Doran,” the man that was Prince Aerys Targaryen, youngest son of Aerys Targaryen, said with a sneering smile. “It seems we meet at last.” Blackfyre clutched in one hand, he tapped the flat surface of the blade on the other as he walked around the Prince of Dorne’s wheelchair. “Such a shame it had to be like this… if only you had answered my letter with an alliance. The two of us could’ve been toasting in King’s Landing over the corpse of the Usurper.”

 

Many called Doran a weak man. Whether it was his various chronic illnesses or his pensive nature that left most blind to his plots and schemes, that was the perception even many from Dorne had of him. He was never bothered by it, knowing at the right time his strength would show. This was not the time he wished to do so, but now Doran released his inner strength. Staring steely-eyed at Aerys, sitting straight and resolute. “I would rather burn than ally with the likes of you.”

 

Aerys placed a hand against his heart. “You wound me, Prince Doran. To think I had advised your brother to be on my Small Council.” His grin returned. “Only fair for a nephew to his uncle.”

 

Doran’s fists clenched. “You are no nephew of mine… you pervert the name of my sister and your family by even trying to claim the title of her innocent children.”

 

A snort. “Right… I hold the blood of Old Valyria in my veins, purebred Targaryen. Not a mixed breed like my nephews and niece.”

 

“Or your former wife?” There was a silence, Doran smirking as he saw Aerys’ eyes narrowed. He knew he was dead - soon to join Quentyn in the afterlife. Doran made his peace with that, both Arianne and Trystane safe in the North and the Reach… he wouldn’t give Aerys the satisfaction of begging for his life. “I heard she was half-Dornish. Ashara Dayne’s daughter, the mother of your son. A mixed-breed according to you.”

 

There was a silence from Aerys before something dark flashed in his eye. Before he knew it, Doran was hoisted in the air by his neck. He struggled to breathe as Aerys slammed him against a column, the distant fires and smoke only adding to the menacing air he gave off. “You have no leave to speak to me as such. Alysanne is more a dragon than a weak Dornishwoman and she will be mine again, just like Daenerys.” 

 

The grip on Doran’s throat grew tighter and tighter. It became more and more apparent that unlike Quentyn with a lance through his heart, unlike Elia split open by a sword, unlike Rickard Stark burned alive, this Aerys Targaryen would take his life the same way Brandon Stark lost his - suffocated, only this time by bare hands. An intimate, personal manner of death.

 

Aerys was many things, but unlike his father he wasn’t a coward.

 

His eyes were alight, a dark purple that seemed to glow with rage and… zeal. “I have no time for worms like you, Prince Doran,” he hissed in a low tone, as if talking to a child. “The bane of life is out there, ready to destroy everything and everyone. My fool of a nephew cannot stop it, and my sister cannot without me.” Aerys squeezed harder. “If I have to rend alive every single person that stands in my way, I will without hesitation. Your son suffered such a fate, and so too will everyone in your family if they oppose me as you have.”

 

Vision blackening, the pain in his lungs and throat unbearable, Doran felt his life slipping away. Moments of happiness… from the birth of his children, Elia’s marriage, he, Elia, and Oberyn as children and innocent to the wider world, all filled his mind. Joined by the image of the russet dragon spewing another run of death upon his subjects. 

 

“My reign begins in fire and blood… just as it should.” Aerys’ smile widened. “I am home, Prince Doran, and I don’t intend to leave.”

 

SNAP.

 

And blackness.

 

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

One week. 

 

One week of back and forth marches and countermarches between Ashmark, the Crag, and back to Ashmark. Astride his horse, Rhaegar knew that his force of northmen and light Rivermen horse were far more rested than the Westermen counterparts that outnumbered them by about a thousand. From what he could tell, their infantry had to march on foot while theirs rode and dismounted.

 

Jon insisted on mobility and speed when coming up with this lightning raid through Tywin Lannister’s home turf, though with how undefended it was, Rhaegar and Lyanna both figured that they could decisively defeat and occupy much of the Westerlands without much fight… if they could vanquish the scratch force of Lannister bannermen that assembled before the field of Ashmark similarly to theirs - infantry in the center and cavalry on the wings. Rhaegar had devised a plan at the war council days before on what tactics he would use, and all were in agreement and eager for battle.

 

To their surprise, a rider was dispatched to treat with them - Rhaegar sent Dacey Mormont as his envoy, and she returned that moment with a frown on her face. “Well?” Lyanna asked her friend.

 

Dacey shook her head. “They are demanding single combat. Their commander against ours.” The female warrior gripped her mace and looked at Rhaegar. “I’ve been told we’re facing off against Gregor Clegane.” 

 

Violet eyes darkening, Rhaegar looked out at the enemy formation to see an immense man ride out onto the field astride a large horse. He looked almost seventeen feet tall and the Prince saw red. He’s the one… he took Elia… he killed Rhaenys. His beautiful daughter, the apple of his eye and only joy for many years came to mind, and Rhaegar knew what he had to do. “I will face him.”

 

Lyanna grabbed his arm. “Rhaegar, no… don’t do this,” she insisted, her face ashen.

 

“Your Grace, if I may, allow me to serve as your champion,” Arthur offered.

 

Seeing the terror on Lyanna’s face, Rhaegar would’ve agreed under any other circumstances. But the identity of the enemy commander that rode onto the field to face him… “No, this is something I must do myself. For Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon, it must be me that deals the killing blow.”

 

“This is not some cutpurse or hedge knight… or even a real knight. This is Gregor Clegane.” Lyanna hugged him tightly. “He’s a monster… I can’t lose you again. Another babe of ours can’t grow up without a father.” The proud Lyanna Stark started to cry softly. 

 

It broke his heart. “They won’t.” Rhaegar kissed her head. “I will win.” Keep saying that - mayhaps you’ll believe it before she does. He squelched the fatalistic thoughts, kissing Lyanna’s forehead, then her nose, and then a furious melding of tongues that left them both breathless and aching with love when they finally broke apart.

 

“In that case, your Grace.” Arthur drew out a blade from his side, handing it to Rhaegar. “You’ll need this.”

 

Rhaegar’s eyes widened. “Dawn? No, Arthur, I cannot…”

 

“I insist.” He pressed the ancestral blade of House Dayne into Rhaegar’s hands. “Let it protect you against the Mountain - I have a feeling that had you bore Dark Sister or Blackfyre, you’d have obtained victory against Robert that day.”

 

Would I? Valyrian steel was… the best in the world, and Dawn was no ordinary Valyrian steel. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

Arthur grinned. “Besides, I have another. I’ll just find something castle-forged to go along with it.” They clasped hands tightly, Lyanna kissing him once more before Rhaegar mounted his horse and trotted over into the middle of the no-man's-land between the two armies, the massive form of the Mountain who Rides waiting for him. 

 

About a hundred feet away, Rhaegar dismounted, drawing Dawn menacingly and eyeing the malevolent thug dangerously. He was without a helm, but his scaled armor emblazoned with the red three-headed dragon joined with his free flowing silver hair to expose exactly who he was. The Mountain seemed to realize this too, for he drew his claymore and charged straight for Rhaegar. Dawn raised into an attack position, Rhaegar let out a dragon roar and charged himself, seeing only the eyes of his beloved Rhaenys as the gap closed.

 

For you, my beautiful daughter. I shall avenge you this day.

 

It was the Mountain who struck first. Just before they collided, Rhaegar halted and leapt back, managing to avoid the powerful downward chop that embedded the claymore into the ground. Clegane, hidden behind a helm but clearly furious at failing to make an easy kill yanked out the blade and swung. The Prince parried it barely, only managing to make it slide out of the way instead of stopping it. He was too strong.

 

Just thinking of how Elia must’ve suffered under this brute filled him with fear… and also complete, blinding rage.

 

“Clegane!” Having learned from the best Kingsguards that had ever served, Rhaegar nimbly circled out of the way, he aimed for Clegane's thick thighs, hoping to cripple the Mountain. Dawn cut through flesh with ease, but he had to dart back when Gregor lunged for him with a meaty hand… very nearly crushing his head. “Do you know who I am?!” The claymore hurled down at him, but Rhaegar ducked and chopped diagonally, knocking the blade to the left. 

 

“I don’t fucking care,” boomed the monster. His eyes behind the vision slits were dark with anger and rage regardless, a man whose rage consumed his life. Rhaegar knew people like this… moments of happiness likely brought him physical pain. “I will kill you!” Bashing through the grass and dirt where Rhaegar had once stood only moments before, a surprising speed sent the claymore glancing against Rhaegar's shoulderplate - the armor was shorn off, leaving a shallow but burning gash and drawing blood. The man had strength unparalleled, and would not go down easily.

 

It was apparent that strength against strength would end in a death that could never be undone - the Mountain was sloppy and brutal in a way even Robert wasn’t, but it didn’t matter when one was his size. Rhaegar had speed and form on his side, and he used it at every opportunity. “I am Rhaegar, Prince of House Targaryen!” Footwork fluid, he darted a thrust right at the Mountain’s knee, rocking back to avoid a punch and then slashing at the monster’s sword. “Husband of Princess Elia Martell and Princess Lyanna Stark!”

 

“Dead Prince!” Clegane punched again, and this finally connected with Rhaegar’s side… knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling.

 

Coughing, Rhaegar fought the pain and leapt to his feet. “You killed Elia!” He twirled Dawn around just as Arthur taught him before he even married Elia, doubling back and making a quick slash at Clegane's face. “You raped her!” It impacted powerfully, embedding in the helm and knocking it off. Leaving a long cut across the side of the monster’s face. 

 

“Arrgh!”

 

“You killed my children, and now I’ll kill you!”

 

Suddenly, a blur to his left drew Rhaegar's attention. He managed to spin and parry the coming longsword. A knight with a manticore sigil advanced on him… Amory Lorch… he killed Rhaenys! Behind him was another knight, both breaking the rules of the duel and engaging him directly. Fast swings battered Rhaegar - forcing him back while Clegane readied another powerful counter…

 

Twin slashes sent Clegane reeling, slashes across his torso and gouges in his armor. “Can’t let you have all the fun!” Arthur said breathlessly, twirling his blades menacingly. “You take the monster. I’ll deal with these two cunts.” Even long dead, the Sword of the Morning’s reputation died hard and the two knights recognized him. Bloodlust turned to pure fear as he grinned darkly and advanced.

 

Clegane had righted himself, hands tightening around his claymore. The sword was taller than even Lyanna, an immense thing that could pulverize stone. Its wielder watched Rhaegar with loathing. “You die, Prince.”

 

“Admit it, Clegane!” Rhaegar wasn’t cowed. “Say you killed her. Raped her. Killed my children!”

 

A laugh, close to that of a demon. “Aye, I did. Killed the brats and enjoyed that bitch. She had a tight cunt… mayhaps your Stark bitch does too.”

 

Rhaegar saw red. “You will die before you touch her, Clegane.” Each lunged at the same time. Blow after blow traded with clanging steel and strained muscles, Rhaegar fought like a man possessed. Retreating from the powerful thrusts and slashes, only to dart forward and attack the Mountain’s weak points. His foe swinging high, Rhaegar managed to duck, thrusting with Dawn. Longsword missed Gregor, but the Mountain was thrown off balance. Taking advantage of his opening, Rhaegar charged, batting aside the claymore, redoubling, and slashing leftward. The blade sheared right through the Mountain’s armor, cutting deep into his side. “You killed her!”

 

The Mountain tried to punch Rhaegar, but the Prince dodged and thrust Dawn directly into the Mountain’s kneecap, felling the man as he bellowed in pain.

 

“You raped her!” Rhaegar punched the massive man on his own, continuing to until the man’s face was bloody, nose broken, and teeth smashed.

 

“I fuckin did!” Reaching up for Rhaegar, Clegane’s other arm moved to swipe Rhaegar off his feet and back to the ground, but Rhaegar anticipated this. Leaping back, Dawn slicing downward and hacking off Gregor’s arm. “ARRRRGGGH!” he screamed in pain.

 

“You killed my children!” Another punch, and a kick with his legs that sent Gregor flat on the ground. “And now you will die!” Roaring like a dragon, Rhaegar swung Dawn, slicing easily through the man’s meaty neck and ending his worthless life.

 

With their commander’s stunning show of bravery - the mighty Targaryen fire and blood being delivered upon the Mountain who Rode, a foe so fearsome that all trembled at his name - the well-rested force of mounted Northmen and Rivermen surged forward straight for the larger Lannister host. The latter charged as well, spearmen holding the shield wall in the center while the light cavalry and small contingent of mounted knights protected the flanks from the onrushing northern horse. 

 

Three times the northmen charged, regrouping twice in between before attacking the final time. Twice, the Westermen held but from their furious marching on foot they had grown tired. Their exhaustion only grew as the battle continued and soon they were close to breaking. Such was when Rhaegar, Arthur by his side, leapt into the fray with his own surprise. The Targaryen archers, commanded by Princess Lyanna and having positioned themselves on the hills to the north of the battlefield, rained volley after volley at the Lannister line, softening them up for the screech of Rhaegal as he swept to the center. Dragonfire burning a massive hole that Rhaegar exploited.

 

The knights and horse fled the field for Casterly Rock and whatever safety they could find, while the infantry was surrounded and crushed from all sides. For the northern force, the field was theirs - and there remained no army in the entire Westerlands that could face them.

 

Silent, looking over the dead, Rhaegar felt Arthur’s hand on his shoulder. “You did well, my Prince,” the knight offered. 

 

“It won’t stop… the pain over their deaths, Arthur,” Rhaegar murmured grimly, seeing his men drop Gregor Clegane’s head into a basket. “But damned if I don’t feel good that he’s dead.”

 

“Rhaegar!” Turning, the Prince’s lips curled into a tiny smile as he opened his eyes. Allowing Lyanna to leap at him. Crashing their lips together in celebration of their victory. It didn’t matter, all the vengeance and glory in the world. Her and his children… they were what kept him going. 

 

Feeling Rhaegal’s fire and fury in his blood, just like his son Rhaegar knew he’d burn the Seven Kingdoms just to protect them. Never again, not with his second chance, would they suffer.

 

Garlan Tyrell

 

“The time has come, wife.”

 

Arianne looked at him with her beautiful brown eyes, face filled with a worry she tried to hide - tears she seemed to suppress for his sake. “It has, husband.” She took his hands in his. “Come back to me alive, Garlan. I… I never thought I’d love anyone, let alone a Flower Knight, but I love you.”

 

Smiling, Garlan leaned in and kissed her soundly, the two of them molding flush against each other as well as they could given his plate armor. It lasted until the sounds of cheers and whistles from the lined up men rang out - hundreds, both Reach and Dornish, making suggestive gestures and proclaiming their admiration of their Lord for his obvious showing off of his beautiful wife… and quite a few Dornishmen who were more envious and admiring of the Princess for her luck in obtaining Garlan for a husband. Garlan happened to notice, and he blushed slightly. “I love you too, Ari. And I intend to come back.” Kissing her once more on the forehead, he bid her to retreat to the rear with the wagons, baggage, and the remaining noncombatants as he mounted his horse and galloped to the front of the line.

 

“My Lord.” Randyll Tarly and Ryon Allyrion were waiting for him. “I trust you’ve said your goodbyes.”

 

“I have, and I hope you know what is at stake.”

 

“My wife, daughter… and son,” Randyll grimaced in distaste. “Are among the noncombatants, I know the stakes.”

 

Ryon Allyrion coughed. “My family won’t know the grief of me dying on a field in the fucking Reach, Ser Garlan.”

 

Garlan could appreciate such sentiment. “Ser Ryon, get to the left. Tarly, with me. I’ll be fighting with your men today.”

 

“An honor, my Lord.” 

 

The fifteen thousand remaining forces of the Tyrell host had picked their ground well. Red Lake was the seat of House Crayne, and they rallied quickly for their lieges. The keep was surrounded on three sides by obstacles - the Red Lake itself to its south, the jagged peaks of the Westerlands mountain range to its north, and a dense forest to its west. Only from the farmland to the east was there an approach, and a narrow one at that. Garlan drew his men accordingly, the heavy men at arms of House Tarly and House Tyrell guarding the center, Dornish spears on either side commanded by Ryon Allyrion and Edric Dayne respectively. Mounted knights under Lord Meadows and Lord Roxton guarded the flanks.

 

As he reached the frontline, Garlan looked out at the vast expanse of farmland… and the massive host that greeted him. Fifty-five thousand to his fifteen, the army of the Seven who are One having swollen to numbers almost obscene in nature. A core of about a thousand Warrior’s Sons formed in the center with their rainbow surcoats and thick plate armor, while the vast mass were the Poor Fellows. Unstandardized in weapons and armor other than a surcoat with the Seven-Pointed Star emblazoned in blood red and a thick shield with the Seven-Pointed Star as well. 

 

In spite of their lionization of knighthood, the army was an infantry one. The only horse were those of fifty war chariots - almost out of the early Andal armies contained in the Seven-Pointed Star. Fifty-five thousand men, lined up in one massive bloc of four lines. To the men of Dorne and the Mander, it seemed as if all of Oldtown had marched to fight them that day.

 

Leaning forward, Garlan strained to listen but he could just make out the words of the High Septon mounted upon his chariot. His face was gnarled and bald head uncovered, but he wore the robes of his office even if they were simple. "I am not of the nobility,” he began, his voice worn but loud. “I am but a simple man from simple roots, ordained by the Seven who are One to bring purity back to this land. Targaryen bloodlust and the wages of sin have gone so far that not our very persons, nor even age or virginity, are left unpolluted.”

 

“Oh shut up, you cunt,” he heard Randyll whisper next to him. Garlan smirked, the old grouch dishing out a proper curse for once.

 

The High Septon gesticulated powerfully to the sky. “But the Father is on the side of righteous vengeance. Time and time again we have beaten the sinners back, leaving the rest to hide themselves in their camp. They cower in fear, while the men of the Warrior are fearless of battle! Those fighting on the side of the Stranger are fearless of death, buoyed by the Mother’s mercy! Our charge and our blows will sweep them away just as the righteous blows of Joffrey Doggett swept away the demon Maegor, or the blades of your ancestors eradicated the tree-worshipping savages long ago.” A shit that he was, Garlan had to admit the one known as the High Sparrow was good at this. “If you weigh well the strength of the armies, and what we fight for, you will see that in this battle you must conquer or die. For either we live under the light of the Seven or languish in slavery, there is no other choice. For the Seven!"

 

“FOR THE SEVEN!” tens of thousands of throats all bellowed in unison, a veritable boom that echoed all over the battlefield.

 

Shaking his head, disgusted just as Randyll was, Garlan looked back at his own men. They were heavily armed and armored with the best that Highgarden’s gold could offer. A nest of spears, with swordsmen behind to protect them and a large contingent of archers and crossbowmen behind them. The Dornish were similar, but less armored and more mobile. 

 

Outnumbered, but powerful. Garlan rode ahead of the line, trotting back and forth and saying nothing. Letting the midday sun warm the chilly day.

 

Finally, the Heir to Highgarden spoke. "Ignore the racket made by this rabble, men!” His voice boomed for everyone to hear. “They are not soldiers, merely thugs that slaughter innocents and rape women and girls in the streets. Look at them!” He laughed derisively. “They're not even properly equipped. When they see our weapons and feel their precious Warrior behind us, they'll crack like the savage cunts they are!” There were shouts from the lines, men smacking their swords to their shields and thumping their armored chests. “Stick together. Rain volleys upon them then push forward. Keep shields firm and swords true!” He drew his own blade, letting it gleam in the sun. “Just win and you'll have everything."

 

“Take everything!” someone said from the line, likely a nameless man-at-arms - but the entire line began to cheer it. Their voices abusive and hoarse as they defiantly assaulted the Faith Militant with their verbal epithets. The Dornish made it even more colorful, banging their spears against their shields… which was also copied by the Reachmen. Garlan laughed and did the same, riding his horse back to the line and dismounting. If this would be an infantry battle, he’d fight as one.

 

As the enemy assembled into battle order, a single chariot rode forward. Two Warrior’s sons manned it while a septon stood astride the middle. All were unarmed, so none fired at them. It rode to the center where Garlan’s personal banner flew, and stopped. “Ser Garlan Tyrell!” the septon implored. “You were christened in the light of the Father and Mother! In their glorious name, lower your weapons and accept their light in your soul before it’s too late!”

 

Lifting up his visor, Garlan walked just outside the formation and brandished his sword. “In the name of the Warrior, come and take them!” A roar of approval came from his army as the septon blanched and rode away.

 

“They’ll do their best to do just that, my Lord,” Randyll commented.

 

“Indeed I hope they do,” Garlan replied, lowering his visor again. “We’ll end this here and now.”

 

Hornblows blowing, ancient Andal war chants and drums bringing an illustrious cacophony to the battlefield. The chariots surged forward as if a harbinger of an earlier time, the heroes and adventurers of Andalos against the kingdoms of the First Men that inhabited the continent of Westeros. Garlan, through his ancestor Vivienne Gardener had the blood of both in his veins… and the spirit of Garth Greenhand and the other High Kings of the First Men roared forth as the chariots let loose a barrage of javelins. “Shields tight!” he bellowed, and all across the line they did, withstanding the flurry of skirmishing in good order. To his left, a man shrieked as one of the projectiles skewered him, but they were few and far between.

 

Still the chariots roared and clattered, almost as if they were designed to scare rather than attack… and suddenly they fled from the battlefield, followed by an even louder chorus of hornblows. “They’re coming,” Randyll proclaimed. Sure enough, the ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet as fifty-five thousand men of the Stars and Swords - holding aloft banners of rainbows and Seven-Pointed Stars - began their ponderous advance from the cultivated fields towards the hill in which Garlan positioned his force. A hodgepodge among the Poor Fellows, but immense and well-motivated.

 

If they attacked in the open, Garlan’s force would’ve been overwhelmed with ease, but they weren’t. Hemmed in by the crags and the lake, the narrow front limited their options, making their numbers worthless except as a momentum multiplier… which the uphill position would have to counter.

 

Men trembling at the now marching enemy, Garlan grabbed a shield. “Stand firm, men! Do not fear this rabble!” Not only his banners but that of the Dornish, each held iron discipline - refusing to break or panic at the hordes of zealots breaking out into a charge at them. “Archers, loose!”

 

Signal given, Ser Dickon Tarly’s command of Uller, Tarly, and Santagar archers as well as the famed Roxton crossbowmen let loose a powerful volley straight at the Faith Militant. Over open sights, the crossbow bolts fell scores of the shield-bearing Poor Fellow van and staggering the charge, while the cloud of arrows arced overhead and peppered the rest of the mass.

 

And yet nothing could stop the charge, it was folly to think so. But damned if he was going to let them have the initiative. “Swords up! Wedge! Charge!”

 

With a great roar, the Tyrell and Tarly men-at-arms locked shields, drew swords, and followed their liege directly into the fight. Garlan and his retainers formed the tip of their wedge formation and the rest followed. Gritting his teeth, Garlan crashed his shield against the Poor Fellow that met him first. He swept him aside and hacked with his sword, the second foe dying in a mist of blood that sprayed from his shoulder.

 

While the wedge hit first in the center, it wasn’t long before the Faith Militant met the army all along the line, rushing headlong against the heavy pikemen and Dornish Spears. The spearmen stubbornly refused to budge and thrusted at the waiting mass, while swordsmen slashed and hacked at those that made it through the nest of spears. 

 

The first rank of mourned knights on the flanks had discarded lance for sword and shield, meeting the erupting assault of the Stars and Swords as if infantry. Behind, the lance-wielding second and third lines chafed at not being allowed in the battle but no more than that - forced to watch as their front rank became awash with blood to defend their line and their lives.

 

Slowly… surely, the line began the march forward. Ripping down the entire first line of the Poor Fellows - weakened by the crossbows and archers that still worked like mad to unleash death upon the attackers - first the Dornish pushed ahead down the slope. Soon the pikemen of the Reach joined, following the wedge towards the flat ground from where the Army of the Seven who are One had erupted from. 

 

But still nearly fifty thousand men waited for them.

 

“Hold the line!” screamed Garlan, taking a mace against his shield. “Hold the line!” Shoving forward, the Poor Fellow stumbled back and left the man trained by the best House Tyrell had to offer cut across his gut. He bellowed and stabbed directly through the leather armor of another. Garlan’s armer was bathed in blood of dozens of friends and foes… not to mention the many wounds that he had suffered. His armor held for the most part, enemy swords only just managing to leave gashes against the skin in the gaps but bruises about it even when the plate did its job. 

 

Just at the edge of victory or defeat. Garlan’s battle, just as the battle at large, was in the balance.

 

Hacking down another Poor Fellow, suddenly a flash of color charged out of the bloody din as Garlan met a perfectly-forged greatsword with his own, only just managing to parry. The wedge formation… which had led the Tyrell force and the entire line to forcing the enemy force off the crest of the slope before Red Lake, was finally blunted as the Warrior’s Sons entered the fight. Armored to the hilt and filled with religious fervor, they wasted no time.

 

Garlan forced back the knight with the sword, only for a morningstar to shatter his shield into a cracked ruin. He howled in pain from his arm, but it still moved. Discarding the shield, he grabbed his longsword in both hands and attacked. The spiked mace was only just blocked, but he used the respite to wheel around and stab through the armpit… a fatal wound.

 

A large man with crystal spikes sticking from his helm charged at Garlan, greatsword hacking at him. Hitting the blood-stained grass from where he once stood, the Knight of Highgarden leaping back. “Tyrell!” He was the best-dressed of the Warrior’s Knights, possessing a bravery and ferocity to match.

 

Grand Captain Theodan Welles, their leader. “Not today!” Using his sword’s better agility Garlan countered, parrying the furious strikes, lashing out with kicks and punches to weaken the attacker. Theodan was a burly man, sturdy as were those of the North and filled with religious fervor. He tried to overwhelm Garlan with his bulk, but Garlan countercharged and thus forced him into a standstill. 

 

“You married a Dornish whore!” Theodan bellowed, lashing out with a punch of his own that staggered Garlan. “I’ll look for her after you’re dead. Your head and my cock will be her gifts!”

 

Seeing red, Garlan took another punch in the gut but didn’t feel it. Hacking down with his blade. Theodan’s greatsword parried, but Garlan redoubled twice over until the sword was batted aside. Quickly, the heir to Highgarden unsheathed a dagger from his belt and stabbed straight through Theodan’s vision slit - shoving it as far as he could, teeth clenching and face red with pure rage.

 

While their commander was busy fighting, the signal from Randyll Tarly reached the remaining unengaged Reach Knights. Sounding their horns, out of rage and bloodlust they sent their horses into a firm trot around the now open flank of their first line. They depressed lances and urged their beasts into a gallop right into each side of the Poor Fellows - the right first and the left only moments later. Hit in the flank in a double envelopment with crack heavy cavalry, even the best of troops would be crushed, let alone the underequipped Poor Fellows often without even leather armor.

 

Outnumbering their enemy nearly four to one at this point, the Army of the Faith nevertheless staggered, buckled, and routed. Many dying where they stood, many fighting on hopelessly, and many others simply fleeing the onrushing onslaught of Reach swords and Dornish spears. The Warrior’s Sons tried to stabilize the line, but Garlan’s men-at-arms and a detachment of crossbowmen firing at point blank range cut them down.

 

Garlan said not a word as he hacked and slashed at fleeing men by the dozen. He said nothing when his men proclaimed him a hero upon the field, cheering like madmen. He said nothing when told of the High Sparrow’s flight alongside about three thousand survivors of the greatest army the Faith of the Seven had fielded. 

 

Only after he had doused himself in water to clean away the dried blood and advanced on Red Lake castle, when Arianne raced to him and leapt in his arms, did he finally speak. “I kept my promise.”

Notes:

Well boom. While Aerys takes Dorne - not good - Rhaegar kills the Mountain and Garlan wins against the Faith.

Rhaegar's fight was based off of the Battle of the Chains with Rhaegar as Khalid ibn al-Walid, while Garlan's was based off of the battle of Watling Street with Garlan as Suetonius Paulinus.

Jaime and Alysanne make up :)

Next chapter is Jon and Dany vs. Tywin round 2. 30 comments gets an update in a week.

Chapter 67: The Snow Dragon

Summary:

The Battle of Cerwyn.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi guys. This update is a bit delayed cause of my upcoming wedding on Friday, but here it is :)

The big clash between Jon and Tywin for control of the North.

Please comment

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tywin Lannister

 

Could it be? Tywin didn’t dare believe it to be true, what his scouts told him of the nature of the battlefield. The entire Stark force encamped for battle outside Castle Cerwyn? Previous scouting parties had detailed extensive earthworks and preparations for a siege and Tywin had drawn up much of his army for a quick march around it - Ser Addam Marbrand already was leading the larger division off when the news arrived.

 

His mind thought of what could be happening, working on overdrive. The simple explanation was that Jon Snow and Ned Stark thought they could defeat the force left before Castle Cerwyn while Marbrand was marching - namely his own Lannister tercios as well as the tercios of Houses Crakehall and Lefford, joined by his heavy cavalry and the elite Vale houses under Lyn Corbray. Another was that the dragons were healed and they’d try to assault both of them in the vanguard with the soldiers ready to exploit the breakthrough. 

 

Both choices still left a target so tempting that Tywin couldn’t refuse to exploit. None of them involved being hit by unknown enemy forces, nor did it involve some trick by Rhaegar’s bastard that he didn’t know of. The little birds of Varys, confirmed by Littlefinger and the nature of the past battle at the White Knife left nothing to be unknown.

 

Battle would be joined, and Tywin dreamed of his triumph that night as the orders for Ser Addam and Lord Royce to return at all haste.

 

Morning brought Tywin a warm and hearty breakfast of hot porridge, warm bread, and steaming slabs of bacon - something he appreciated when removing himself from his tent in the wee hours just around sunrise. He could barely see twenty feet around him, a freezing fog shrouding the hilly landscape south of Castle Cerwyn. Frost clung to many of the tents and wagons, men huddled around fires cleaning ice shards off their shields and blades. “What is this?” he demanded of his subordinates. “What of the battlefield?”

 

“Cousin,” replied Stafford, shivering under what had to be five layers of clothing including his armor. “There hasn’t been snowfall so the ground should be fine once the sun rises in the sky… but as of now we can’t see in front of our faces.”

 

“I sent a scouting party of the Hill Tribes atop the ridge to serve as an early warning force,” Lyn Corbray stated. “Those half-wildlings know how to cope with freezing temperatures from the snow-capped crags they eat, sleep, and breed on.”

 

Tywin frowned, but nodded. “Let us hope so, but order the troops into formation. We move as soon as Ser Addam returns.”

 

But contact with the enemy had the nature of disrupting even the best battle plan of the best military mind. Runners brought the news that their scouting party was being attacked by a larger force of Northmen. The sun’s rise did begin to break up the shroud over the entire plain and hills, but Tywin still couldn’t see the ridge and verify the veracity of this. It could be just mindless skirmishing by two scouting troops that blundered into each other by sheer chance, but could Tywin afford to dismiss the possibility that this was just the screen for an all out Northern attack?

 

Letting Jon Snow occupy the high ground of the ridge was not something he would let happen. “Send forth the light troops,” he ordered. “And form tercios. This could get ugly.” And I sincerely hope it does for the men’s sake, then they shall dine in Winterfell by the morrow.

 

Unbeknownst to Tywin, the Stark commanders had the same idea and sent the crannogmen of House Reed as well as the Mountain clans to take the hill and protect their own scouts. Fifteen-hundred met the Westermen force of around two thousand upon the ridge. Howland Reed personally led his men, releasing their reflex bows at the Westermen while the javelins of the Mountain clans held the reserve. But the archers of House Belmore and House Spicer were just as good, and their longbows held an even more powerful stopping power - deployed on horseback only to dismount and fight, it was an uneven contest and forced the Crannogmen back behind the shields of the Mountain clans with heavy losses. Mostly wounded. Howland Reed ordered a retreat to better defensive positions, but not before the javelins shattered a counterattack by the crown forces to take the western approaches of the hill.

 

Lord Rolph Spicer galloped back to the main line and begged Tywin to attack. “Their men routed from the field. We must take the hill now.”

 

“Where is the rest of their army? Did they look like they were marching?” Tybolt Crakehall, the heir to Lord Roland, was a capable commander with a reasonable question. Tywin commended him in his mind.

 

Also a brilliant tactician, but in the sort of animal cunning that almost guaranteed dirty tactics and disguised intentions, Spicer waved off the concerns. “They’d be stupid not to, which means we have to move now.”

 

“My Lord,” warned Leo Lefford. “Ser Addam hasn’t returned…”

 

“We can’t wait for Ser Addam. The initiative must be taken now!” insisted Lyn Corbray, hand on the hilt of Lady Forlorn - clearly itching to draw it against the Northmen in battle once again.

 

Tywin made his decision. “We need a victory here, my Lords. A decisive one that crushes Jon Snow’s army and forces Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons from Westeros. The greater the risk the greater the triumph.” He mounted his horse, red cloak billowing out behind him as a chilly wind swept the field. “Prepare double depth attack formation - we move now.”

 

Screened by the knights on his westernmost flank and with the skirmishers melted back into the archers to the side or guarding the eastern flank, Tywin’s force soon was marching at quick formation up the hill. They couldn’t take the risk of the Northmen and their dragons taking the ridge before Castle Cerwyn, or else they would be slaughtered for every foot of land gained. Buglers and drummers serenaded the men as they marched, banners flying proudly.

 

Cresting the ridge, the fog finally cleared enough for a nasty shock to Tywin. There, at the base of the hill not five hundred feet away, was the entire army of Eddard Stark. Banners fluttered, those of Houses Stark, Karstark, Umber, Manderly, Glover, Forrester, Mormont… and the red and black of House Targaryen, dragon among them. It brought fury towards him, and the orders came without prompting. “Form battle lines!” he commanded. “Drop spears and advance!” The tercios began to expertly form up from their faster marching formation into the more plodding yet crushing attack block, long sarissa pikes dropping in the front three lines and advancing down the hill.

 

A roar brought an innate fear to Tywin. Low charged the red dragon of Daenerys Targaryen, one the men were calling the “Blood Wyrm Reborn.” I suppose that makes her the Rogue Princess, then. Mental quips aside, the Lannister attack seemed to still as men trembled at the oncoming beast.

 

THWACK!

 

In quick succession the ballistae that accompanied the tercios - both in the center and to the rear - fired their bolts. They were towed by horses but now were pushed by men, a stable platform for firing that kept up with the tercios. Roaring, the dragon twisted in midair, avoiding the wildfire bolts… only for the latest invention from the Citadel to provide itself useful. The wildfire jars detonated in midair, timed fuses igniting the noxious substance and filling the air with clouds of green air and smoke. None landed a direct hit on the Blood Wyrm, but the dragon was clearly shaken and Daenerys guided her away to regroup.

 

It invigorated the men. “UUUURRRRAAAAAHHHH!” Tercios double deep and virtually pushing against each other, the downward charge crashed powerfully into the single Northern shield wall. Even from the rear, Tywin could see it to be a slaughterhouse. Thick and heavy wood, the round and square northern shields were a formidable adversary against the teardrop-shaped ones the Lannister spearmen carried, but the tercios relied on their wall of spears as an added protection and their sheer bulk shoved the stubborn northmen back. 

 

“Nock! Loose!” Tywin commanded, the order carrying out until all the archers protected in the second line of tercios loosed a powerful volley over the heads of their own first line and onto the northmen. In the first line the elite crossbowmen fired at point blank range, peppering the shield wall and exposing any gaps with ruthless efficiency. Northern archers fired back but the shield-bearing men-at-arms, protected by the twin-pointed pikes, could offer better protection than the northemen - whose shield-bearers also served as frontline warriors. 

 

Tywin personally rode to the flank to lead his knights. They had slammed into the northern heavy cavalry of Houses Karstark and Manderly, what could have been a mighty flanking envelopment descending into a brutal melee on horseback. Drawing his sword, the still potent highborn warrior slashed and parried at those that sought to rush him. “Forward, you dogs!” he bellowed. “Roll over them and onto their line!” With a roar, Tywin swung - hacking the head off of a well-dressed young man wearing the white sunburst of House Karstark.

 

Trumpets and hornblows in the distance dragged Tywin from the ensuing melee. Ripping off his visor, he looked towards the rear and the crest of the hill that his line had passed. The first sight through the last remnants of the fog were of fluttering banners poking above the ridge - ones of House Swyft, House Marbrand, House Westerling, and a half-dozen other crack forces that had followed the old lion through battle after battle. Soon, the banners rose high and revealed a solid line of marching men and horses roaring across the field towards the enemy as the lion they fought under. 

 

Ser Addam had entered the battle at last, and with renewed vigor Tywin and his command threw themselves at the Northmen. 

 

It seemed only divine intervention could save the Targaryen and Stark from the fourth decisive slaughter of Tywin’s life. I truly have no equal at this.

 

He would soon regret those very words.

 

Jon Targaryen

 

The shield wall was faltering. 

 

“Do not break!” Jon screamed, holding a shield at the front of the line as he fought alongside the men he had grown up with - sparred and hunted with, only now he was a proud Targaryen King rather than the damned bastard of Winterfell. A pike from the Lannister tercio in front of him stabbed through the wood of the shield, missing his army by mere inches, but Jon was not deterred. Bellowing like the dragon he was, Jon twisted his arm and snapped the head off the spear off its shaft and leapt out of formation. “Winter is here!” he shouted, Lightbringer swinging downward and braining one of the pikemen. Jon swung a second time to the side and caught a pikeman in the side before a rear line of spears and swords drove him back.

 

“WINTER IS HERE!” The beleaguered Northern shield wall surged forward with a renewed confidence into the line of tercios, stabbing and hacking at the maze of long pikes and sword-wielding shield bearers that protected their front… but the fierceness of the northmen and the bravery of their Kings weren’t enough. The tercios were tough, a maze of arrows and crossbow bolts firing from their center and forcing hundreds to hold their shields high to prevent getting massacred - blunting their charge. 

 

Pushed by their downward charge, the Westermen tercios and the Vale heavy infantry of Lyn Corbray continued the assault, driving the banners of the dozen houses of the North back.

 

Shouting encouragement to his men, Jon nevertheless melted back through the blocks of men-at-arms. Lightbringer was sheathed and he headed for his mount in the rear. A rain of arrows peppered the ground around him, Jon raising his shield to protect himself but a barbed projectile tearing through the side of his shoulder nonetheless. He hissed in pain but forced himself to continue.

 

Among the horses, unengaged, were his uncle and the main Northern commanders - screaming orders to their dispatch riders… also there was his cousin Arya, whose eyes bugged out in fear at seeing the blood oozing from his shoulder. “Jon!” she shouted. “You’re hurt!”

 

“Forget that,” barked the King. “We’re getting slaughtered here! Send in the right wing! Hit them from the flank!” A roar interrupted him, all watching as Dany tried another attack run on Aragon only to be forced back by a flurry of wildfire arrows that exploded in the air. His anger turned to terror. “Send them in!”

 

“We can’t Jon.” Ned pointed towards the ridge and the King’s blood grew cold. Cresting the summit were further thousands in loose tercios, marching into position at double time - a force far larger than the one that was chewing up his best men. “We have to fall back to the castle.”

 

Jon shook his head. “No, we fucking hold this ground!” He made his decision quickly. “Uncle, my Lords, keep them pinned as long as possible. I don’t care what you have to do!”

 

His Targaryen fury drew the ire of many. “You don’t tell us what to do, boy!” hissed Rickard Karstark… only for him to get a punch to the face as a result.

 

“You obey him, you fucking cunt!”

 

“Arya!” Ned shouted. 

 

A smirk crossed Jon’s face in spite of everything. “Arya, with me.” Turning his horse, a crack of the reins sent it galloping across the freezing field, Arya and a dozen horsemen under Larence Snow - the bastard of Hornwood - joining him as they hurried towards the unengaged right-wing. “Faster!” he urged the steed, a hearty Northern stallion bred to take these freezing temperatures by House Hornwood. 

 

“Jon… our reserves are all wildlings,” Arya told him, keeping up even though they were both breathing hard. Beside them both were Ghost and Nymeria, who looked to be in their element. 

 

“I know,” Jon shouted back. 

 

“Unarmored warriors against that?” She pointed towards the advancing tercios. “Even with giants…”

 

Above, a roar announced the arrival of Aragon, flying low until Jon could see Daenerys astride her neck and shoulder. Silver braid blowing out haphazardly behind her. Gods… she’s beautiful. Putting aside such lustful thoughts as their eyes met, Jon gestured wildly with his hand, miming a hard circle followed by a sharp point right to the ridge - crawling with the marching Westermen. Dany nodded with a hard look and then Aragon turned hard, flapping in a curve towards the northeast. Gods, Dany, I hope this works.

 

Waiting at the bottom of the hill were the mass of Free Folk under Mance and Tormund. Unlike before, they had assembled in something approaching formation, though when battle would be joined Jon was sure that would simply evaporate into a bare-knuckle brawl of steel, spear, axe, dagger, and fist. Protecting their flanks were the Tyrell and Martell guards mounted on horse, as was King Mance. “Your Grace,” Oberyn stated. “Time to enter the fight?”

 

He nodded, barely allowing time to catch his breath. “There, on the ridge.” He drew Lightbringer and Nightreaper, pointing the latter to the racing Lannister forces. “Hit them with full fury.”

 

Mance’s eyes widened. “Full charge at a Lannister tercio. That’s suicide.”

 

“Not while they’re in marching order. Loose formations are vulnerable.” 

 

Impatient and clearly knowing of military reality, Oberyn barked at his men… and by extension the other commanders. “Form up! Spears and shields!”

 

“Spears and shields!” the command went down the line. “Prepare to charge, full attack at the King’s command!” Sharing a look with Arya, the latter grinned and drew Needle, as much a signal Jon needed to muster the wildlings as any other.

 

“Listen up you wildling cunts! Those men down there think you’re a bunch of savages that burn villages and eat people! They’re fucking right, but you’re so much fucking more!” Across the line of Free Folk, the warriors and spearwives among them smacked their chests, warpaint and beaded beards giving them expressions of unparalleled fierceness. “They claim they can fight, but only play at it. Only we know how to fight to survive! Brave weather so cold as to freeze one's stones off! They dread winter! We live it! We’ll fight them today and we’ll beat them today!” Punctuating his words, Nymeria tilted his head back and let out a piercing howl… joined in it by Ghost all the more fierce since the white beast barely made any noise. 

 

“King Dragon leads us!” Tormund bellowed, both axes raised as he began the headlong charge. 

 

“KING DRAGON!” 

 

The forces of Ser Addam Marbrand were in a particularly vulnerable position. Larger than Tywin’s host, they were nevertheless on the move and not in the rigid formation that gave the Lannister tercio - the formation that had swept everything before it since Tywin devised it in the years prior to the Reyne-Tarbeck Rebellion - its strength and offensive might. Desperate for speed, something the blocks of men were not known for, they were looser… and therefore vulnerable.

 

Archers hadn’t drawn their bows. Crossbows were still slung over backs, and spears were held high and shields to the side in marching order. Most importantly, the mobile ballistae were still attached to their horses and bouncing from the quick drive, unable to be properly manned - let alone fired. Pushing through the snow and ice left over from the freezing fog, they had to exert themselves more to just keep up the march and it exhausted them.

 

The wildlings had no such problems. Lightly armored and unencumbered by significant personal baggage other than a personal weapon and maybe a shield, their speed and lack of formation were assets as they charged over the icy ground. Living north of the Wall made these conditions a joke to them, and thus Tormund, Mance, Karsi, Sigorn, and the other Free Folk chiefs had no trouble guiding what formation they could into order - the wedge.

 

At the head of the Dornish cavalry with his guard of Hornwood horse, Jon twirled Lightbringer and Nightreaper just as the horsemen smashed into the westernmost tercio. A shudder passed through the line of cavalry, men flying from horses to their deaths while footmen were crushed under the hooves of the powerful beasts. In marching formation, ther bristle of pikes that protected the tercio hadn’t been deployed and the horsemen cut through them like scythes. Jon slashed and hacked, his eyes growing red with rage and bloodlust - a savage desperation to deal upon these men what their leader had brought upon his siblings and stepmother. 

 

In the front, a giant - Wun Wun if Jon remembered correctly from his past - bellowed at the top of his lungs at the van of the wildling flank. Leading the Thenns at the battered tercio, with his hands he pulled at the pikes. A pikeman screamed at the top of his lungs, the screams only cut off when Wun Wun tore him in two right in front of the entire tercio. This happened again and again until the Thenns, their terrifying body art and mighty axes striking fear into the most hardened of veterans, hit into the forward line.

 

When Jon slew the enemy commander, bearing the rooster sigil of House Swift, when the knight charged him in single combat that was parried and countered with a thrust through the chest - Nightreaper piercing the steel armor with ease, the entire tercio collapsed.

 

All along the line this took place. Out of proper battle order, the Free Folk wedges easily filled the gaps and swarmed the tercios. The heavy Tyrell knights swung around the flank and annihilated the defending Westermen cavalry, horses exhausted. It was becoming a slaughter, but upon pause - having slaughtered a half-dozen fleeing crossbowmen - Jon saw the unengaged Vale horse and footmen led by the sigil of House Royce could still protect the line and check their advance.

 

A draconic roar put to bed such worries. Ballistae, a particular target of the wildlings, Daenerys and Aragon had no dangers as the dragon swept upon the field. Tongues of flame enveloped man and beast alike. Two tercios were gutted, men fleeing as the image of their comrades burned to ash or set into human torches filled their vision. This included the men of the Vale, who turned tail and raced off the field to the southwest.

 

They could be dealt with later.

 

Victory total on the enemy left, Jon’s fury and bloodlust didn’t blind him as he looked back. Watching from the crest of the ridge while his uncle and the other northmen were cut up by the steadily advancing tercios of Tywin Lannister and Lyn Corbray. Whistling to his guard, the Targaryen King turned headlong and rode down the rear of his line, hoping that Daenerys would see him and for any sort of unit that hadn’t fully engaged the routing Westermen. 

 

He found one, but not one he was rather keen on working with. “Lord Bolton!” he called out. You know your true friends on the battlefield. Perhaps the one scion of the Red Kings left alive could be one of those. “Have you engaged yet?!” Jon yelled as he reached the young Lord of the Dreadfort.

 

At the command of fifteen hundred elite phalangists, Domeric Bolton had nevertheless been deemed the most unreliable of all the forces fed into the battle and thus got the position right behind the Dornish, Thenns, and giants… a stark warning of the consequences if they turned traitor. But with the former three already ripping through the men of House Westerling and House Swyft, the phalangists obtained a new lease on life. They hadn’t engaged at all; they were still fresh and rested. “No, your Grace,” Domeric stated.

 

“Good,” Jon replied, waving his blood-drenched blades. “With me!” Despite being the avowed enemies of his mother’s House - despite literally being held as prisoners not weeks before, the quick-marching phalangists rallied behind the Targaryen King. They wheeled around quicker than any other, following Jon at a fast run with spears and shields at the ready straight for the unprotected flank of the Lannister right wing. 

 

Hearing Aragon roar behind him, Jon felt a grin forming on his face.

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

Erupting in a massive tongue of green flame, Daenerys urged Aragon out of the way from the detonating ballista that her fire had targeted. The wildfire projectiles were packed in straw-filled boxes, but dragonfire surrounded and set it alight, incinerating all around it that her mount couldn’t. With a lurch, the wingbeats hurled Aragon higher in the air to safety.  Safety from the bolts… from the wildfire and maze of arrows. She was only one lucky shot away from becoming Meraxes and her rider Queen Rhaenys.

 

Her hand going to cup the swell underneath the heavy chest-plate over her stomach, Dany knew she had much more to live for than just herself. Or just Jon, though he was worth fighting to the death for.

 

It’s for you, my children, that I fight. 

 

Looking down as the air thinned and the sounds of battle were but faint - that she could hear it at all indicated just how great the clash before the walls of Castle Cerwyn had become - Daenerys saw through the cloudless sky the magnificence Jon had created as a minstrel created a beautiful ballad. Tightened like a snake around the edge of Lannister tercio, the Bolton phalangists were marching forward undaunted. Scything down enemies by the hundreds, the tercio opposed to them was buckling and it was a fantastic sight to see. A tiny mass of horsemen led by her brave husband was plowing straight into another formation of Westermen and Valemen, virtually unopposed. It felt almost like the past, battling these same formations atop Drogon and it filled Daenerys with a fiery vigor. ‘Shall we just watch kepa steal our thunder, muna?’

 

Hearing Aragon speak through their bond, Dany stifled a chuckle… then grinned. “Not in this lifetime, my sweet hatchling,” she murmured to her in High Valyrian. “Dive! Dracarys!” Roaring, with a great beat of her wings Aragon ascended into the air only to sharply arc downward. Her wings folded in as she angled herself perfectly within the orb of the sun. Dany’s vision grew heavy with red tinges, but she urged the dragon faster and faster, picking up so much speed that it sounded like a sharp whistle erupted from the Blood Wyrm.

 

It was something remembered from her past - when dealing with these Lannisters and their ballistae, only then they had been much less effective, likely from the lack of Tywin Lannister preparing them. Here they were somewhat of a threat, while under Cersei’s command they were an utter joke. Nevertheless, the aim was blocked by the brightness of the sun, and undoubtedly looking as if the gods themselves were collapsing the great star in the sky to blast them from existence. 

 

The tongue of fire erupted into a retreating Lannister tercio facing off against the men of House Umber and House Manderly. Scores were enveloped into ash instantly, while hundreds more were doused in flames and thrashed about, screaming the stuff of nightmares. The rest broke, fleeing for their lives without regard to formation and were slaughtered by the cheering northmen.

 

Daenerys drank in their cheers - her countrymen, ones that had been skeptical of her in the past… now they adored her, and she them. Especially the beautiful dragonwolf raised among them.

 

This attack was repeated twice until the battlefield suddenly calmed. Advances cooled, the formations of her own forces collapsing in exhaustion as the remaining enemy fled the field. Guiding Aragon into a circle, she soon was upon the ground close to where the fluttering banner of the white three-headed dragon was on proud display. The personal sigil of her husband the King, one she regarded with the purest of love.

 

She hadn’t dismounted for moments before someone yanked her tightly into a strong embrace. Even with the metallic stench of blood heavy on his armor, Dany returned the embrace by melding herself to his body, sighing happily. “Dany…” she heard him say.

 

“Jon… Jon my love.” Dany looked up into his beautiful grey eyes, smiling until she saw the injury to his arm. “You’re wounded.”

 

He smirked. “I’ve had worse, believe me.”

 

“No, you’re having a maester see to that wound immediately.” Daenerys left nothing for interpretation or questioning in her tone.

 

Smartly of him, Jon didn’t challenge her, merely kissing her forehead. “Whatever my Queen desires, I shall grant.” Desiring a kiss, Dany pulled his lips to hers and they were lost for a while… until Jon pulled back. “Uncle.”

 

A tired Ned Stark, just as battered as Jon, glanced at Daenerys with relief. Beside him was Arya, looking positively giddy from her first true battle. Without prompting, she ran and threw her arms around Dany - an embrace the Queen readily returned. “Your Grace,” Ned remarked, though as a King he did it on equal footing. “Unfortunately, Tywin Lannister has escaped.”

 

Jon cursed. “The war won’t end till he and Robert are dead.”

 

“Unfortunately, I agree with you. Doesn’t make our victory any less total though.” Ned looked over the entire field, strewn with broken, bloody corpses of every sort. “They probably lost half their army, and that doesn’t include the Valemen that simply fled the field before engaging. Irreplaceable veterans.”

 

“They’ll fucking pay, the monsters!” Rising from where he knelt before a corpse, Rickard Karstark pointed to the man, who wore the same sigil. “My son! They took him from me! I demand vengeance!” 

 

“Quiet, my Lord,” Ned barked, wincing at Jon and Dany. “House Lannister is under your domain by your claim, nephew, goodniece. You decide what to do with him.” Dany raised a brow, only for her implicit question answered when a thrashing man was brought to them. “Stafford Lannister, cousin and goodbrother to Lord Tywin.”

 

Dany snorted, walking to the man. “Well, look how the mighty have fallen.”

 

“Fuck you, Dragonspawn,” hissed Ser Stafford. That got a punch in the gut from Jon, doubling him over.

 

“Speak to her that way again and I feed you to my direwolf.” Ghost was by his master’s side, growling fiercely. Stafford looked in terror, the intended idea.

 

Walking forward, Dany placed her gloved hand upon Ghost’s fur, ruffling it gently. “The bannermen of the King of Winter want you dead. If you wish to beg for mercy, now is the time.” 

 

He glared… but wilted like a weakling at the sight of the dragon ambling closer to where her mother now was. “No… please, mercy… I just followed my cousin’s orders.”

 

“Pathetic,” murmured Daenerys, shaking her head. “Do you think Tywin would miss him, my love?”

 

“I doubt it.” He shrugged. “Your call.”

 

Dany didn’t even want to think of Ser Stafford. “Put him in the dungeons of Winterfell.”

 

“Not good enough! I want Blood!” 

 

“You’ll get it, Lord Karstark. Of this you have my word.” Suddenly exhausted herself, Daenerys hugged Jon for support. “Let’s get you patched up.”

 

Jon looked at her, his eyes molten. “Will you be taking care of me, Dany?” She shook her head, but inwardly smiled. Leave it to her lecherous, loving husband to think of that after such a furious battle.

 

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Notes:

Colin: Theon the Hungry Wolf would be proud today. No invader survives the land of winter’s sons.

Longclaw: Battle based off of the great clash at Battle of Cynoscephalae between Roman Consul Titus Quinticius Flamininus and Phillip V of Macedon, with Jon as the former and Tywin as the latter.

This'll be the last update till after my wedding. See you then and be sure to comment!

Chapter 68: Breakthroughs

Summary:

1) Sansa experiences carnal pleasure.
2) Theon lands at Lannisport.
3) Jaime leads against the Masters.
4) Robert and Tywin regroup for a new attack.
5) The surrender of Casterly Rock.
6) Lynesse manages affairs in King’s Landing.

Notes:

Longclaw: Hi all. Hope you're doing well.

Got married two weeks ago, also had to quit my job cause my boss wasn't planning on adding any security measures after my car got broken into while on company time. So been a roller coaster.

Anyways, hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Sansa Stark

 

After the hair-raising attack the Boltons had snuck upon her family, Sansa was extremely grateful that Tywin had been turned back before even within sight of Winterfell. Looking around her, she could tell the rest of the household staff and guard were just as relieved at the victory they had snatched by the skin of their teeth. The Great Hall of Winterfell was abuzz with chatter about the battle as lords and ladies alike devoured their well-deserved feast. 

 

Sansa shook her head with resigned acceptance. Her father had broken into the keep’s most precious stores to provide for the lavish meal set before them. Platters of roast meats, glazed vegetables, and baked potatoes were interspersed over the tables as jugs of ale and wine were passed from one drunken hand to the next. Sansa’s own goblet was still half full - she felt a little tipsy and that was as far as she was willing to go. Her mother cautioned her that people tend to do stupid things when deep in their cups.

 

“Something on your mind, my lady.” The gentle, if slightly rough, voice of her potential betrothed returned her attention to the moment.

 

Smiling softly back, she replied, “Just concerned that my house is overindulging its guests.” At the raise of his eyebrows in mock offense, she laughed. “No, not that our hospitality is…” She trailed off at a loss for words. Strange, she usually had the right response on the tip of her tongue. “What I mean to say is that ‘Winter is Coming’ and there must be sufficient food stored to last until spring.” She pointed at Wyman Manderly, his massive bulk easily taking up an entire bench, gorging himself upon three boiled lobsters. “Lord Manderly eats more when he’s upset. With White Harbour occupied by Tywin Lannister, he'll eat us out of keep and home. We’ll starve before winter’s half over.”

 

Trystane chuckled at her jape. He directed her attention to his uncle, who was in over his head in a drinking bet with Smalljon Umber. Oberyn was downing northern ale as fast as he could while Smalljon guzzled Dornish red that the Martells had brought with them. Both were trying to see which of them could drink the most before the other threw up.

 

Sansa rolled her eyes. She was glad that Trystane was more reserved than the larger than life Red Viper. Lady Ellaria was made for her paramour. Four cups Oberyn drank and already she’d poured a fifth and sixth goblet all ready to go.

 

Over the din, she saw her parents conversing quietly with each other, their heads hunched closely together at the head table. As her father placed a firm hand on his wife’s stomach, Sansa brightened at the prospect of a new sibling. Another sister would be nice - hopefully one a perfect blend of her and Arya.

 

Speaking of her wild sister… “Are you two ever going to take a tumble?” Arya’s bright grey eyes flashed impatiently as she appeared at her and Trystane’s side. Bran and Rickon were beside her, eager to hear what the nosy she-wolf had to dig up. By the old gods and the new.

 

“Arya!” She hissed. “Not around our brothers. They’re too young to hear about such… intimacy.” Try as she did to look angered, her face was flushed more with embarrassment than rage. “Go feed our wolves and leave us in peace.”

 

Arya laughed merrily. “Peace is what I’m best at breaking, dear sister. Come on now, Sansa. Bran’s already betrothed to the lovely Meera Reed.” She wiggled her eyebrows at his now crimson face like his eldest sister. “Little Rickon here should be able to understand as long as we refrain from the nitty gritty. So… ” She pushed up between Sansa and Trystane. “When’s the wedding?”

 

Better versed in the matters of the flesh than her, Trystane ruffled Arya’s hair. “Any day now, future goodsister. There’s really no reason to rush. I’m the second son so I have the luxury of marrying when I want with no pressure to pump out heirs to my house.” He winked knowingly at Arya, who looked crestfallen. Bran and Rickon too had disappointment on their faces.

 

Were her siblings so set on marrying her off? Sansa was about to ask, but Rickon with his short attention span had already run off. Bran just shrugged nonchalantly and walked back to his table where Meera and Jojen were waiting for him. He was so much more quiet after fostering with Lord Howland.

 

Arya just rolled her eyes. “Well, when your husband finally decides to stick you, keep it down. Jon and Dany have forgotten how to sleep quietly.” She skipped away, leaving Sansa blushing more than ever.

 

Later that night as the castle turned in, Sansa watched Trystane change into his nightshirt. They had taken to sharing her room to get a feel for what it would be like as a permanent arrangement. Seeing her intended barechested, she couldn’t help but feel a stir deep in the pit of her stomach. Arya’s teasing words echoed in the back of her mind. She knew she shouldn’t, not before… As if in a trance, she slowly stood up from the bed and walked over to him.

 

Turning around, Trystane stumbled at her face almost nose to nose with his. “My lady, is something…?” A finger was pressed to his lips. Then her lips. Her arms snaked around his torso. His hands buried themselves in her fiery hair. 

 

Moaning into the kisses, Sansa felt the desire to continue. To deepen the embrace and the kiss she shared with her prospective betrothed. Her hands began to wander, one tangling in his mop of curls while the other ran down his chest - feeling the powerful muscles underneath. The sensations caused yet another moan, whether hers or his Sansa didn’t know. Did it matter?

 

Clearly enjoying this, Trystane nevertheless pulled back. “My La… Sansa…” He looked breathless, staring at her with wide eyes. “We don’t have to do this.”

 

That he was so considerate should’ve touched her, and inwardly it did. However, Sansa growled. “I want this.”

 

“Your virtue…”

 

“We are to be married, what of it?” Sansa knew she sounded like Arya, but her sister had always seemed happier - in Jon’s life, at least she had been free rather than a prisoner of multiple evil men. Still sensing his hesitation, she took his hand and covered her heart. “I truly want this, Trystane. Please don’t deny me.”

 

His resolve was visibly weakening. “Why?” Trystane immediately blushed. “Not that I am not flattered, but…” His flustered babble made Sansa giggle. “You were always keeping me at arm’s length.”

 

That did make her think for the moment, only to smile at him. “You won my heart, I think.” It was more than that, though such was enough for him. The truth of what she had endured in both Jon’s and Daenerys’ pasts never strayed far from Sansa - while the gods had granted her the mercy of not having memories of it, she could never know what caused her to fall into such hells. Was it truly only the result of evil men victimizing her, or had she made mistakes to fall into it? Sansa could never know. 

 

She killed Ramsay. She and Arya stopped Joffrey. Sansa knew she wasn’t the woman that watched her father be beheaded by the man she hoped to marry at the time, and Trystane before her was the representation of that. A good man - a real man, genuinely kind and deserving of her. Such was the true reason she wanted this, wanted him. And nothing was gonna stop her from being her aunt’s niece and taking what she wanted.

 

Without delay, Sansa fell upon Trystane, lips locking with his and pushing him to his back. There was something new of their caresses, of their kisses. A frantic ardor, a passion that left them breathless. Sansa felt her core burning with need. Impatient, her hands immediately went to undo the ties to his trousers. “No waiting, my love,” she insisted.

 

Trystane said nothing, only trying to hike up her dress. His efforts were successful and soon she was divested of her smallclothes.

 

The sensation left her blushing, feeling ever so exposed before the man she hoped to marry. Especially as his trousers were pulled down and his cock was exposed. Her eyes widened. Sansa had heard so many things about Trystane’s uncle Oberyn, how he wielded his cock the same way as Jon wielded his sword. Such a fearsome weapon was clearly inherited, as Trystane’s was objectively impressive even though Sansa knew no other. “You’re beautiful,” she breathed.

 

He chuckled. “I’m glad you approve… you’re breathtaking as well.”

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

His words of praise filling her resolve once more, Sansa gently guided his cockhead to her entrance, pausing. “Please, go slow.” When he nodded, she bit her lip and lowered herself till the tip penetrated… then more…

 

At her wince of pain, Trystane pulled her down and kissed her deeply. “It’s alright,” he whispered into her lips. “I love you.”

 

“You… you do?” There were tears in her blue eyes, looking down at him with a matching affection. “I… I love you too.” They kept kissing, his cock slowly sliding in and out, inch by inch… inch by glorious inch as the pain disappeared. “Oh gods…”

 

“Feel good?”

 

“Gods yes.” Now Sansa knew what Daenerys must’ve felt, having heard her and Jon once. That thought disgusted her, but this was far from disgusting. Her man… hers. Only hers.

 

Not once did their lips break as Sansa hurled towards her climax, finishing off her fate. Destroying the last of the awful thoughts of the horrible disasters of the past with it.

 

Theon Greyjoy

 

Those of the Iron Islands had a sense of intimacy with the coast of the Westerlands. A mere day’s sail from the closest of the islands that made up the rocky, unforgiving home of the various houses under the rule of Pyke, in countless wars across the millennia found the Kings of the Rock both defending and attacking the various seaborne reavers that made their lives miserable. Theon’s uncle Euron had carried such a tradition in dramatic fashion when his longships and fireships destroyed the Lannister fleet at the beginning of the failed Rebellion - a war that ended with Theon sent to Winterfell as a hostage, the most important moment of his life.

 

And now here he was, crouched atop one of the fast longships clutching onto a sword next to his sister… waiting for the muffled oars to power them into the harbor as quickly as possible. “Faster, damn you,” he heard Ygritte hiss behind him. “The fookin’ light’ll find us.” Her eyes were locked on the lighthouse that served as a beacon for the various fishing vessels trying to bring in fresh food as the army of Rhaegar Targaryen was camped outside the city walls.

 

“Will you shut up,” Yara snapped back. “We’re goin’ as fast as we can.”

 

“Well when we’re all bein’ eaten by the sea monsters, don’t say I didn’t warn ya’.” That was his Ygritte, harsh and blunt as always. 

 

Theon wouldn’t have it any other way, but sometimes - like this moment - it drove him to distraction. “You should’ve stayed on the ship, love…”

 

“Why? Cause I’m carryin’ yer babe in my belly?” If it weren’t the need to prevent noise to warn the lax shore defenses and sea patrols around Lannisport, she would likely be yelling and smacking him - a fact pattern that usually led to something quite delightful for the both of them, but that definitely wouldn’t happen now. “I can still string a bow and I can still aim, you little squid shit.”

 

Yara suppressed a snicker. “I ought to remember that,” she said in a low voice. “Squid shit.”

 

Shaking his head, Theon could nevertheless see the hand-selected men in the longship starting to loose their nervousness at the humorous exchange between him and his wife. A blessing in disguise. “Fine, just stay an archer. If you try and fight hand-to-hand, you and I will have words.”

 

“Is that so, Greyjoy?” In the low light from the illuminated great city of the west, Theon saw her grin. “You couldn’t take me even pregnant.”

 

“We’ll see about that.”

 

“You better.” That drew chuckles from the men, but all were extinguished as the wharves loomed ahead in size and a hue and cry was heard booming all over the city. “Ah fuck.” Ygritte reached for a bow in her quiver when Theon held up his hand. 

 

“No… that’s Prince Rhaegar.” There was no movement on the wharves, while the sound of fighting was faint and off in the distance. “He’s distracting them. Full ahead, center wharf.”

 

At the tiller, the most experienced sailor clasped his fist to his breast. “Aye, mi’Lord.” The rowers double-timed it… joined by the other five longships that sliced through the water of the harbor. Fifty yards… forty yards… thirty yards… Finally, the few guards began to notice something going on, but Ygritte quickly dropped them with several fast shots off her bow. 

 

“Steady men,” Theon whispered harshly at them. “On my command… full astern!” The expert sailors worked to slow their longships, turning a fast spring into a gentle glide within the jutting wharves. Ropes were quickly tossed out and tied, leaving the boats secure. “Now!”

 

“What is dead may never die!” The Ironborn reavers leapt onto the docks, swords drawn and shields up as they raced inland, knowing exactly the tasks they were required for.

 

Six longships… three groups with three targets studied in detail over maps of Lannisport - reputably the same maps that Euron used to plan his assault years before, at least if Victarion was to be believed. His uncle would lead one group to capture the palace of Ser Stafford Lannister on a hill half a mile inland, while Theon and Yara in one group and Ser Denys Drumm in the other would march to the closest gates on the north side of the city, ones where Rhaegar’s army would be waiting.

 

Bold, decisive, and risky - especially with so small a force. But Rhaegar had gambled that the City Watch of Lannisport wouldn’t be competent when stretched to the limit as a garrison force as well as one to keep the peace. A tiny diversion led by Dacey Mormont could stretch them to the breaking point, a sentiment Yara and Theon concurred in.

 

The diversion turned out to be brilliant and effective, aside from some stragglers that were quickly killed and frightened civilians that were knocked out. Soon, the Ironborn had reached the sea gate at the northern side, Ygritte’s arrows burying themselves into the eyes of the city watchmen atop the gatehouse just as the Ironborn descended on the others. About half were hacked down before the rest surrendered, quickly opening the gate once they realized that was what their captors wanted. Scaling the wall, Yara lit a fire atop the gatehouse… a signal for the seven hundred mounted banners outside to charge towards the city.

 

A hooded figure galloped in at the van, bow in hand much like Ygritte’s. “Good job, Greyjoy.”

 

As the hood was removed, Theon bowed his head. “Thank you, Princess.”

 

Lyanna Stark snorted. “None of that shit. Has your uncle captured the palace?” Wild and blunt, now she was sharp and businesslike… no useless talk from the she-wolf of Winterfell. “Things are complicated if he hasn’t.”

 

“We wouldn’t know. He’s not the most communicative of men,” Yara scoffed.

 

The wolf princess laughed. “Well, we’ll find out soon.” Above her head, the roar of a dragon boomed through the air, ending any sense of surprise that they could’ve had as a dark blurr raced towards the center of the city. “Come on, they might be sleeping but we can’t.” Finishing off his waterskin, Theon drew his sword and followed Princess Lyanna into the fray.

 

Jaime Lannister

 

Within their tent, shrouded from the wider world if just for a few more stolen moments, the two lovers melded their lips together in a sensual dance. Communicating without words simply how much they meant to each other. Jaime felt a hand weave into his locks, massaging the back of his neck with ardent affection - an emotion reflected back in her eyes. “The day is here,” Alysanne murmured quietly, so unlike her.

 

Jaime nodded. “Aye.” There were no illusions of what they would have to face today. “Win or die, there won’t be second chances.”

 

“Do not die, Jaime.” Her lips pressed thinly together, eyes hard. “If you do I’ll ride Ragnar into the Seven Hells to kill you myself.”

 

“I do not intend to sleep in the Seven Hells tonight.” Jaime gave a tiny smirk. “Instead in there,” he pointed to their cot. “With you naked beside me.”

 

Normally his teasing would result in an eyeroll and witty retort, but Alysanne only nodded, hugging him fiercely. “Make it happen.” Another kiss, this one shorter but no less passionate. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.” One last check of his armor and affixing Brightroar to his waist - to which Alysanne helped him buckle in a display of gentle domesticity and affection that Cersei never afforded him even in their happiest moments - Jaime stepped out into the sunlight shining through the morning fog. Already, the war council was gathered - pitifully small as they were devoid of senior officers in the reduced army. No matter. In Jaime’s experience, that would make it far easier to command. “Where is the enemy?”

 

“Lined up for battle,” replied Ser Barristan, his voice grim and resolved as all of them were. “No elephants as we feared.”

 

Jaime remembered from Varys’ dispatches that they had tried brokering for the massive beasts from the Sothoryos traders. He was glad, for the monsters could cause significant damage and Ragnar wasn’t large enough to kill them easily - nevertheless, they had trained the Unsullied to deal with them. “What are they using then?”

 

Obara Sand, being the leader of their scouts and light cavalry, brushed her braid behind her shoulder. “Saw some scythed chariots lined up in the center… dozens of them.”

 

“An anachronism, but they’ll use the same tactic as elephants. Alright.” Their plans would still work, then. Clapping his hands together, Jaime might have been but a knight of the Kingsguard but on the decree of Alysanne - herself acting under the authority of King Aegon and Queen Daenerys - he would lead the army into battle. “Your Grace, take Ragnar and wait on our left.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be in the reserve?” she asked, undoubtedly thinking that Ragnar would be best sent to plug gaps in their line against the numerically superior enemy force.

 

“They’ll want the high ground from us, and I want you to stop them.” He waited for her to nod, looking at him with supreme trust. I’ll strive not to shake that. “Barristan, you’re on the right - Red Flea, the center with the Unsullied and hold firm no matter what. I’ll take direct command of the Dothraki reserve.” Limited as they were in terms of manpower, it was clear to Jaime that both geography and the better training of their men would need to be leaned on to counter the numerical superiority of the masters. But to commit all their forces into the front line was a folly. Lord Reyne had done so against his father during the Reyne-Tarbeck Revolt and was routed, as did the Stormlands loyalists against Robert.

 

In the distance, hornblows and the beating of drums took Jaime from his contemplation. “Battle formations are beginning,” announced Nymeria Sand, readying her Valyrian steel blade. She and Tyene would fight with the Princess, while Obara would be with Jaime’s cavalry.

 

Jaime nodded. “To arms. May the old gods and the new be with you all.” Reaching out, he squeezed Alysanne’s hand, expression filled with promise. “I love you.”

 

Her look of adoration was all the motivation he needed as they parted.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

“Are you mad?!” Jaime gritted his teeth and chose not to answer the incredulous Sand Snake - he had other things to worry about than her disapproval, leaving it as a mere annoyance. 

 

The Dothraki were just as bewildered and far more angry, but discipline for the one ‘Fucking the Dragon’ as they so crudely put it actually held and then complied, following Jaime’s order to retreat from the field to the narrowest point in the flat plain sandwiched between a river gorge on one side and a large mountain on the other - from what Ser Barristan said, it was the place where Daenerys and Aegon found a crucified slaver girl before they left for Westeros, one of dozens. A reality seen in the Unsullied, making their urge to fight ever harder.

 

Looking out at the vast army arraigned against them - double their fifteen thousand and holding the standards of the Ghiscari slavers that so ruled this land after the Doom of Valyria, Jaime knew the target they opened was simply too tempting. With more troops he could’ve turned the ground into an impregnable wall of steel. But he didn’t, creating gaps in the narrow two mile long front that made assault all the more tempting. And from the hornblows and jeering he heard from the eager sellswords, freeborn enforcers, and Janissary soldiers in the enemy ranks, they had taken the bait.

 

“Stand fast!” Red Flea, hand-picked by Grey Worm to lead the Unsullied in the latter’s absence, gave the orders that the line of the elite hypaspists carried out in near automatic fashion, shields slamming together and spears depressed in a united front. These men had stormed Yunkai, had defended Meereen against everything thrown at it… the famous unit that stopped a Dothraki horde twenty times their size. 

 

But the overconfident and angry Masters had a solution, they thought. A line of scythed chariots, swords affixed to their wheels and pulled by the best steeds money could buy, charged as breakthrough weapons straight at the Unsullied. Three soldiers were mounted on the chariots, two bearing long pikes meant to slam through the front line of the hypaspists so that the scythes would rip through the ranks.

 

Watching from a small bluff where he established his command, Jaime grinned as the Unsullied used the tactics drilled into them for use against elephants done against the chariots. The blocks of the pikemen retreated in perfect formation behind the ones next to them, opening up gaps in which the chariots passed harmlessly… only for the final ones assaulted from all sides by the spears of the former slave soldiers. A barrage of arrows from Dothraki horse archers Jaime had positioned behind the Unsullied massacred the rest, causing morale to soar among the Targaryen Army.

 

Grinning like the lion he was, Jaime then watched as the entire line of Janissary spearmen advanced on his Unsullied, both solid blocks of infantry crashing into each other. Arrows from the horse archers and the light foot bowmen of Lhazareen sellswords skirmishing and delivering death upon the heads of each advancing line. The Unsullied remained the most disciplined, but the armor of the Janissaries was thicker and their spears longer, equalizing the engagement and causing it to stagnate into a stalemated brawl.

 

“Ser Jaime!” It was one of the freedmen auxiliaries from the left wing… Alysanne! Jaime heard Ragnar screech, only hammering home the worry in his chest. “They’ve sent thousands at us. The Princess requests reinforcements!” 

 

Gritting his teeth, Jaime drew Brightroar, making his decision. “Obara, full charge with five hundred and reinforce the hill!” Alysanne’s contingent occupied the highest ground for miles, prime defensive position that nevertheless was being close to overwhelmed. “Rest of you cunts, fast trot with me!” Orders were sounded, horns blown, and the line of elite steppe horsemen galloping from their positions.

 

Watching Obara charge towards the hill, said position bathed in streaks of flame as Ragnar likely fought off the enemy single-handedly from his perch on the ground, Jaime resisted the urge to throw his entire force into the mix. The enemy still had reserves, while this was all his forces had. She is strong. She is a dragon… she will be safe… Gods, he tried to believe that.

 

Suddenly, even as Obara’s horsemen reached the fray, Jaime heard the dragon’s defiant roars change into shrieks of agony. Fishing out his spyglass, even jinking and bobbing atop his mount Jaime saw the masters hurling grappling hooks at the dragon - forcing Ragnar back and likely coming close to ripping his wings apart. Jaime’s heart beat in his chest. “Second line, five hundred! Charge!” Led by Daenerys’ bloodrider Rokharo, the beast of a man hurled another quarter of the mounted reserve upon the slope of the hill, charge blunted slightly but crashing into the side of the slaver line. The sellswords were forced back several paces, any momentum gained by the attack on Ragnar checked by the Targaryen forces.

 

It was then that the slaver commander - a sellsword from Yi Ti that proffered his services, saw an opportunity. Already assailed by the enforcer levies from Astapor and Yunkai, the Targaryen right was slowly giving ground and the commander now took the opportunity to ride against it with all his reserves as the Janissaries continued to push back the Unsullied slowly but steadily. Even with Barristan the Bold leading them, the dismounted Dothraki footmen and freedmen couldn’t withstand the pressure for much longer.

 

All of them underestimate the Lion of Lannister. In a show of flourish and adaptability that would likely make his father quite proud, Jaime reversed course of his remaining thousand horse and galloped at full tilt towards the beleaguered forces of his Kingsguard colleague. The sight galvanized his men, golden tresses spilling around his face - helm having fallen early in the battle - sword gleaming in the sun. He was both an angel and a demon, sent by the gods to deliver their vengeance upon the owners of men.

 

Howling like banshees, the Dothraki utterly savaged the attacking forces on the Targaryen right. Their arakhs followed Brightroar’s lead in hacking through the enemy, causing the sellswords to rout after mere minutes of them joining the battle. Atop the hill, Ragnar had recovered and followed his rider in bathing the enemy lines with dragonflame. Finally the forces on the hill broke, fleeing towards the rear only to be chased down to a man.

 

The Janissaries in the center, having stood firm against the Unsullied hypaspists, saw this and tried to retreat in good order towards their camp… but they were soon surrounded by Jaime and Alysanne. Slaves all, they rose up and killed their commanders before surrendering en masse.

 

After a mere two hours, the battle was over. A total victory for the Targaryens.

 

Wiping his face with a cloth provided by one of the Unsullied, Jaime saw the enemy commander tied up and dropped none to gently in front of him. “Yi Ti huh? Far from home then.”

 

“Aye,” he replied in accented common tongue. “Good thing I send gold home.”

 

“Greedy bastard,” Jaime snorted. “Your plan was good, mine was better.” The general couldn’t disagree. Looking back at the line of Ghiscari nobles also tied up, these ones weren’t like the stoic sellsword. While he remained calm and respectful, they trembled, begged for mercy, and sported wet crotches in their robes. Pathetic. “What’s your standing in Yi Ti?”

 

He looked up, haughty. “I am a highborn, brother of court minister Hudam Shu.”

 

“That a fact? Aight then, you’ll be ransomed.” He looked to find Tyene watching over the other prisoners. “Kill all the rest… and not quickly. Crucify them like you would slaves.”

 

Tyene grinned. “Yes, Ser Jaime.”

 

“Jaime!” The knight looked over and felt his heart clench… and then release. Covered in blood and gore, the armored Alysanne nonetheless moved in a way only someone unharmed would. Thank the gods. Jaime jogged over to her, only for the Princess to try and hold him back. “Don’t… I’m covered in some slaver cunt’s blood and brain.” The spear she carried was covered in it as well. Starfyre was still sheathed at her waist, unused during the battle.

 

Thinking for a moment, the knight shook his head. “I don’t think I care about that.” Without delay, he enveloped her in his arms… an embrace she reciprocated eagerly.

 

Robert Baratheon

 

“Well?! Out with it!” 

 

The messenger trembled, reading growing harder and harder as his hands shook, but he tried his best. “Um… your Grace, the letter says… ‘Robert… you took everything from me, but now I am back. I have taken Lord Tywin’s home from him.’” If the Stag King was fearful enough, combined with the narrowed eyes of the Old Lion recently arrived from White Harbor ahead of the remnants of his army - in better order than the hysterical rumors would allege - made a clean pair of trousers a rare prospect in the near future. “‘And now I will destroy everything you hold near and dear. Consider it a promise from the man Lyanna chose. Rhaegar Targaryen.’”

 

A mere second passed before Robert bellowed at the top of his lungs and slammed a fist into the messenger’s face. The boy lived, but he fell unconscious to the ground with a nose broken. “Get him out!”

 

Renly, rushing to his side, placed one hand on his arm and the other on his shoulder. “Brother, please calm down.”

 

“Fuck you! Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” The lad had ridden from King’s Landing for a special meeting of the war council to discuss the next move. Given their strategic situation, it wasn’t going well. “Another dragon in Dorne! My armies on the run everywhere but here! That damned dragonspawn strolling around the continent killing my bannermen and raping my Lyanna, and you ask me to calm down?!”

 

“Your Grace.” Furious eyes turned to Tywin, who was nonplussed at the glare. “You have the right to be angry, but we need to come up with a rational strategy if we are to win this war.”

 

Fists clenched, face ruddy with anger and a thirst for final vengeance - one he intended to be the last time his hated enemy took a breath of his Kingdom’s air - the Demon of the Trident looked down on the map before them before shifting his gaze to each of his commanders. Ser Baelor, Lord Bracken, Lord Caron, Renly, Lord Commander Trant, and Tywin himself. “What we’re going to do, men, is simple. Attack. Attack. Attack.”

 

A simple word, yet one that invoked muted fear among each of the assembled commanders except for Ser Meryn - who looked rather eager at the prospect - and the always reserved Tywin. “You can’t be serious, Robert. We’ve suffered defeat on all fronts! The Faith is gone, Casterly Rock will fall… half the Vale just abandoned us by the Seven!” 

 

As the King’s remaining brother and Robert’s intended regent for little Lyanna should something go wrong, the Prince had leeway and Robert knew that. As such, he couldn’t act in the same manner as if a bannerman said it, which would be to threaten him with death or the black cells. Therefore, the King merely smirked darkly. “They’ll never expect it then.” At that, Tywin raised a brow. “They think me stupid, as do you scum. I may be a man that likes the pleasures of life… that prefers to eat, drink, and fuck my way into an early fucking grave, but everyone since that dragonspawn rapist at Harrenhal has underestimated Robert Baratheon.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Well no more! We’re gonna win this fucking war and put all of those traitorous cunts and dragonspawn bastards into the ground.”

 

“How do you propose this, your Grace?” Looking up, there was an expression of… curiosity on Tywin’s face. One completely different from those of apprehension and incredulity in the others. 

 

Robert happened to like it, for once grateful to have Tywin Lannister as his Hand. An arrogant, hard bastard but one that acceded grudging respect and praise at a properly done job or thought out plan. Looking back at the map, a sense of nostalgia came over him. This was the same region he had fought, bled, and triumphed over during his rise to power… where he killed Rhaegar. Only ironically enough, his situation was Rhaegar’s rather than his own - marching North. The fords were taken, but that wasn’t all that was left.

 

He’d have to avoid making the same mistakes. “We divide our forces,” he announced. “Fuck the Vale, let Baelish and Royce kill themselves over it. Also fuck the Tyrells… they’re too small to matter and that dragon pretender in Dorne will require their attention. No, my goodfather will march against Robb Stark and crush them around the Twins, while I take Riverrun and march for Rhaegar and make him taste my steel.”

 

Digesting it, his commanders seemed… not as worried as before once the plan formed itself out. But Tywin… he was impossible to read. “The rest of you get out. I need to speak with my goodson, the King.”

 

They hesitated to obey when in the direct presence of the King, but Robert waved them off. “Get the fuck out of here, then… even you Renly, git!” Some scurried out, some hesitated but left, and Renly stared at Robert for the longest time before finally departing - likely back to King’s Landing. Alone with Tywin, Robert crossed his arms. “You’re not gonna stop me, Tywin. This is what we should’ve done to fucking begin with.”

 

“We did, your Grace. We struck at the North.”

 

A snort. “Aye, and what happened to your fucking army, Tywin? Hmmm?” The lion narrowed his eyes but said nothing. I knew you’d fail… just hoped Ned might’ve lost his touch. He didn’t.”

 

“It was always a gamble… the Northern armies were bloodied on their own land rather than in ours, that is a strategic win.” He moved some of the markers on the map. “The true disaster was the destruction of the Faith Militant… opens up Garlan Tyrell’s army in the south, though you are right. The invasion of the new usurper in the south will draw them to the Dornish Marches.”

 

“And the dragonspawn taking your home, Old Lion?” While he hated Rhaegar with every fiber of his being, that Tywin’s infamous land fell so easily wasn’t ever not amusing.

 

Not to Tywin, it seemed. “It’s… unfortunate, but we’ll get it back, or should I say you. They’ll have to send more to reinforce Rhaegar, so further dividing their limited armies.” He pointed to a specific circle. “You just need to take Riverrun, but it will not be easy to take by storm.”

 

“They’ll crack at our steel,” Robert pronounced. “Hoster was always a shit. I’m looking forward to getting him for treason.”

 

“No argument from me, but there’s an easier way.” He began to shift the markers around, illustrating exactly what his thinking was.

 

As Tywin went on, Robert’s excitement grew and grew… “I like the way you think, goodfather.” Sooner this is done, the sooner Rhaegar will taste my warhammer.

 

And then Lyanna would be his.

 

Lyanna Targaryen

 

“So there it is.” Stomach growing along with the babe within, if Lyanna had been anyone else she might’ve felt significant discomfort - but as Rhaegar said, she must’ve been a Dothraki in a past life with how well and effortlessly she rode. “We’re penitents in an unholy land, husband.”

 

“Our son and Daenerys intend to rule this land as much as they do Winterfell, Highgarden, or Sunspear,” Rhaegar replied, seated on the horse beside her as the gallop of riders approached their well-armed band. “But gods forgive me if I do feel the urge to torch and burn this entire place as Aegon the Conqueror did Harrenhal.” Lyanna couldn’t fault him one bit for his sentiment.

 

Casterly Rock was situated on a small plateau jutting into the sea. A steep embankment led up to a lower portion which served as a gatehouse and motte so to speak, while tunnels carved into the rock itself led up to the main keep atop the larger portion - which was where Lord Tywin Lannister called home. It had to be as old as Winterfell was or merely close behind, though Tywin and Tyrion made extensive renovations to the place after being damaged in the First Blackfyre Rebellion and neglected by the previous two lords. 

 

It was beautiful, but such beauty didn’t negate the presence of monsters inside. 

 

That being said, it was the last bastion of Lannister control in their own homeland. Resistance disintegrated after Rhaegar slew the Mountain in single combat and destroyed his army, keep after keep fell as stooped lords or worried ladies capitulated to the victorious Targaryen host. Rhaegal only had to be used once when Crakehall chose to be defiant. One tower enveloped in dragonflame and two hours later the keep had surrendered. All that was left was the seat of Tywin himself.

 

To say the army was confident was an understatement.

 

Lyanna remembered that Lord Tywin had a sister… she had seen Genna Lannister at the Tourney at Harrenhal, a beautiful, voluptuous woman. This woman was plump and the years hadn’t been kind, but Lyanna could match the facial features. Next to her was her balding husband, Emmon Frey, and knights surrounded them. “Rhaegar Targaryen in the flesh,” she said as soon as introductions were made. “Reports of your death were greatly exaggerated it seems.:

 

“Robert must be displeased, then,” Rhaegar replied drolly. 

 

The green eyes shifted to Lyanna. “So you’re the little woman that started all of this… I would’ve pictured you with the beauty of Rhaenyra Targaryen from the stories they tell.”

 

Smiling falsely, Lyanna did not give Genna the satisfaction of the dig. “Considering I have a child and another on the way, my husband finds me quite beautiful… and that is enough for me.”

 

Nodding in respect of the highborn woman, Rhaegar clasped his hands together. “Lady Genna, thank you for entreating with us outside of your keep. We appreciate the pleasantries of your hospitality, and have a gift for you… or more accurately a gift for Lord Tywin, still the Lord of Casterly Rock.” He motioned to one of their bannermen, a burly Mormont warrior that wore a bushy mustache and a look of hate for the well-dressed Westermen who didn’t look like they fought a day in their life outside tourney grounds. “I hope you enjoy this gift.”

 

Their bannerman handed the basket to one of the westermen, who brought it next to Genna Lannister. He lifted the basket lid and immediately winced. Such was made obvious when the head of Gregor Clegane was pulled out by his hair and shown to Lady Genna. “Quite the gift,” she said glibly, frowning. 

 

“You barbarous scum…” Emmon Frey began, but it had no energy to it. The man was craven and it was obvious to all involved.

 

“No,” said the she-wolf. “What was barbarous is what this… thing did to Elia Martell and her children, my children.” Gods, she wished she could’ve had a hand in Clegane’s death, but was glad Rhaegar had the sense of closure and justice to finish it. “My sister-wife and stepchildren are avenged,” Lyanna announced. “I… or rather we would’ve preferred to deliver this gift to Lord Tywin personally, but you informing him by raven is enough.” Feeling the babe flutter in her belly, she placed a hand on it - willing her child to ease his or her discomfort. I know, my love, I know. “If you wish for the rest of his corpse, I feel you’d need to comb through the dung of Rhaegal.” She motioned to the green dragon waiting about a hundred feet behind their party, the size of an elephant and baring his teeth in a show of force.

 

Lyanna gained a sense of satisfaction at the Westermen, all of them more unsettled from her husband’s dragon instead of the Mountain’s severed, brutalized head. They know where their priorities lie.

 

But her husband wasn’t a wasteful man, and did not intend to let this parlay become a match of insults as the parlay with Robert had become… or well started off as and changing not. “To make matters short, I ask for the surrender of Casterly Rock and the bending of the knee of House Lannister to my son King Aegon and my sister Queen Daenerys - represented by me as Prince of the Realm.” What would’ve been a messy succession issue was resolved when Rhaegar unilaterally abdicated his claim on behalf of Jon, in spite of the latter’s protests. He’s a good boy, my son. Thank you, Ned. She’d always be grateful to her brother for turning Jon into the man he’d become, strong but also honorable. As such, Rhaegar retained his princely title. 

 

Frowning, the portly lioness looked at her husband, then at her retinue of knights. “Forgive me, Prince Rhaegar, but I hold no authority to agree to any determination for my House.”

 

“It is the decree of the King and Queen that any Lord that takes up arms against them… while under duration of their active participation in hostilities, has been attained and is barred from holding title or authority to land or person. Since Lord Tywin and Lord Kevan both are under arms against their Graces, they cannot hold the title of Lord of Casterly Rock and authority therefore passes on to you.”

 

She glared at them both. “My House hasn’t acceded to any sort of Targaryen control since the atrocities of the Mad King, your father,” Genna hissed.

 

Lyanna scoffed, but her husband was outwardly unperturbed. “Fundamentally, Lady Lannister, you have two choices.” Rhaegar leaned back in his saddle, looking calm even though Lyanna could tell he was anything but. “First, you swallow your pride and you surrender to me and my army. There is no help coming, and you are surrounded on both land and sea, Lannisport has fallen. There is no escape.”

 

While holding the same sense of stubborn arrogance her family was famous for, Genna seemed to hesitate. Clearly not a fool. “What is the second option?” It was clear that she had an idea, but formality necessitated it being said out loud.

 

Rhaegar got his little smirk that came to his face whenever he knew he was about to win… he had the same look in the bedchamber as well, so Lyanna was familiar with every detail of it. “Well, then we’d only need to ask Black Harren and Kingspyre Tower of the fate Casterly Rock would face… or should I rather reference the Field of Fire for familiarity’s sake as to House Lannister.”

 

Genna blinked, trembling slightly - eyes flickering between Rhaegar and the green dragon in a rather visible fear. “There are smallfolk in the keep… women and children. You wouldn’t be Maegor the Cruel…”

 

“I am sure there were women and children in Castamere and Tarbeck Hall,” Lyanna shot back. “Your brother didn’t care about that so why should we?” The northern Princess didn’t wish to victimize the innocents in this war, but being wary of fighting… she was willing to do what it took to end the cycle of death and thus spare more innocents.

 

So was Rhaegar willing. “Those are the choices, Lady Genna. I wish not to roast Casterly Rock and turn it into the ‘Melted Rock.’” Dacey and the other Northern highborns chuckled at that, while the banners laughed openly at the jape. Rhaegar eyed the great keep appreciatively. “It is beautiful, so unlike the monstrosity that is Harrenhal, and I am sure that there is much priceless art from the history of the Kings of the Rock I would be remiss to destroy, but hear me, Lady Genna - only surrender can find you surviving, your children surviving, and your House surviving. Tywin sought the destruction of my House, and as the old gods and new as my witnesses I will wipe out the entire House Lannister with dragonfire. This is a promise.”

 

Time stood nearly still, nothing but the flutter of the banners and chirping of birds breaking the silence. In the middle of the standoff as all sorts of emotions crossed over Lady Genna’s face, Rhaegal let out a shriek, nearly knocking one of the knights off his horse and adding much needed incentive.

 

Finally, a sigh left the sister of Tywin Lannister and she swung off her horse - dropping to the ground and walking to right before Rhaegar. Lyanna smirked as the blonde lioness bent the knee before him. “I, Genna of House Lannister, hereby surrender Casterly Rock to Rhaegar of House Targaryen on behalf of Aegon, Sixth of his Name, and Daenerys, First of her Name, of House Targaryen. My fealty and service belong to them.” In the faces of the Westermen, they looked glum and sullen - not surprising, since with Genna’s surrender any hope of avoiding the taint of defeat was quashed.

 

Casterly Rock had been conquered by House Targaryen for the first time in its history. The Westerlands were theirs.

 

 It wasn’t the end of the war, but Lyanna’s sore back and restless womb would certainly appreciate the bath and warm, soft bed that awaited her in the hall of the lions… hopefully with Rhaegar right beside her.

 

Lynesse Lannister

 

“You’re not japing me, are you?” The Lady Lannister’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the plain, plump Master of Whisperers. “A fourth dragon in Dorne?” Next to her, the Master of Laws blanched white. Having just returned to King’s Landing after his brother personally confirmed the return of Rhaegar Targaryen, Renly wasn’t too pleased to find out the appearance of another hidden Targaryen scion.

 

Varys pursed his lips and folded his hands inside his robe’s thick sleeves. “I am not a man to jape about much of anything. Since leaving the mummers’ troupe I traveled with as a child, I’ve had little patience for those who poke fun at others’ troubles.” He fixed Lynesse with a clear-eyed gaze that betrayed no mischief. “The dragonlord that has taken Sunspear is Aerys Targaryen, twin brother of Daenerys. Doran Martell died at his hand and his lands are in chaos.”

 

Renly cracked a smile. “What a mad fool. Making an enemy out of a potential ally… Seems this Aerys may be of some benefit to us. The Dornish will be forced to pull their armies from the Reach to deal with him.” 

 

That much was true, though Lyness privately doubted it. Her father was certain to have sealed off the Prince’s Pass to prevent the new pretender from entering her homeland. “What forces does Aerys have at his command?” She was never a sound military mind, but her nuptials with Lord Tywin had familiarized her with some of the basics.

 

“A total of thirty thousand sellswords with both cavalry and infantry,” Varys stated bluntly. “The Golden Company marches under his banner with eighty elephants.”

 

“Another dragon included,” Renly muttered. His hand raised to wipe a trickle of sweat running down his hair. “By the Seven, tell me the Mad King reborn has not come to join his strength to Rhaegar’s.”

 

Lynesse ignored his rising panic. They all said that women couldn’t control their emotions, but the youngest Baratheon brother had to be one or all her septa taught her was wrong. “Was this Targaryen responsible for Volantis’ destruction?”

 

“After careful investigation, I can confirm so.”

 

“That happened months ago, Lord Varys. You should’ve informed my husband of that sooner.” Lynesse had never really trusted the enigmatic spymaster with him having served Robert almost as if Aerys had never been overthrown. His cryptic declaration that he served the Realm only heightened her suspicion of him. After all, kings come and go, but kingdoms remain. What did that say about where one’s loyalties lie?

 

Varys looked nonplussed. “I fear that I am not Bloodraven with his thousand eyes and one. My little birds aren’t always successful.” He sighed and looked at the horrible spiked visage of the Iron Throne at the end of the hall. “Besides, it’s almost as if Aerys knows my methods. Half my little birds that I sent after him never return and the other half report that his identity is of his sister. Until now.”

 

He turned to Renly. “As for your question, my lord, Jon Connington has been spotted at the head of Bittersteel’s heirs. If Aerys is not allied with his father, I would say he soon will.”

 

Color drained from the Lord of Storm’s End’s face. The former Lord of Griffin’s Roost had been a fanatical supporter of Rhaegar Targaryen. Many believed him to have drunk himself to death in exile, but apparently yet another man was back from the grave. Regaining his composure, Renly snorted. “Of course that would happen. Connington was always a little too close to his Silver Prince for his own good.”

 

“Like you and the Flower Knight?” Lynesse raised an eyebrow. “My husband implied that your tastes run in that sort of direction.” She smirked to see his face turn a beet red. “If that is all, Lord Varys, you have leave to go.”

 

“My lady.” Varys dipped his head before slipping out into one of the hallways. As she and Renly left the Throne Room, her mind drifted back to the letter she’d received from her brother Gunthor. Disaster had struck at Red Lake when Garlan Tyrell’s miniscule army annihilated the Faith Militant in open battle. The banners of the Seven scattered to the four winds as the Tyrell heir began marching south to reclaim Highgarden. Gunthor was pleading for emergency levies from the Crownlands to replenish the Faith’s ranks.

 

“My brother stripped the Stormlands bare of troops… no way to defend Storm’s End… clear path to the capital…” Renly halted in his tracks. “Have you heard a word I’ve said, Lady Lannister? Aerys Targaryen is on our southern flank and we have no men to block his advance!”

 

She glared at him. Thank you for breaking my concentration. “We still have time before the dragonspawn reaches us - enough time for my husband to deal with Robb Stark and return to reinforce the capital. Far more pressing is the disintegration of the Stars and Swords. Already the northern Reach has returned to the Tyrell banner.”

 

“My home is more exposed than a Lysene bedslave and you’d have me abandon it?!” Renly flushed redder than ever with frustrated anger. “The Lannisters may have dealt the killing blow to the Mad King, but my house is the one who supplanted him. What do you think Aerys will do to repay the debt?”

 

“Probably turn Storm’s End into the next Harrenhal. Make good on Rhaena Targaryen’s promised threat to Boremund Baratheon.” She shrugged. “This is war, goodnephew. You’re a stormlander, not a knight of summer. Unless Loras Tyrell rubbed off on you a little much.” 

 

“Will you stop that?!” Renly gritted his teeth as he inhaled heavily. “Fine, about the situation in the Reach… we have no more rabble to levy for the Poor Fellows. Tell your father to call his own banners to make up for the numbers the Faith lacks. He’s been hiding behind the High Septon for too long now.”

 

“He’s always been sentimental about family,” Lynesse spat, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t want their blood on his hands if he can help it.” She brooded silently. The only thing her father prized more than his blood was his title as Lord of Oldtown. Perhaps she could appeal to his want for power to get him to fully throw his weight behind the Faith. After all, the Queen of Thorns was not going to let her goodbrother’s rebellion against her grandson go unpunished. “Fear not, Lord Renly. I’ll handle the war with Garlan. You focus on preparing King’s Landing for a siege.”

 

Renly still looked unsatisfied, but he simply nodded in agreement. Straightening his gambeson, he took his leave and exited the Throne Room. He clearly was put off by her cavalier attitude, though that was the only way she could think of to get him off her back. His penchant for drama would annoy even the cringiest of court fools.

 

As she sat down in the Tower of the Hand to pen her letter to Gunthor, telling him that House Hightower would have to enter the war proper, she poured herself a goblet of spiced honey wine. The freshest vintage available from Lannisport had ceased shipping since the ironborn seized the city and she was down to her last cask. A pity - it was Lord Tywin’s favorite drink and upon her first sip, she couldn’t agree more.

 

As she lifted the goblet to her lips, her nose wrinkled in confusion. Frowning, she gingerly placed it back on the table as if it was made of glass. Spiced honey wine had a distinctive scent from the cloves, nutmeg, and honey mixed in the fermentation process, yet hers was perfectly odorless. Looking hard at the sweet liquid, she noticed its red-gold hue was paler than usual and when she dipped a finger in, found that it was also too watery. I never drink my wine watered-down… 

 

Lynesse’s bright blue orbs darkened and she let out a low chuckle. So she does have the nerve. The daggers the Queen’s eyes shot at her at their last encounter were an obvious hint - a question of when rather than if. Green with envy did the Light of the West shine. The Lady of Casterly Rock indulged a smidge in the sin of pride at having pulled the lion’s tail and dodged its bite.

 

She dumped the wine back into its pitcher. Tears of Lys, of course. That Lannister bitch was far too hasty to be rid of her. Tregar Ormollen, her former paramour, had taught her how to identify poisons. The signature one of Lys was normally untraceable, but when adulterated to excess in drinks, the liquids lost their scent and paled in color from dilution. She was glad that she paid attention. Ladies who spent all their time on their wardrobes were blind to other, if less tasteful, means of power.

 

She pondered on whether or not to alert Tywin on his daughter’s bungled assassination attempt… I don’t need a man to fight my battles against a royal wench.  

 

A ghost of a smile rose on her lips. You’ve thrown the gauntlet, gooddaughter. Let us play.

Notes:

Colin: For the first time, Casterly Rock falls to House Targaryen - a bad omen for Tywin.

Longclaw: Decisive victories for House Targaryen as they advance following their victories. The Westerlands has fallen, North is liberated, and a crushing defeat upon the slavers in Essos (modeled after the Battle of Chaeronea with Jaime Lannister being Sulla).

Sansa dives in and essentially becomes the new Princess of Dorne.

Until next time, my friends. Be sure to drop a comment :)

Chapter 69: Repositioning

Summary:

1) Daenerys brings Yohn Royce into the Targaryen fold.
2) The Lion hunts the Trout.
3) Alysanne makes a final settlement with the Slaver Alliance.
4) Catelyn and company arrive at the Twins.
5) Melisandre links Daenerys to her other half.

Notes:

Hey all! Sorry for the long wait, but here we are with another one!

Be sure to comment.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen

 

“Are you sure about this, my love?”

 

“Yes, Jon… urgh…” Daenerys loved being pregnant - the feel of a life growing inside of her, the joy of her house emerging from near extinction back to vibrance again, how Jon lit up with every motion of their little one… but if she didn’t love one thing about it, it was the difficulty to walk once she got to whale stage. “I cannot wait for this babe to be born.”

 

“I cannot either… though you constantly jumping me is something I’ve grown fond of.” Jon wriggled his brows suggestively.

 

Dany smacked his shoulder, but grinned. “I’m insatiable for you no matter what, so down, boy.” Gods, he was much more lovely when happy and carefree… though brooding Jon was hot in and of itself. “And to answer your question before, yes. I can get through to Lord Royce.”

 

Looking around, seeing they were not alone with other guards and knights wandering around, Jon dropped into High Valyrian. “He wasn’t our biggest supporter during my past. Likely yours as well, right?” Dany sighed and nodded. “The way he stirred up trouble with Sansa and against the Free Folk, I’m not sure I trust him now.”

 

Bronze Yohn Royce had shown up the previous day at the head of a column of Vale knights and men-at-arms six thousand strong. They had marched down the Neck with all haste behind a message sent by raven to the Twins that they had defected to the Starks, and by extension, the Targaryens. The Knights of the Vale were encamped on the right bank of the Green Fork and Lord Royce was due to entreat with her and Jon this day.

 

As the Lord of Runestone took his seat across from her, Daenerys felt perfectly at ease despite her grossly swollen abdomen. The same couldn’t be said for Lord Royce, who was still perspiring from the sight of Sarogon and Aragon outside the castle. Clearing her throat, the Dragon Queen disposed of any pleasantries and cut to the chase.

 

“Lord Yohn Royce, I would thank you for bringing your banners over to me and my husband, but your delay makes me hesitant as to the sincerity of your defection.” She fixed him with a burning stare. “The northmen took quite a beating from Tywin Lannister’s incursion of their homeland. Which, I may add, was greatly aided by the men under your command.” She folded her arms over her generous swell and waited.

 

Moistening his lips, Yohn Royce spoke slowly and carefully. Not wanting to wake the dragon was wise on his part. “Your Grace… I plead forgiveness for my tardy change of heart. I just dared not turn my cloak against Tywin until I felt doing so would not immediately result in my men being strung up. Besides, the Crown had not dishonored the Vale the way it had to the North that resulted in Winterfell’s reclaimed independence.”

 

“So, what did finally lead you to come over to Ned Stark?”

 

“I received a message from the Spider that implicated Lord Baelish as responsible for Lysa Arryn’s supposed suicide.” Shaking his head in disbelief, his gaze hardened. “That was all the proof I needed to forsake Robert, especially with what Lord Stark shared with me during young Robin’s fostering.”

 

Daenerys smiled thinly inside. While she would have preferred the entirety of the Vale to back her and Jon, Lord Royce would have to do so until further victories could perhaps persuade more of the Falcon’s banners to switch sides. “Your sons are with you, correct, my lord?”

 

“Yes, your Grace. My heir, Andar and spare, Robar. I would not risk them being held hostage by Tywin upon discovery of my treachery.”

 

Daenerys leaned forward with some difficulty due to her full womb. “If you will accept, I offer your second son a position on my husband’s Kingsguard. We have yet to fill out its ranks and would be honored to have one of the Vale represented in our white cloaks.” Varys had informed her that a certain Ser Hugh of the Vale was in Robert’s Kingsguard, so having a Valeman in theirs would be prudent. As House Royce was second only to the ruling House Arryn, Ser Robar’s presence would do well to convey the legitimacy of the Targaryen cause.

 

“I must talk it over with my son before coming to my decision, your Grace,” Yohn Royce replied. “However, rest assured, you have the loyalty of my house and those that would follow my command.”

 

“Thank you, my lord. I trust that I will not regret it.”

 

Tywin Lannister

 

“Quite a lot of irony in this section of the river, Lord Hand.”

 

Lowering his spyglass, Tywin Lannister eyed Lord Jonos Bracken with a raised eyebrow. “And why is that? Another skirmish with your Blackwood foes over hills that look like asscheeks this time?” Normally he would’ve had more tact, but the lion was too apprehensive and bitter to care at this point.

 

Lord Bracken snorted before just letting it go. “Truth be told, not far from here is where Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen.”

 

“Oh?” Not the perfect symbolism, but one he wouldn’t dismiss. “Good then. A message, if imperfect.” Not wishing to speak to the man any further, Tywin looked back across the field from his perch in a wooded glade along the Trident south of the Whispering Wood on the north bank. “How far are we from Riverrun again?”

 

“Fifteen miles, my Lord.”

 

“Good, very good.”

 

Reputation was everything to the Lord of Casterly Rock. His father had had quite a poor one, his merry nature and love to both please and be pleased leading to many both mocking him - openly in many cases - and seeking to take advantage of his generous nature. Taxes unpaid, authority scoffed at, only when Tywin in his youth descended like Balerion the Black Dread upon Tarbeck Hall and Castamere did House Lannister reclaim its reputation of decisive action and martial prowess. Something to be feared rather than mocked.

 

Ever since, he had cultivated a powerful reputation. Frayed by Aerys’ insults, he got it back by leading the rebellion at the end that resulted in the Targaryen’s death and Cersei becoming Queen. Embarrassed by the actions of Joffrey that resulted in his lands being easy pickings for the Targaryens to emerge from the hole they crawled into, he had yanked Robert out of his drunken stupor and reforged a fighting machine capable of victory. And now being decisively defeated and losing two-thirds of his army at Castle Cerwyn to death, capture, or defection on top of Rhaegar Targaryen taking his own keep… Tywin was in need of something to restore his feared reputation to glory.

 

Luckily, the blundering stupidity of House Tully provided just that.

 

Hoster Tully’s force had sallied out of Riverrun to pursue the besieging force, the lot of them having pulled back in the most disorganized fashion… on Tywin’s exact orders. When knowing Beric Dondarrion - and his rather unsettling second in command Thoros of Myr - were in charge, he knew they’d carry it out competently. The orders diffused, especially to the noncombatants deliberately left behind to relay them to the Tully retainers.

 

Of course he takes the bait. Tywin had a grasp of those who tried to compete with him in the game of thrones. In all fairness, he hadn’t expected Ned Stark to be so good at it - what with hiding his nephew as his bastard son and manipulating Robert into granting him the North’s independence - though his idiot grandson had a lot to do with that - but he always had a measure of Hoster Tully. The industrious fool who doesn’t think himself a fool, such is the worst person to be but the best opponent to face. 

 

Once the ravens from the Twins were shot down by expert archers from House Lefford and his own ravens were sent to Riverrun speaking of how he had died in the North and the entire Westerlands army was wiped out, Tywin knew he had Hoster right where he wanted him.

 

Having marched nonstop from Riverrun in pursuit of the besieging force of Beric Dondarrion, Hoster’s force was eager for revenge over moons of siege but growing exhausted as they passed into a flat river valley south of the river. Halting for a moment, the royal army was spotted alongside a group of Bracken cavalry. The best horsemen in the Riverlands, but ones even the more inexperienced Tully levies - as opposed to the battle-hardened forces of Brynden the Blackfish that had joined Tytos Blackwood in Robb Stark’s force at the Twins - knew how they fought. 

 

“Full retreat,” Tywin told his dispatch rider. “But keep it in order.” The rider nodded and dashed off for the Bracken formation. Tywin waited a moment before he galloped out of his hiding place and made for his camp.

 

When Hoster saw the retreating backs of the Stormlanders and Bracken banners, the prospect of beating the traitors as well as the invaders was so tempting and the aging Lord of Riverrun ordered a full attack even as his men were close to collapse. It was cold that day, unseasonably so, but the men had sweated in their exertions and it was chilling them dangerously, but still they attacked. Yet the Brackens didn’t break from their retreat…

 

Until the bugles gave the signal from the hidden thousand Lannister horsemen - freshly arrived from the evacuation of White Harbor and eager to redeem themselves after Castle Cerwyn. At Tywin’s urging, they charged around the flanks while the Brackens turned around and engaged the exhausted Tullys. Alone among the great houses fielding a tradition of mounted warfare, the Bracken horse not only contained knights but also horse archers and javelinmen. The knights fell in line with the charging Lannisters while the others circled the Tullys, peppering them with javelins and arrows so thick that the charge was halted. 

 

Tywin, riding alongside his men, didn’t sacrifice his command of the field as his signallers rode alongside him. He relied solely on his horse, the fatigued Stormlands foot kept in reserve - not that he needed them. The open and level floodplain was perfect for his heavy knights and the lighter Bracken skirmishers, their constant and neverending assault chewing through the ranks of Hoster Tully’s banners.

 

Stuck in a chaotic situation, the now assailed banners of the Lord Paramount had no good options. Staying where they were resulted in a steady rain of projectiles, but fatigue and the nimble Bracken horse - well-rested and elite - simply allowed them to pull back in good order and then attack again. Each time a formation attempted to engage the enemy, the banners of the Red Stallion would disengage and swing away, before wheeling around and close around the footmen, preventing them from rejoining the line and cutting them down where they stood. 

 

When Tywin saw his opportunity and ordered a full charge from his heavy horse, Hoster soon realised the threat and ordered a retreat towards higher ground. It was all for naught, the determined crack Westerlands heavy cavalry faster. Lances were lowered and they plowed into the front ranks of the Tully line. Hundreds were cut down as they ran, while many in the rear simply collapsed on the ground exhausted, waiting for death.

 

One of them was Hoster Tully, the Lord of Riverrun knowing his time had come and raising his sword. Shambling towards the best dressed knight and determined to die fighting. Watching him, Tywin Lannister smirked under his helm and aimed his lance. Feeling the jolt as it cleanly ran through Lord Tully’s breastplate to shatter his chest.

 

Roger Reyne, Walderan Tarbeck, Aerys Targaryen, Walter Whent, and now Hoster Tully. The Rains of Castamere had claimed yet another victim.

 

Alysanne Targaryen

 

“So, it’s true then?” Alysanne’s amethyst eyes, equally haunting as her lady mother’s violet ones, met them as if almost dreading the answer. “Has my husband landed in Westeros?” The word describing her estranged brother and father of her son tasted bitter in her mouth. But hard truths were hard truths. She was still married to Aerys Targaryen, whether she liked it or not.

 

Ashara smiled back wanly, her manicured hands reaching out to brush back her daughter’s raven locks sympathetically. “Aye, I’m afraid so, my dear. Sunspear has fallen and Prince Doran slain, reportedly by Aerys’ own bare hands.” She inhaled shakily. “I do not doubt that your brother intends to strike at King’s Landing, with or without you.”

 

“Then we will be ready.” Ser Barristan stood at their side, his posture relaxed yet poised to spring into combat at a moment’s notice. “We’ll make haste as fast as the winds can carry us to reinforce Their Graces in the final battle to come. Right, Ser Jaime?” The old knight prodded the Lion of Lannister with a free hand.

 

The Lannister knight cracked a cocksure grin. “No doubt, Ser Barristan. We’ll see who’s the true dragon and let the loser taste our steel.” He flashed his pearly whites at Alysanne, who just rolled her eyes.

 

“Good fortune then that the Masters see fit to parley,” Obara grumbled. “I’ll gut this Mad Prince for killing my uncle.” Her grip tightened around her spear, Sunspear.

 

After their decisive victory over the Slaver army, the Targaryen force of Unsullied and Dothraki had marched to the outskirts of Astapor, the last stronghold of the Masters on the east side of the Bay of Dragons. The Red City was ill-prepared for a siege since most of its fighting men had been deployed against and had been soundly defeated by Jaime Lannister’s inventive tactics. The remaining masters sued for peace in the following days and Alysanne agreed to treat with them.

 

Princess Alysanne’s retinue awaited the Masters’ delegation under a shady pavilion just outside the city walls. Their army of Dothraki screamers and Unsullied spearmen had set up camp around them. The sun was high in the sky, yet the heat was only temperate. Winter was coming, her mother said. The cold winds would soon blow with it.

 

When the Masters finally arrived, Alysanne was surprised at how modestly they were dressed. Gone were the fancy tokars and gilded pavilions borne by barebacked slaves. Instead, the five men wore plain tunics and breeches and rode mules. As they approached the Targaryen camp, they slowed at the sight of Ragnar watching them intently with deep amber eyes. The blue dragon was resting lazily upon the dusty ground and breathing puffs of smoke. Alysanne’s mount kept his gaze trained on the men as they dismounted and slowly walked to the pavilion. None of them relaxed until they were safe under the shadow of the canopy.

 

“Your Grace, it is an honor to be in your presence.” The leading man, a middle-aged scarecrow with salt-and-pepper hair and a wispy beard bowed deeply. His accompanying men followed suit - all of them haggard-looking and worn with age. “My name is Imran and I represent the good people of Astapor.”

 

Alysanne clasped her hands in her lap. “Spare me the pleasantries, my lords. I would much rather we hash out terms. The envoy you sent said there were conditions you insisted on in return for your surrender.” She raised an eye. “Though I question why I should listen when I could easily blow through the gates of the last city still in chains.”

 

Imran shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “We are very aware of the power of your dragon, your Grace.” He looked back over his shoulder in trepidation at Ragnar, whose blue-scaled bulk was now the size of an elephant. “That is why we hope to come to an arrangement that will end this war with no further bloodshed.”

 

“Explain,” Alysanne stated simply.

 

Imran moistened his lips and cleared his throat. “My men and I…” He gestured to his comrades. “ … have not actually been granted leave to negotiate with you, much less offer to surrender. However, we know what the surviving Masters refuse to admit - the war is lost. The army you destroyed is all the soldiers we can field. With Volantis destroyed by some other Targaryen, we can count on no aid from them. Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria have ceased funding us weeks ago due to mounting costs and fear that your Grace will subject them to the same fate as Volantis.” He and his men knelt before Alysanne. “The Masters are steadfast in fighting to the bitter end unlike us. If you accept our fealty and spare our lives, we can turn over Astapor to you.”

 

Barristan scoffed and shook his head. “Turncoats. I wouldn’t trust them, your Grace. Even if they surrender the city, what do they hope to gain from it?”

 

“Perhaps a larger say in how the Bay of Dragons will be ruled after we depart?”Alysanne fixed Imran with a serious stare. “Provided they comply with our terms to the letter.” At slow nods from their heads, she spoke, “The Masters are not the only ones who own slaves. Well-to-do merchants and moderately prosperous farmers also have blood on their hands from partaking in such a vile practice. I will accept your surrender if and only if all men, women, and children held in bondage are freed within three days in accordance with the decree of King Aegon VI and Queen Daenerys I of House Targaryen.”

 

“That we can do, your Grace,” Imran replied gratefully.

 

But she wasn’t finished. “Furthermore, all remaining Masters will be handed over to me to face justice for defying the will of myself and my house.” She was determined to permanently snuff out the Sons of the Harpy back in Meereen. Capturing the remnants of the Great Masters that had fled the city to continue their defiance would cut off the insurgency’s source of supply and reinforcements. The sooner the campaign against the Slavers was finished, the sooner she could head for Westeros… and her reckoning with Aerys.

 

“Will you require hostages of us, your Grace?” Imran asked. At his words, Alysanne whistled between her teeth. Ragnar spread his wings and took flight, gliding to a stop just in front of the pavilion at the backs of Imran’s men. They all gulped and shuffled to keep their distance from the big blue dragon. He yawned, flashing his razor teeth and raising his head to the sky. Snapping his jaws shut, he awaited his rider’s command as obedient as a puppy.

 

Alysanne rose from her cushioned seat and strode past Imran to Ragnar. She gently placed her hand on his snout and stroked - the dragon purred. “She grows larger and stronger by the day,” she said, not looking at Imran. “What need would I have of hostages? I’m sure your word is all that is necessary.” 

 

The Dragonstar’s face was nonchalant, but her tone was clear. 

 

“Do we have an accord, my lords?”

 

Catelyn Stark

 

Wheelhouse gliding to a halt, Catelyn clasped her stomach. Glad the jostling was over before her churning abdomen could reach a crescendo. The downside of carrying a babe in my belly. Daenerys’ choice to fly everywhere on her dragon started to make sense to her. Even flying would’ve been less bumpy than this… at least for an expert dragonrider at least.

 

“If the babe is bothering you, I know some Dornish treatments that should help. The remedies cooked up by the Citadel may as well be shit.” Catelyn blinked and looked at Ellaria, seated across from her alongside Sansa. “Those stuffy old cunts know nothing of how to treat a woman, not like our men,” she grinned, licking her lips and making Sansa blush.

 

Catelyn rolled her eyes. “Must you do that?”

 

“What? Five children and one on the way clearly show you know what the act is and how it’s done.” Glancing over at Sansa, Ellaria made a fake gasp. “Oh, I forgot she’s still a maid. Do you not find Trystane attractive? I’m sure he’d be up to taking you to bed.”

 

“Lady Ellaria, that’s enough.”

 

“We’ve never done… that,” Sansa said, face red. “We’ve kissed and… other things…”

 

“Sansa.” Catelyn was as mortified as Sansa was, while Ellaria only dissolved into laughter. Thank the gods that Olenna Tyrell is in another wheelhouse. “Well… at least you’re formally betrothed now.” Her daughter brightened up at that - Catelyn could still remember the pure joy on her face when Ned announced it to her prior to leaving Winterfell. She had certainly come a long way.

 

“Aye, if you want to be one step short of a septa.” In her own way… Ellaria had a charm about her. An acquired taste for sure, but one that made Prince Oberyn happy.

 

Catelyn was purely satisfied by Ned, her dashing wolf. 

 

Speaking of the great other… The door to the wheelhouse opened to reveal the King in the North himself, holding out a hand. “May I help the ladies exit?” He smiled at Catelyn, making her swoon - took a long time to happen given the circumstances, but they had made it.

 

“Thank you, father.” Sansa was the first to take him up on it, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

 

“Oh, King Eddard,” flirted Ellaria shamelessly in her thick Dornish accent. “You better hope Oberyn doesn’t hear you… he might seek to steal you into our bed.” She laughed at his discomfort and Catelyn’s glare. “Feel free to join us, Queen Catelyn. I do find you rather comely.” She blew a kiss and was off.

 

Catelyn huffed. “Next time, put me in a wheelhouse with the Tyrells.”

 

“Come now, Cat. She was right about you being comely.” Ned grinned sheepishly at her in his characteristic way. He really was a romantic one, deep down.

 

“Charmer,” smirked Catelyn, rising and intent on giving him a peck on the lips for his trouble, only to yelp as Ned hefted her up with his hands circling her waist. “Put me down!” she squealed.

 

Ned’s grip didn’t slacken. “One moment, my Queen,” he insisted, carrying her out of the wheelhouse, swinging around, and then depositing her atop the grass. “The mother of my babe should not be putting any additional strain upon herself.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You know, if your nephew or goodbrother tried this with their brides, they’d probably get a thump upside the head.”

 

“Luckily my bride is a delicate little flower.” At her glare, he merely kissed her cheek. “Can I help but be worried for my pregnant bride?” Catelyn softened, and cupped his cheek. Pulling him in for a kiss. He couldn’t help it, she knew. 

 

Had Ned been wounded in the battles with Tywin, she knew she would’ve done the same thing over Ned’s bedside.

 

As the kiss deepend, the clearing of a throat drew them apart. “I would scold you, uncle, but I’ve been there many times before.” Jon was dressed in a red and black gambeson, both Lightbringer and Nighttaker tied to his sides and a red cloak about his shoulders. A perfect Targaryen monarch if his coloring was all Stark. Amused though he was, his expression was grim. “Forgive me for disrupting your joyful moment, uncle, but there is problematic news from the south.”

 

Catelyn could feel Ned tense against her. “Is it Robb? Lya?”

 

“No.” Both the King and Queen in the North visibly relaxed. “Casterly Rock surrendered while Robb is waiting for us with Daenerys and the other commanders of the army. It’s… best we have this discussion now before the main war council on the morrow.” Catelyn squeezed Ned’s hand and nodded. “Good,” Jon replied. “Follow me.”

 

If the Queen in the North found being in the Twins again to be unsettling, she refused to show it. All remnants of House Frey were extinguished from the place, the great hall still reeking of the acrid smoke of dragonfire. Good riddance. The two redeeming factors for old man Walder, namely the intact bridge and the hoards of silver bullion stored in the vaults of the keep were now in the hands of House Targaryen. Hopefully Jon and Daenerys would find something worthwhile to do with each.

 

“Mother! Father!” As soon as the door opened, Robb rushed to them. Catelyn opened her arms to embrace her son, holding him tight. “Thank the gods you’re alright.”

 

“All thanks should be to your cousin and his bride,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “Their bravery saved the day.”

 

He grinned at Jon. “Oh, I’ve certainly done so already.” The grin disappeared as he seemed to remember something. “Did Jon tell you?”

 

“Tell us what?”

 

Shifting his feet, Robb stepped back. “I suppose not.”

 

“Your uncle and great uncle asked to inform them, goodbrother.” Daenerys stepped forward. “Dearest uncle,” she said to Ned, while the beautiful Valyrian features of the Queen grew impassive at Catelyn. “Queen Catelyn.”

 

“Your Grace,” Catelyn responded, curtseying. “What is this that I need to know?”

 

Eyes shifting around, it was a familiar figure that walked to her. “Niece, you look well.”

 

“Uncle Brynden.” The Blackfish was as hard as ever, but there was a certain softness in his blue eyes that unsettled Catelyn. Behind him was Edmure, his face pale and eyes red… had he been crying. “What happened?”

 

The Blackfish sighed. “Your father, he didn’t make it.”

 

Ned was at her side almost immediately, keeping Catelyn from collapsing in shock and grief. “How…?”

 

“Tywin lured him into an ambush,” Daenerys said. “Apparently he’s returned with his remaining forces. A prelude to a general offensive into the Westerlands by Robert Baratheon, while we still face Tywin.”

 

“Not just that… a new threat has emerged.” Jon’s voice was emotionless… seemingly understanding of Catelyn’s pain but without time for it. “Aerys has landed in Dorne. Doran Martell is dead… which makes Trystane the new Lord of Sunspear. He needs to be sent south to join with Garlan Tyrell and his sister Arianne. The main Dornish army is there.”

 

It was as Catelyn feared. While the family of her birth was gutted, the family she had built would be split apart again.

 

Damn this war… damn it to the seven hells.  

 

Melisandre of Asshai

 

Considering her fearsome reputation built over years in the service of first Stannis Baratheon and then the rightful Targaryen monarchs, it was a bit… underwhelming that when she heard a knock at the door, Melisandre was sleeping in bed. Rather… human for someone supposedly inhuman if the smears from the Stag King would be believed.

 

They wouldn’t be fully wrong, considering the sorts of things her own allies had seen her accomplish.

 

Sleeping in the nude, Melisandre pulled back the blankets and grabbed a simple sleep shift, letting it fall over her body before moving towards the door. Waiting outside was the Queen herself. Silver hair tied back in her usual braid, the softer, brighter colors worn in the North had been exchanged for her black battledress, a red sash tied to her waist just above the belt containing Dark Sister. A true vision… the Princess who was Promised.

 

Melisandre blinked back the last bits of sleep as she bent the knee. “Your Grace.”

 

“Get up,” commanded Daenerys, her voice annoyed… though Melisandre could tell it wasn’t directed at herself. Mostly that is. “May I enter?”

 

“Yes, of course.” She rose and parted, allowing the Queen’s entry. Behind was Ser Jorah, who eyed her with open skepticism.

 

“Wait outside, Jorah,” Daenerys told him.

 

The Northern Knight did not rest easy at the prospect. “Your Grace, if I may…” 

 

“No you may not. Wait outside,” came the curt order. Sparing one last warning glare in Melisandre’s direction, Jorah bowed his head and stood at position - allowing the Red Woman to close the door behind him. “None of the northmen trust you, Lady Melisandre. Not Jorah, not King Eddard, and certainly not my goodsiblings.”

 

Normally she wouldn’t concern herself with that, but Melisandre knew that their Graces were close with the Starks. “They should know I only mean to serve the Prince and Princess that were Promised.”

 

Daenerys sighed. “Magic that is not their own… not of the North unsettles them. The mindset of a people at siege, I suppose - the last of the First Men that keep to their traditions. It’s why they for so long kept away from my family in spite of an alliance being so beneficial until my brother fell for Jon’s mother, and it’s why they shun you.” She chuckled dryly. “If Jon hadn’t known what you did for him…”

 

“He has told me of what I did, or what my soul in the failed realm managed to achieve.” Alive for so long, there was still much of the realm of magic and faith she knew nothing of… let alone such a ritual. To her it seemed that even the blood mages of Old Valyria in its heyday couldn’t have conjured something so fantastical. The hand of the Lord of Light shines upon his chosen. “Only someone with the guidance of the Lord himself could pull that off… if you fail and request it of me now, I do not think even young Brandon Stark could help me achieve it.” She had met the boy before, and he was a promising ‘greenseer’ as the northmen called such gifts, but he was unsure of himself.

 

Not realized in his potential compared to the one her King and Queen had informed her of.

 

Luckily for her, Daenerys merely shook her head. “This is the last stand, Lady Melisandre. The prophecy only allows for one second chance, one where Jon from his world and I from mine unite to destroy the true threat. I’ve made my peace with the fact that there is no third chance.”

 

“Then why are you here, your Grace?” Melisandre probed just a little bit. “I presume that you’ve unlocked the secrets of your memory.”

 

“Aye, nearly all save for a few things I’d rather forget and do not matter in the scheme of things.” While Melisandre knit her brows in confusion, the Queen didn’t proffer an explanation. “No, I came here to seek clarity on other concerns.”

 

“Those being?”

 

The Queen sighed and sat on a chair in the corner of the small bedchamber - likely that of one of Walder Frey’s middle sons. “Aegon is conferring with Bran as well. His concerns are over the Ice King… Aegon from my past, the man I fell so deeply for.” A tear passed down her cheek, but Daenerys wiped it. Visibly trying to maintain her composure. “My husband wishes to take the burden of that off my shoulders and I love him for it. However, that leaves another burden upon me, namely that of my brother.”

 

“You mean Prince Aerys, your twin?” Viserys was dead and Rhaegar was on their side, so there was only one left.

 

Daenerys nodded. “Aye, Aerys. The one person I have no familiarity with since he didn’t exist in either mine or Jon’s past.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “How he even came to existence is a mystery to me.”

 

Melisandre looked down at the Queen before taking a seat upon her bed, hands folded in her lap. “From what we spoke of long ago when you sought this memory, the Ice King joined you in the sacred bath that myself and young Brandon used to send you to this life, yes?”

 

She nodded, shuddering. “It was like Jon’s touch… only not. All the familiarity and love was there, but the warmth just sucked out of it.” Daenerys wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “Did his presence split my soul?”

 

“Perhaps… with your husband - the true Promised Prince - returning as well from his world, I can only assume that the Ice King arrived in his own flesh and blood. Distinct and unique. I cannot begin to fathom the power granted by the Lord of Light or whatever darkness he worships could’ve done so, but ultimately, yes. I believe that could’ve split your soul to make Aerys. One part of you in one, the other in him.”

 

Daenerys laughed, the mirth not reaching her eyes. “All the madness I thought was absent in me… turns out it was always there.”

 

“It could’ve, but if Aerys has it then you are free from such affliction.”

 

Opening her mouth to retort, it seemed as if Daenerys couldn’t refute Melisandre’s point. Instead, she changed the subject. “So he is myself, but a distinct entity as my twin. Does that mean he has my memories?”

 

“I cannot answer that… only you can.”

 

“Could it be possible with your flames to speak with him? Just the two of us?”

 

Looking at her brazier, burning softly with the crackle of the charcoal within, Melisandre visibly sighed… “Only if the Lord wills it.”

 

The Queen’s royal steel overcame her expression, standing. “Then let us see if he so wills it.”

Notes:

Baby Jonerys continues to grow in Dany's belly, while the armies position for the final clash

Tywin's victory is based off of Curio's defeat in the Battle of the Bagradas River.

Until next time. Give 30 comments and we'll update next week.

Chapter 70: A Much Needed Lull

Notes:

Glad everyone is liking this. Here's the new chapter

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Daario Naharis

 

Grunting, nothing was better to Daario than releasing his seed into a woman fairly won… or at least fairly willing. His eyes fluttered as the companion he bedded moaned her delight. Well, what could be construed as delight. Daario couldn’t care less. The girl wanted it and he was confident in his own bedchamber prowess to not worry if one out of the many lovely lasses that warmed his sheets faked her climaxes.

 

Eventually, fully sated, he rolled over - chest rising and falling. “I’ve heard stories about the Dornish. If you are the representation, then they undersold your fine kingdom.”

 

Eying him as she pulled the sheets to cover her heaving breasts, Elia Sand - all of seven and ten - wrinkled her nose. “Let me guess, the Dornish are supposedly free loving sexual deviants that hop from bed to bed with people of both sexes.”

 

“There were those stories too dear lass, but I was speaking more of the tamer versions of how those of the Rhoynish line are far better lovers than the average Andal.”

 

She huffed. “Gods, the things cunt lechers will say. Just because our society is more open doesn’t mean we’re fucking whores.”

 

Daario grinned. “You’re fucking me right now.”

 

“That’s different.” Elia glared at him. “Your King killed my uncle, so as the daughter of Oberyn Martell it behooves me to find someone to grant me fair protection… and you’re the most comely of my choices, although I did find that Bronn fellow quite charming…”

 

Daario cut her off by rolling atop her, pinning her wrists to the ground. “Do not speak of Bronn while you are in my bed.” He made it sound playful, but there was a seriousness in his tone.

 

Elia, however, was clearly skilled in the art of seduction - much like her renowned father and mother. “Show me why I should forget him.” 

 

Fuck if she’s faking it. The olive-skinned beauty with sultry lips, pert breasts, and a warm, tight cunt - Daario would take it and run.

 

Hours later, fully presentable without even a hint of his armor being askew from the morning’s… activities, Daario entered the large courtyard of Sunspear castle. Thankfully the smoke had cleared from the adjoining town, damage mostly caused to the defenses rather than the populated centers - the former could be rebuilt quickly, while breeding more of the latter could prove a headache. Fire and Blood to take the place was replaced with a lighter touch, one Daario ascribed to Connington rather than his King. Didn’t matter a damn to him. His share of the booty from Dorne alone could buy him a manse in Lys with a private pleasure house just for him.

 

Now if he wanted to buy Lys as he dreamed ever since being born to an enslaved whore there years before, Daario Naharis would need to stick close to his King till the very end. Something he was willing to do…

 

Even when looking at Aerys Targaryen it became harder and harder to not shudder in terror. Seated on a stool in front of the russet-colored beast Rhaelyx, the King slowly stroked its scales. Talking softly in the purest High Valyrian and occasionally dropping large legs of lamb - purposefully blackened - into its mouth. Targaryens are fucking crazy.  

 

If only their women weren’t so gorgeous...

 

Clearing his throat, Daario bowed as soon as Aerys deigned to look at him. “You’ve summoned me, your Grace?”

 

“Ah, yes. Naharis.” Aerys could have many emotions, but his usuals were icy fury, complete and utter rage, or a bored indifference. This was the third of the list. “You distinguished yourself well in the taking of this castle.”

 

“Your Grace has already rewarded me with his gifts.” The largest share of the spoils of any of them, Daario had to admit to himself with pride. “I cannot in good conscience accept more. I am not worthy.”

 

It seemed as if Aerys could read through him without difficulty, yet he chose not to. “Humble and flattering at the same time.” A chuckle. “That’s why you’re the perfect man for this job.”

 

He blinked. “Your Grace?”

 

“You may not be aware, but I sent Bronn and most of the independent sellsword companies to quickly capture the Dornish keeps between here and the Red Mountains.” He chuckled. “Daeron the Young Dragon should’ve hired such light troops. They know how to root out bandits and partisans.”

 

“I have no doubts.” Most slave revolts involved such bushwhacking as the Dornish were famous for. “My men are the most experienced though.”

 

Aerys grinned, one that unsettled Daario. “Because I have a special plan for you, Naharis. You’re going to the Stormlands.” Scratching underneath his dragon’s jaw, Aerys murmured something intelligible to Daario - the beast’s amber eyes found him and he cringed without meaning to. Aerys found it hilarious. “While Rhaelyx may inspire fear in you, you’re normally quite brave in battle. Such is why I need you raiding in the Rainwood, softening the place up until you capture the ports there for the Golden Company to land there.”

 

“To march on King’s Landing?” Daario caught on quickly.

 

“That fool Bittersteel thought the best way was along the southern coast of Blackwater Bay. Stupid, it allowed only one avenue of attack. No,” he chuckled. “I’ll be rounding the Blackwater Rush and attacking the city from the north before the idiots even cross to the south bank…”

 

Suddenly, the King stopped. Trailing off as he simply sat there, frozen… until he let out a pained cry and gripped his head. Daario immediately started looking for an arrow or a hidden archer… only finding nothing. “Your Grace!”

 

The dragon growled, in distress.

 

“No! No, you can’t be here!” howled the King. “Wait, don’t go!”

 

“Should I fetch a maester…”

 

Aerys’ eyes were pure dragonfire as they found Naharis. “Get out, you idiot!” Eyes flickering between his King and the royal dragon, Daario didn’t need much more prodding to flee the courtyard.

 

Aerys Targaryen

 

“Aerys… brother… Can we speak? I want to speak to you.”

 

His head was spinning, and he hated it.

 

To be blindsided and driven to sheer madness from the appearance of his other half in his mind was problematic enough when near Rhaelyx. Aerys wished his dragon to see him as strong rather than weak, but ultimately the beast was his closest friend - perhaps his only friend after Alysanne fled. No, what truly bothered him was that Naharis saw it. Who knew who that insect would spread the news to.

 

Perhaps he should’ve had the man’s tongue cut off, but such things weren’t in his mind at the moment. No, as Aerys staggered into his room, he shambled towards the crackling hearth and kneeled before it - taking what he knew of the Red Priests to solidify his connection. “Daenerys!” he called out in fluent High Valyrian. “Dearest sister, are you there?” He stared into the flames, willing the same voice from earlier to return. “Sister! Daenerys!” 

 

After what was an interminable silence, Daenerys’ voice was finally heard through the flames. “I am here, valonqar. ” Sure enough, Aerys could see her beautiful, flawless face in the crackling hearth. It wasn’t completely clear, but it was enough for him. “No fighting, no threats of death… just you and me right now.”

 

“I would never threaten you, Daenerys,” he replied, the thought breaking his heart. “You and I… we are one soul as you know.”

 

“I do know, Aerys, gods help me I do.” She sighed. “For the longest time I was… deficient in my memories. They only slowly came back, unlike you I have been told.”

 

“By the gods, they came to me in Old Valyria… I found the sword of our ancestors, Daenerys. Please.” He was on his knees and he clasped his hands together, pleading with her. Voice frantic and more haphazard than he had ever experienced before or allowed himself to experience. “Join me, Daenerys. Please, only together can we defeat the Ice King.”

 

But the spectral image of Daenerys wreathed in flame only shook her head. “Oh, Valonqar…” The voice wasn’t angry, but pitying. Aerys felt it akin to a knife to the gut. “You are the other half of my soul, this I have accepted. I cannot explain it given the last time we saw each other you tried to put a sword through my husband, but I love you as my brother.”

 

“We are more than brother and sister, Daenerys. Don’t you see?!” His voice rose, yelling into the flames. “You and I. One soul. You as Queen and I as King - that was what is ordained and we will achieve it together if you just trust me. Trust yourself.”

 

“Meant to be? As you once thought Alysanne was meant to be?”

 

The mention of Alysanne floored him. Many times Aerys opened his mouth to speak, only for the words to die on his tongue. Alysanne… his beloved. His friend. His only companion in the world for so long - it was so easy to love her, a gentle and caring love filled with passion and friendship, but nothing like the otherworldly connection he held to Daenerys. Gods, what did it mean? What did this all mean?

 

“I love her too… if it came to that, sister, I would’ve married you both. Our family has done it, you have to admit.”

 

“Aye, I cannot deny that, nor do I truly see the points against it in theory. However, valonqar, you forget something. My heart doesn’t belong to you.”

 

“I know our memories, Daenerys - you as yet do not know me or mine, but as one soul we will bond. I assure you.”

 

“Aerys, I do not belong to you. Never will I - my heart and my soul will always be bonded to Jon. My love. Our nephew and rightful King.” Simply her mentioning his name, it was as if Daenerys was referring to each and every god above. Adoringly, belovedly… the once Bastard of Winterfell put on a pedestal for her to love and treasure forever.

 

Aerys wished to vomit at the tone, so disgusted was he. “Possessing our memories, I know how you loved him. I must admit, there is no fault in that. He was a reasonable catch as a dragonrider and possessing the loyalty of the Northern houses.”

 

“He is all that and more.”

 

Gritting his teeth, somehow Aerys kept his anger in check. “You know what monster he became, Daenerys.” 

 

“He did it to save me… to save our child, only for the magic to consume him.” There were tears in her eyes, and Dany sobbed softly. “The past cannot be changed, but the future can be rewritten. Please, valonqar, join us. Be our brother and together… yes, with Alysanne as well, we can free our Jon and end this threat. Please, I beg you.”

 

She would never break free of him… not while the Northern fool had such control over her - over her children, both dragon and otherwise. Daenerys couldn’t see it… her sentimentality had brought the masters of Slaver’s Bay to heel but left her vulnerable to foolish love. This Jon might not be the Ice King but he was the same person that was turned into the Ice King. This, Aerys could simply not allow. “No! I will not let you be destroyed again, Daenerys. The man you loved became a monster, and this one only was spared that fate because he is a coward!”

 

His rage was matched by hers, Daenerys’ dragon awakened. “Do not speak of him that way! He is my love and my soulmate, not you! Never will I be your woman, I am always and forever the wife and lover of Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name.”

 

With a bellow that he thought could reshatter the Arm of Dorne, Aerys punched the wall of the hearth, splitting his knuckles and cracking the stone. “Mark my words, Daenerys. I will kill that sniveling coward with Blackfyre through his spine, and then I will find the one you did love and shatter him into a million pieces. I will rid the world of his vile stench and then we can be together.”

 

“If you so much as touch a single hair on his head, I will kill you. Do you hear me, Aerys? I will kill you.”  

 

“Dance with me then, Daenerys. Dance with me.”

 

Suddenly the connection severed and Aerys fell back - landing on his ass and simply resting there, breathing heavily. His worst fears were confirmed. The Northern fool had his claws deep into his beloved Dany. You will not win, bastard… you will not win.

 

Aerys knew not how long he simply sat there, alternating between tears and pure rage.

 

I will save you, Dany. By the gods above I will save you from them. He cared not what innocents he’d burn alive to do so.

 

Eddard Stark

 

Staring to his left, Ned gazed up at the imposing face of rock and masonry that jutted from the ground high into the sky. It was no wonder that the Lannisters were able to project power into becoming Kings… their ancestral home was nigh impregnable against conventional means, allowing them latitude to take possession of the gold and silver mines without worry of a successful siege as a consequence for aggressive expansion. 

 

Thousands of years of hubris dying in a blaze of dragonfire. Aegon Targaryen hadn’t needed to threaten the Rock - his dragons did plenty of demonstration at the Field of Fire. Even now such a reputation allowed the sixth namesake of the Conqueror to wear the crown to capture it bloodlessly again… considering the massive Targaryen banner that hung from the battlements and stared out to sea at any ship gunning for Lannisport.

 

Beside him, Ned heard a cackle. “Ol’ Tywin would keel over at such a sight.” He turned to see a grinning Theon.

 

Ned couldn’t help but give a soft grin back, amusement breaking through his normally dour facade. “Aye, you are likely right.” That it was done behind his back by the Prince he thought vanquished was all the better, especially with Lyanna there. The woman Rhaegar snubbed his daughter for… Though he suspected Cersei was more likely to have anger at that. “Rhaegar and Lya certainly used their few thousand men wisely.”

 

Shaking his head, Theon ran a hand through his hair. “By the gods, I’m still stunned that they’re back… two legends, proving all that we’ve been told to be lies.”

 

“All lies, Theon. Lies that… I unfortunately was forced to go along with it.” Could Ned have changed it? Could he have secured the throne for Jon and brought Daenerys and Viserys back from exile? The thought had been on his mind for years every time he saw Jon suffering while growing up, only to grow in frequency after everything changed. Jon returning from his past… 

 

With a sigh, Ned came to the same conclusion - it was impossible. Rhaegar was dead, Elia was dead, Lyanna was dead, Rhaella was dead. Robert was firmly in control, or rather Tywin was while Robert had full legitimacy. Everyone had bent the knee to him with Jon Arryn securing support for the new dynasty without any pushback from any Targaryen loyalist - the eldest Targaryen aside from the ancient, forgotten Maester Aemon was the six-year old Viserys abandoned in Essos.

 

Jon would’ve been killed immediately, followed by me. Anyone that threatened Tywin’s bid for control would’ve died, House Bolton put in charge of the North and the last part of Lya then remaining in the world strangled in the crib just as his brother and sister were. 

 

That didn’t mean Ned didn’t have any guilt over it.

 

Closing his eyes, the Lord of Winterfell felt the breeze off the Sunset Sea waft against his face. It was refreshing, calming his heart. Something vastly needed as the massive fleet of Ironborn brought additional thousands of Free Folk and Northmen to reinforce the small mounted detachment Rhaegar and Lyanna led. Hopefully enough to hold the Westerlands.

 

A memory suddenly came to Ned’s mind, one that made him laugh. “Did you know my father once considered sending me to foster with Tywin?”

 

Theon looked surprised. “Really, no…” he gaped in disbelief.

 

 Holding up his hands, Ned nodded his head. “No, I’m not lying. With Brandon aiming for the Riverlands it was a choice for him to either send me to the Eyrie or Casterly Rock. Jon Arryn or Tywin Lannister… both with impeccable reputations at the time, though for different reasons mind you.” Gods, so long ago. Where had the time gone?

 

Chuckling, Theon still looked not to comprehend it. “Imagining you being raised by lions, father, I simply cannot.”

 

“Truly fair, considering what I am now - as a child, I could’ve been far different if raised here, though honestly I may have turned out more able to handle the shit we’ve had to face.” Perhaps I’d be the one who married Cersei. The thought made Ned shudder. Perhaps in a different world, it would’ve inspired a different reaction in him. 

 

“What made Lord Rickard send you to the Vale?”

 

Ned shrugged. “Two reasons I think, though my mother never was able to tell me which won out. Tywin was in the capitol for the most part and father was dead set against it… plus, Robert had already been sent to the Eyrie and father wished to hit two birds with one stone I presume. Charm both the Vale and the Stormlands at once.”

 

“Leading for the Usurper to become your sister’s betrothed.”

 

Closing his eyes, Ned swallowed hard. “Aye, leading him to become her betrothed.” His biggest mistake… one that led to all the rest, including ones done only by those in past times no longer in existence. “I presume I’m lucky that she hasn’t tried to thump me yet. Nor Catelyn… ironic, I don’t think they ever met.” Now, their first meeting in the future would be marred by how Catelyn had treated Jon… not that such wasn’t richly deserved. Ned didn’t like it but acknowledged it. 

 

“In all honesty, I was fearful of what Jon would do to me, for both what I’ve done to him and what I would have done… I’m surprised he and Robb didn’t kill me.” Theon looked down, cringing slightly.

 

Clasping Theon’s shoulder, Ned squeezed. “I taught Jon long ago that you cannot judge a person by the sins of their father… that applies very well to future selves I suppose.” He chuckled. “You fought for the Free Folk, married one, and sired a babe.” That the fierce Ygritte had been Jon’s lover in the past was something he kept to himself. “It’s clear you’ve forged a proper path.”

 

Theon smiled up at him. “Thank you… father.”

 

Ned patted his back. “You’re a Greyjoy, but you’re also a Stark. Never forget it.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Rhaegar Targaryen had always looked the beauty of his Valyrian ancestry, yet with the pressures of war he looked much more ragged and tired than the last time he and Ned interacted. The presence of his sister - visibly pregnant - next to him seemed to help though, and it rankled the Lord of Winterfell that he hadn’t seen it when it mattered. “Alright,” announced the Prince. “The entirety of the Riverlands have fallen to the Usurper’s armies.

 

“I sense we’re gonna march at the fat King for the King that rides the dragon.” Tormund Giantsbane was quite boisterous, but when it came to war a seriousness descended on him that could freeze a fire. “Plenty of loot for all of us.”

 

“There will be no looting of valuables,” Rhaegar warned. “We’re not going to strip the wealth of the realm, not anymore.” Gods, he sounded so much like Jon… like father, like son. “However, you can collect whatever weapons and armor you can carry.” That satisfied Tormund and the other wildlings. While the haul of arms from the Battle of Castle Cerwyn was substantial, many of the Free Folk were still armed with their primitive weapons. “But as Tormund suggests, we are to march to meet Robert.”

 

Lord Glover knotted his brows. “Why do you think he’ll advance through the Golden Tooth? We could block him there forever if he tries.”

 

Lyanna answered for her husband, the two a seamless team. “Because, Lord Glover, I am here. And my husband is here. That will be enough to lure Robert to chase us into the Westerlands proper… and we will let him.”

 

The discussion carried on in a lively manner between the various Northmen and Wildlings before everyone was in grudging agreement. Already suppertime, after most had left Rhaegar took Lyanna’s hand to lead her to their chambers for dinner - and suspected a separate dessert of a special variety - when Ned tapped Lya’s shoulder. “Can we speak, sister?”

 

Blinking, Lyanna took a moment before she smiled with a nod. “Of course, brother.” She turned to Rhaegar. “Get it prepared for me, husband. I will see you soon.” The kiss she dropped on his neck left no room for doubt as to her intentions. Rhaegar beamed as he left while his sister found Ned looking away and shuffling his feet. “Seriously, Ned? Five kids and another on the way and you’re still shy around sex?”

 

“I didn’t say I was shy around my wife… you are another story.”

 

Huffing, Lyanna nevertheless snickered. “You’re lucky I love you, brother.” They took seats close by, turning to face each other. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

 

Ned took a deep breath, steadying himself. “How’s the babe?”

 

Lyanna grinned, patting her belly. “Gods, it’s so wonderful. Rhaegar is with me every step of the way and this time, I’ll get to raise her.”

 

“Her?”

 

“Aye, a girl. I’m sure just as I was with Aegon.” Lya sighed. “I missed all of Aegon’s life, Ned. I have him now but it isn’t the same - at least with this babe and my grandchildren I shall be around for their lives.” She leaned over and kissed Ned on the cheek. “Thank you again, brother, for caring for him.”

 

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Ned sat back in his chair. “I presume you’re going to confront Robert, aye?”

 

Her expression darkened. “I’m only angered that I didn’t kill him when we last engaged at the Trident.”

 

Wincing, Ned took Lyanna’s hands in his. “I worry, Lya. You’re pregnant and yet you’re insistent on fighting.”

 

“I’m no fragile flower, Ned.”

 

“Nevertheless, if you intend to join then at least stay behind with the archers like last time.” She glowered, but finally nodded. “If you would like, I’ll fight alongside your husband - unlike last time.”

 

Sadness crossed Lyanna’s face. “It was the greatest agony to know my brother fought my love.”

 

“Never again, sister.” He caressed the palm of her hand. “To think… had we held better luck, Rhaegar and I might’ve been close friends.”

 

“Never too early to start, brother.” They shared a smile before she turned serious again. “Promise me something else, brother.”

 

“Aye, what?”

 

“When you and Rhaegar face Robert, bring him to me alive. I want to be the one to swing the sword.”

 

Ned couldn’t deny her this request. Out of all of them, she most deserved it.

 

Robert Baratheon

 

“Mmmm, my King…” 

 

It was said that Robert Baratheon had a type. No, it wasn’t his wife - Cersei may have been easy on the eyes but the Stag King could see the rotten core within her better than most could. Better than her craven kingslayer brother did. No, it wasn’t the ample bosom… such wasn’t specific to him, for the Snow bastard, Tyrell tourney knight, and Stark whelp all shared such a preference considering their choices in brides. Rather, Robert liked a certain style of woman. Dark of hair but light of skin, tall and toned… not willowy like Cersei but firm, muscular and slender. Preferably with grey eyes though that was simply overkill.

 

Robert wanted to marry Lyanna Stark, but the fates conspired against him on that so the powers to be knew the fastest way to his heart was by bringing him a whore or willing lass that had the same look as his lost love. With Lyanna back from beyond the grave his appetites were only increasing. 

 

Hence his groping of the pretty serving girl tied to Riverrun castle. She may have been softer than the fierce she-wolf he so loved, but her build was the same and the eyes were smokey grey. “Of Raventree Hall… mi’ome, yer Grace.” she had told him. It explained it, though Robert didn’t care. She was gorgeous and reminded him of Lyanna more than the big-breasted redhead that warmed his bedchamber that night and this morning.

 

“Ever been fucked by a King?” he asked, voice filled with lust. Losing the weight he had didn’t restore his old, strapping physique, but he found the task of fucking easier when he didn’t have to shove back flabs of belly to see his cock.

 

“A King? No,” shook the head of the girl. “Lord Brynden and I did sometimes though…”

 

Brynden Tully with a mistress? Thought that old codger was a sword-swallower like Renly. Wonder if she has a bastard of his, maybe I misjudged him if that’s the case. Laughing to himself, Robert smacked the girl’s ass. “Well you’re going to get fucked by a King right now. Get that dress off and show me that body.” The girl only smiled and began to undo her laces.

 

Robert’s soon to happen fun was cut short as the supremely unappealing face of Ser Meryn Trant poked his head in. “Your Grace…”

 

“Unless you have big tits, a slim body, and a cunt, fuck off,” the King growled.

 

“I hate to not ever follow your commands, but Lord Dondarrion insists on speaking with you.”

 

Groaning, Robert relented. “Fine, send for him.” He smacked the put out girl on the ass. “Sorry, lass. A King’s work is never done.”

 

She kissed his cheek. “I shall be available to his Grace whenever he needs me.” Riverrun, and the bounty of the western Riverlands that its fall opened to them, was set upon by Robert’s army. Divided, he took a large contingent of Stormlanders, Crownlands banners, and the allied Rivermen while Tywin held the rest, mainly Westermen, loyal Vale lords left over from the disastrous Northern expedition, and the knights of Baelor Hightower and the southern Reach. Their advance from the Ruby Ford was methodical and disciplined. Robert’s host was anything but, enjoying the fruits of a very rich land.

 

“Your Grace.” Lord Beric Dondarrion arrived in the solar, his armor frayed and dented from the hard fighting back at the Trident. “Gods, your Grace… the men are out of control.”

 

Barking out a laugh, Robert slapped his thigh. “They’ve been pacifying places that’ve been in fuckin’ rebellion for over a year. Let ‘em have their fun. Plenty of delicious Riverman cunts out there for all of us.” Robert was certain he could find another to warm his bed for that night… perhaps joining his previous bed companion.

 

Pursing his lips, the normally stalwart Lord of Blackhaven looked to be at the end of his tether. Years of dabbling in the worship of the Red God had made the dashing young warrior so… weak and sentimental. Robert kept the lad on out of respect for his father, powerful in the battles of his rise to power, but such loyalty didn’t last for long in the game of thrones. Nevertheless, he restrained himself. “Forgiveness, your Grace, but shouldn’t we maintain their martial spirit rather than allowing them to turn into nothing but thugs?”

 

Robert snorted. “Rhaegar and my traitorous former brother Ned have but what? Five thousand men? Six thousand? The rest of their men are wildling savages, fine in the frozen wastes but nothing against our powerful knights.”

 

“We shouldn’t underestimate them…”

 

“Why are you fucking here, Lord Beric?!” Robert bellowed, irritated at this. “I have only so much time, and you aren’t pretty enough to be worth spending more than a few more minutes on.”

 

“I do not wish to keep you from your feminine company, your Grace,” Beric offered, causing Robert to grin. “But we’ve received a message from both Lord Piper of Pinkmaiden and from Casterly Rock.”

 

“The Dragonspawn?!” Robert rose with fury.

 

Beric shook his head. “No, there was no seal, let alone the seal of House Targaryen.” 

 

Huffing, Robert snatched the letter from Lord Piper. Reading it slowly. 

 

King Robert,

You have killed our Lord Paramount in battle, and have ravaged our lands of all the wealth they contain. All we have are our lives and our farms, so we offer our everlasting neutrality if you simply take your booty and simply go, be it to the westerlands or to engage the Targaryen King nearer to the Twins.

I beg you as one that fought by your side in the last war, grant us your mercy.

 

Robert let out a laugh. “As if! You side with the traitor then you’re a traitor too!” He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire. “Beric, take your men to Pinkmaiden and have it razed to the ground. No survivors!”

 

“It shall be done, your Grace.” Handing him the second letter, Beric left, Ser Meryn shutting the door behind him.

 

Humming idly a bawdy tavern ditty, Robert pried open the plain seal of the other letter and found the elegant calligraphy. There were many with such flowery writing, but it all looked… similar to him.

 

Robert,

I hope you and not one of your toadies are reading this. Be noted, your vile life of debauchery and villainy is soon to close. I know you come for my husband and brother in order to kill them and supposedly rescue me for yourself, but I would rather see my own throat cut than even be touched by you.

My husband has promised that while he battles you last, I shall be the one to take your head.

And I will relish every moment of it.

Lyanna Stark

Knight of the Laughing Tree

 

While Lord Piper’s desperate plea both amused and embarrassed him in the sniveling Lord’s stead, this one drove Robert to the greatest of rage. Rhaegar… The Dragonspawn wrote this, or made her write it. She was pregnant, Varys said in his last dispatch… pregnant with another bastard born of rape. His depravity knew no bounds.

 

The morning. Robert rose and clenched his fists. They would march for the Westerlands in the morning and by all the gods in existence he would finish the job he had started all those years ago.

 

Every Targaryen dead and their line extinguished for good.

 

OURS IS THE FURY!

 

Missandei of Naath

 

It was quite amazing, now that she thought about it. While memories of a gutted out keep reeking of smoke and dragonflame were all that Missandei knew of the Twins prior to her King and Queen’s occupation of it, the recollections of many left her shuddering. Cruel and vile as the masters that previously kept her in bondage were, they strove to make a sort of more refined, put-together impression on whomever would call upon them. Palaces filled with light and gold, perfectly polished marble in both art and decoration, bodies washed and perfumed to shine… even their slaves - at least the domestic ones.

 

Walder Frey on the other hand… the only things he had polished were the daggers of his men and the only gilt he possessed was tossed into well-guarded vaults with the other stacks of silver bullion. All indications were that the man was as vile as any slaver even though he owned no slaves, though debt bondage and serfdom struck Missandei as something akin to it. Catelyn Stark’s stories matched that of the surviving daughters, wife, and young sons of House Frey, and the advisor had no qualms with how Aegon and Daenerys brought fire and blood to the keep.

 

Newly minted Lord Olyvar Frey - someone who was growing to be as wily as his father but without the same ruthless ambition and amoral attitude as his late father - knew well enough to allow the Targaryen claimants the run of his keep. Just as well, for Missandei couldn’t count further than one hand the twin keeps of the Frey sigil she had seen on the banners. There were more Stark banners, and that was then dwarfed by the vast number of three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen. Daenerys had made the keep their own as the forward operating base for their forces into the Riverlands, and such had caused it to be far more livable.

 

“I heard from my brother in Casterly Rock,” she heard Daenerys speak, seated beneath her at the vanity table.

 

Missandei, brought out of her thoughts, looked into Dany’s violet eyes through the looking glass. “Oh? Something wrong with the babe?”

 

Dressed in a loose gown that reached just below her knees - the Queen making it clear that her royal husband didn’t favor longer gowns, her eyes twinkling as she relayed that piece of information - Daenerys shook her head. “No, nothing like that. My niece is as healthy as her cousin.” She patted her belly, bump prominent even with the loose silk of her nightgown. “Unfortunately, this wasn’t a social dispatch. Robert Baratheon is on the move to the Golden Tooth.”

Wincing, Missandei tried not to let her displeasure at that complicate her effort in undoing the Queen’s intricate braids. A laborious task she’d have to do again in the morning to reform them, but one necessary. A powerful khaleesi must keep a powerful braid. Daenerys had never been defeated. “I assume he outnumbers our armies there?”

 

“Aye, even with the reinforcements Lord Stark dispatched personally.” Daenerys sighed. “But the terrain is good, and the Usurper is not as good a commander as he thinks he is.”

 

“Your brother is better… I’ve been analyzing the accounts, and I feel it was simply chance that caused his death at the Trident.”

 

Sighing again, Daenerys averted her gaze. “You call it chance, I call it disfavor from the gods… or perhaps punishment from them upon our house.”

 

Missandei furrowed her brows. “I didn’t take you for a pious monarch.” The image of Queen Naerys, head always covered in a habit and fraily clutching the Seven-Pointed Star… that was as diametrically opposite to Daenerys as she could imagine. 

 

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t much believe in gods for the longest time.” The Queen chuckled, though the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. “But after all that Jon and I suffered… it’s hard to not think of some sort of force out there. How can one explain the magic of the universe?”

 

“I may be a thinker, your Grace, but even with your favor of my mind I prefer to confine myself to more temporal concerns.” Practical… even while still in bondage, Missandei’s education left her eminently practical as opposed to the more superstitious slaves. Perhaps that was why she found herself attached to Grey Worm… “Do I have leave to ask you something, your Grace?”

 

While they made eye contact through the looking glass, Dany turned her head so she could glance at Missandei directly. “You are one of the few persons I absolutely trust. Feel free to ask me anything.”

 

Sucking in a breath, Missy was nearly overwhelmed by such trust by a Targaryen Queen in a mere freedwoman - but she wasn’t about to reject such a gift. “Why… Why do you call his Grace ‘Jon’ rather than ‘Aegon.’ Such is his kingly name, and… and…”

 

Daenerys was perceptive. “You mean it’s his true name rather than his bastard name?” Missandei bit her lip and nodded. The Queen rested her hands on her lap, looking back into the looking glass. “You’re right, your implication. I hate that he grew up that way, even if it was necessary. It’s just… he became the man I love through how he was raised. Not some arrogant princeling or a bitter royal as my brother did. My King, my Jon.”

 

She smiled at such a love in her Queen’s voice. Real, everlasting love. “I feel there’s more.”

 

A grin. “There are many Aegons. Some great, some weak, some awful - there’s only one Jon Targaryen though. The greatest of them all.”

 

“His Grace would say that you are the greatest of them all.”

 

“Aye, he would say that… the handsome, northern fool.” Hearing a knock at the door, her smile widened. “That should be him.”

 

Missandei bowed her head. “I’ll leave you alone, then.” Knowing the two of them, Missandei wouldn’t be out a few moments before the moans of pleasure started.

 

“Thank you… and Missy?” She turned to look at her Queen. “Let Grey Worm know that he can retire for the night. We have other guards, as well as…” Daenerys gestured to Ghost, sleeping by the hearth. 

 

“Protection enough,” Missandei smirked. Nodding, she made her way to the door, revealing the King. “Your Grace. I’ll leave you for the night.”

 

He pursed his lips, looking over her shoulder at his wife. “Thank you, Missandei. Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight, your Grace.” They passed each other and the door closed. As she had thought, the Queen’s giggle of affection was not long to emerge from within the bedchamber. Missandei grinned and shook her head.

 

As expected, Grey Worm was standing guard some distance away. There were others, but he remained ramrod straight with a hand on the hilt of his short sword. At the sight of her, he grew straighter. “My Lady.” Though his Common Tongue was getting better, he preferred High Valyrian.

 

Missandei obliged the choice. “You need not stay here all night.”

 

“It is my duty… to the King and Queen.”

 

“The Queen gave me the order to relieve you.” Not acknowledging it, nevertheless Grey Worm seemed to relax a bit, dropping from formation. Smiling, Missy took his arm - which surprised him. “Perhaps some dinner. I haven’t eaten tonight either.”


There was silence… “Dinner… would be welcome, my Lady.” Missandei’s grin didn’t fall as he escorted her to the kitchens.

Notes:

Collision course inbound involving Robert... and Aerys too

Chapter 71: Wolf's Justice

Notes:

Hey; Sorry for the long wait. Things came up. But In any case I hope this chapter makes up for it :)

Read and enjoy

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robert Baratheon

 

“Turn back?! Why the fuck would I turn back?!” 

 

Gyles Estermont, cousin of the King and apparently selected by the other Storm and Riverlords to speak with him, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve marched through the Golden Tooth without incident.”

 

Robert snorted. “And that’s supposed to be a problem?” 

 

“You don’t seem to realize it, do you.” Jonos Bracken, himself a partisan of Tywin Lannister and not the Baratheon King, looked nervous. Very nervous. “They could’ve stopped us for fucking forever at the pass, and then didn’t.”

 

“Mayhaps they didn’t have enough men,” sneered Lord Commander Trant.

 

“If you think that, you’re a fucking idiot.”

 

“What did you tell me, Dondarrion?”

 

“You fucking heard me.”

 

Both men were close to blows before Robert shoved Meryn back. “Shut up, all of ye’!” All the yelling was giving Robert a headache - and he hadn’t drank enough yet to not care, nor attended to Shae in his command tent to be mellow. “Just speak your peace, cousin. It’s clear you wish to say something.”

 

Inhaling deeply to fortify himself, Gyles nodded. “You know as well as we do that our scouts found the road out of the mountains blocked off by a wooden palisade.”

 

“Well of course. I spoke to the scouts myself… if they want to block me then they have another thing coming.” He laughed. “No one stops a charging Stag.”

 

Most of the Lords flickered their eyes between each other, shifty and increasingly apprehensive. “What if it’s not meant to stop us advancing,” murmured Alyn Rykker. “But to stop us from escaping?”

 

“Escaping?” Robert blinked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“My cousin… he was sentenced to take the Black after the Rebellion.” He chose his words carefully. “I’ve read letters of him speaking of the wildlings, of their tactics. They are savages but ones that can glide through snowdrifts, forests, and rocky crags as if a floating bird. All information we have is that these savages form the bulk of Rhaegar’s…”

 

Robert, eyes blazing, grabbed Rykker by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up. “Never say that dragonspawn bastard’s name in my presence!” That said, he let Rykker drop, knees buckling and him stumbling. “Continue.”

 

Ire risen, fists clenched as he coughed, Rykker moved to advance but felt Gyles’ hand on his shoulder. Restraining him - begging for Rykker to keep his composure even after the attack by his King. “Forgive me, your Grace,” he ground out. “But the wildlings are experts at ambush. They could be trying to hem us in and overwhelm us.”

 

Grabbing a skin of wine, Robert had enough of their fearmongering and defeatism. “Savages with bone knives and animal skins. Cold, castle-forged steel will slice through them like a knife through butter.” Theirs was a powerful army that put the Riverlands to heel - the same composition of that which vanquished the greatest of House Targaryen at the Ruby Ford, only without the North and with the Crownlands, a fair trade according to Robert. “Does the dragonspawn have the Westermen on his side?”

 

Gyles shook his head. “No, cousin.”

 

“Do we not outnumber them two to one?”

 

Another shake of the head. “No, cousin.”

 

“Then it’s settled. In two days, we advance!” 

 

“Mayhaps we form one camp, your Grace,” insisted Beric, gesturing outside. “Our men are spread out in three separate camps and thus can be more easily ambushed if the enemy so wishes.” Robert’s was the furthest to the north, joined by his elite Stormlander cavalry and anchored by his lavish tent. In the van were the Rivermen and the largest component - Stormlands and Crownlands men-at-arms - formed the center, all of them heavy and laden with the plunder of a dozen rebellious keeps and a half-dozen sacked towns. “Discipline is starting to waver and it would be boosted with the King living among them.”

 

“And concentrate where disease and raiders can crush us?” Trant sneered.

 

Robert concurred. “No, Lord Beric. I made my decision and we’re sticking to it. Dismissed.”

 

“But, your Grace…”

 

“I said dismissed!”

 

As they filed out one by one, Gyles was the last of them - turning, his eyes met Robert’s. “I sincerely hope you know what you are doing, cousin.” 

 

Snorting, Robert gestured as much around him as Beric did. Both at the wider world around them and the finery displayed in his tent. “This, cousin, was all because I know what I am fucking doing. I am the damn King of the Seven Kingdoms thanks to my mind for battle, so don’t presume to tell me what I do and do not know!”

 

His cousin sighed. “Of course, your Grace. Of course.” With dejection and despair on his face, Gyles simply departed.

 

Robert smirked and grabbed the wineskin again. Hearing the throaty giggle of Shae within his bedchamber. “Trant, get out.” The Lord Commander departed, leaving Robert alone. “Soon, Rhaegar. Soon I shall finish you off and send you back where you belong.” Laughing, he stripped off his tunic and advanced towards his beautiful bedmate.

 

Unaware that in the dead of night, Gyles Estermont and three hundred of his bannermen departed. Deserting and heading back home. Not wanting any part in the coming disaster in the making. 

 

Eddard Stark

 

The sun had not yet risen, though it was doubtful to Ned Stark that he would see it if it had. Draped over the hills and crags that made up the lands directly west of the Golden Tooth was a fine fog, one that left the air damp as all hells while restricting vision to but a few yards ahead. He cursed at not being able to see the enemy formations, last he checked them still being camped apart in three separate camps - Robert’s tent obvious from how gaudy and large it was.

 

Robert… seven hells… Had his friend truly fallen so far, so blinded by absolute power and overconfidence into forgetting basic military reality?  

 

No. Truthfully, he had always been the same, only youthful vigor and Jon Arryn holding him back from the man that rode into Winterfell in both his world and Jon’s - fat, bitter, and uncaring of all but satiating his own lusts. Forgive me, Lord Jon. I couldn’t save him.

 

“He was unworthy of being saved.” Ned looked to his right only to see Lyanna gingerly settling herself into the foxhole dug into the earth. “Aye, you were talking to yourself.”

 

Ned chuckled without mirth. “Catelyn keeps saying that I do that often - think aloud.”

 

“You always used to do that if I remember our youth,” she shot back, gingerly rubbing her large swell contained within her leathers. One that clearly encumbered her, but not stopping the She-Wolf from entering the battle with her bow in her hand and quiver slung around her back. “And as I said, Robert was always unworthy.”

 

“I’d like to think I could’ve helped him…”

 

Lyanna cupped his cheek. “Brother, you’re the best of all of us, ever loyal and ever honorable.” The set of her grey eyes left the Princess genuine. “But if Jon Arryn couldn’t raise Robert out of his depravity, then no one could.”

 

He sighed, leaning his head back. “Mayhaps you’re right.” He stretched his arms, working out the kinks. “Rhaegar in position?”

 

“Aye… it kills me that I can’t be alongside him in this fight, but he made a promise and I know he’ll keep it.” Proud, powerful Lyanna - sidelined from two fights she most definitely wished to partake in thanks to a Targaryen babe in her belly. Not that she truly minded, given how much she loved Jon and the new hatchling. “Do you think Aegon is clashing with Tywin as we speak?”

 

“Likely, though he shan’t be as lucky as us. Tywin… he nearly conquered the North. Even against Aegon, he will not be an easy opponent.” Tywin outsmarted everyone in Jon’s past, Dany’s past. The Starks unable to match him in cunning. “This was my fault, you know. How this turned out… had I not persuaded Father to betroth the two of you… mayhaps this death would’ve been avoided.”

 

There was silence. “Specifically… aye, it would’ve been avoided. Yet the Mad King was going to face rebellion sooner or later, with or without me being the catalyst.” They sat there, brother and sister, staring up into the dark sky wishing the fog would dissipate. “Aegon saved us from much, didn’t he?”

 

“The fate of his world… far more death and destruction if you can believe it.”

 

“Aye, I do believe it.” 

 

After what seemed like hours, Ned felt his shoulder tapped - it was Tormund. “Git’ up King Southern,” he whispered gruffly. “Dragon says we move out at signal.” Before Ned could reply, he was gone, hissing at other groups to get into position.

 

Lyanna, creaking her back, sat up. “Well, time to dance.”

 

The King in the North eyed her midsection with worry. “Any chance you can refrain from battle?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Lyanna shook her head. “Rhaegar is lucky I’m sticking back with the archers, so don’t you start with me.”

 

“Just stay safe. I couldn’t… again…”

 

Her expression softened. “I don’t plan to.” Kissing his cheek, she was off.

 

The signal turned out to be a loud roar. Swooping down from the skies - shrouded by the fog - Rhaegal dragged the entire valley and hills into the coming clash with a long gout of flame, lancing onto the ground and burning all in its path. Screams, shouts, horns… the chaos of noise rose up even as the dragon winked away. 

 

In the battles in the North, Ned and the others had forced the Free Folk to organize on the battle tactics of the ‘south.’ Here, he faced the true meaning of Wildling combat. Rhaegar and Tormund had gone all out, soon a cacophony of drums resounding over the field from the hills. First slowly, then rising steadily till the booming drowned out all other sounds.

 

A steady stucco of terrifying drumbeats that made even Ned shiver. Let alone what those below felt.

 

“Nock!” he heard Lyanna bellow, thousands of archers drawing back their bows. “Loose!” 

 

THWACK!

 

In an instant, the air was filled with the streaking projectiles. Disappearing ominously into the mist towards Robert’s army below. 

 

“Nock!... Loose!”

 

THWACK!

 

Another volley disappearing into the shroud.

 

And with that, the horn sounded from far off, but one ever loud. Such was Rhaegar’s signal.

 

Ned drew Frost, holding it high in the air. “Men! With me!” 

 

With a piercing wail echoing out from the hills, thousands of Northmen and Wildlings erupted out of their ambush positions - aiming straight for the armies of the Stag King below. 

 

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

His sword hadn’t tasted blood once.

 

Rhaegar wasn’t even sure why he drew it, horse neighing as he continued it at a cantor, watching the devastation around him. All semblance of order had left, the wildlings and giants and northmen looting, burning, or simply slaughtering their way through the flower of the Stormlands. It wasn’t even a battle anymore, but rather a massacre.

 

By the gods, no one was staying. All fled in sheer terror as soon as the giants thundered down, shrieking wildlings and Rhaegar’s own cavalry utterly crashing into their positions. Fire blazed, banishing away the last bits of night as the sun cast through the canyon leading back to the Golden Tooth. Such beauty, such glories of nature, marred by the developing chaos and slaughter. 

 

“Surrender!” Rhaegar bellowed. “By the Warrior, lay down your arms!” Some did. Most didn’t, choosing instead to flee to the rest of the infantry likely beset by Ned’s flank attack and the fusilade of arrows Lyanna and the other archers were unleashing upon them.

 

And then all thoughts of saving them left him, eyes narrowing underneath his helm at the sight. A cluster of men actually fighting. They were circled around banners of the crowned Stag, dressed in golden armor bearing a crown upon the front. The Kingsguard. And in the center… “ROBERT!”

 

He was just as tall and imposing as he had been - much rounder in the belly, but the armor was nevertheless fitted well. Swinging a massive warhammer with all his might, the motions weren’t as precise or coordinated as in his youth but this was the same person he had faced in the past. That had vanquished him. Leaping off his horse, Rhaegar twirled his blade at the ready, advancing just as Robert’s helmeted face met his own. Undoubtedly recognizing him…

 

“DRAGONSPAWN!”  No longer was this the Trident. No longer was he the one frantically defending a crown who’s king was unworthy of the title. The tables were turned, and Rhaegar knew it as he charged. “YOU WILL DIE TODAY!” 

 

“I AM DEATH, ROBERT!” In a headlong charge, Ser Preston Greenfield threw himself at Rhaegar, sword high and aiming to hack him to bits. Barely able to swing halfway when Rhaegar let loose a devastating punch to his face, sending him pitching back. Left swiped his blade, hacking the Kingsguard’s head off. “Is that the best you can do?!” laughed the Prince.

 

Snarl leaving his mouth, Robert leveled his warhammer directly at Rhaegar… a signal for the entirety of the Kingsguard to charge.

 

You had to ask… 

 

Leaping back several paces, the muggy ground slowed down the charge enough for Rhaegar to ready his defensive stance. Osmund Kettleblack lunged with a thrust, but the Prince was able to dodge - blade hacking down to parry. The knight pulled back just as Mandon Moore slashed. The longsword sliced through a gap at Rhaegar’s hip, not meeting anything vital but leaving a shallow gash. Blood oozed and Rhaegar hissed, putting all his weight in to charge the Kingsguard. Shoulder slamming into Ser Mandon’s breastplate and sending him staggering.

 

A punch clanged against his helm, leaving Rhaegar’s head spinning. Boros Blount, corpulent frame gripping a massive greatsword thundered at Rhaegar, but the blow was only just parried. The knight was undaunted and tried to thrust at the Prince’s chest, but with a quick spin as Arthur taught him in the good old days of their youth, Rhaegar danced around it and hacked downward. Boros screamed as his hands were severed at the wrist.

 

He didn’t scream - or make any noise - ever again when Rhaegar stabbed straight through his throat.

 

Two down…

 

Already wounded and his head spinning, Rhaegar couldn’t slacken and met again with the blows of Ser Mandon and Ser Osmund. The blade almost sung in his hand, played like a fiddle with how quickly he was meeting the blows. Not giving them an inch as he dug his feet into the ground - sweat mixing with the remaining fog to leave his face drenched, the coppery scent of blood filling his nostrils. His head rang with a furious cry.

 

It took Rhaegar the longest time to realize it was him. 

 

Ser Mandon lashed out with the hilt of his sword, slamming into Rhaegar’s breastplate. He stumbled back, only just barely parrying Ser Arys’ assault. Not seeing Ser Osmund charging with sword raised from his rear…

 

WRRRRRRREEEEEEEKKKKK!  

 

Harsh gusts of wind nearly knocking them all over, Rhaegal lanced his head down from his flight and snatched Ser Osmund in his jaws. The man’s yells turned to blood-curdling shrieks, thrashing about as a whole battery of razor-sharp teeth dug through his belly. Splitting his armor as if cracking a nut…

 

With one chomp as he ascended back into the sky, Rhaegal decapitated the Kingaguard, letting Ser Osmund’s severed torso and legs drop to the ground in bloody heaps.

 

Ser Arys, recovering first, attempted to rise but a shimmering longsword ripped open his neck and shoulder. “Ned!”

 

Pulling back, Frost in both hands, he gave Rhaegar a soft smile. “What’s the matter, wanna live forever?” Japing now, goodbrother? Rhaegar merely smirked in return and rose to his feet, the two warriors facing the three remaining opponents.

 

Ser Mandon.

 

Lord Commander Trant.

 

Robert himself.

 

Trant charged first. He met Rhaegar in a flurry of blows, the Lord Commander strong and with a martial rage… Even so, Rhaegar found it easy to parry the blows. Merely giving ground to avoid the fury. This person, he made a mockery of the white cloak. Of the position held by Barristan and Gerold Hightower before him. Rhaegar felt disgusted to even face him, and ended it quickly. With a hack he sent Meryn’s sword careening to the ground, then a punch with his swordhilt, followed by a knee to the groin. “Begone, insect!” he bellowed, grabbing a knife from his belt and then slashing his throat.

 

Meryn Trant died grasping at his neck, blood pooling around his fingers as he collapsed.

 

The first thought in Rhaegar’s mind was to save Ned, his goodbrother locked in mortal combat with Mandon Moore - clearly the most skilled of all of them - but the lumbering colossus put pat to that idea. “RHAEGAR!” Robert held the fury of his Kingsguards, but the Demon of the Trident had the weapon and the sheer bulk to elevate him ever higher. Rhaegar only barely dodged the swing. “No rubies on your chest?! I’m insulted!” He shoved the warhammer forward, slamming into Rhaegar’s breastplate.

 

Wheezing in painful breaths, Rhaegar remembered Lyanna. His beautiful wife, the babe in her belly. Both Aegon so long ago, and now their newest hatchling. “I need not rubies or gold, Robert.” He straightened and blocked another swing, thrusting with his own sword. “Only steel!”

 

“Then you’ll die by mine!” 

 

All else blacked out for them, steel clashing against steel. Warhammer against longsword. Each man throwing themselves at each other in pure rage and a torrent of profanities. Gone was the concept of a chivalric duel between knights. No, these men hated each other - one for a woman that would never be his and the other for the atrocities left upon his family and his blood.

 

No more.

 

Fire and blood!

 

“Lyanna is mine!” Robert bellowed, swinging with the spike aiming for Rhaegar’s side. The words exactly those from the Trident.

 

The Prince dodged it. “She is not yours!” A hack down was just evaded by Robert, but by his heavy breathing the out-of-shape stag was tiring. “She loves me! Carried my children! Cries out from my cock in her cunt!” He knew just what would get a rise out of him. “She was never yours! She is mine, and I am hers!”

 

“FUCK YOU!” Robert charged, warhammer ready to swing as he leapt in the air for Rhaegar…

 

But years of drinking, feasting, and sloth had left Robert unable to match his previous strength. No amount of exercise or training could recover those lost reflexes, leaving him unable to react as Rhaegar - still blessed with the vigor and flexibility of youth - quickly sidestepped the lunge and brought the hilt of the sword down on Robert’s head… sending him to the ground.

 

Resisting the urge to stab down, Rhaegar instead grabbed Robert’s helm by the stag antlers and ripped it off, punching at his temple twice before the stag went limp. “Is he dead?”

 

He looked up to see Ned. Bruised and cut, but alive. Nearby, Ser Mandon lied, bloodied and still. “Not for long.”

 

Robert Baratheon

 

Such was a pathetic sight.

 

No, it hadn’t been all that way. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, his armor gleaming and warhammer wielded with the fury of his House words, reacted as a proper warrior as the northern camp was overwhelmed by the mass of wildlings and northmen. In mere moments it and his armor was drenched in blood - blood not his own. Violent swings and powerful jabs proved the Demon of the Trident still had fight left in him, but such couldn’t save him.

 

Couldn’t stop the fury of the Last Dragon descending upon Robert Baratheon.

 

Disarmed, tied up, and dragged, Robert thrashed and snarled - hurling the vilest of obscenities at his captors. It was ignoble and pathetic, only given a temporary reprieve when a ginger-haired wildling, beard scruffy and matted with dried blood, bashed him in the face. Leaving Robert dazed and spinning. “Fuckin’ shut it!” 

 

Finally though, upon an unmarred stretch of grass, Robert was thrown. Coughing, he managed to look up at the shadows towering over him. To one side was Ned, face hard and… not without a little resignation. The other was… “You’re just as ugly as I remember, dragonspawn.”

 

Rhaegar Targaryen, without his helm and every bit as youthfully vigorous as had been the man killed at the Trident - killed by Robert’s hand - smirked darkly. “You’ve been beaten cousin. Beaten fairly and upon your own ineptitude and overconfidence..” Such was true, and left him only the more enraged by it. “Rights be that I should kill you for both treason against your leiges and your accessory to the murder of my children, but my son in his wisdom has decided to offer mercy.”

 

“Lyanna! Where is she?! What did you do with her?!”

 

The Targaryen prince ignored the demand. “Kneel Robert,” Rhaegar commanded. “Kneel and beg for your life and I shan’t take it.”

 

The King - he would always be such, a title no one could truly take from him if he had anything to say about it - spat at Rhaegar’s feet. “Fuck you, Dragonspawn.”

 

Ned, his eyes wary, pleaded with him. “Do it Robert.”

 

A slight crack formed in his martial walls. “Ned… you turned against me… the King you swore to.”

 

“Would you have betrayed your family for a crown, Robert?” From their locked eyes, the question needn’t be answered. “Just… save yourself. Don’t let bloodshed define your end.”

 

Meeting Ned’s eyes, Robert fought to see the brother he had grown up with. The brother who was more family to him than Stannis or Renly, than any of his supposed children. An entire childhood and young adulthood together - sparring until near death from exhaustion. Drinking bouts where they’d carouse until passing out. Ned standing watch while Robert had his first time with an innkeeper’s daughter. Riding and falconing in the woods while Jon Arryn watched with pride.

 

The moment where Ned spoke of his beautiful sister Lyanna - the moment where Robert saw her and fell madly just at that first sight.

 

All filled him with a sorrow so deep and betrayal so wrought that no wine in the world could banish. “You were my brother, Ned.”

 

The guilt shone in Ned’s eyes. “I was, and I failed you, Robert.” He shook his head. “Don’t let yourself be defined only by your mistakes and your death. Surrender now.”

 

“To him?” he gestured to Rhaegar, spitting on the ground. 

 

“No, to my nephew - your rightful King.”

 

A snort. “His blood bastard?” Robert shook his head, defiance building in him. “I’ll be damned if I fucking kneel to some Dragonspawn born of rape.” Suddenly his head exploded into a maze of bright colors, pain near exploding. “Fuck!”

 

“Call my son that again and you’ll get worse,” Rhaegar hissed. “Ned, I’m sorry, but he will never repent. Time to end this once and for all.”

 

“Then fucking do it, dragonspawn!” Robert snarled, one last gasp of defiance. “If yer’ man enough, be rid of me as I did you!” Death was preferable to the humiliation of defeat to a man he killed.

 

But Rhaegar didn’t move to do the deed. Instead he stepped back, handing his blade to someone else swathed in full armor - but with a large, protruding belly. “It is not I that has earned the right to deliver justice upon you.”

 

Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Robert looked to his left to see… “The Knight of the Fuckin’ Laughing Tree?” Nothing in that particular tourney escaped him, especially not now. The knight that appeared once and disappeared… what the fuck was he doing… 

 

His eyes widened as the knight begane to speak in a feminine brogue of the North. The most beautiful, enchanting voice Robert had ever heard. “In the name of Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name…”

 

“Lyanna…”

 

“I, Lyanna of House Targaryen…”

 

Robert’s heart pounded. “Lya, please… tell them this is a mistake… stop this,” he pleaded.

 

“Sentence thee to death.”

 

“No, Lya, stop.”

 

Her grey eyes gave away nothing… except a roiling contempt. “Goodbye, Robert.” She raised the blade.

 

“Lya!”

 

Down it swung, only blackness remaining for King Robert of House Baratheon.

Notes:

So Lyanna gets her justice.

The battle is based of the battle of Pliska between Bulgaria and the Byzantine Empire.

Next up. Jonerys vs. Tywin. We'll try to have it out quicker than last.

Chapter 72: A Lion's Fall

Notes:

Merry Christmas everyone.

Thanks for waiting patiently. We wanted to get this update out before Xmas and we just managed to do it :)

Be sure to comment!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tywin Lannister

 

Face blank, Tywin simply stared at the trembling courier. The poor lad looked to have blown more than one horse trying to gallop across the entire Riverlands, desperate to seek out the large army of the Iron Throne led by its Hand of the King… and yet all exhaustion was gone. Replaced with pure fear. “Tell me, tell this war council, what happened.”

 

There were many other Lords there - Tywin’s own Westermen, the Reachmen brought by the Hightowers, and Jonos Bracken’s men of the Riverlands - but the terror was only shown by beholding Tywin Lannister. I should be flattered that I am so intimidating. “King… King Robert… we were ambushed. The wildlings… led by Rhaegar Targaryen.”

 

“So he’s alive!” gasped Ser Baelor, suddenly nervous. His uncle Lord Commander Gerold had died in Rhaegar’s service.

 

“What happened to Robert?” Lyle Crakehall - the “Strongboar” was more practical in his questions.

 

“He didn’t listen to any of his commanders and simply roared through the Golden Tooth, assuming it was going to be as easy as plundering the western Riverlands. Desertions were rife, including his own cousin Lord Eastermont.” Tywin remembered him as a level-headed commander of men - he should’ve had the army under his authority. Damned politics. Considerations of form over substance always rankled the Old Lion. “Thus we were surrounded and massacred… Robert himself was killed by Lyanna Stark herself.”

 

“Her too?!” Jonos Bracken laughed hysterically. “The gods have a fuckin’ sense of humor, they do.”

 

“Enough, Lord Jonos.” Tywin massaged his temples to ward off another headache. Tens of thousands of elite men gone, all on Robert’s stupidity. “The King is dead. Queen Lyanna, long may she reign.”

 

“Long may she reign.” His last surviving granddaughter, all of six moons old. A crown now on her tiny head - it was up to him to salvage this mess. 

 

Clearing his throat, he tapped on the table. “Rhaegar’s force was a pittance in the grand scheme of things. The main army was always going to be the ones commanded by Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen in the Riverlands itself, and scouts last night informed me that they will be marching to relieve Darry at this very moment.” Darry, the last holdout of Targaryen loyalists south of the Ruby Ford, had withstood a siege for moons. Tywin was determined to take it.

 

He was more determined to use it as bait to lure the Targaryens into open battle. One on his terms unlike at Castle Cerwyn.

 

His bannermen weren’t so eager. “How soon will they arrive?” asked Leo Lefford, an old comrade - he’d been aggressive in the campaigns of his youth, but age had the Lord of the Golden Tooth more cautious. 

 

“By the afternoon.” Murmurs broke out. “There is only one approach through a narrow defile, which I have left unguarded.”

 

“What? Why?” Leyton Hightower, old but still vigorous, was aghast. “We could bottle him there for fucking forever.”

 

“And miss a chance to destroy their army… not on your life.” Tywin needed a miracle to win, and only by gambling would he succeed. “I have tasked a unit of knights to wait in the woods for the Targaryens to engage, and then hit them on their flank and roll them up. Just as we did the Reynes.”

 

“Very risky…”

 

“It is what will win this war for my granddaughter.”

 

Eventually, the men had all left, including his brother Kevan - he’d been skeptical as well, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Tywin was in no mood as he sat, grabbing a letter just arrived from his wife in King’s Landing.

 

Dearest Husband,

 

Thinks in the capitol are dire. No riots, no treason, but the mood is somber. One of impending doom. Lightning cracks at the Sept of Baelor. Birds fly in every which direction as if mad. The seas boil but are cold to the touch. The septons and septas cower in panic at the omens, thinking the gods forsake us.

 

There is no one to lead us. Cersei has taken to drink, while Renly is next to useless, only sleeping with male whores he cares not to hide anymore. Lord Varys seems to help but I have doubt of his loyalties. I can only do so much.

 

Win and come to set things to rights. Rule as King with I as your Queen and our babe as your heir. I have full faith in you - only you. 

 

Give the word and I will kill all our enemies to spare you the mess.

 

Lynesse Lannister

 

Lady of Casterly Rock.

 

A smile was on his lips. Speaking with Lynesse never ceased to put a smile on his lips. Pure into their marriage bed she was not. Delicate she was not. Sweet and kind as Joanna was, she was not. But she was a kindred spirit. As if he had been born in female form, a powerful Lady of Casterly Rock.

 

A powerful Queen? Perhaps.

 

His subordinates carrying out his orders, Tywin picked up a quill and began to write. Enjoying the last moment of quiet he would have for the time being.

 

Robb Stark

 

Everything was different. Heightened even. The scents of the forests so familiar to the heir of house Stark, only at a level that would’ve overwhelmed his human senses - mind melded with the wolfish ferocity of Grey Wind, it sometimes did. Pull yourself together, papa.

 

Enough, Grey. Be respectful. The direwolf’s mind quieted, but through their bond Robb could tell the wolf was laughing silently at him. Cheeky boy. 

 

Still, the two in one bounded through the woods with nary a sound - supine body slinking and weaving through the trees and brambles that made up this part of the woods surrounding the fields of Castle Darry. As enclosed a battlefield as could be, with only a road leading east towards Maidenpool and King’s Landing and a narrow defile leading north by which Jon and Daenerys marched their army. The sounds of battle were already fierce as the Hightower knights clashed with the Rivermen and half the Northmen in the rear while Jon readied the charge of the Umbers, Karstarks, and their own Stark banners, not to mention Royce and his mounted knights of the Vale. Hopefully enough to win on the flank… 

 

That is if Robb succeeded upon the field of battle here in the forest.

 

A scent made Grey Wind’s senses tense, and Robb immediately brought them into a low crouch. The scent of men - unwashed men and filthy metal armor… there! Eyes zeroed in on what he hoped to see. Through the thickets were at least a dozen Lannister soldiers, sigils of the gold lion on their surcoats as they crouched in the woods with halberds, crossbows, and swords. Where there’s one there’s many. 

 

“Should we go?” hissed one of them, picked up by Grey Wind’s keen hearing.

 

“Not yet… wait till the bastard commits himself.” A surge of anger filled both at Jon being called a bastard - especially now. “Let him attack and we’ll fuck him in the ass.”

 

Robb had heard enough. Stay here and hide, boy. I’ll be back and then you charge in.

 

Yes, papa.

 

Seconds later, Robb found himself gasping upon the ground about two thousand feet away, back shooting forward from where he had sat against a tree while he warged. “Your Grace?” asked Jory, trying to steady him. “Drink this.” The Captain of the Household Guard thrust a gourd of weak ale at him.

 

Thanks to the drink, he managed to calm down. “Wargs were right,” he gasped out, marveling at the skill of the wildlings and their aerial scouts. “Tywin set up an ambush in the woods.”

 

“Should we notify the King and Queen? Burn them out?”

 

Such would be the safe course, one many would take to wipe out a potential disaster quickly. Robb wasn’t one to take a safe course… not in a battle so vital. “No, Tywin is counting on this unit as an ace in the hole… I want him to think it always in play up until he realizes that it is us charging him rather than his men charging Jon.”

 

Jory grinned, understanding. “Time to pull the lion’s tail without him realizing it, your Grace.” Rising to his feet, Robb nodded and motioned for his men to follow.

 

It was only the best men. Three hundred Crannogmen under the command of Howland Reed and a hundred of hand-picked Stark men-at-arms… selected for their supreme hunting and tracking skills. They moved through the forest as silently as ghosts, only brandishing their spears and swords as they approached where Grey Wind had crouched in wait, themselves slowing and growing ever stealthier just in case.

 

Their ambush had to be perfect. 

 

Motioning to Howland, the Lord of Greywater Watch led at Robb’s orders a hundred of his most elite fighters on a flanking mission to sit astride the exit out of the woods and onto the field of battle. No Westerman was to escape lest he warn Tywin of their trap. You’re not going to lose because of me, Jon. He had failed before as King in the North. Twice. Now, Robb of House Stark had corrected his mistakes. Fighting with Jon, exposing himself to the wider world, learning how to properly command men and earn the respect of his lords, marrying Margaery - beautiful, intelligent Margaery whom he had actually fallen for. 

 

Perhaps his fate had truly changed, but he wasn’t about to take that risk.

 

Finally, a bird call echoed across the trees. Nothing out of the ordinary for anyone that didn’t know the native birds of the north, but Robb was different. This particular bird wasn’t one that lived south of the Neck, making it the perfect signal. Howland is in position. With a dark smirk, he signaled his hornblower.

 

Nothing able to muffle the deep boom that echoed through the forest, suddenly hundreds of individual northern battlecries rang out as men drew their swords, brandished their spears, and hurled themselves into the fray at the confused Westermen. Robb, himself charging, was joined only a moment later by a bounding Grey Wind, advancing further than his papa. A panicking picket was set upon by the direwolf and his throat ripped out, while the crossbowman trying to assist soon had his head lopped off by Robb’s sword.

 

“Who holds the North?!”

 

“HAA-WOO! HAA-WOO!”

 

Jon Targaryen

 

Armored hand shooting out in a vain attempt to protect his own body, the volley of arrows and bolts ended in luckily only peppering the ground around him. Jon could hear from the screams of man and horse that not all were as fortunate as he. “They’re fuckin’ coming,” Sandor Clegane grunted, trotting his horse next to the monarch. Ghost was on the other side, only gazing up with his blood red eyes.

 

“Who?”

 

“Fuckin’ Tywin… or one of his minions.” Sure enough, the beleaguered Westerlands horse that Jon had engaged with the bulk of his flank were being reinforced by a single tercio of men-at-arms and crossbowmen. An elite block of footmen. 

 

Shit.

 

Already bruised and battered from leading his horsemen into a frontal charge, Jon twirled his blades and rode towards the first unit he could find. Chain banners and the unmistakable visage of Smalljon Umber - a heartening rather than fearful sight in this life - made Jon nod in relief. “The lions are sending their best at us!” he proclaimed to the men of Last Hearth. “You take the worst of the northern blizzards. Can you take the lions as well?”

 

“HAA-WOO! HAA-WOO!” 

 

Smalljon drew his greatsword. “Let’s fuck ‘em, your Grace!” Horns blowing, the men charged alongside the Targaryen King, growing up as they did a northern warrior but so much more. 

 

Crossbows loosed at the attackers, scything through dozens but the ferocity of the Umber men-at-arms kept them going. Direct at the shield line of spearmen that formed the front of the tercio. Jon was at the front, horse leaping over the wall with his swords lashing out. Thickened steel from beyond the earth crushing through helms and turning brains into a pulpy mess. Fight he did like a man possessed, desperate to end this war and finally finish uniting the seven Kingdoms. Before he had been far too late. 

 

Now things were in the balance. Robert was dead at his mother’s hands.

 

When he killed Tywin, it would be over. His kepa, muna, and family avenged.

 

A hulking knight came at him, riding a warhorse without gripping the reins as he swung a massive axe straight at Jon’s side. That proved anti-climactic as Ghost leapt at the man, knocking him from the horse and ending with a scream and sickening crunch. Good boy. Jon had little room for respite as another mounted man-at-arms tried to spear him, but a quick hack and slash with his blades left the attacker’s spear broken and neck showering the King with blood.

 

Two quick blows of the horn sent his eyes searching to the woods… out of them poured a few hundred men carrying the banners of the North. A large grey mass bounded in the van. Robb! His brother had did it… defeating the ambush group and setting up an ambush of their own. Spurring his own horse towards the rear, arrows shot past him and Ghost in their headlong withdrawal towards the Vale knights and Stark Horsemen remaining in reserve.

 

Lord Royce raised his visor at Jon’s approach. “Your Grace…”

 

“Wheel around! Catch them at the flank alongside Prince Robb!” Crown mounted firmly on his head, he twirled his blade, soon joined by Sandor Clegane, himself soaked in blood not his own. “At the cunts!” the King called to cheers from the knights and riders.

 

“He’s gonna fuckin’ kill us all,” Jon heard the Hound murmur behind him. 

 

Words that would prove a great miscalculation as a sharp roar boomed over the landscape.

 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

“Infantry reserve into the center!” Daenerys commanded, crouching behind a wall of shields from her guards as a massive volley of longbows hit around her. 

 

“Your Grace, that would open us to disaster…”

 

Garlan Tyrell grabbed Edmure Tully by the lip of his gorget. “Do you think we have the time to act cautiously?! One break in our line and we’re done!” Having force-marched themselves from the south as the Dornish component broke apart from them, the victors over the Faith Militant had added additional thousands to the Targaryen army. Tarly archers fought desperately to match their opponents, vastly outnumbering them among the hordes of levies from Oldtown with a crossbow thrust in their hands… and they did it with pure fury. 

 

The men that withstood a horde of poor fellows without cracking were needed, and as the elite Reach men-at-arms with a core of Lannister men in the center began cutting through the Tully, Mallister, Bolton, Manderly, and Blackwood shield walls she knew it was time. “Toss them into the center to plug the gaps,” she ordered. “Lord Garlan, get your horse and attack from the flank. Let no one stop you.”

 

“Perhaps you should head to the rear, your Grace…” 

 

Daenerys shook her head. “No, I know where I must be.”

 

The mobile scorpions and ballistae were all over the place. As dense as they were in each of their battles against Tywin. Such kept their dragons back, Jon and Danaerys not wishing to commit them when they would be needed so desperately in the battle against the Ice King - just thinking of the Jon she once loved so much consumed by the dark magic left Dany’s heart breaking, but the Mother of Dragons steeled herself. However, now it was time for risks, and Aragon called to her.

 

The dragon waited patiently for her. Muna, are we going in?

 

Daenerys smiled. “Aye, the battle must be joined.” Knowing not where Jon was nor how he fared, up in the air she could both contribute and see what was going on to the south. “Just keep steady.” Her hand cupped her belly, shrouded by thick leather armor reminiscent of the one she wore when she and Jon first met in their pasts. “Careful of the sweetling.”

 

I will do my best, muna. Dany stroked the dragon’s scales before quickly climbing. Aragon was much more agreeable than Drogon had been, mayhaps being a female dragon - far more protective and ferocious, yet calmer in most instances. 

 

Aye, definitely a female dragon.

 

As soon as Daenerys settled in, she clicked her tongue. “Sovegon!” With a roar Aragon ascended into the air, wings beating powerfully. Kicking up a massive gust of air as she was as big now as Drogon had been upon returning to Westeros. The Dragon Queen was surely back in all her might - Daenerys feeling the surge of dragonfire in her veins at the thought.

 

Wind whipping at her Dothraki braids - ones carefully attended to by Missy prior to their march after Jon had… attended to the needy Dany just before - Daenerys clutched at Aragon’s spine as she gazed down upon the battlefield. Her worry turned to elation at seeing a mass of cavalry completely breaking against the rearguard of Tywin’s line, while there seemed to be no troops among the forests to the east. Robb succeeded. Above, Saragon would periodically blast fire upon stragglers, keeping the Lannister forces contained in the center of the field. 

 

Again, she marveled at how brilliant a tactician Jon turned out to be.

 

A sudden shriek from Aragon was punctuated as a bolt shot past her… only feet from her head. “Dive!” Aragon did, just in time to escape the rock of the blast when the wildfire detonated. It still shook her, and Dany’s eyes narrowed and flashed orange with anger. “Dracarys!” she ordered, of which Aragon answered with a roar and steep dive.

 

Below, the addition of Garlan’s forces were steadily throwing the Hightowers back, though the battle was still in the balance. Not for long though, as the gout of flame at Dany’s furious attack run lanced down. Screams were more prominent than answering fire, tongues of wildfire erupting into the air from the immolated ballistae. Hundreds burned, their acrid stench reaching Dany’s nostrils and making her stomach roil.

 

Not now, sweetling. Not now please… 

 

But her begging was not necessary. Aragon banked away, leaving behind a scorched landscape and a broken army. The Hightowers had cracked, their lines ruptured and allowing for Garlan’s cavalry to simply disintegrate them. Hundreds fled, hundreds died where they stood, while thousands instead surrendered. 

 

The smile on her lips was unavoidable. Another field of fire.

 

Another triumph for the dragons.

 

Tywin Lannister

 

Horse long since hacked out from under him, the Lord of Casterly Rock nonetheless dashed about the battlefield on foot. He screamed orders, yanking at stragglers and wannabe deserters. “Get back into formation!” Tywin yelled. “Get back before I have you flogged!” Any other Lord could’ve been stabbed by desperate, fleeing men-at-arms, but Tywin’s reputation instilled greater terror than even a dragon could in the men of the Westerlands. “Form Squares!”

 

“Form squares!” The command was taken up by the other Lords, some mounted and some not, using the distraction provided by the annihilation of the Hightower assault to good use. The Lannister tercios placed their surviving heavy spearmen on the outside, spears and pikes bristling out of the shield walls, crossbowmen directly behind and men-at-arms in the middle. The camp, atop several hills, served as an anchor.

 

Tywin’s personal tent formed the center of the third tercio out of five. Of which he retreated to. Clear his head and grab a flagon of wine. Peppered with tiny cuts and bruises, the drink - only the absolute best for the Lord of Casterly Rock - managed to steady him and banish away the aches and stings for the moment.

 

Someone entered the tent, a tired Kevan. His face was cut, but looked otherwise alright. “They’re assembling their siege engines… alongside ours.”

 

“They captured our lines outside Darry?”

 

“Aye.”

 

He snorted. “The Brackens are cowards.”

 

“My Lord.” In walked Lyle Crakehall, his face contorted in worry. “A rider approached under a flag of truce. Asked me to give this to you.”

 

“The dragons trying to treat with me then? Fools.”

 

Kevan shook his head, though. “Please, brother. At least read it.”

 

Gazing at Kevan’s petrified face, Tywin relented. He cracked the seal of the three-headed dragon and perused the contents. Lips pressed in a tight line. 

 

Lord Tywin,

 

Your army is no more. Your King is no more, executed under the King’s Justice by Princess Lyanna Targaryen. Soon, such shall be said if you.

 

We seek your surrender, for wouldn’t it be preferable for your army to fight the true threat against the living? Surrender yourself and I shall spare your army and your house.

 

Or else all will meet fire and blood.

 

Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms .

 

Tywin crumpled it into a ball and tossed it at the ground. “Aerys’ daughter won’t vanquish me that easily. If she and her bastard lover want what I’ve built, they can come and take it with fire and blood if they so wish. We will fight to the death and take as many of their savages and traitors as we can.”

 

The only reply was a swish of steel. “Forgive me for this, my Lord,” Lyle Crakehall spoke, his sword drawn and leveled at Tywin’s chest. “But I cannot allow you to give that order.”

 

Kevan, for his part, gaped at Ser Lyle, while Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “Treason, then?”

 

“My father, brother, and I followed you into certain death many times, Lord Tywin. Each was gladly, out of loyalty borne from respect and duty, but this is too much. We will be slaughtered by their dragons and I will not see the Westerlands turned into a fatherless, husbandless wasteland just to soothe your ego.” He looked pained to go about this eventuality, but resolved either way. “Give the order to surrender, or face my blade.”

 

Tywin walked right up to the tip of his sword. “Strike me down then. Show the world that you would betray your liege.”

 

Before Lyle could do anything, Kevan pushed himself in between the two. “Leave, Ser Lyle. Go.” Eyes set in a wary stare, Ser Lyle did as he was bid by Tywin’s brother, left alone with the Lord of Casterly Rock. “Give the surrender order, Tywin,” Kevan asked.

 

Snorting, Tywin turned away. “You’re a coward too, then?” He laughed. “Go and prepare the ballistae, Kevan…”

 

“No!” Tywin turned, brow up at his normally meek brother’s defiance. “You will give the order.”

 

“I will not.”

 

“Gods, I’ve taken your commands since we were but children but brother, you will not destroy our house this way. I… I won’t allow you to! They won! The Targaryens won and we chose the wrong fucking side! For whom? Robert Baratheon?!” 

 

Tywin was growing angry. “You were fucking there, Kevan. You saw the strategic situation…”

 

“And had we joined Rhaegar from the beginning this all would’ve been avoided, but no. You needed to make them both pay for rejecting your precious Cersei. I love her as my niece, but she was as much a victim of your ambitions as she was of Robert’s oafishness.” He shook his head. “But the past is the past. The present is now, and by the Seven I will save our house from death.” He made to leave the tent. “I will issue the surrender. If you wish to come out and take part in it, then do so. If not, so be it then.” Kevan then left, his first act in defiance of Tywin from the moment he was born.

 

In honesty, Tywin felt a bit of admiration for it.

 

Only a bit, for much greater emotions swirled in his head.

 

Proud though he was, stubborn though he was, Tywin was not Robert. He wasn’t deluded - it was over. The Lords and men wouldn’t fight, and the Targaryens wouldn’t give them an honorable fight to the death. Having marched with him into battle from the Rains of Castamere to now, the army was spent. Broken in the face of dragonfire.

 

Even the most elite had their limits, and Tywin found them.

 

“Aerys,” he mumbled. “You’ve fucking won.” Nevermind that his daughter and grandson were likely nothing like him, the blood was there - Aerys from the death had beaten his once friend for good, and in the end none of his plots or betrayals or strategies had mattered worth a damn.

 

King Aegon and Queen Daenerys. In another life, Tywin could’ve seen himself coordinating as Hand for their ascensions after two decades supporting Rhaegar’s reign, but alas it was not to be. Robert was his choice and the realm bled and stagnated for it. Ironic, to say the least.

 

But while Aerys would win, Tywin wouldn’t let the dragons see him bend the knee. 

 

The dagger belonged to his father, not that the congenial Lord Tytos Lannister ever used it. Bejeweled and with a gold hilt, Tywin shunned it as well, but kept it, for what reasons he did not know… until now. Unlatching his armor, the blood-splattered breastplate clattered to the ground, revealing his leather cuirass. That too was removed, leaving but a tunic. Not hard to pierce.

 

He felt no pain, heart shredding itself against the blade. Staggering, Tywin’s mind flashed through many memories. Joanna, their wedding day. Watching Aerys be crowned, proud of all they would soon achieve together. Playing with Jaime and Cersei in their youth. Leading the Lannister armies to victory. Seeing his daughter crowned Queen. Lynesse, her belly flush with his future child.

 

A child that would never know him. Gods… let that babe have peace.

 

Such were his last thoughts, as Tywin Lannister fell to the ground, blackness enveloping him for the final time. 

 

Jon Targaryen

 

“Shall we attack, your Grace?” 

 

Jon shook his head at the eagerness of Lord Darry - he and his levies had been eager to attack from the moment they broke out of the siege and while Jon appreciated it, what use would it be if the Lannisters surrendered. “You may not. Not while there’s still a chance they will give up.”

 

A scoff. “Tywin Lannister?” It was Yohn Royce, Vale knights reformed and ready to attack. “I can run them down with one charge if given enough supporting archery and a dragon.”

 

“You would risk the Queen in her gravid state?”

 

That earned a glare from Daenerys. “Aegon, enough. I am pregnant, not made of glass - and as far as I recall, you helped make this babe so you cannot comment on it with the certainty of a scolding father.”

 

Lowering his head and sighing, Jon tried not to flush red at how his sworn lords began to snicker at the Queen’s comment. “She has you there, your Grace. ” Out of all of them, only Robb had leave to tease him.

 

Being the de facto brother of the King had its benefits. “Shut up, Robb. We all noticed Margaery racing to the privy at all matters of the night… and not to void her bladder or bowels.”

 

Robb closed his eyes. “You have to remind me?” He touched the cut on his forehead. “She’s gonna kill me, she is.”

 

“Scars only make the ladies hit you once… then it turns them on to no end, brother, so relax.”

 

Daenerys nodded. “He speaks the truth, goodbrother.” A kiss to Jon’s cheek that made him smile. “My northern fool of a dragonwolf.” Covered in grime, blood, and greasy black ash, Jon nevertheless drew adoration in Daenerys’ gaze - an adoration mirrored for Daenerys was herself covered in the same ash and grime. Gods, he had turned into a proper dragon.

 

An automatic thought came to his mind, that he wondered if his kepa would be proud of him for the Targaryen that he became - or if his muna would be proud of him for the dragonwolf he became… then his heart leapt at the realization. Muna and kepa are alive. They do love me. Gods… they love me. Especially for Jon, how he was raised, the loving embraces and proud words of Rhaegar and Lyanna Targaryen brought him the warmest of joy. Equal to the love of his beautiful Daenerys or holding Rhaegon in his arms.

 

Such wonderful thoughts almost made him forget he was in the middle of a battlefield, carnage strewn over the fields outside of Castle Darry.

 

In his masterstroke, the Lannisters and their Riverman allies were all surrounded - tightly packed into their tercios. Daenerys had been furious that while she wiped out the Hightowers and their allied houses into either corpses or prisoners, Jon and Robb had left the Lannisters in good order and bristling with arms… until Jon explained the situation. Northman, Riverman, Valeman, Reachman, all kept Tywin Lannister’s finest surrounded. A ferocious lion trapped in a den with no escape. Ferocious and ready to maul any attacker…

 

Lest it be burned alive within. By a dragon perhaps?

 

“Should we just end it all?” he heard Dany ask him.

 

Jon brought Dany’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon it before resting both of them atop the swell containing their little sweetling. Encased in a fine leather armor for both protection and comfort. “We may have to, I wish not to bloody our forces more than we have to… yet we must give them a chance to surrender.”

 

“The Lannister army committed many atrocities.”

 

“At the behest of its commander… the men are no different than our own except by virtue of being born under the wrong liege lord. What separates them from the Dothraki under the khals you killed?”

 

His words seemed to hit home with Dany. “You’re right, my love.” Daenerys melded to his side, again ignoring the soot and blood. “You calm my fire.”

 

“And you melt my ice. Perfect for one another.”

 

Thankfully, a trio of riders appeared, two carrying white banners while the middle… “Well, well, well,” Missandei smirked. “If it isn’t Kevan Lannister.”

 

Daenerys smirked as well. “Coming for round two, I suppose. Shall we, Jon?”

 

Jon nodded, though more reserved than the others. “Robb, stay with the troops. If anything happens, attack with all your might. Dany, Missy, with me.” He mounted a horse and spurred it towards the riders, followed by Ghost, Missandei, and his wife. How she was able to ride effortlessly even while pregnant never ceased to amaze - whether it a horse, a dragon or… him.

 

Not that he’d ever cease enjoying the latter.

 

Once in earshot, Jon called out. “You must be a glutton for punishment, Ser Kevan.”

 

The second son of Tytos Lannister didn’t take the bait, merely removing his helm and hanging his head. “Your Graces, Lady Missandei, I seek a surrender for the armies of the Westerlands and their allied Lords.”

 

“Come around to supporting our claim?” Daenerys asked sarcastically.

 

“Your mercy is legendary, so I hope such is not too late.”

 

“Two dragons wait close by, so perhaps you miscalculated on the mercy… but tell me, what would you provide as a token of your fealty?”

 

“An entire army of elite forces. There is still an enemy to the south in Dorne.”

 

Jon wanted to wince - not wishing to think of Aerys yet. “I am well aware… does your brother know we’re here?”

 

“He does. I am here of my own volition though, and the will of the Lords. We have no wish to fight a hopeless cause with our King dead… the usurper dead rather.”

 

“A smart acknowledgement.” Jon gestured to Kevan. “Bend the knee now, and we will accept your surrender. The men will be given mercy, while the Lords will be subject to whatever justice we see fit.”

 

Sighing in resignation, Ser Kevan Lannister slowly dismounted… then knelt in the mud. At seeing this, the entirety of the Targaryen lines erupted in cheers while those of the Lannisters simply dropped their weapons. Collapsing onto the ground in sheer exhaustion.

 

Heart pounding, he knew not what to think as he approached the massive tent - red-gold ever gaudy and ornate. While Tywin Lannister did not seem to be one to luxuriate himself in opulence, to elevate oneself in a sense of intimidation with the Lannister might and Lannister wealth did sound very much like him. A strong, mighty figure that… Jon hadn’t ever met. Not in his past, Dany’s past, or this lifetime. The irony hit him strongly

 

The man that was the best friend of his grandfather, the Mad King - before he had ever been mad. One who sealed the defeat of his father by both failing to contribute his levies to the Targaryen side of the Rebellion and by then driving the stake into the heart of House Targaryen at King’s Landing. Ordering the killing of his sister, of his brother, of his stepmother.

 

Robert Baratheon owed his crown to Tywin Lannister. 

 

Half the atrocities of his and Dany’s past owed their creation to Tywin. The Red Wedding, Sansa’s suffering, Arya’s near torture and death… His fist tightened. Tywin Lannister had so much to pay for, so much to atone through his own suffering. Kepa and muna had Robert to bring justice to, I have Tywin. Hand on the hilt of one of his blades, Jon shoved the tent flap open…

 

“Oh fuck,” he murmured with a shake of the head.

 

“Jon, my love?” Daenerys found his side, only to hiss. “What a fucking coward.”

 

The Old Lion of House Lannister, the man who had destroyed the Reynes, Tarbecks, and very nearly wiped out the Targaryens - and the Starks if one counted their pasts - was dead upon the ground. Lying in a pool of his own blood still dripping from a large wound in his heart. Blade still embedded. Lifeless hands still clutching the pommel of the dagger. 

 

“Took the easy way out.” Jon shook his head. “I can say I understand the impulse.”

 

That got a firm poke in the chest. “Don’t you even think about it, Aegon Targaryen. You’re fucking stronger than that.”

 

He turned to Dany, eyes sad. “When I lost you… when I lost Rhaegar… I had little to keep me going.” Daenerys softened, and just hugged him. “Now I have much to keep me going, so it’ll never happen… he, he had children, a wife, and a babe on the way. A true coward, as you said.”

 

“All that’s left is taking King’s Landing.”

 

“Aye, at least before Aerys does.”

 

Aerys Targaryen

 

It almost always happened at the times he least expected it. Sitting at a table alone, breaking his fast with some bread, figs, and pork sausages, Aerys was disturbed by Lord Hand Jon Connington, his face pale and holding a dispatch. “If you give me bad news, I will chop off one of your fingers,” he growled, not in the mood for this.

 

But Connington shook his head, drawing a raised brow from Aerys. What is it now? “News from one of my little birds… he Usurper is dead.”

 

“What?!” He snatched the paper from Connington’s hand, reading it. “Well well, some woman claiming to be Lyanna Stark having done the deed. What do you think about that, Connington? The woman that took your love’s heart away.” Aerys laughed at Connington’s barely hidden look of dismay… until his laughter died at the rest. “Tywin dead too! Seven fucking hells!”

 

“Daenerys and Jon Snow have won, your Grace.”

 

“No… they just beat the Usurper, leaving most of the wealthiest parts of the Seven Kingdoms effectively lawless.” Smacking his hand on the table, Aerys grinned like a maniac. Grabbing Blackfyre and strapping it to his waist. “This is exactly what we’ve been waiting for.”

 

As he headed for the courtyard, Connington followed him, your Grace, where are you going?”

 

“How many men can we scrounge on short notice?”

 

“Umm… Captain Daario has about a thousand…”

 

“Good enough. Load them onto the ships. We’re going to King’s Landing.”

 

His eyes widened. “Your Grace, please. Don’t think rashly…” They just managed to scramble out onto the courtyard of Sunspear palace, Rhaelyx waking from her slumber as Aerys approached. “You could be riding to disaster.”

 

“Disaster, please. Tywin is dead, Robert the Usurper is dead. King’s Landing is going to be ruled strongly by whom? Renly the buggerer?” He chose his words well against Connington, who winced. “Cersei? Lynesse Lannister? Bah!” Only Varys was competent among them, and Varys worked for his nephew and sister. Dany…

 

Connington knew his line of thinking. “Varys will be there and open the gates for Jon and Daenerys. They will be there…”

 

“Both are weak.” He had a bead on their personalities. “He is a bastard and my beloved Dany is under his spell. They will not march while their troops are bloodied… nor until they reunite with those said to be my eldest brother and his whore.” He eyed Connington. “Tell me, Lord Hand, if you see that the person they say is Rhaegar really is, will you betray me?”

 

Silent for the longest time, Connington swallowed. “He is not Rhaegar. His body would never be in their clutches.”

 

Aerys snorted. “Smart evasion.” He petted Rhaelyx’s snout. “Load Naharis’ men into the ships. I will fly there ahead of them and secure the city. Eventually they will come and I will end this.”

 

“No, it’s too dangerous. Mayhaps you can set up a parlay and find some sort of compromise between you and your nephew…”

 

Suddenly, Aerys lunged. Connington was lifted into the air, suspended by the powerful grip of the Targaryen Prince he raised. “I am no longer the little boy you saved from the usurper, Connington. No longer am I your ward, or your responsibility.” His eyes blazed dragonfire. “I am your King, a warrior and dragonrider, and it is my orders you follow - or it is treason.”

 

Letting Connington collapse to the ground, Aerys towered over him. Clearly no longer the boy that the fallen Lord had raised from birth, who had learned to spar and played with his half-sister and then love. No, this was the very visage of the Mad King, not Rhaegar.

 

The same Rhaegar who rumor said was walking this very earth as if by some miracle.

 

“As far as I am aware, Connington, you are my Hand. Not my Regent.”

 

“Your Grace… please… I urge you to…”

 

Rather than attack him, Aerys simply narrowed his eyes. “You follow my orders, not your own. Ready the ships to transport the troops to King’s Landing or I will find another Hand to do so. As far as I am concerned, you are straddling the line between asset and liability. Do not find yourself becoming the latter.” Leaving Connington to make his choice, Aerys climbed atop Rhaelyx. Feeling the dragon purr underneath him. Ready girl?

 

Fire and blood, kepa?

 

A bloodthirsty grin curved on Aerys’ lips. Aye, fire and blood. Sovegon! Gods, he truly loved the first gust of wind as he ascended in the air.

 

Not as strongly as he did the scent of dragonfire.

Notes:

So Tywin is defeated in a redux of the Battle of Rocroi, where the Prince of Conde defeated the Spanish during the Thirty Years' War. Decisive and total, Robert's realm shattered and Tywin taking his own life rather than accept justice.

Now the only human foe that remains is Aerys.

Chapter 73: No Rest for the Wary

Notes:

Hey all. Sorry for the long wait. Been busy with medical school and such.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Robb Stark

 

With a blow of a hammer, the cask was broken into and the ale within free for the mugs to dip inside. "A toast!” bellowed Garlan Tyrell, arm around the Lady Arianne’s side. “To House Targaryen! The Dragonwolf and Mother of Dragons!" 

 

"HAH OOH! HAH OOH! HAH OOH!"

 

"To King’s Landing!" yelled an already drunk Edmure Tully. “For vengeance!” Already slurring his words, his drink spilled all out to the ground while he stumbled, dozens laughing at the Lord of Riverrun’s antics. 

 

“That’s the fucking spirit!” Arianne bellowed, mug hoisted high. 

 

Harrenhal was filled with revelry. The Keep of House Whent - once given to Kevan Lannister to rule and now relinquished by the compliant brother of Tywin - had fallen without a fight once the news of House Lannister’s decisive defeat had arrived. Having force marched themselves and tens of thousands of prisoners from Castle Darry to here here where the accommodations for all of them could be found left them exhausted. But by decree of the King and Queen, no expense was to be spared to celebrate such a victory. The finest Dornish and Arbor wines or black ales of Winterfell, freshly slaughtered steer, pigs, chickens, and rabbits, river fish roasted on spits, crusty white bread from the ovens of Harrenhal… not to mention the tents of Tywin Lannister raided for the Lannister war chest. Thousands of talents of gold and silver coin distributed to the men as their spoils. 

 

It was as if no King or Queen was more beloved by their men Jon and Daenerys were. Celebration rocked the entire great Keep of Harren the Black, perhaps even the ghosts that haunted Harrenhal joining in - young and old, male and female, rich and poor sharing in the bounty.

 

Tugging on her hand, no sooner did they turn a corner did Robb press Margaery into an alcove and slant his lips against hers. Letting his hands roam across her luscious curves through the tight dress. It was a balmy night of a sudden warm spell, and she had dressed in one of her Reach gowns that showed off her arms and cleavage to greet him upon the arrival from the Twins. Robb was eager to take advantage. “Naughty wolf,” she giggled breathlessly. “Oh…”

 

He began to lave at her neck. “Not sorry… missed you.”

 

“Mmmm… you did?”

 

“Of course.” Robb pulled back, cupping her cheek. "I love you." His words made the notorious Rose of Highgarden melt. And the kisses resumed.

 

Robb didn't know when he had been happier… Long ago he had resigned himself to a marriage for honor and alliance unlike his foolish self in Jon’s past - and yet the gods rewarded him with a wonderful marriage. Enraptured by Margaery’s beauty from the beginning, actual liking and love had only followed naturally much as he figured it had been for his parents. 

 

Soon the war would be over, Winterfell peaceful and ready for him to return, and the most beautiful woman in the world in his bed. "Let us retire," he growled huskily.

 

“Oh? You wish to celebrate then?” Her voice was innocent although her twinkling eyes and sideways grin were anything but. “What of our station? The troops count on their general to be more than a lusty beast of a wolf.”

 

Laughing, Robb mauled her breasts, making Margaery hitch her breath. “I have it on good authority that Jon and Daenerys have already retired, and from how Lady Arianne is pawing at him your brother is not far behind.” Impatient, he grabbed her ass and lifted her up, drawing a yelp from Margaery that he took advantage of of by kissing her deeply. 

 

She moaned, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and let Robb carry her towards the keep.

 

What they didn’t take into account was how massive Harrenhal was. Even Robb’s strength gave out after ten minutes of searching and they were forced to journey on foot next to each other… which suffered from its own distractions. Margaery shoved against the wall with her nipples fished out and sucked raw. Or sometimes it was Robb, his shoulder sporting several new sucking red marks.

 

Fuck, this woman was a wanton whore in the bedchamber - especially since they weren’t yet in the bedchamber.

 

Finally, they reached the bedchamber marked for them, directly adjacent to the quarters inhabited by the King and Queen. If one cared to listen the sounds of ecstasy from the two Targaryens was quite passionate, but Robb only had attention for his gorgeous rose. Her eyes alight with love and lust as she reached behind her to loosen the ties of her dress. Letting it hang… only just about her shoulders. Her intimate parts… just a tug away. "Take me, my wolf."

 

In lieu of an answer, Robb pulled her flush against him and crashed their lips together. A sharp pull found her dress pooling to the floor. Margaery’s attempts to return the favor were disrupted as his hands roamed, making her mewl by squeezing her perfect breasts and running along her trim waist. As his tunic fell to the floor, Robb wedged two fingers between her legs… The join was soaked, fingers easily slipping inside while she screamed his name.

 

Once his trousers joined her dress upon the floor, they fell into the bed. Mauling each other’s mouths as Robb milked her cunt with his fingers. “Oh, Robb… take me husband.”

 

To have this gorgeous woman, lusted over by the entire Realm, begging for your touch and calling you her husband… it was a heady feeling. Robb truly felt like a king in that moment.

 

It turned out he was exhausted from battle, a sudden realization that came to him as his efforts to overpower his dainty wife were quashed as she had him on his back. Robb found his arms pinned over his head as Margaery’s nubile form ground her core against his hard cock. “Mmmm… I’m the one in charge tonight, my wolf.”

 

“Oh, are you now?”

 

She nodded. “You may be a Stark, but I am a Tyrell of Highgarden.” Just then his cock slipped into her core and Margaery bit her lip. “Ah, yes… just like that, Robb.” She begun to rock up and down, taking him deep inside of her. 

 

Not one to be insecure with his intimate life, Robb simply laid back. Reaching up to cup her breasts while jolting his hips. Reveling in how her mouth lolled open in silent gasps. Allowing the gorgeous woman to have him. Seconds turned to minutes, and likely turned to hours. Frantic coupling slow and loving, halfway through Margary lowering herself and kissing him desperately.

 

A kiss he was hungrily willing to give.

 

At some point, Robb felt her walls closing against his cock. Margaery’s kisses grew sloppily, frenzied to suck on his tongue with gusto. She grunted each time he pistoned his hips upward to spear into her cunt. Allowing her to impale herself against him. Margaery bucked and moaned like a wanton whore, squeezing his shoulder with her sharp nails.

 

"By the Seven... oh gods…..." Margaery gasped, head pitching onto his shoulder as she lost herself. Was this to be their life now? Ruling the North alongside this vixen and nights contorted in the greatest pleasure he had ever known. I fucking hope so. Robb could only pray as he erupted into her depths, drawing out her climax with his own.

 

“Where have you been all my life, Robb Stark?” she murmured minutes later, cuddled close to him as they relaxed in the shared afterglow. “Never did I think I would marry a northerner.”

 

“Few girls in the south do,” Robb replied, knowing just what her fate was in the alternate world. Renly and the two Lannister bastards, then blown up in the Great sept. He hugged her tighter, protectively from the ghosts of the past. “I’m still glad you did.”

 

She kissed his chest. “Not that I had much of a choice, grandmother angling for me to marry you.” Margaery looked up, smiling at him. “Worked out, didn’t it.” Gently, she took his hand and guided it to her stomach.

 

It didn’t take long for Robb to realize what she meant. A thousand different emotions ran through him, from elation to worry to sheer terror in knowing what happened to the last woman that carried his babe.

 

In the end, one emotion won out. Margaery rolled onto her back as Robb’s lips searched out hers, hips beginning to thrust deep inside of her once more.

 

Ashara Dayne

 

Those of Ghiscar had a different concept of gardens than that of Westeros or the Free Cities, at least when it came to the pyramids. Instead of massive sprawling plains filled with fields of flowers and trees, the gardens of the Great Pyramid were staggered along the terraces on the northern face. Trees and flowers were joined by thick vines that spread along the stone, trimmed by specialized gardeners and stonemasons once enslaved but now working for rather large wages than one would think.

 

Her daughter truly loved flowers.

 

Such was where Ashara found Alysanne, yet she wasn’t alone. The Princess that had taken Meereen and then defeated the alliance of masters that tried to wipe them out… she looked the picture of domestic tranquility. Her laugh boomed, light and airy and it wasn’t hard to see why when the silver-haired cherub giggled and clapped his hands with abandon. “My sweetling,” Alysanne cooed.

 

“Mu-na… mu-na… mu-na,” Daemon babbled, bounding towards Alysanne on unsteady feet.

 

“Yes! Yes, it’s muna!” Alysanne scooped him up, peppering his stomach with kisses that made Daemon giggle.

 

It brought a loving smile to Ashara’s face. “I always knew you’d be a wonderful mother, sweetling.” In truth, she was especially glad that this is what she found. Ashara needed the warmth and distraction from the matters of the Realm.

 

Jumping slightly, the Princess sucked in a breath, free hand over her heart. “Mother, you startled me.”

 

“My apologies.” Ashara lowered herself to the ground across from her daughter, careful not to stain her dress. Eyes soft, she reached out for Daemon. “Let me hold my grandson.”

 

Alysanne hesitated, kissing Daemon before reluctantly easing the yearling towards her mother. “Just… be gentle with him, mother. He’s very delicate.”

 

Ashara gave Alysanne a rather cross look. “Daughter, I’ve raised you from birth and no one can say you didn’t turn out well. I’m certain I can handle my grandson, as delicate or willful as he can be as a babe and dragon respectively. Isn’t that right sweetling?”

“Mu-na!”

 

“No, honey. Grandmother. Can you say that?”

 

Daemon’s wide purple eyes peered at her. “G… G… G…” Ashara’s eyes were expectant. “G-mu-na.” The boy giggled.

 

The Dornish matron laughed and shook her head. “See. I’m a natural… you were exactly like this as a babe, Aly.”

 

Blushing, her daughter looked away. “I know that, mother… I’m sorry. You’re his grandmother…”

 

“But you worry in general for him, don’t you?’ Ashara could tell where her daughter’s train of thought was going. “He’s your eldest, and not only that but the last bit you have left of Aerys before his fall to madness.

 

Tears welled in Alysanne’s eyes, unbidden and likely unwanted but as Ashara knew, sometimes it was unavoidable. “Truly, everytime I think I’ve moved on from him, I look at Daemon and see Aerys’ smiling face full of love.” She shook her head. “Why, mother? Why did he fall so far so fast?”

 

She may have hid it better than her daughter, but Ashara felt the pain of Aerys’ fall in her heart as well. “He was like my son,” she murmured. “I cannot explain it either… all we can do is make sure Daemon is raised differently. To be more like his uncle Aegon.”

 

Sniffling, a tiny smile curled on Alysanne’s lips. “Shouldn’t Aegon be his cousin, rather?”

 

Ashara shrugged. “Technically Rhaegon is both his son and cousin, while his soon to be born sibling is younger than Rhaegon… I have yet to fully understand the complexity of Targaryen relations at this point. Effectively, Aegon is his uncle.” She looked up, ceasing her tickles of her grandson. “Seven Hells, Rhaegar and Lyanna have returned to the world… we’ve been separated by half the earth so it hasn’t truly sunk in, but I still can’t believe it.”

“Will Rhaegar love me? I may be his sister but only his half-sister…”

 

“He’ll love you. That’s just the sort of man he is.” Ashara remembered him greatly, Lyanna less so but thought they could be considered friends. “They’ll be only a little off your age, Aly. Another facet I’ll have to get used to. Lyanna still the same fierce beauty that took the world by storm as the Knight of the Laughing Tree.”

 

Alysanne giggled, reaching out for Daemon again as he squirmed to grab her. “That must’ve been a sight to see.” 

 

“Oh, it was. I’m gonna see when we get back if she’d return to take the world by storm when tourneys resume… if only for the hilarity of it all. Lyanna would’ve beaten Rhaegar had she competed to the end, of this I’m sure. If only Robert hadn’t…” She had spent so much time hating the usurper for ruining everything, Rhaegar’s plans to bloodlessly depose his father and take the throne… “But he is dead at Lyanna’s hand.”

 

“If anyone deserved to do the deed, it is her.” Rocking Daemon softly, the babe had ceased his babbling and just watched the butterflies and hummingbirds buzzing from flower to flower. “We’re going to Westeros, aren’t we?”

 

Ashara nodded. “Aye, to Oldtown first and then to meet up with Aegon and Daenerys’ armies. That is where I was before coming to you.” Barristan, Jaime, and the Sand Snakes had been quite extensive in their preparations, charting all over Oldtown and the Honeywine for proper anchorages and roads for quick marching - places for the Dothraki to scout. Not a military mind, it had given Ashara a headache.

 

“To face Aerys, no?” She sighed. “I pray he ceases. That he repents and surrenders - becomes the man I knew before, even if I am not holding my breath.”

 

“Would you go back to him, if he did?”

 

For the longest time, Alysanne was silent. “No,” she murmured. “I loved him, but that was then - too much has happened, and I have found Jaime now.”

 

Her lips pursing, Ashara still had trouble believing it at times. “You truly love him, don’t you?”

 

Alysanne smiled. “I do, mother.” She gazed down at Daemon before rising slowly. “He asked me yesterday to marry him… and I said yes.” All Ashara could find herself doing was rise as well, enveloping her daughter and grandson in a tight hug.

 

Jon Targaryen

 

The winter’s sun hadn’t yet crested over the horizon, though from the black sky transforming into a purplish-blue haze at the east. After the celebrations of last night all but the sentries and soldiers tasked with manning the battlements were still asleep, enjoying the last fruits that their victory at Darry had earned. Many were blissfully slumbering, including the heavily pregnant wisp of a thing that was Queen Daenerys, clutching a pillow tight to her chest and swollen stomach as she faced inward in the large bed.

 

But her husband was wide awake, simply looking at her. Grey eyes soft as they raked over his beautiful wife. Fancy striking him, Jon reached down to cup the close to due swell. Daenerys was nude, as befitting the enjoyable and athletic night that sent the walls echoing with their passion - a joy all couples shared, noncombatants having ridden hard from the Twins to join them once news of Tywin’s defeat was spread. Robb and Margaery had given their loudness a run for their coin.

 

But for now, Jon’s attention wasn’t to Dany’s swollen lips or heavy, perfect breasts - but rather to the child that slept soundly within. A girl, she was sure of. My daughter. Tears welled in Jon’s eyes imagining it.

 

“Morning, sweetling,” he murmured in Valyrian - the language of his ancestors. “What will you look like? Will you be as beautiful as your muna? Or will you have your grandmother’s wild looks?” Perhaps a mix of the two, he supposed - just as his kepa and muna imagined with his soon to be born sister. Aunt to Rhaegon and the wee babe in Dany’s womb. “Whatever your looks, I’m sure your grandmother and aunt Arya are determined for you to be like them. A second Visenya… or third Visenya considering your muna.” The smile changed to a sigh. “They love you. Your grandfather loves you, as does your uncle Ned and all your other aunts and uncles.” 

 

She would not be as Dany was, nor as him. A Princess from the start, she would have for company Rhaegon, her cousin Daemon, her aunt, and whatever children Sansa would have with Trystane, Arya with Gendry, Bran with Meera… not to mention more babes that Alysanne, his parents, or he and Dany would bear. A family full of children, Jon eager to rebuild their house in the peace.

 

“But to get peace, we must win.” He closed his eyes. “I can only hope to be the kepa you deserve, my daughter… not as I was with your half-brother.” For such was the truth he hid beneath his love and passion. Adore Dany though he did, the woman sleeping next to him wasn’t the Daenerys he fell so hard for in his past. Nor was he the Jon she fell for.

 

Hearing her sigh in her sleep, she moaned his name. “Mmm… Jon.” A sad smile tinged his lips as he kissed her temple softly. Edging out of the bed, donning his clothes and cloak quickly. 

 

“Stay with her, boy,” he told Ghost, the direwolf sleepily looking at him before going back to his slumber. Curled up on Dany’s side of the bed as he always was when she was pregnant. “Good boy.” He slipped out of the bedchamber, nodding towards the Northern guards outside.

 

The godswood of Harrenhal wasn’t special aside from the fact it was huge. Triple the size of the one in Winterfell, it was said that Harren the Black insisted on keeping a small menagerie of animals there just for the prestige, not one to keep the old gods himself - but otherwise few would take note of it except for Jon. For this was where his parents first met. A love story that ended first in tragedy and then in inspiration. Much as he and Dany.

 

Reaching the weirwood, he placed his hand just beneath the face. Hoping to find some calm for his torment. For the worries plaguing him and to simply enjoy the joy in his wife, in his children, in his siblings and uncle and his parents returned from the great beyond. Oh how they all loved him.

 

“Jon…”

 

He blinked. “Bran, is that you?”

 

“You cannot rest just yet.” Suddenly, Jon opened his eyes to witness himself standing just outside King’s Landing. Overlooking the walls and the great city within them. “The war has yet to be won.” Bran stood next to him, still the same athletic child yet with some wisdom of the greenseers within his eyes.

 

“What do you mean?” This wasn’t the North… not the Wall. “You’re not talking of the Ice King.”

 

“No… of your family. Of this world’s family.”

 

With the roar of a dragon, Jon understood. “Aerys.”

 

Bran nodded. “Aye… he is plagued, Jon. Driven to madness by fear of what is to come. Fear of failure and defeat. Just as you and Daenerys, but a soul splintered by the Ice King to be devoid of the kindness and love that Daenerys has” Bran met his gaze. “Stop it while you can… even if you must do the unthinkable.” In the distance, the great russet dragon unleashed a massive tongue of dragonfire upon the city…

 

Eyes flying open, Jon gasped. Suddenly turning as he fell back against the trunk of the weirwood. He sucked in chilly air into his lungs, which steadied him somewhat, but the King’s heart nevertheless beat wildly in his chest. Sweat soaking his tunic and trousers underneath the cloak and leather armor. “No… no…”

 

“Jon?” His eyes flickered up to see Robb trotting to him. “Brother, are you…?”

 

The King shook his head, hand over his heart to steady himself - the jagged scar he hadn’t seemed to be able to escape as if burning. “I must go to King’s Landing.”

 

Robb blinked. His fair features twisted in confusion. “Um… Jon… I think that is already the plan, to march on the city after our army rests, refits, and deals with the prisoner haul taken from Tywin’s army…”

 

“No, that’s not it.” He rose to his feet, legs trembling for a moment before he could firm up his unsteady stance. ‘Boy,’ Jon called out to Saragon. ‘Come to me.’ Luckily the godswood of Harrenhal was so vast as to be fine for a dragon to land within. “Somehow, Aerys knows of Tywin’s defeat. He is flying to King’s Landing at once, seeking its destruction and capture.”

 

“Fuck me.” The heir to Winterfell shook his head. “What are you going to do?”

 

He heard the flapping of Saragon’s massive wings. “Where else? To King’s Landing to face him.”

 

“What? Without Daenerys?” Robb had to cover his face as the wingbeats of the approaching grey dragon blew gusts of wind at him. “Jon, you can’t go alone!”

 

“Daenerys is pregnant, Robb, I cannot endanger her or our child.” Tightening the straps at his waist, Jon made sure his blades were secure as Saragon lowered his head towards his rider. Jon’s hand stroking the hot scales. “Ready, boy?”

 

‘Kepa, are you sure about this?’ Even the dragon was worried, but Jon wasn’t interested in letting this go on.

 

Something that his brother hadn’t gotten the raven on. “What do you hope to do, Jon? Some Daemon the Rogue Prince shit, jumping off of Saragon to drive your blade through Aerys’ eye? The Rogue Prince died, you know.” There was no answer. “In the name of the Seven, at least wait for your father… Aunt Lya says that Rhaegal is large enough to ride and that he’s starting to mount the dragon.”

 

“There is no time, brother.”

 

“For the love of the gods, Jon!”

 

Climbing the spines of his mount with the expert skill of two lifetimes, the King settled in his saddle. “Muster the army, have them march immediately for the capital. By the time they get there, I shall be upon the Iron Throne.”

 

“Or you could be dead!”

 

“I don’t intend to die…” Jon’s brows furrowed, eyes narrowing in determination. “My daughter will not grow up without a kepa as Dany did.”

 

Robb ran a hand through his hair. “Brother, do not do this!”

 

‘The wolf speaks true, kepa…’

 

“Are you with me or not, boy?” Jon replied in Valyrian, cutting off his dragon.

 

Saragon was silent for the longest moment. ‘I am with you to the death, kepa… though I’d prefer it not to come to that.’

 

“It shall not. Soves!” Spreading his wings, Saragon roared and vaulted into the air, flapping frantically to gain the lift needed to maintain there. Picking up speed as the trees of the Riverlands and the massive Widow’s and Kingspyre towers grew smaller and smaller with each yard of altitude. You will not have it. Aerys, you will not end this in your lust for power.

 

Eyes focused southeast, from the site of the great triumph of his namesake towards the city founded by the Targaryen Conquering trio, King Aegon VI Targaryen steeled himself - ready for yet another fight. Yet another clash.

 

The latest battle in his life of hardship and war.

 

Aerys Targaryen



Below it was. King’s Landing. Hundreds scurried through the streets as Rhaelyx shot past at low altitude. Roars filling the air, menacing ones. Demanding surrender. Demanding capitulation. For the great city to open up its doors to King Aerys Targaryen, Third of his Name.

 

The city that had so ejected his father of the same name almost twenty years ago. A city thought to be closer to the shining orb of the gods than anything mortal men might inhabit… that was at least as far as the dreams went. Of him, Daenerys, and Alysanne, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys reborn retaking their ancestral lands.

 

Gazing down at it, Aerys could only feel a sense of… pity. Of disgust. What is this sick place? Most of it was a massive slum, its defenses were in disrepair, and the supposedly impressive structures of the dragonpit, the Great Sept of Baelor, and the Red Keep itself were either ruins or underwhelming. Nothing that made them stand out against any other great buildings across Westeros and Essos.

 

From the glories of Old Valyria to this. Perhaps the Baratheons and Lannisters let it decay from its height under the Targaryens? 

 

Perhaps, but he doubted it. The city likely always was shit.

 

There were soldiers, those of House Baratheon and Lannister… not to mention those of the City Watch. But none looked to form any resistance. If anything, they seemed to be throwing down their arms. Throwing open the gates.

 

And then the bells rang. Starting with those in the Great Sept, then from all septs and meetinghouses in the entire city. An insane cacophony begging for mercy from the dragon in the sky. Whichever Targaryen it was, it didn’t matter. Only to seek salvation after such terrible war.

 

Had it been Daenerys. Had it been Aegon, certainly his foolish weakling of a nephew, they would’ve granted such mercy. Aerys knew different, how duplicitous these people were. How disloyal, their actions at accepting the fat stag over the rulers that gave them their home, their prosperity… they didn’t deserve mercy.

 

By all the gods, the old, the new, and those of Old Valyria, Aerys vowed to deliver the true justice. ‘Kepa?’ he heard Rhaelyx ask through their bond.

 

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Aerys gave the command. “Dive!” Rhaelyx roared, her bellow shattering whatever sense of calm could be found over King’s Landing. Wingbeats bringing her ever closer to the city that Aerys’ ancestors built. That they bled and fought and died over. It stood as an obscenity to him, as a forever reminder that this Realm forged by dragonfyre had so cast out those that forged it. That created it.

 

His father had been right. They deserved to all burn, yet he would not make the same mistake as Aerys, Second of his Name. No, Aerys Third of his Name would wipe out the stain for a new Westeros to rise from the Ashes as a Phoenix. As a dragon, just as they both had in the long past.

 

Eyes flickering to the Red Keep in the distance, a stag banner fluttering from its gape, he grinned viciously. “Dracarys!”

 

The tongue of dragonfyre from Rhaelyx’ maw compared to no other in raw power. All before it was vaporized, pulverized. Men reduced to ash and buildings reduced to rubble as Aerys poured it on. Eager to finish what men far lesser than him had started.

 

‘Burn them all.’

 

‘Burn them all!’

 

“BURN THEM ALL!”

Notes:

Oh Jon... you didn't think you were gonna be able to rest after all of that... not with your uncle still out there.

Chapter 74: Dueling Dragons

Chapter Text

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

It was truly amazing. Wind whipping through his hair and against his face, the sun high in the sky and unburdened by clouds at such a height, the world spread out below as if the painted table on Dragonstone… it was the most wondrous glories that could ever exist.

 

On dragonback - letting the great beast carry him through the skies where no other living human could ever dream of ascending to - Rhaegar knew why his house had suffered and declined following the Dance of Dragons. Why they had drifted aimlessly, lost touch with their history and their strength, instead being coopted by the rest of Westeros and turning into just another highborn house whose only elevation was his crown and bleached skeletons displayed in the Red Keep.

 

They had all lost their way, and only one that had discovered it again could know what a gift they had been given.

 

Pushing into some sort of gust of wind, Rhaegal jinked in the air. Shuddering in place as he screeched and flapped his wings to try and maintain the smooth and steady glide upon the air current high above the Riverlands. Rhaegar had gotten used to it, holding onto his spines and silently giving his commands - to which the dragon complied as if an extension of Rhaegar himself.

 

“Ahh!” Squeezing hard with encircling arms, the fierce she-wolf he was blessed to have married had found the adventure that was one she was afraid to face. “Tell your dragon to fly better!” Lyanna screamed.

 

‘She’s really attacking my flying?’ Rhaegal communicated, annoyed. ‘Ask her to flap to Darry with her arms, then.’

 

Rhaegar snorted. “Be nice, boy. Not your muna.” The dragon let out an irritated hoot, but didn’t say anything else. Smirking, he looked over his shoulder at his wife. “You should be easier on him. Rhaegal is a very sensitive soul.” That drew another shriek, but Rhaegar annoyed it.

 

Still breathing hard, Lyanna was practically melding herself to his back. Considering her pregnant belly gravid with their daughter - truly a daughter this time, both of them agreed unlike with Jon - it was a tricky prospect. “Sorry… it’s just… How can anyone fucking do this?!”

 

“Finally found something you’re scared of, Lya?” He had to yell, considering the roar of the wind.

 

“Fuck you!” Lyanna hissed at him, ever a snarling direwolf. Rhaegar smirked to himself and gave a silent command for Rhaegal to bank slightly. The dragon hooted and complied, leading to Lyanna to scream again. “Alright! Alright!” She buried her face on the back of his neck, hot breath… doing things to him. “How can you stand it…?” Lya murmured.

 

Rhaegar sighed, and resolved to show Lya just why he loved it. Why he and Jon and Daenerys… they embraced the Targaryen nature with open arms. “ Stay level, boy. Do not make any crazy moves.”

 

‘Aye, kepa. Will do.’ While Rhaegal had a mouth on him - combined with a droll cheekiness - he was also a sweetheart that would do anything for his kepa and muna.

 

Soon, the flight was level again. “Lya,” he called. “Look down.”

 

He was sure that his wife was staring at him as if he sprouted two extra heads like the Targaryen sigil. “Are you mad?!”

 

“Just do it!”

 

“No!” 

 

“Do it, trust me!”

 

“Fine!” she shrieked, but soon after there was no further words from her. Lyanna had gone silent, to which Rhaegar looked over his shoulder again. There she was, still holding onto him tightly but her beautiful face was cast at the ground. Staring at it in wonder - the fields and forests below. The large creatures and horse-drawn carts scurrying about as if ants. Puffy white clouds wafting about while the sun glinted on the surface of the God’s Eye with Harrenhal castle towering by the shore. “Unbelievable,” she murmured.

 

Rhaegar smiled. “That’s why we fly.”

 

Lyanna leaned her head onto the back of his neck, pressing a sweet kiss upon his skin. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

“Our daughter will be a great dragonrider, I can tell.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She murmured her assent. “The wee hatchling hasn’t jostled once since we took off… even if I have.” The thought made Rhaegar’s heart soar.

 

As they approached castle Darry, Rhaegar guided Rhaegal to descend, a lazy circle downward as the ground grew in size steadily. Soon, the camp began to emerge before the castle’s walls, thousands of tents housing the army led by their son. The one that had achieved a decisive victory against Tywin Lannister and leading to the old lion’s death. Feelings towards him… Rhaegar saw him as an adversary, not a hated foe as Robert was. Lyanna and Ned didn’t see it that way, given what happened in the future, their son’s past.

 

It still made little sense to him, but with his death Rhaegar only cared about the results. 

 

As they landed though, the figure of Robb Stark emerged. Grey Wind was by his side, and they bounded towards the dragon. “Prince Rhaegar! Prince Rhaegar!” he shouted, waving his hands. Surprised, Rhaegar quickly helped Lyanna down, to which two Stark soldiers helped ease her to the ground. “Jon… he’s gone.”

 

“What?” Rhaegar had a sinking feeling. “Where?”

 

“To King’s Landing… I think Aerys is attacking it.”

 

Lyanna’s eyes widened. “And he’s going to fight him alone?!” 

 

“He said he needed to face him… Daenerys is inconsolable…”

 

Shaking his head, Rhaegar made just as decisive a decision as his son had. “Robb, get your aunt to Daenerys and make sure they aren’t overstressed. Protect the babes… while I go save mine.”

 

Robb blinked, while Lyanna shoved him. “Go! Save our son!” Kissing her hard, Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed as he scrambled up onto Rhaegal’s back. He wasn’t there for his son when he needed him… needed a kepa to love him and comfort him.

 

A mistake he would never make again…

 

Lynesse Lannister

 

“No…” Across the table of the small council chamber, Lynesse watched as her gooddaughter - older than her by quite many years - pale as she read the letter in front of her. “My father dead? My uncle surrendering to the Dragon Whore.”

 

“And the bastard,” murmured Renly Baratheon, seated where the King usually sat… or the Hand if the King wasn’t present. Both are dead now. The news of Robert’s death at the hands of an apparently truly alive Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark hadn’t affected Cersei nearly as much, but combined with her own husband’s death and the destruction of two armies left Lynesse and the others in mortal dread.

 

“That… that means we must secure the gates,” mumbled Ser Harys Swyft, Master of Coin and the father of Kevan Lannister’s wife. “Issue new orders and marshal the Goldcloaks… crown Princess Lyanna as Queen…”

 

Renly banged on the table. “Women do not inherit the crown. By all rights the Iron Throne belongs to me as the last living male heir to my brother.”

 

“You will not take my last child’s birthright from her,” Cersei hissed, shock and pain quickly transforming to anger. “She is Robert’s heir, not some pillow biter that cannot sire a child if fifteen maidens were placed naked in your chambers.”

 

An eye roll. “Tell me, goodsister. Is this your last living child, or your last living trueborn child, because I believe the distinction is important?”

 

“I’ll kill you for this!”

 

Quiet for the longest time, Lynesse knew not what to think. In the last moon she had given birth to the most beautiful child. Lorea Lannister, eyes a sparkling emerald and hair a silky gold. Literally nothing was wrong with her, promising a precocious beauty as she aged. Staring at her should’ve brought Lynesse nothing but joy. Nothing but the deepest of love and affection welling in her heart for the precious bundle that no one could take away from her.

 

But it wasn’t that way. No… in all the horrors of the world she couldn’t have that joy. Lorea’s father was dead, the cause in which he fought dead and buried. Dragons advanced on the capital with malicious intent, and she as the wife of such an attained traitor and daughter of another would reap the vengeance of the House of Fire and Blood. 

 

One only needed to imagine the execution of Robert Baratheon to understand the fate of everyone currently in the chamber. Perhaps the quiet Varys could escape - oily and slippery, likely holding enough secrets to prove himself valuable to yet another monarch - but the others were dead men walking. Renly, Cersei, Swyft… herself.

 

It was… sobering in a way. Freeing in a way, for it allowed Lynesse to escape the shackles of courtly politics and feigned etiquette that had guided her all her life. “Do fucking shut up, all of you,” she blurted out, beyond caring. “The war is over.”

 

“Treason!” Cersei snarled.

 

“Shut up or I’ll make you,” Lynesse snarled back, sick of her. “Look around you… The death of King Robert could’ve been survivable.” Renly glared at her for that. “His force wasn’t our largest force nor was the enemy host under Prince Rhaegar the largest either. We gambled everything on the decisive battle in the Riverlands and we lost. My husband is dead, my daughter without a father.”

 

“The bastard…”

 

“King Aegon and Queen Daenerys are not our only foes!”  The official line was getting tiresome - it was beyond obvious at this point that the “Stark Bastard” was not that at all but the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Their trueborn son. “There exists the mad Targaryen in Dorne.”

 

“They’re all mad,” Renly shot back.

 

A snort. “Then you’d be mad, since you’re a quarter Targaryen.” That shut him up. “Aerys Targaryen will destroy us, burn us all to win so it’s either surrender to Aegon and Daenerys or die.” She rose, straightening her dress. “I for one do not wish to die.”

 

Lynesse turned out to be more perniscent than she thought, for at that moment a loud roar shook the Red Keep. Scrambling to his feet, Renly cringed. “What was that?!”

 

A crash replied, one that created even a greater tremor beneath their feet just as guards poured in. “My Lords and Ladies, we must get you out of here!” One guard grabbed at Cersei while another in Lannister colors sidled to Lynesse. “A dragon is attacking the city!” Automatically glancing outside the window, she could see the beast, fire emerging from its maw as it began to engulf the city in a great conflagration. Greasy black smoke already rising. Volantis all over again.

 

Terror rose in her heart at the thought of her Lorea, almost certainly to be caught in the endgame of the Baratheon-Lannister dynasty.

 

Such terror reached new heights as a second roar boomed across the city, a second and larger dark shape suddenly coming into view.

 

Aerys Targaryen

 

It felt glorious.

 

The rush of fire and blood through his very core impalpable in the scheme of things, Aerys’ eyes lit up as each successive blast of dragonfire billowed out from Rhaelyx’s maw. Block after block of King’s Landing simply vaporized, buildings crumbling into nothing and hundreds of smallfolk - nay, thousands becoming blackened ash.

 

It wasn’t about the city - once captured, it could be rebuilt into a proper monument to the glory of old Valyria and House Targaryen free from the weakness and corruption of the Andals. No, this was about sending a message. House Targaryen is no longer weak. He had achieved great things, Daenerys had achieved great things, only for kindness and generosity to nearly cause all to unravel. A true monarch had no mercy… only fire and blood.

 

Only then could greatness be truly achieved for the better of his realm.

 

So preoccupied was he at the carnage that he noticed not the growing grey dot above him till it blocked out the sun. Casting Rhaelyx in a sudden shade that he instinctively looked up to see the unfurling wings and extended talons of Saragon, jaw open in a furious roar.

 

But his instincts were sharp. “Bank!” The tongue of dragonfire ceased in an instant, Rhaelyx extending her wings to retard her movement and then banking sharply… allowing Saragon to overshoot his dive. The grey dragon’s talons pulverized an already collapsing building before he righted himself. Wings flapping furiously to resume his attack on Rhaelyx.

 

Mounted atop Saragon was him. Aegon Targaryen… Jon Snow. ‘We meet again, uncle.’ His voice was loud and clear in Aerys’ head, wary but determined.

 

Weak.

 

‘You truly think you can face me?’ Resolving himself to the fight, Aerys forced a gain in altitude, flying high over the burning city for more maneuver. ‘If you try, then I’ll kill you.’

 

‘I wish not to kill you,’ he heard, Saragon not far behind and climbing as well with furious wingbeats. ‘Cursed be the kinslayer.’ 

 

Aerys laughed. ‘You were always weak .’ A grin crossed his face as Rhaelyx instinctively knew when it was time to attack. ‘Daenerys will suffer you no longer.’ Roaring, the dive was sudden and Saragon was not quick enough. She slammed into the hybrid dragon, locking her jaws onto a meaty neck. But rather than roar in pain, the grey beast whipped her tail around midair and struck Rhaelyx on the back, stunning the dragon so close to where Aerys sat… enough to make the King-claimant flinch and shift, nearly losing his grip on the spines. Feeling the violent jerk as he struggled to regain his composure, Saragon broke free, a tongue of dragonfire emerging to bathe Rhaelyx’s scales. It did little but force her back.

 

Continue to circle they did. Dance they did, unleashing gouts of dragonfire but staying out of reach of each other. ‘What purpose does this serve, uncle?’ he heard Aegon ask. ‘Do you wish to harm our family? Harm Daenerys?’

 

Bellowing, Aerys sent Rhaelyx into a steep dive only for Saragon to shoot past. Rhaelyx followed, giving chace. ‘Speak not of Dany, bastard! You let her die in your world!’

 

‘And you condemn her in this one! And what of Alysanne? Did she deserve your fists? Your assaults?’

 

Pain twinged in his heart at the mention of his childhood love, his wife, but Aerys shook his head. ‘I made sure she was strong, and she is! I won’t let you take both of them down!’ A quick beat of the wings and Rhaelyx caught up. 

 

Roar piercing the din, Rhaelyx sunk her teeth into Saragon’s chest. Serrated daggers ripping through the superheated flesh, scales disappearing down her gullet. Aerys heard the grey dragon wail so loudly it nearly split their ears, two pairs of wings beating hard to remain airborne as they tumbled. “Give in!” he screamed through the wind. “Surrender yourself and Dany and I’ll spare you!” 

 

“Dany will never be yours!” he heard Jon holler back, clutching tightly to Saragon’s spines as he drew one of his blades. Beginning to hack away at Rhaelyx… one blow cut through the scales just as Saragon’s snapping jaws made contact with her side, Aerys feeling the sting through his connection, making him cry through gritted teeth.

 

“Then you have chosen death!” Wounds shallow enough to matter not, Rhaelyx roared in fury rather than pain. She unleashed a torrent of dragonfire on Saragon’s neck. Talons whipping around and clamping hard on Saragon’s larger counterparts. The grey hybrid was larger but the russett - hatched in Old Valyria - was stronger. A jerk snapped one talon, breaking the bones and causing an agonizing shriek to split the air. It was a desperate struggle, teeth and claw bathed in sizzling blood while black soot covered everything. Dragonfire brought temperatures close to scorching but the unburnt flesh took it. But nothing could withstand the powerful bite, Rhaelyx rearing up - snout readying to plunge down and rip through Saragon’s neck...

 

Both dragons suddenly lurched, knocked through the sky by something large that had used the bright sun above King’s Landing just as both Rhaelyx and Saragon in their initial attacks. Without warning it dove, adding its furor to the fray. Aerys held on for dear life, snarling inwardly. What in the air could harm a dragon?

 

Another dragon.



Jon Targaryen

 

Saragon hooting in shock, pure surprise overcame Jon as the green blur crashed into the three of them.

 

“Rhaegal!” He would recognize his former mount anywhere. And where Rhaegal was… “Kepa!”

 

Urging Rhaegal on, claws and teeth sinking into Rhaelyx’s scales and causing the russett dragon to screech in pain, Rhaegar Targaryen looked much as Aegon the Conqueror must’ve. As pure Valyrian as Jon could never be, the great warrior in his prime. “Jon!” he called out, voice feint over the wind and sounds of furious battle but one he could hear nonetheless. “Get out of here!” 

 

Locked together, Rhaelyx and Rhaegal duked it out as Aerys righted himself. Claws gouged wounds through thick scales while they crashed their necks together, each protecting themselves from the other set of jaws attempting to snap shut. Massive wingbeats of Rhaegal’s pushed the two dragons ever downward and away from Jon and Saragon. 

 

Enough time for the King-claimant to settle himself. Take assess of his mount’s injuries. “Boy… are you…?”

‘I’m fine, kepa… fuck, it stings!’ Blood sizzled from the gouges in Saragon’s scales, while one talon hung limp from where Aerys’ dragon snapped it… ‘I can fly and fight… Rhaegal won’t last long against our cousin.’

 

One look proved Saragon right. The green dragon was fierce and swift, but Rhaelyx was stronger and had the size advantage, having had more time to grow than did Rhaegal. While the furious gusts of wind and tendrils of smoke beginning to rise high from the burning city below, none could block the fury of the battle. A deep bite tore away gouges of skin from Rhaegal’s back, the dragon screeching in agony.

 

Jon felt his heart burst in pain at the sight. “Kepa!” Finally, the two broke away, Rhaegal diving to evade while Rhaelyx unleashed a torrent of dragonfire in pursuit. 

 

‘Woe to the kinslayer!’ Jon could hear Aerys laughing. ‘You two will not survive! I will kill you and your Stark kin whom you betrayed my father for! So is to traitors!’

 

Seeing the flames emerge, only just missing the tail and wing of Rhaegal, Jon closed his eyes… the pain in his soul overwhelming him. The King saw clearly the only solution to end this - to make sure his family was safe from Aerys. Their fates spelled out for them. His muna and kepa dead. His Stark siblings, dead. His uncle Ned and uncle Benjen dead. Alysanne and Daenerys condemned to what amounted to sex slavery just like his grandmother had been to the Mad King.

 

No! He shook his head midair, feeling the wash of superheated wind slamming into him. Focusing his mind. It will not happen! 

 

A vision of the past… of the past of his House merged into his mind. Greensight or simply a manifestation of what some of his favorite historical moments were Jon didn’t know, but the plan remained. Boy… you know what to do.

 

Saragon roared. ‘ I'm with you, till the end, kepa.’ His wings beat forward, accelerating hard in a shallow dive right at Rhaelyx. So focused was she at blasting Rhaegal, she didn’t notice Saragon until Aerys’ head turned and locked eyes with Jon. Widening ever so slightly, his counter was obvious as Rhaelyx twisted around to blast dragonfire…

 

But Jon was ready… eyes flashing bright blue, Saragon’s maw opened and ice streamed out, slamming like a sudden torrent into Rhaelyx’s face and stunning her just as the wounded beast crashed into her side.

 

Hitting along the upper back, both dragons were tossed through the air. Wings flapping and shrieks leaving their maws, the gale force winds of their rapid fall would’ve ripped them apart had not Saragon clamped his jaws on Rhaelyx’s neck - another shriek of pain came from the russett dragon as the teeth shore through flesh but didn’t snap, just enough for Jon to draw one blade and leap from his perch. One chance, one leap that he needed to make count. Vision narrowed and focused as he ignored all. The panicked cries of his past mount and kepa echoing faintly in his ears, Jon drew back his blade.

 

Another scream hit his ear as his uncle came into view, madness lost as just a sudden surprise filled it. The last bit of emotion left before Jon’s sword connected with his neck. 

 

There was no struggle. A clean blow, and suddenly three shaped tumbled off the backs of the two dragons to plunge below. The King himself, cloak billowing back in the wind, and the severed head and body of the once pretender Aerys Targaryen.

 

Jon felt the roar of the wind, the acceleration pulling him further and further down to the earth below. All had been put on the line, and he had succeeded at the cost of himself. Forgive me, Dany… It was her now… only her that could defeat the Ice King. There would be no red witch for him. Jon’s eyes closed, at peace with himself as he waited for his own death and the serenity it would bring…

 

Perhaps he’d meet his Dany in the afterlife again…

 

Suddenly, a hand reached out and crushed his own shoulder, Jon gasping at the pain as he was yanked onto a hard surface. Instantly his memories recognized the familiar contours of Rhaegal’s back. Boy…?

 

“You idiot!” 

 

Kepa.

 

“What were you thinking?!” Rhaegar Targaryen bellowed at him, voice of anger but also of terror. “You could’ve been killed!” The voice of a petrified father, something Jon had experienced with his uncle Ned but never with his true kepa.

 

Gazing up, seeing Saragon alive and flying steadily while the form of Rhaelyx - bleeding but aloft - flapped off in the direction of Dragonstone, his heart calmed. The sheer terror of earlier finally emerging from where he buried it, released in the form of a sob.

 

Safe on Rhaegal’s back, he hugged his kepa, but a child seeking a father’s love and comfort. Something Rhaegar gave back without a second thought.

Chapter 75: Not a Chapter Update - News

Summary:

Update on progress - News

Chapter Text

Hello,

We apologize for the delay, but at this time, it is going to take longer to update than normal. Longclaw was contacted by Colin’s family the other day and notified him of some tragic news. Colin had a surgical procedure at the end of last month, and he unexpectedly passed away from complications.

We were stunned to learn this news, and didn’t want to pry. So, this is all the news we have about what happened.

Therefore, without his help, this story will be much slower to update. We appreciate all of your understanding.

We're asking if there is anyone willing to be a cowriter for the last few chapters of the story, considering that it is wrapping up. If anyone would like to assist with this story, please let us know in the comments.

cmyatt01 and Longclaw

Chapter 76: Another Update

Chapter Text

Hello everyone,

 

Unfortunately, this is not a new chapter but another update. Some of you may know me as BlackLight2181, currently, I am a co-writer with Longclaw on a story called "Bound Together." I have accepted in helping finish this story so as to help take the pressure off of Claw and cmyatt01 with finishing this. I hope to aid in giving this fic the ending that it deserves and to honor Collin as well. We will have the next chapter out soon once we have discussed and figured out how to give this fic an ending to remember.

 

See you all soon,

 

BlackLight

Chapter 77: Keys to the City

Summary:

Jon takes the Red Keep with Dany and Ned hot on his heels. And across the Narrow Sea, a princess hears from her King

Notes:

Longclaw - hey everyone. I’m still reeling from last month, about Colin. He was a great guy and we’re so sorry to hear he had passed.

The good news is that as this story approaches the end, my good friend BlackLight2181 has agreed to help me and Cmyatt finish the story off :D

BlackLight - Here we go, the latest chapter for Last Hope! Sorry, this took some time, but we hope you enjoy this chapter as much as we did writing it :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Targaryen

Jon detached from his kepa as Rhaegal began his descent into the courtyard of the Red Keep. “Son,” he heard Rhaegar speak, voice scolding in the way only a father could do. However old he was, however, small the age difference remaining between them was, he nevertheless felt chastened. “This conversation is not over. Just wait till your muna arrives.”

 

An instinctive chill ran up Jon’s spine. “I know, kepa. I…I just couldn’t let him do it.” 

 

Rhaegar's gaze softened only slightly as they descended further. Jon was sure his kepa understood why he felt it necessary, but he was also a protective father who wished not to lose his son after so recently coming back into his life. As a kepa himself, Jon truly couldn’t blame him for being angry over this. “All has ended well, kepa. We won.”

 

“Aye, a close-run thing.” Looking behind his shoulder, Rhaegar smiled at Jon. “But we did win. That was mad, what you did, but effective.” Jon straightened himself atop Rhaegal’s back as they landed in the courtyard, a gathered crowd waiting on them a ways away. Most were servants, a guard here and there though at the sight of the dragon most tossed their arms to the ground. 

 

Yet the highborns of the Baratheon court were also present, those unconnected to Robert or Tywin’s armies. The noncombatants or political types. Varys was there, their ally, clearly confident in his position to which he was not wrong. Shifting to true enemies, Jon could pick out Cersei clear as day. Memories of the past swirled in his mind, the only thing different about her being the length of her hair and her choice of dress. She held close a tight bundle of cloth as she glared with hate-filled eyes at him as he looked over the crowd.

 

“Ready to make your grand return, kepa?” Jon tried to jape to ease the tension between them.

 

To Jon’s surprise, his father laughed a bit at that. “The last time I was here, it was of the seven hells. However, you are the King, so I know it shall be different.” He patted his shoulder. “By your lead, my son,”

 

Father and son shielded their eyes as Rhaegal landed in the courtyard. The great green dragon growled and huffed hot air towards those who stood and watched awe struck by them. He calmed some as Rhaegar scratched his scales, crouching down and allowed his kepas to climb down his back. Jon took lead as he approached the group, recognizing many who were present. Cersei of course was hard to miss, a hate-filled glare on her face… before a one of complete and utter shock took its place. No doubt as why it came to pass.

 

“Impossible…!” Cersei murmured. The yard was so quiet that Jon could almost clearly hear her trembling voice as she looked past him and looked solely at Rhaegar. “Prince Rhaegar!” That time she spoke much louder. Everyone else in the yard began to whisper as they stared as dumbstruck as the former Queen did now at the resurrected dragon prince. Ever one to be chivalrous, though perhaps there was a more mocking element to it, Rhaegar gave a bow of his head in her direction. “Lady Cersei. It has been…a long time,”

 

“Impossible! He died at the Trident!” one goldcloak yelled. More screams echoed, some were curses, and others argued nonsense.

 

Hearing quite enough, Jon's eyes flashed bright orange and Saragon made his descent. Landing behind the crowd atop one of the battlement walls, the mightiest of Jons dragons released a stream of bright orange flame from his maw into the air. A powerful showcase of fire and blood. The yard fell once more into complete silence.

 

“Anyone else wish to say something?” Jon asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Good! Your King and his Hand both lie dead, the madman who attempted to kill you all just recently joined them in the afterlife! Bend the knee now to me and my father, and you shall be shown mercy!”

 

The Goldcloaks all bent the knee, as did the Kingsguard - cowards all. Several still stood resolutely before them, Cersei chief among them. Reminding him greatly of the Cersei of his time in that very moment, Jon was unsure if it was due to her still being too shocked to move or simply that her pride as the former Queen kept her from bending her knee. 

 

But another woman of similar age nudged her hard with her elbow, snapping Cersei out of the haze she had been caught in. “Do not let your pride leave your daughter an orphan, Cersei,” the woman said. Cersei scowled,  teeth clenching but saying nothing. Falling to one knee. The woman then did the same, difficultly given her significant pregnancy. “Your Grace, as Lady of Casterly Rock I pledge House Lannister to you. And formally surrender to House Targaryen,”

 

Ahh, that explains it. Lynesse Lannister- nee Hightower - Jorah’s former wife and the widow to Lord Tywin, Jon remembered. “A smart move, Lady Lannister,” Jon replied. “I accept your surrender.” Lyneese’s shoulders visibly relaxed as her hands stroked at her swollen belly. Turning from the highborn ladies, Jon looked to the Goldcloaks. “You two!” he called as pointed at the two highest-ranking looking of the group. “See Lady Lannister and her gooddaughter to appropriate rooms in the Maidenvault, where they will be kept under confinement until further notice. And if even a hair is harmed on their heads, you will share the fate of Janos Slynt.”

 

Both men very visibly shook at the threat as they rose up to their feet and began to escort the Lannister women away. “Wait!” Cersei cried out. “My daughter, give me my daughter!”

 

Jon looked to Rhaegar, wanting to know his opinion on if he should honor the woman's request. After a short silent moment, Rhaegar nodded. “Give lady Cersei her daughter,” Jon said, looking back to Cersei, his choice of words deliberate. Refusing to acknowledge Robert as any sort of legitimate royalty. “No child should be without their mother.” The woman he once hated more than any other looked to him with the closest thing that resembled gratitude as a nursemaid ran up to her and handed over a bundled-up babe.

 

“Shh, shh. Everything will be well, precious one,” Cersei cooed as she was led away.

 

A hand clasped Jon’s shoulder. He needed not turn to look at his kepa as he gave him a reassuring squeeze. Rhaegar then walked past his boy, moving forward to stand between Jon and the gathered crowd, “Before you stands King Aegon of House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name! On this day he comes to reclaim that which had been denied him from birth and unite the lands of Westeros against our one true foe!” Metal scraped metal as Rhaegar drew his blade, and hoisted it into the air. “Long may he reign!”

 

“Long may he reign!” the crowd yelled together as they remained on their knees. Looking at his kepa, Jon could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride in himself at his words. It took all he had to withhold the wetness of his eyes as he walked forward, Rhaegar following beside him, and entering the Red Keep.

 

The first war was won. Now, it was time to prepare for their last war.

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

 

If Daenerys had learned one thing from her combined lifetimes, it was that she should never raise the ire of a she-wolf. Arya emphasized that in the greatest of ways… Sansa as well, though her brand of ire was less fierce yet no less powerful. Lyanna Stark - her goodsister and mother of her beloved - was the purest example of both types. As powerful a warrior as she was a lady.

 

Sansa and Arya both took much after her, so Daenerys very much pitied their future husbands and families if they incurred their wrath. “I’ll wring his neck when I get a hold of him!” Lyanna screeched as she held onto Daenerys, the wind blowing both their hair back as they flew south to Kings Landing.

 

Aragon seemed to almost chuckle beneath them at hearing his grandmother's threat. ‘Kepa has truly dug his own grave,’

 

Daenerys stroked between her sons spines as she replied. “Yes, that he certainly has.” 

 

When Jon flew off to fight Aerys on his own, Daenerys had been inconsolable. She knew that no amount of fair winds and clear skies could allow her to catch up with her husband - especially given her condition. Only when news came from Rhaegar of Jon being safe and the city now under their control was she broken from her distraught state. But even with the joy she felt knowing Jon was safe, an ache pained her. Never truly knowing him, Aerys was still her brother. Her twin. That bond was one that could never be severed, not by anything.

 

Gods, it was so damn complicated. It had been years, but still Daenerys hadn’t come to terms completely with being thrown through timelines. Bran and Melisandre hadn’t informed her of such matters - in their desperation though, she doubted it would’ve made a difference.

 

King's Landing came into view quickly, and Daenerys shook her head to shake away the thoughts in her head. “Good gods…” Lyanna gasped behind her as the destruction came into clear view. 

 

Daenerys felt a great terror fill her at the sight of Aerys madness. The only solace of the sight was that it could have been worse, much worse had Jon not intercepted his attack upon the city. Images of herself doing similar, only far worse than this entered her mind. ‘No! I am not my father, not my brother!’ she swore to herself. Never would she become what they had. 

 

The roar of Saragon broke her reverie and directed her attention to the Red Keep. Jon's brilliant companion rested upon the walls of their family's keep, his wings outstretched as to beckon them to him. Soon enough Rhaegal as well showed himself overhead as he descended from the clouds, flying in circles over the Red Keep.

 

Down, my child, Dany spoke before they began to descend into the courtyard of the Red Keep. Her violet eyes scanned the faces of all who began to gather and watched her entrance. She could pick her husband out from any number of crowd and this day proved it as she found him near instantly.

 

Kepa is unharmed, Muna, Aragon spoke as his massive feet made contact with the dirt of the courtyard. Daenerys felt Lyanna’s grip on her tighten just slightly as a slight growl escaped the she-wolf. 

 

Not for much longer, Aragon breathed a hot breath from his nose as he felt his grandmother begin to descend from his back. Daenerys chose to remain for a moment longer, feeling her belly ache somewhat as her daughter began to kick. “You missed him too, didn’t you?” she spoke in high Valyrian to her swollen belly. 

 

Looking back to the scene before her Daenerys could see the worry on her beloved's face as he approached his mother. “Muna, I…” Whatever he thought to say was smacked away from him as Lyanna swatted him upside his head. A resounding smack echoing out, causing Dany to gasp and Jon to wince.

 

“Don’t you ‘Muna’ me!” Lyanna roared. “Do you have any idea how sick with worry you made Daenerys?! How worried I was when Robb told me of you flying off on your own?!” She practically trembled with rage, though underneath was a level of pain that Daenerys understood completely. “If your sister were not dancing on my innards right now, I would bend you cross my knee and…!” Lyanna was cut off as her son threw his arms round her and pulled her close. Lyanna’s fists came up… only to unfurl and wrap around her son in return, her head falling to rest upon his shoulder.

 

Lyanna’s body shook as she wept into her son's shoulder. The sight made Dany smile and Aragon lowered himself til his neck rested on the ground. Tightly grasping at his spines, Dany adjusted herself and stepped down into the courtyard. Her hands came in front of her and wove together as she made her way towards her husband.

 

Jon’s eyes were shut closed as he held onto Lyanna, but as she approached he looked up and met her gaze. “My love…” Jon called to her. His embrace with Lyanna did not wane as she too looked up, her face now wet with tears.

 

Looking around and seeing the now gathered crowd watching them. “It would be best if we spoke in private,” Dany said, mindful of appearances.

 

Nodding at that, Jon took both of them by the hand and tugged them to follow inside the Red Keep. The home of her ancestors - their ancestors, and a place where in both her life, his, and their shared one now that she had never before witnessed even as it was one of her ultimate goals. It felt… quite surreal to be here. To be finally so close to the Iron Throne, the seat of Targaryen Kings for centuries before Robert Baratheon manipulated the Realm with lies in order to steal it away. 

 

The feeling of Jon’s hand squeezing hers again sent relieved shivers through her, calming Dany’s heart and grounding her. The Iron Throne didn’t matter, only him and their family. Restored to their place of both glory and happiness together. 

 

Unexpectedly, he led them away from the Iron Throne. “Where are we going?” she asked, brows knotted together. 

 

“Someplace we can talk in private,” he replied, and suddenly she knew where. From how she relaxed as well, Lyanna had an inkling. Proven correct as they walked together till they found themselves in the Godswood of the Red Keep, standing before the large oak that was meant to be the heart tree.

 

Something we’ll have to put up with until a real weirwood sapling is brought.

 

Alone at last, the deep exhale left her husband’s lungs as he sagged. “I couldn’t let him do it,” Jon told them as he let go of their hands. “I saw what he would have done, how many people he would have killed. I had to do it, I had to…” Jon’s gaze met that of his wife’s before continuing. “I’m sorry for making you worry, but I will not apologize for leaving like I did. The city would a charred ruin had I not done it,”

 

Daenerys closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It had not been Jon’s sudden departure that had upset her so, it was that he was going to face a foe who had nearly taken him from her before - had she not been there to intervene, he would’ve likely died. The thought of Aerys taking him, of never having him kiss and hold her at night, for their children to grow up without a father… it terrified her.

 

That had happened once, in her past, leading to her beloved turning into a monster.

 

As Daenerys opened her eyes again, she found Jon still meeting her gaze. Stepping to him, she took hold of his hands. “We are meant to do this together,” she told him. “To save Westeros from all that threaten it. We failed before because we lost one another. Please,” Daenerys’ voice cracked as she continued, “don’t make me, make our children, live in a world without you.”

 

“Dany…” Jon's own eyes began to fill with tears again.

 

“That goes doubly for me,” Lyanna told him as she stepped forward. “You grew up without me to love you your whole life, don't make me live mourning you for the rest of mine!” Taking his hand, Lyanna rested it upon her protruding belly. “Don’t make her grow up without you,”

 

Dany watched her beloved's eyes shut tight as his hand remained for an extra moment on Lyanna's belly. “I’ll be there for my sister no matter what, I promise, muna.” Pressing a kiss to the top of her head before removing his hand from Lyanna he turned to Daenerys. Falling to his knees, he rested the side of his face against her own swollen belly. Their second babe began to stir, sensing her kepa so close by. “Shhh, my little dragon. All is well. I love you so much,” Jon told their daughter before kissing her belly. “I swear, I will never leave you or your Muna’s side again,”

 

Tears pricked at her eyes. Jon was such a wonderful kepa, a more devoted man she never knew. Dany’s hands came up and intertwined in his hair, lightly scratching the top of his scalp as she did so. “You had best keep to your word, my King,”

 

Those lovely grey eyes that stared down at her so often in their intimate moment looked up at her now, filled with love and devotion for her. “I swear it to you, my Queen.” With that said, her husband rose to stand to his full height before leaning down and kissing her. She reciprocated before drawing back and taking hold of his hand.

 

“Come, husband. Let us be at last who we were born to be,” Dany said as she began to walk back towards the Iron Throne.

 

“Aye, it is time,” Jon said as he walked beside her, hand in hand. Lyanna followed after a few paces behind before they entered back into the main keep.

 

It was time for them to take what was theirs.

 


 

Eddard Stark

 

Direwolf banners billowed in the wind as Ned rode beside Robb as they led their forces to the gates of King’s Landing. News had traveled fast before Daenerys’ and Lyanna’s departure of how Jon had fought Aerys Targaryen on dragonback and saved the city from being burned to the ground. Ned had a mind to chastise Jon for rushing off into such danger alone, but such would need to wait for later.

 

And if he knew his sister well, which he did, Jon had already gotten an earful from his mother. Gods bless her. The thought made him smile… the world was so much brighter with Lya back.

 

Ned’s thoughts were brought out of the past days events as the Gate of the Gods opened and a small retinue of Goldcloaks exited King’s Landing, a member of what remained of Robert’s Kingsguard at its head. From the corner of his eyes Ned could see Robb tighten his grip upon the reigns of his war horse. Turning to look at him he tried to convey with his eyes that all would be well. 

 

The Young Wolf - having earned that moniker several times over for his efforts in the war - relaxed, but kept his eyes trained on the men riding towards them. Ned kicked his horse lightly to have him trot a few feet forward as the retinue came to a stop. Part of him told to expect hostility from these men. They had been, after all, serving under Robert. The other assured him all would be well as Jon had command of the city, assuredly.

 

“King Aegon welcomes you, King of the North,” the Kingsguard spoke. “I am Ser Arys Oakheart, your Grace, and your arrival is most welcome. I bear you that his Grace asks that you come to see him in the Red Keep. Much is needed to be discussed.”

 

“Aye, there is indeed,” Ned told Ser Arys. He didn’t recognize that name, so the person must’ve been a relatively new appointment. 

 

“Please follow me, your Grace, we have little time to waste,” said Ser Arys as he turned his horse around and began to trot back towards the city. 

 

Ned followed with Robb by his side, Greywind and Ghost bounding between them on their way into the city surrounded by their own guards. A wheelhouse housing Catelyn and Sansa followed them as well as they rode through the city and up towards Aegon's High Hill. With each passing her stomach seemed to grow with their sixth child. The thought alone of holding her - Catelyn was sure it would be a girl - in his arms made him smile so wide his face was pained by it. But now was not the time to think of such things, now was the time for him to be a King as their retinue at last reached the Red Keep. 

 

Rhaegal, Aragon, and Saragon watched them from their perches on the walls of the Red Keep. Ned swore he almost saw them smiling as they looked upon him and Robb. He smiled back as he looked up at them before climbing down from his horse's saddle. Ghost walked up close to him, putting his head beneath Ned’s hand. “You’ve been spoiled, you know that?” Ned asked his son's direwolf before scratching behind the ear. 

 

Ghost ambled beside him as Ned waited outside of the wheelhouse and watched the rest of his family exit it. Sansa and Arya left first, both looking every bit the northern Princesses they were - Arya preferred a well cut pair of trousers to a dress, but Catelyn’s acquiescence mollified her enough to accept being styled properly, as well as being allowed to have Needle on her hip the entire time. Not to mention that Jon was involved, given the need to make a good impression. She looked so much like her aunt as she tried to adjust her clothes to be more comfortable.

 

In Sansa’s arms rested his grandchild, Rhaegon. The lad had been nothing but a giggling mess since they had begun to venture south to meet with Ned and Robb, or so Sansa said. Part of Ned wondered if the child knew that soon he would be reunited with the whole of his family again. Sansa herself was as radiant as ever, looking equal parts like her mother and like Ned's own mother. The sight made him so proud.

 

Bran had chosen to remain in Winterfell, guarded by the Stark Household guard and several trustworthy friends - most notably Meera Reed. A fine northern lass for him. Rickon, none of them willing to part the poor boy from his parents while so young, exited with his hand clutching his mother’s. Helping her quite well down the steps in the chivalric manner he had been taught before Ned himself came to take hold of his Queen's hand. 

 

“Why, my King, how kind of you,” Catelyn told him, a loving smile spread across her face as she said so. Ned smiled as he lightly pulled her close, pressing her against his side as his off-hand came to rest upon her belly. “Her kicks grow stronger by the day,”

 

“Of course they do, she’s a Stark,” Ned told her before kissing his wife on her forehead. Looking back to the guards who awaited them he kept hold of her hand before they began to walk into the Red Keep. When last he had walked these halls he came as the warden of the North and had come to enact justice on the man who had slain his father and brother.

 

Now, he came as the King of the North and came to see his nephew by blood and son in spirit be crowned King as well. As he should have been since the day he was born. Such thoughts made Ned feel a wave of guilt wash over him. He knew seeing Jon on the Iron Throne would only increase such feelings, given that he should’ve been a proper Crown Prince and be holding court in Dragonstone or Summerhall instead. But now was not the time to dwell on such things.

 

Before the doors of the throne room, Ned stopped as he heard Sansa trying to sooth little Rhaegon. “It’s alright, nephew, all will be well soon. Your muna and kepa are right there,” Sansa told the babe, but he continued to squirm and kick while in her arms.

 

Ned approached, his hand reluctantly leaving Catelyn’s as he did. Without a word he gently took Rhaegon into his arms and began to rock him gently. He stilled himself, but Ned knew it would not last long before he became restless again. “Let’s go find your kepa,” Ned told him, receiving a giggle in response.

 

Two guards opened the great doors to the Iron Throne as the Kingsguard led the way. As he walked off to join his brothers, Ned took in the crowd that was gathered in the great hall. Many courtiers were crowded on either side, exposing his view to the three before the vast monstrosity of swords. Rhaegar stood at the bottom of the steps to the Iron Throne as Jon sat upon it, with Daenerys seated at a chair placed right beside him. A temporary place for her until they could make proper arrangements for the co-ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Ned stood back, listening along with his family as Jon passed judgment upon those who he had seemed fit to hold trial for.

 

“Each of you have committed crimes against House Targaryen. Some, far greater than others,” Rhaegar said, his gaze focused on the aged Maester as he spoke for the crown. Pycelle's chain clinked and clanged as the man shook as though he was in the midst of a blizzard. Ned would find it pitiful if he had any sympathy for the man.

 

“Your grace, please, I am but a servant to the crown! I did nothing but do as the Queen wished for me to do!” Pycelle pleaded loudly.

 

Jon adjusted himself on the Iron Throne but did not respond. Rhaegar did, however. “While I personally cannot condemn your acts against the Usurper, treason is still treason, Grand Maester - both ones you’ve committed now and ones committed decades ago. And treason has but one punishment,” Ned could hear Pycelle begin to weep openly as his knees gave out. “On this day you shall face justice for what you did so many years ago. For convincing my father to open the gates to Tywin Lannister's army, knowing he did not intend on helping. As well as for what you did to my mother.” 

 

Ned could have sworn that Rhaegar growled just as loud as Rhaegal as he spoke the last of what he said. His mother was still very much an open wound for him that would not likely ever heal completely.

 

Pycelle tried to mutter some kind of retort, an excuse to save him, but Ned was too far away from the man to hear. Whatever was said proved to be enough for Rhaegar's patience as he snapped the fingers on his right hand and the old maester was then dragged from the throne room.

 

“Bring in the rest,” Jon ordered from the throne. As the guards brought in four more prisoners. Ned recognized them all immediately. Renly Baratheon, Imry Florent, Cersei Lannister, and Lyneese Lannister. Imry spat and it landed on Rhaegar's boot, making Renly laugh - clearly they had no care in the world, anymore. Resigned to their fate. 

 

Their guards moved to discipline them but were stopped as Rhaegar held up a hand. “The four of you have been brought here to answer for the crimes you and those you sided with committed during the war. Each of you shall be given leave to speak your peace before I decide your fate,”

 

Lyneese stepped forward first, the chains that were locked round her wrists clanged as she did so. “Your Grace, I humbly request you show mercy to myself and my gooddaughter,”

 

“For what reason would such be granted to you, Lady Lannister?” Rhaegar asked.

 

The lady of Casterly Rock looked down from Jon to Rhaegar, “Both of us are innocent of what the men we wed did. Just as a babe is innocent of the crimes of its parents, so too should a woman be innocent of the crimes her husband did commit.” 

 

Both Rhaegar and Jon seemed to ponder on what she said, even looking to one another to try and see what the other thought of it. Beside Jon, Daenerys reached out to touch his hand, communicating silently. Their heads snapped back out of the sweet moment of familial connection as they heard another set of chains clanged round as Cersei moved to stand beside her stepmother.  “I have but one thing to say.” She cleared her throat, defiance in her eyes, that of a woman who had been not but knocked down - a truth no matter the luxury she found herself in. “I regret nothing I did.” Gasps sounded throughout the throne room. “If I had my way, my Joffrey would be sitting there instead of you, bastard. You’d be without a head, as would everyone who you share blood ties with.” Cersei’s gaze drifted down to Rhaegar, more hateful than she even had to Jon, and then off to his side. 

 

There, Ned finally spotted his sister. The swell of her stomach was as large as Daenerys’ own and she cradled it gently as she glared back at the former Queen.

 

But it wasn’t any of them that spoke next. “Shut your foul mouth, Cersei! Lest your daughter be made an orphan,” Lyneese hissed at her. She quickly turned back to look up at Jon and pleaded, “Ignore her, I beg of your grace.” 

 

“Why should my husband ignore her words?” spat Daenerys. “That Lady Cersei,” Ned felt her words were deliberate, “Held a downright abusive marriage with the late Usurper might absolve her of his crimes, but not hers.”

 

“She is in grieving still for her sons and her father… anything she did was in his and her father’s insistence.”

 

“Enough,” Rhaegar told Lyneese as he stepped closer to her. “The King has heard enough, he will decide what we do with you after hearing from the rest.”

 

Renly stepped forward next, his shoulders straightened back as he looked up to the Iron Throne. “You sit upon what is mine by right, bastard. My brother brought your accursed father low and left him to be fish bait. You dare not kill me, less you lose the Stormlands forever!” Jon sat forward more, his gaze never leaving the last of the Baratheon brothers. “So lay down your ‘judgment’ boy, you cannot afford to kill me,”

 

Even without seeing his face, Ned could picture the smirk Renly wore on his face at that moment perfectly. Robert often boasted similarly, and it did not go well for him in the end. It would be the same for Renly now.

 

“Do not think too highly of yourself, lord Renly,” Daenerys told him, her gaze just as steely as Jons own. “You heavily overvalue yourself… especially since your niece still lives.”

 

Another smirk. “That bastard Myrcella couldn’t inherit anything.” Beside him, Cersei made as if to claw out his eyes, only stopped by the chains and the guards.

 

“I was speaking of your other niece.” Ned noticed Renly pale, to which Dany smiled quite draconically. “She will be traveling to Westeros within the next few weeks.”

 

Renly made to respond before being gagged and forced back to stand beside Cersei and Lyneese. Imry Florent, the last of the prisoners and goodbrother to Stannis, was forced forward. “Do not think me some groveling shit who will bend before you and beg for my life, you dragonspawn shits!” Imry yelled. “My goodbrother and sister are dead because of you, upon their memory, I swore my vengeance! I regret not one moment I fought against you, and if it were in my power I would wrap these damned chains round your throat till the life was forced from!” Jon’s face was tight, while Rhaegar’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “But not before I would have made you suffer as I have by watching those you love die around you! Aside from perhaps your whore of a mother, King Robert would have rewarded me greatly for her.” 

 

For the first time since entering the hall, Ned watched Jon stand from the throne. Whether Imry did not notice or simply didn’t care, Ned was unsure. As he continued to speak, or more accurately dug his grave, Jon drew out one of his blades, Fyreclaw, and continued his way forward. A blur of a swing was seen by all, sending Imry to his knees as he clutched at his stomach.

 

“You have spoken your peace, lord Imry, and now I give you your judgment,” Jon said before placing the tip of his sword into the floor. “Here, before the gods who guide us and the lords of Westeros, I, Aegon of the House Targaryen, the Sixth of my Name, sentence you to die,” with that said he brought the blade up high before swinging it back down. 

 

Imry Florent’s head rolled away from him as his body slumped to the ground. Jons face showed no emotion before he wiped the blood from Fyreclaw on Imry Florent’s shirt. 

 

Turning to look at the other three, Jon asked them, “Anyone else wish to speak as he did? No? Good.” Back into its scabbard Fyreclaw went as Jon walked back to theIron Throne. He stopped and turned on the fifth step to look over everyone before continuing, “Here this day, our conflicts shall be ended once and for all between Targaryen and Houses Baratheon and Lannister. You, lord Renly, are hereby to be sent to Castle Black. Should you prove an able and loyal man of the Watch, I may have your vows removed in times to come,”

 

Renly struggled with his bonds as he was drug from the room, cursing behind his gag as he kicked to try and break away. The guards seemed to have no issue with his flailing. Many even openly laughed at the scene as he was taken out from the hall. 

 

Turning back to the Lannisters, Jon looked over Cersei first. “Lady Cersei, I shall not take your life this day. Such would be unjustified this day,” Cersei gave way no reaction to Jons words. “But reprimand is needed for the House of Lannister. You shall be confined to Casterly Rock for the next ten years, never allowed to even step a foot outside its walls. Your uncle shall see to that happening, as he has bent his knees to me and my wife already,”

 

“A coward, no true lion of the Rock bows before a bastard,” Cersei said. 

 

“He is smarter than most think he is. Only a fool would think they are capable of standing before a dragon and not quiver before it,” Jon told her. “But that is beside the point. During your time in confinement, your daughter shall be raised here among my own,” Saying that got the former Queen to react. And very violently at that. 

 

“You will not take her from me! She’s mine, my baby! Try it and I’ll see all of you burn for this! Jaime told me about what’s beneath this damned keep! I’ll send you all to the seven hells if you try!” Cersei screamed as she tried to moved forward but was yanked back by her chains. 

 

“Remove her from my hall,” Jon ordered. Two guards grabbed the former Queen beneath her arms and carried her away, all the while she continued to spit and curse and threaten Jon till the doors closed behind her. Turning back to Lynesse, Jon told her, “ You have your hands full with her, lady Lannister,”

 

Lynesse simply nodded her head. 

 

“Though you were wed to the man who orchestrated the deaths of my brother and sister, I shall not punish you for such a crime. Tywin has paid for it already, he shall be remembered as a coward for the rest of house Lannisters history,” Jon takes several steps closer to her, being just two feet away from her now. “But I would have his wife be remembered differently if she would swear to be loyal,”

 

Several gasps sounded through the chamber at Jon’s saying that. “I have no guarantee you would believe any vow I give,”

 

“You are correct, and in my showing of good faith, I offer my own vow. Your child, regardless of if it is a boy or a girl, shall be named heir to Casterly Rock,” Jon told her. “If you but bend your knee,”

 

Several long silent moments passed before Lynesse crouched and took a knee. “I did so swear to be loyal, your grace,”

 

Jon offered her his hand. “Rise then, lady Lynesse, the lady of Casterly Rock,” She grabbed hold of his hand quickly and was gently brought back up to her feet. “The war is ended! May we all once more know what it is to be done united!”

 

“Long live the King!” Rhaegar bellowed with his blade raised high into the air. 

 

“Hail! Hail! Hail!” The rest of the chamber echoed as Lynesse was escorted away, her shackles left behind where once she stood. 

 

Ned chose then to approach, Rhaegon squirming and giggling as they approached Jon. A bright smile adorned his face as Jon turned to them and met them with arms outstretched. “My boy! Did you miss your Kepa?”

 

Rhaegon nearly jumped from Ned’s own arms to get into his Kepas. Jon kissed the top of his head as he hugged him close. Ned smiled at the sight of seeing his son so happy, it was worth so much to him that he would go through all of this again if this was what he would see at the end. 

 

“K..Ke…Kepa!” The first word of Rhaegons life was spoken loudly, and Ned could see Jon’s eyes grow cloudy at hearing it. 

 

Looking behind Jon, he saw Lyanna and Rhaegar bearing the same look as their son, and so did Daenerys. Though, her tears fell already. No doubt her pregnancy only aided in reacting in such a way. “My precious boy,” Daenerys called as she took Rhaegon into her arms and peppered his face with kisses. 

 

As Daenerys saw to their son, Jon turned to face Ned. Their smiles matched and Ned chose to be the first to break the silence between them, “ Your grace,” Ned made to bend to a knee before Jon, but was stopped as Jon reached forward and took hold of his adoptive father's shoulders. 

 

“There is no need for that, your grace,” Jon said as he helped Ned back to his feet. “Never again shall a Stark King be known for kneeling before another,” turning to those gathered round in the hall, Jon made one last proclamation. “For their aid in the battle to retake my family’s birthright, I hereby decree the Starks shall remain the Kings of the North! Forever shall House Stark and House Targaryen be bound by blood, love, and by the shared weight of our crowns!” This time Jon drew Icefang and hefted it into the air. “Long live the Kings of winter! Long may they reign!”

 

“Long may they reign!” Echoed all in the hall, followed by the cheers of the Northmen who accompanied Ned. Not caring any further for formality, Ned brought his son into a great hug, with it trying to express every emotion he felt in that moment.

 

Jon returned the embrace, tightening his arms round Ned as tightly as he did Jon.

 


 

Alysanne Targaryen

 

“Muna, muna!” As soon as she walked into the chambers, Daemon began to reach for her. “Up, up!” 

 

Alysanne snatched him up, though not as easily as she did before. “Ooof, my sweet hatchling. You’re growing like a weed, you are.” She nuzzled his nose, making him giggle. “Why are you growing so much?”

 

“Dwagon!” he beamed, making a playful growling… or what his barely teethed lips could resonate as growling. “Mrrwum! Mrrwum!”

 

“Kessa, you have the appetite of a dragon.” Still did Daemon nurse, but his nursemaids, grandmother, and Alysanne herself were slowly weening him to cow’s milk and proper food. Praise be to the gods, now that the true fighting had ended within the Bay of Dragons she had far more time to spend with her son and attending to his needs. The true matter that she adored. “Ooooh,” Alysanne pressed her cheek against her son’s. “If I could make a ritual so that you’d stay my adorable babe forever I would!”

 

Chuckling behind her made her turn. “Oh?” Jaime’s cocksure grin never ceased to make her both roll her eyes and go damp in her smallclothes. “Would you not want to see him swing a sword or lay victory in the joust or ride a dragon?”

 

Daemon giggled. “Dwagon! Dwagon!” If by the most perfect of coincidence, Ragnar roared from outside the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Far from cry in terror, Daemon clapped his hands, babbling. Sounding something like ‘Again! Again!’

 

Jaime stepped over and chucked his chin. “You are a true dragonlord in the making, wee one. I give it a decade before you’re winking into the air and doing proper spins.”

 

“Must you fill me with fear, Ser Jaime?” Alysanne groaned. “To imagine this sweet little one getting into fearful escapades…?”

 

“Like his mother?”

 

“Like his…” Stilling her tongue, Alysanne glared at him. “If I wasn’t holding this babe, I’d slap you.” Daemon giggled again and started swiping at Jaime with his hand, only with how tiny it was the mighty Lion of Lannister only feigned injury for the babe’s benefit. “Seven Hells, you’re lucky I love you.”

 

“Mmmm, hear that Daemon. Eventually, I’ll teach you that you can charm your way into any woman’s heart and also their skirts.”

 

Another groan. “Just kiss me, you fool.” Something Jaime very much obeyed, Daemon propped in her hand while she moaned into her lover’s lips. Tongue’s battling…

 

“Your Grace…” Tyene Martell opened the door, only to pause. “Interrupting something?” A smirk dotted her lips.

 

“Aye,” Alysanne said, somewhat breathless. “I was about to bed Ser Jaime while holding my child in my arms.”

 

“Bed! Bed!” Daemon squealed. 

 

“What is it, Lady Tyene?” she asked exasperatedly.

 

“Dispatch from King’s Landing bearing the stamp of the King.” 

 

Eyes wide, Alysanne handed Daemon to a willing Jaime and took the letter from Tyene - breaking it open and quickly scanning the contents. “King’s Landing has fallen,” she said with a smile. “My sister and nephew hold it alongside the armies of the Tyrells and Starks - complete victory on the continent.”

 

Jaime sighed in relief. “Thank the gods… I can only hope my family has survived.”

 

“We shall soon see, my love…” Her smile faded. “Aerys… Aerys is dead.”

 

Hearing that, Jaime simply walked to her, Daemon in one arm and the other wrapping around her. “I’m sorry, Aly. I know you loved him.”

 

“The father of my son…” Drawing a breath, she steeled herself. “Another time. We must see the Unsullied and Dothraki transported to King’s Landing as soon as possible.” 

 

“Muna?” 

 

Alysanne closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before giving her son a wan smile. So young was he, all he took in was a smile and his eyes lit up. “I love you, my son. We’re going on a dragon ride.”

 

“Dwagon! Dwagon!” 

 

“Aly…”

 

She held up her hand, not wishing to deal with this at the moment. “We make arrangements for the Unsullied, then we head for King’s Landing on Ragnar. That is final.”

Notes:

BlackLight - Make sure to let us know what you think of the events we covered in this chapter, we'll be back as soon as we can with the next chapter.

Chapter 78: Return of the King

Summary:

The Targaryens welcome both old and new members into their family while their greatest challenge prepares for the final war

Notes:

Blacklight - sorry this took a bit, Claw and I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for this chapter. Hope you enjoy ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alysanne Targaryen

“Mu…na!” Daemon giggled as the wind blew back Alysanne’s hair. Ragnar flew through the clouds with massive beats of his wing, and the wee hatchling loved it. “Dwwwwaaa…gonnn!” They had been flying now for just over a day, stopping only for a few hours so that Ragnar could rest and catch something for him to eat from the sea.

 

‘Valonquar reminds me a great deal of you, muna. Just as excited to be adrift in the clouds,’ Ragnar spoke to her. Alysanne could almost hear her second son chuckle as he said that.

 

Looking down at her little boy, she could not help how her mind began to wander. She could not help but think of Aerys. She had loved him, a part of her still did, and hearing of his death made her feel as though a piece of herself had died along with him.

 

Aerys, I hope you are at peace now, wherever you you may be. Alysanne prayed silently as something in the distance caught her attention. 

 

So many stories had been told to her by her mother of her family's ancestral castle, but no story could do it justice. Alysanne could not describe the feeling of looking upon it for the first time. It was a mix of so many things that a single word could not solely define it.

 

“Look, my sons, we’re finally home,” Alysanne told them. Ragnar hooted as he began to descend towards Dragonstone. From the sky she could see the whole of it. The Dragonmount, the beaches, the castle itself and the great cliffs that looked out towards Blackwater bay.

 

But as Alysanne looked on, she saw something she had not seen in many years. 

 

“Ragnar, take us down,” Alysanne spoke in her mother tongue.

 

‘Yes, Muna. It will be good to rest for a time,’ Ragnar spoke back as he neared the grassy cliffs of Dragonstone. As they made landfall Alysanne made sure to take hold of Daemon tithgly before stepping from her saddle.

 

“Dwaa-gon, dwaa-gon!” Daemon yelled, the one nameday-old repeating one of the two words he had picked up, waving his stubby arms at the draconic statues that were part of Dragonstone’s facade.

 

“We shall go there soon, dear boy. First I need to meet an old friend,” Alysanne told him as she carried him in her arms. Ragnar followed at a distance as she walked up to the great mass she had seen from the skies. She was not even half the size she was now when Alysanne had fled with her mother, but she would recognize her no matter what. “Rhaelyx…” She called.

 

Slowly, the great russet dragon's head rose from where she had laid on the ground. A low growl rumbled within her before she turned and saw who had called her name. ‘Muna…’ Rhaelyx said, the tone of her voice bearing the weight of her new age. As well sounding incredibly painful. As Rhaelyx adjusted her wings, Alysanne saw why. Several gashes lined her ribcage and a bitmark was present on her neck.

 

Taking a few steps closer, Alysanne extended her hand.

 

‘They took him from me, muna. They took kepa,’ Rhaelyx said mournfully. Alysanne could not blame Rhaelyx for acting so, she had no doubt Ragnar would react in a similar way if she were to perish. Alysanne reached out further to caress Rhaelyxs snout, but she pulled back. ‘I miss him, muna. He was not a perfect kepa, but he was mine,’

 

If dragons were capable of crying, Alysanne had no doubt Rhaelyx would be doing so now. “Dear girl, I’m so sorry,” she said aloud, her hand falling back to her side. They waited in silence, her head on the dragon’s scales, when a tug on her hair drew Aly’s attention. It was Daemon, an almost uncanny concern on his cherubic face. Oh, son. 

 

It wasn’t just her that gave him attention. Rhaelyx lowered herself and got close, taking a deep intake of breath as she did so. ‘Valonqar,’ Rhaelyx called, her eyes meeting Alysanne’s.

 

Lifting him up a bit more, Alysanne held Daemon against her breast with one arm wrapped around his chest and the other under his legs. ‘Your kepa is in a better place now, Rhaelyx. But he is not gone,’ Alysanne told her. ‘Part of him lives on in his son,’ Alysanne prayed that Daemon just wouldn’t take after his father wholly. She couldn’t live if that were to happen. 

 

Pressing her head into Alysanne’s center, Rhaelyx nuzzled both her and Daemon before she pulled back. Her head rested back down upon the grass. 

 

“Remain here, dear Rhaelyx. But fear not, I will be back soon,” Alysanne told her. Before turning away from her Alyssane watched Rhaelyx close her eyes before taking several deep intakes of breath. 

 

Climbing back into Ragnar’s saddle, Alysanne made doubly sure to secure Daemon in her lap before saying, “Soves, Ragnar!” Giving an approving roar, Ragnar beat his wings and rose back into the clouds before flying further west. 

 

The cloud parted for her as the city came into view. Shoke rose from and Alysanne could only think of one cause for that. Oh, Aerys. What did you do? She grimaced at the destruction that tore through the still bustling capital city as Ragnar flew her down towards the Red Keep. 

 

“Dragon!”

 

“Fuck!! Another one?!”

 

“Warn the King!”

 

Alysanne heard the guards of the Red Keep scream as she began her descent into the courtyard. All those who had yet to run away quivered in their boots as Ragnar looked at each of them, growling as he did so. 

 

“I come to see the King and Queen!” Alysanne told those gathered. “I come to reunite with my family.” A full retinue of guards came into her view, led by one who was so very easy to recognize. 

 

Seeing him now, he looked every bit the King he was born to be. He smiled up at her as he motioned for the men following him to stop as he continued towards her. Climbing from her saddle again, Alyssane watched as Ragnar moved forward and pushed his snout into Jon’s center. He laughed “You have grown so much, Ragnar. You’re every bit the mighty dragon I knew you would become,” Jon cooed as he ran his hands along Ragnar scales. 

 

Walking up, Alysanne could not help but smile at the scene before her. “Your grace,” she said, bowing her head. 

 

“None of that. Come here,” Jon called as he reached and pulled both her and Daemon into a hug. Alysanne noticed how he made sure to not squeeze too tightly so as to not squish Daemon between them. “I have missed you so, Alysanne. Dany has too.”

 

Alysanne felt tears begin to swell in her eyes. “I have missed you both as well. More than I could ever put into words.”

 

Holding one another for quite some time, Jon was the first to pull back. “Your timing could not be more perfect, dearest aunt. For today our family will grow by two,” Jon said with a wide smile.

 

Eyes widening, Alysanne mirrored Jon with how wide her smile grew across her face. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Wait, you said two, yes? Is my sister having twins?!”

 

Jon only continued to smile. “It would be easier for you to see then for me to explain.” Jon offered his arm. “Come, let's get you home,”

 

Continuing to smile Alysanne gladly wrapped her arm around her nephew’s as he led her into the Red Keep. As quickly as they could they made their way to the royal quarters of Maegor’s Holdfast, and as they stepped into the sect of the keep Alyssane heard two voices screaming out.

 

‘Did Jon take a second wife?’ Alysanne wondered as they got closer to the chamber the voices came from. Two Kingsguard posted outside the room moved aside and opened the chamber door for them as they entered.

 

Daenerys laid on a bed in the chambers right corner while the second woman was on Alysanne’s left. A man with long silvery hair stood beside her, his hand hold onto her tightly. If Alysanne didn’t know better, she would have thought Aerys was still alive.

 

“Dany,” Jon called as he went to his beloved. “Look who’s here, my love.”

 

Opening her eyes, Daenerys looked at Alysanne and smiled. “Sister,” Dany said in a strained voice. Out of the corner of her eye Alysanne saw the tall, silver-haired man look at her as well. “You’re finally home.”

 

Hoisting Daemon from her hip to her breast again, Alysanne approached her sister. “Aye, sister. I am indeed.” Thei hands intertwined before Alysanne leaned over and kissed Daenerys on the crown of her head. 

 

As she stood beside Daenerys, Alysanne felt a tug on her dress. Looking down she found her nephew, little prince Rhaegon trying to get her attention. He smiled a toothless smile up at her, and as she looked down Daemon noticed him as well.

 

The two giggled at one another as Alysanne looked for permission to pick him up, which both Jon and Dany nodded at. With them now being held by her the two princes of House Targaryen reached out and began to play with one another.

 

“If the two of you do not mind, I will take the crown prince with me. I can watch after him while you bring your child into the world,” Alysanne said with a smile.

 

Daenerys smiled before another contraction wracked body. “Thank you, sister. When my daughter is in my arms, we shall have much to talk about,”

 

Alysanne looked back, looking at the other man in the room who still watched her. His lover did the same, a smile adorning both of their faces. “I look forward to it.” With that, Alysanne left the chamber. Intent on exploring her ancestral home.

 

That night the Red Keep was filled with the cries of two newborns. Two precious Targaryen princesses, both of them taking after their kepa’s entirely.

 

Arthur Dayne

It felt odd for Arthur to once more be standing within the Red Keep. The last time he had he was in the service a madman who loved to watch fire burn for hours on end. When he left he hoped to return with a new found sense of hope for the future. And in a way, he now had.

 

“Bizarre, is it not?” Arthur heard his best friend ask. “To be standing here again?” The Prince came to stand beside him and together they stared up to look out over the city. The fires had at last died out and rebuilding what Aerys managed to destroy had begun already.

 

“Aye, that it is,” Arthur said, his hand going up to trail the scar on his neck. It felt like Howlands dagger still rested there. Touching it now, he could almost taste his own blood again as well.

 

“Does it still hurt?” Rhaegar questioned, turning to look at his friend.

 

“No, Rhaegar,” Arthur answered, shaking his head. “But, it still doesn’t feel right. Being here now, your son ready to be crowned King.” Arthur turned to meet Rhaegar's gaze. “I thought you would be the first true King I would ever swear my sword to.”

 

Rhaegar did not break from their entangled gazes, understanding showing on his face. “I know what you mean,” Rhaegar said, his hand going up to rest over his own wound. “I can still feel the blow he hit me with, can feel my chest break from the force of it.”

 

“Did Aegon ever say if it got any easier? Being alive when you know you’re supposed to be dead?” Twice, he had died. Both of his lifetimes, and by the same cause.

 

Only now did Rhaegar look away. “He did not.” Arthur Looked back over the city as well as they both stayed silent for a short while. “To save us from this uneasiness, my son asked us to go and aid with the Essosi forces arriving now.” 

 

“Oh? The Princess will allow you away for that long?” Arthur chuckled as he asked.

 

Rhaegar could not help but to chuckle as well. “She ordered me to be back home in time for dinner. Which gives us more than enough time.” Above, Rhaegal circled overhead and began to descend. “Besides, she has both my sisters there with her, she’s in good hands.”

 

At his mention, Arthur could not help but think of his niece. And of his sister. How has Ashara changed in my absence? Will she even still be the little sister I remember? Arthur pondered as he followed Rhaegar down into the courtyard. “And how exactly do you expect me to arrive at the same time you do whilst on your dragon?”

 

“You’ll ride with me, of course,” Rhaegar answered simply.

 

The knight blinked. “What?”

 

A chortle left the lips of the Prince. “Come now, Arthur, I know you heard me well enough.” Arthur looked from his best friend to the great fire-breathing beast Rhaegar sat on top of now. The green dragon seemed to sense him staring and looked over at him. A hot breath shot from his nose, his amber eyes staring down at Arthur as he stood completely still.

 

“Not sure this is best idea…”

 

“Don’t be a pansy, Arthur. He doesn't bite.”

 

“You’re full of shit, Rhaegar Targaryen. He most certainly does.” 

 

Rhaegar shook his head as he couldn’t help but snicker. “Rhaegal?” Rhaegar called. The dragon tuend, answering his riders call. “Don’t snap at your Uncle Arthur.” Another hot breath shot out, seeming to be the dragon's answer before he looked away from Arthur. “See, he only bites whom I tell him to bite - or those who piss him off.”

 

“Gods help me if I do that.” Hesitantly, the Sword of the Morning inched close to Rhaegal. Wondering how to climb up, he heard Rhaegar say something in Valyrian. Rhaegal’s giant wing moved beside him and gave him his answer. Happy that none of his white cloaked brothers were watching him at this moment, Arthur climbed up and took hold of one of the protruding back spines that Rhaegar also gripped tight.

 

“Here we go, Arthur! Soves!” Rhaegar called and as quickly as lighting struck, they were in the air. “Hold on tight!”

 

“I am!” Arthur yelled back, grasping onto Rhaegal as tight as he could. Before Arthur knew it they were already outside of the city and he could see in the quickly approaching distance that the Essoi forces they were sent to aid were halting in what they were doing.

 

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Rhaegar called, that damn smirk adorning his face. How does Lya stand him?

She’s even madder than he is. “I hate you,” Arthur told him, earning a great laugh from the Prince. Dismounting quickly, Arthur's first look of their reinforcements were them all on their knees. “Seems they were expecting you,” Arthur said as he looked back at his friend, seeing him jump from the saddle and onto the ground.

 

“That it does,” Rhaegar said as he walked forward. Arthur's hand rested comfortably on Dawn's hilt as he followed behind. “Rise, you have all done well making it across the Narrow Sea. The King and Queen are ever grateful for your loyalty and devotion.” They rose to their feet at Rhaegar's behest, each of them bowing their heads respectfully still towards him. “I need to speak with those who led the voyage here. Please, escort us to them.”

 

“Commander Selmy is this way,” One of the men, a freed slave if Arthur saw correctly, answered as he led them through the crowd as they continued to move supplies.

 

The two stared in silence, Arthur himself feeling quite the surprise. “He did say commander Selmy, correct?” Rhaegar whispered to him.

 

“Aye, that he did,” Arthur answered. “This should prove to be entertaining,” They came to a stop before the largest ship on the shore, the Targaryen banner proudly flying as its sail.

 

“Lord Selmy!” The freeman yelled. “The King sent these men to help us!”

 

“Excellent!” They heard Barristan call from within the ship. His voice had not changed a bit since last Arthur had heard, still as gruff and aged. The legendary knight walked out the next moment, Jaime Lannister following quickly behind him as he did so. “I’ve been waiting to hear from his gra…!”

 

Barristan’s words stopped dead as he went rigid, his eyes growing wide as he looked upon the both of them. Jaime looked similarly, too shocked for words to leave him. Rhaegar broke the silence. “It is good to see you, the both of you. I know this is…an occurrence no one could have foreseen. But I swear to you, your eyes do not deceive you.”

 

At his words, Barristan walked forward. His aged but deadly hands reached out and took them both by the arm, no doubt an assurance that he truly was not going insane. “Gods be good, how is this possible?” Barristan asked. “I saw your death, my Prince.”

 

Rhaegar nodded, his hand coming to rest over Barristans. “You did, but I am here now, my old friend.” Rhaegar took hold of Barristan's shoulders and looked him in the eye. “And not till the gods deem it my time again will I depart.”

 

A smile spread across Barristan's face before he surprisingly pulled them both into a hug. As the initial shock faded, the three of them began to laugh and Arthur saw tears fall from his guard-brothers eyes. He did not blame him for reacting in such a way.

 

They released one another as they heard someone fall to the ground. Turning to look, they found Jaime fallen to his knee on the sand, head bent his body shaking as he stayed in that position. A look was shared between Arthur and Rhaegar before they looked back to Jaime. 

 

Arthur remembered well the news of Jaime killing Aerys. The breaking of his oath was not what enraged Arthur so, but his failure in keeping Elia and the babes alive. Even now that anger boiled in him as he looked upon his sworn brother. But Aegon had told them as well of how Jaime was a good man, a true knight and deserved a second chance. The loss of Elia would be hard for Arthur to look past, but for his King he promised to try. 

 

Pushing past Arthur and Barristan, Rhaegar moved to kneel before Jaime. He could not hear what words were spoken between them before he turned to Barristan and asked, “Where is my sister, Barristan?”

 

Motioning with his head, Barristan pointed out towards where the bulk of the troops ran round to move the supplies. “She set off that way just before you got here. She shouldn’t be far,”

 

“Thank you, brother. I will return shortly,” Arthur said before walking off. With Barristan present he needed not worry about Rhaegar's safety. Hells, his damned dragon would scare away all possible threats before they even got close to Barristan.

 

Walking into the crowd, Arthur dodged and moved around all those who were in sich a rush to get all they had brought with them unloaded and ready for their next march. It did not take him long to find her, Arthur could spot his sister out from an entire crowd if he had to.

 

She was older now, a few strands of silvery grey hair sprouting from the top of her head. He kept behind her for several paces before she finally stopped, going to where a rations supply was being unloaded. Kneeling over to pick up what she could, Arthur closed the distance between them.

 

Stopping four feet behind her, Arthur felt himself grow fearful. The thought of her yelling and running away from him, saying it was against the gods for him to be here, that scared him more than any enemy ever could. Swallowing deeply, Arthur began to speak before she spoke first.

 

“There’s more rations than just these ones, man! Stop gawking and get a move on!” She barked at him, and Arthur could not help but chuckle. 

 

Rising to her full height in front of him, Arthur spoke before she turned to face, “You haven’t changed, Ashara.” Just like Baristan did, she stiffened up at his words. He could see her take several deep breaths as she turned to look at him, and as she did tears began to fall from her eyes.

 

“Arthur?” Ashara asked before leaping and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Arthur!” 

 

Arthur wrapped his own arms round her as tight as he could as he felt his little sister cry into the crook of his neck. “I missed you, sister,” his voice came out in a broken mess, but he didn’t care.

 

Ashara could only cry more into his neck, tightening even more her grip on him as though she feared he would fade away into sand. But that would not happen now, he was alive again and as Rhaegar said before, not till the gods deem it his time again will he depart again. 

 

Arthur was finally home, and no words in any tongue could ever express how much that fact gladdened him.

 

Jon Connington

“Lord Hand,” stated Naharis, arms crossed. “The men have spoken of rumors… mostly from the other sellsword companies but it is spreading to the Golden Company.”

 

Shifting in his seat upon which he watched the sellsword captain, Jon Connington took in the man’s expression. A mix of grim and… curious. This was all a game to Naharis, and to Snow and Bronn and the others. Those of the Golden Company were far more loyal, the memory of Bittersteel and Blackfyre still powerful in leading them against the main branch of House Targaryen embodied in the Usurper Jon Snow. The others, only the prospect of coin and plunder kept them fighting. “What are these rumors?”

 

“That the King flew off and didn’t come back. That he is dead.” A ghost of a grin crossed his face. He was enjoying this. “I have squashed it wherever it comes up, but the men will still talk and spread such lies.” 

 

As if you’ve ever been loyal even when the King was alive, Naharis. “Good, see to it that it is done. Dismissed.” Naharis bowed shallowly and headed out, his gait oozing confidence. As soon as the door shut, Connington slumped in his chair. “Why, Aerys… why did you have to go and fight alone?” The news had come to him, the rumors all true. Aerys had engaged Jon Snow dragon to dragon and Jon Snow, reinforced by another of his hatched dragons, had killed Aerys over the skies of King’s Landing. A city set upon by Aerys in a massive conflagration that undoubtedly killed thousands. “You fool… you utter fool.”

 

Eighteen years of his life, wasted. Connington and the ward he had raised from birth outsmarted by a bastard and the woman Aerys had strived to find and marry for years. Dorne had been pacified and all was going so well, but Aerys had thrown it all away.

 

He contemplated marching for a final showdown, but what was the point? His sellswords would desert and only the Golden Company would be left - a little over ten thousand hopelessly outnumbered. At that point he contemplated suicide. Truly the best out of many bad options.

 

The door knocked at that moment. “My Lord,” said one of the guards. “A raven from the capital.”

 

Connington sat up, taking notice. “Bring it here.” The ravenscroll bore the Targaryen seal, and he broke it open quickly to read it.

 

Lord Jon Connington,

 

The Usurper you followed is dead. Never will I or King Aegon be proud of doing what we had done, but fate left me no choice and the people of King’s Landing are now safe. I regret not my actions, only that the gods led our way here.

 

Alysanne is safe in King’s Landing after her victories in the former Slaver’s Bay over the Wise Masters and Good Masters of Yunkai and Astapor. Her son Daemon is healthy, and she has found love again with Ser Jaime Lannister. Additionally, she spoke to me about you and your motivations. That your loyalty to House Targaryen and myself are as strong as they were when we last bore witness to each other.

 

A large army is now in your control, Jon. One that could prove very useful to us in our objective to stave off the coming Long Night. Aye, Jon, it is real as I always expected. You said you believed me then, and I hope you can trust me now.

 

Old friend, we need you and your men, and there has been enough bloodshed. Please, heed the call of my son and bend the knee alongside the remainder of my late brother’s army. 

 

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen

 

Hand of the King

 

The words stared back at the slackened jaw of Jon Connington. His fingers trembled, and in this moment he truly felt how old he was - all the years he had lived and the indignity of his time as a stateless exile caring for Aerys and Alysanne. There was no one in the solar that had formerly belonged to the Prince of Sunspear, to which he was thankful that none in the army could see him. None of the sellsword commanders, all of whom would slit his throat and send his severed head to whomever would grant them reward if they knew he was weak.

 

“Rhaegar…” he spoke the name of his silver prince, speaking aloud, to no one in particular but perhaps the gods themselves. “You… you’re alive… no, it’s impossible…”

 

But this was a world of miracles. The dragons returning, prophecies being fulfilled… and if all the Targaryens were correct then dead men walked and souls had their essence transported through time in order to correct the failures of the past. Connington had never considered himself particularly pious since his father’s personal septon had him beaten with a switch for kissing one of the stableboys, but even he couldn’t deny the hand of the spiritual and mystical in the world. The gods torment me… they leave my soul in the midst of an inferno.

 

“If Rhaegar is alive… I cannot fight him.” He wouldn’t, and what was his cause? Aerys was dead, Alysanne had defected with Aerys’ blood son. All that was left was the cause of Aegon and Daenerys, and their incoming coronation. “Rhaegar is their Hand, he will not let them punish me for treason…” Unless he continued to fight them, in which case all bets were off. 

 

Sighing, Connington pinched the bridge of his nose, reaching for a quill placed on the far side of the desk along with the inkpot. 

 

Soon it would all be over.

 

Soon his struggle would be over, and he’d be reunited with his silver prince yet again.

 

Jon Targaryen

Outside, the cacophony of noise filtered into the regal seclusion of the Red Keep. Jon marveled at the bells ringing all across the city. Even as the charred scent of smoke from Aerys’ attack, cheers from the throats of over a hundred thousand people showed a city vibrant and ready to celebrate their new dawn and forget their past suffering. Feast and merriment was the order of the day. They filled the streets, eating at the many taverns, shopping amongst the many stores and peddler carts, dancing to the tune of hundreds of street musicians, and delighting in the performance of mummers, animal shows, and puppeteers alike.

 

A sigh left Jon’s lips, a profoundly lonely existence ordained to him as only one of two alive with direct knowledge of the failures of the past. None of them knew - in the minds of the smallfolk of King’s Landing all enemies had been vanquished and peace was at hand. Naive fools… though I cannot blame them. Their ignorance was bliss, and Jon thought no less of them.

 

Especially for their celebratory mood, for today was a day of glory. The day of restoration of House Targaryen, one where they would resume their glorious reign over the Seven Kingdoms. There would be royal houses remaining, namely the Martells and the newly-raised King in the North - Jon’s own uncle - but they would be sworn to the Iron Throne and House Targaryen. Represented by himself and Daenerys, ruling side by side.

 

That had been an insistence of his, one Daenerys was not going to refuse. I need her by my side. Dany would deny it, but she was the only worthy one to rule. 

 

Not his bastard side, simply reality.

 

Standing in front of the silver mirror, affixing his surcoat over his armor, Jon moved to tightening the straps of his armor as Ser Barristan opened the door to his chambers. “Jon, I bear a message from your wife and Queen,” Robb announced, while his kepa walked in behind with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face - leaning against one of the columns without saying a word.

 

Turning, Jon mirrored Rhaegar’s gaze - one thing he had long since learned was just how alike they were. Dany and Lyanna found it adorable, while Jon just couldn’t believe his luck and good fortune. “And what does my wife wish to tell me as she prepares to accept the crown?”

 

“Just that she hopes you visit your children, while your mother hopes that you visits your new sister… and apparently Daenerys and Aunt Lyanna are already hoping Visenya and Rhaegon become betrothed.”

 

“Oh, like kepa like son,” Jon chuckled. “Tell her that I will - tell both of them that.” Robb nodded and hurried off, leaving Jon and Rhaegar alone. “Kepa,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do I look kingly enough.”

 

Pushing himself off the wall, Rhaegar scanned him over. “That is actually my armor, the one I used to wear for formal events. You fit in it well.”

 

Jon shrugged, feeling a little emotional. “I am your son, after all. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be alike.” 

 

Without hesitating, Rhaegar - dressed in a similar armor, three-headed dragon emblazoned across his own surcoat - drew him into an embrace, to which Jon reciprocated. “I wish things were different, my son. That we could’ve been a proper family.”

 

“I do as well, kepa, but by the will of the gods you are here and that is plenty for me.” If I look back, I am lost. Daenerys’ wisdom from the timeline he had come from rang true to this day. “I can only hope you feel no jealousy that this is my coronation, not yours.”

 

“Ah pish,” Rhaegar waved off, breaking the embrace with a grin. “If anyone has earned this crown and the Iron Throne, it is you.” Clasping his shoulder, suddenly Jon found his kepa chuckling. “The greatest of ironies, your muna and I remember your uncle and all the others, but we’re of the same age group as you. I’m more akin to your brother rather than your kepa, your muna more Daenerys’ sister. Robb should be my friend rather than Ned.”

 

Jon snorted. “Ain’t life a bitch?” They both chuckled, the tension dimmed. By the gods, if the rest of King’s Landing could forget their troubles for the day, then so could he.

 

"LONG LIVE THE KING!"

 

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

 

"LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

 

Leaving their wheelhouse, her dainty hand holding onto his as she stepped onto the cobblestone street just below the Great Sept of Baelor, the flawless image of Daenerys as she smiled at him made it effortless for Jon to lose himself in the celebration and pomp. She wore a glittering red dress with black trim - the fabric inlaid with sparkling rubies and amethysts for a proper feel. The Targaryen ensemble was completed with Dark Sister tied about her hip, fierce as well as beautiful. 

 

They made quite a pair, but by the grace of the gods the living embodiment of the dragonlords of Valyria.

 

“I love you, my beautiful Queen,” Jon murmured in her ear. In lieu of response, she merely beamed up at him and leaned in for a kiss. One they both deepened as soon as their lips touched. Touched off, the crowd of onlookers went absolutely wild, heaping adulation upon him and Dany. Overhead, the dragons roared their might, circling a wide arc around the Great Sept, the object of fascination of the entire city now that they were sure the mounts of their new King and Queen wouldn’t harm them.

 

Without delay, the royals made their way into the Sept of Baelor, bells ringing madly from the towers. Inside waited the Lords of Westeros, arranged with the Northmen, Reachmen, Essosi, and Dornish in the front, Valemen, and Rivermen in the middle, and in the rear the Stormlanders, Ironborn, and Westermen. Daenerys insisted on including them as a symbol of unity, with herself, Missandei, and Catelyn overseeing the actual arrangements.

 

Jon took Dany's hand and led them to the altar both Ser Arthur and Ser Jaime following behind with their crowns positioned upon a pillow held in their hands. Waiting at the top was Melisandre, conducting the ceremony in the place of the High Septon and Most Devout, both still fugitives but soon to be dealt with by the arrival of the Unsullied at Oldtown quite soon. Wordlessly sharing a nod with his beloved, he pulled out both his blades and knelt, joined by his Dany beside him as she drew Dark Sister.

 

"Lords of Westeros," Melisandre stated. "Today, we gather to consecrate the newest rulers of Westeros. Ones forged through the fires of war and ordained by the Seven who are One, the Old Gods, the Lord of Light, and the Pantheon of Old Valyria to rule over this land." Lightly clearing her throat, Melisandre looked down at the kneeling Jon - a King in all but name and the Father of Dragons. The Promised Prince, the forger of the Lightbringers. "Aegon of House Targaryen," she began, her voice firm and even. "Do you accept the crown of your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, and the solemn responsibility to serve as King? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of Old Valyria and the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros old?"

 

"Till my dying breath," came Jon's reply, firm and powerful.

 

Melisandre took in her hands from Ser Arthur the crown of Aegon the Conqueror, showing off the simple ringlet of Valyrian steel adorned with the rubies of the fourteen flames. Passed down from the great Valyrian house of Belaerys to the house it married into upon the Doom, it served as the symbol of Targaryen Lords of Dragonstone until Aegon the Conqueror turned it into the diadem of the Seven Kingdoms itself.

 

And now with the simple lowering of her arms, it returned to rest upon the dark locks of a mighty Targaryen King.

 

"I now proclaim Aegon of the House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Long may he reign!"

 

"LONG MAY HE REIGN!"

 

But the ceremony wasn’t over. Motioning to Jaime with the recovered long lost crown of Jaehaerys I Targaryen, its assortment of jewels still shining brightly as did the legacy of their house, Melisandre stood before Daenerys. The first reigning Queen in Targaryen history since Rhaenyra I, and one most deserving of that honor. "With this crown of silver, forged in the land of your birth," began Melisandre. "Daenerys of House Targaryen, do you accept the crown of your ancestor, Jaehaerys the Conciliator, and the solemn responsibility to serve as Queen? To protect and defend your subjects till your dying breath, and carry on the legacy of Old Valyria and the Sunset Kingdoms of Westeros old?"



Daenerys’ voice was as fierce as it was beautiful - melodious to Jon’s ears. "Till my dying breath."

 

"I now proclaim Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queens of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm! Long may she reign!"

 

"LONG MAY SHE REIGN!" Both Queens could swear they heard their brothers cheer the loudest.

 

Both sheathed their swords as Jon rose, colliding with the magnificent form of his beautiful wife. This was no wedding but still they kissed. Presenting the powerful united reign to the entire earth. Together they would rule, together they would fight.

 

“Long may they reign!” Jon heard his muna shout.

 

“LONG MAY THEY REIGN!”

 

Ice King

“Jon.” He felt arms wrap around his waist as he sat up in bed, the soft palms ever so comforting on his bare skin. “Jon, my love.” 

 

He felt kisses peppering his shoulder and back. “I cannot deny myself this luxury even if I wished to,” Jon mused idly, allowing himself to be enveloped by the naked goddess behind him. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms hours earlier after an entire evening of lovemaking, possible since Missandei took the watch of their beautiful son for the night. Such had put him out since… until the worries of his mind brought him to wake. “You should go back to sleep.”

 

“No,” Daenerys replied softly, nuzzling his neck. “I am as much a Queen as you are King. Your broodings do not have to be solely upon you. I am here.” Her tongue ran along the length of his neck, making him shudder. Feeling warmth simmer within even as the depths of winter left their chambers ice cold - the hearth had long since burned out in the night. “Tell me your worries.”

 

“I’m not worried.”

 

“Mmmm… you’re a bad liar, Jon Targaryen.” Dany kissed behind his ear, making him grunt. “Please tell me.”

 

Jon sighed, resolve broken. “I must face him, Dany.”

 

The kisses ceased, instead Dany’s hold growing tight and her nails digging into his skin. They didn’t hurt him, he was numb. “No,” was her only response.

 

“I must.”

 

“No!” She was firmer, eyes likely glaring death upon him. “I won’t allow it! You are not facing him alone! Not after all he’s taken from us!”

 

“Don’t you think I know that?!” he bellowed back at her. Turning, facing the she-dragon he married… only to lock eyes with the small, frightened Dany Targaryen that he also loved. Jon’s gaze softened. “I know what we have lost. Arya, Sansa, Davos…” Everything north of the Ruby Ford of the Trident, where his father died. Harrenhal was their stronghold at the moment, but the Night King readied himself to storm it. He had the numbers - only the blessing of the gods denied him the corpses of their loved ones, each of them burnt by Drogon’s flames to prevent their return. “I cannot allow anyone else to fall. That is why I must go.”

 

Daenerys blinked back tears. “Then I must go with you.”

 

Now it was Jon’s turn to shake his head. “I cannot let you… Rhaegar needs a living mother, and the Realm needs a Queen.”

 

“They need a King too.”

 

“I was never meant to rule.” Jon sighed. “I was meant to be the martyr, to die for them. You were the one meant to live, to rule.”

 

A choked sob left Dany as she threw her arms around him. “You will live, my King. You will live and raise our son with me.” Fusing their lips together, his wife was a woman possessed, dragging him down to the bed and straddling him. Lips never leaving his own.

 

Hours later, the pitch blackness of night still shrouding the earth, Jon leaned down to kiss his sleeping wife’s cheek. His own tear slipped down his face, but resolve covered him. He had dressed quietly in his full armor, and took in Dany’s form one last time before he quietly snuck out of their chambers - ready to do what needed to be done…

 

Standing alone in the midst of the swirling mass of snow and ice, the one that had been Jon Targaryen simply stared out into the void. Even with the ice magic enhancing his vision, he could only visualize what was about twelve feet in front of him, all else being a grey-white mass of nothing. A glorious, foreboding blizzard that consumed the entirety of the True North apart from the former Craster’s Keep, where the surviving wildlings from Hardhome resided.

 

A prison, but alive.

 

‘Great One…’ Looking back, the Ice King spotted one of his underlings… one of the same ancient officers that had served the previous Great One millennia before. A competent one, actually clever unlike the brash monsters derived from Craster’s sons. ‘Do you believe he will show up?’

 

An ever so slight nod. “Aye, he will come.” The only one to communicate through actually talking, the Ice King glanced at his underling. “Soon I will summon him, for now I wish to contemplate.”

 

The officer bowed. ‘Of course, my liege.’ He slunk away, knowing what would happen had he talked back.

 

The one that had been Jon Targaryen still hated them all. Needing them and respecting them, but hating them nonetheless. Plenty had met their doom upon crossing him.

 

Normally he would’ve sighed, but the Ice King breathed no more. Blinked no more - he was but a monster now, but such was for the greater good. “I couldn’t save you, Dany, as a mere human in the other world - but I shall save you now.” The last memory of her where her gaze had been with love rather than with hate or fear… it filled him with resolve. Determined to see it again. “And with this beast, our future is set.”

 

Raising a horn to his lips - the great Horn of Joramun, prophesied to bring down the wall, yet not as one imagine - he summoned the icy winds of a blizzard. Hurling it into the horn. It’s blow shattered the din, even blasting aside the clouds and snow in front of him, clearing a way for him to see. 

 

Thrice he blew, and thrice he waited interminably. Watching, listening, feeling for…

 

It came suddenly. Faint at first, but then growing louder and louder. Massive wingbeats like thunder through the air. “You are ready for me, Jon Snow.”

 

Through their connection, the Ice King smirked. ‘Aye, we are ready.’

 

“The world will burn with cold fire, it is done.”

Notes:

Blacklight - We’re in the final stretch now people. Be sure to let us know your thoughts in the comments

Chapter 79: Beginning of the End

Summary:

Westeros braces for the storm to come

Notes:

BlackLight - We're in the final stretch now everyone. Hope you enjoy this one

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Targaryen

My Prince, 

Words cannot describe how joyous the news of you being alive makes me. Had I known of it I would have stayed by your side through these long years, I hope you know that. But I must ask that a parlay be made, between the two of us. I must be certain that this letter is from you and not some damned imposter.

I shall be northwest of the ruins of Summerhall when the sun rises tomorrow. I shall wait til midday so that we may speak of the future.

Jon Connington

 

Jon looked over the letter that his kepa had handed him, noting the distinct seal of House Connington at the bottom by the former hand of the King's signature. “You are certain he can be trusted?” Jon asked as he handed back the letter to Rhaegar.

Rhaegar seemed to ponder for a moment. “Jon was always loyal to me, as well as a good friend.”

“Will he be loyal?” While he trusted his father’s judgment, Jon needed to be sure. “No doubt he would not find the idea of serving the man who killed Aerys a good one. Ashara did say that he aided in raising him,”

“I can make him see reason.”

A nod. “I’ll trust your word on this, but I want ser Arthur and ser Jaime to accompany you on this.”

“I will have Rhaegal with me,” Rhaegar said.

“A good thing. But I still insist.” There was no chance he would allow his kepa to be harmed, not when he finally had him back. “At the very last it will make mother less worried for you,”

Rhaegar chuckled. “True.” He said before frowning again.

“What's wrong?” Jon asked.

They were seated in the King’s solar, whatever Baratheon fixtures that dotted it such as banners or Robert’s many, many hunting trophies were removed and replaced with Targaryen and Stark fixtures. Jon was spartan in his outlook, so overall he allowed Daenerys to design it with flourishes of Old Valyria and ironwood furniture. An old painting of Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya found in the Dragonstone cellar now called the wall home, and Jon was hoping for a proper family portrait to go behind him for his viewing pleasure. 

In this backdrop, Rhaegar took a long deep breath. “When last I saw Jon, he suggested I stay three kingdoms away from your mother. He said he was trying to look out for me, but Elia pointed out to me once that she always saw him watch me with a…desire in his eyes.”

It took Jon a moment to realize what Rhaegar meant, and he couldn’t help but blush. “Do you think mother’s presence will hinder him aiding us?”

“If so, then Jon will need to get over her being present.” Rhaegar crossed his arms. “What I think will happen is that there will be great tension again here in the Red Keep with him and Lyanna in the same chamber.”

“Then as you said, he will need to get over that.” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose as he got up from behind his desk. “When can you depart for Summerhall?”

“I can make the arrangements within the day.” Rhaegar told his son. “I’ll go ahead and inform Arthur and Ser Jaime now of this.”

As Rhaegar moved to turn and walk from the room Jon walked to the corner of the chamber to retrieve something. He had hoped to have give it to his kepa when he was crowned King, but it had yet to be found. It was honestly a surprise no one had found it already and made off with it.

“Kepa, wait.” He saw Rhaegar turn, and in this he took a deep breath. Taking the blade into both his hands, Jon held it out to Rhaegar. “Take it, kepa.”

The Hand of the King took hold of the blade and inspected it slowly. His brows furrowed, unsheathing the blade. The ancient steel scraped against its scabbard audibly, revealing something distinctive in addition to the infamous twin dragon crossguard… Eyes widened as Rhaegar stared awestruck at it. “Valyrian steel. Jon...is this?”

“Aerys said it was Blackfyre, the original sword of Aegon the Conqueror.” Both of them knew what Blackfyre represented, but otherwise still had to be said. Truth be told, Jon was a bit in awe of it as well. “I have no idea if what he said was true but the last sighting of it was in the hands of Aegor Bittersteel among the Golden Company. The Golden Company fought for Aerys, so make of that what you will.” He shrugged. “I don’t see a reason to rename it.” Jon pressed the blade closer into his kepa’s hands. “It is yours now.”

“But…” Rhaegar began to say. “Blackfyre is the sword of Targaryen Kings. It should be in the hand of the King.”

Jon smiled. “My own blades will be sufficient enough. And if anyone has earned the right to wield Blackfyre, it is you, kepa.” At another attempt for Rhaegar to speak, Jon silenced him. “You were supposed to be King, promising to bring glory to our house after so long. Circumstance and bad luck denied it of you, but you have proved yourself worthy to be in the annals of such greats of the house of the dragon.”

Slowly, Rhaegar took the blade and clipped it to his belt. He trembled, feeling the sword of Aegon the Conqueror now belonging to him… until he smiled softly and pulled his son into a tight hug. Jon felt himself choking back a sudden sob as both held onto the other - as though they feared they would be dragged away from one another forever. “You became the greatest of all of us, Aegon.” He clapped Jon’s back. “Your uncle raised you well, though I only regret your muna and I weren’t there to see it happen.”

Jon squeezed his chest. “I think you were always there, and we have more than enough time to make up for it now.”

“That we do.” He pulled back, beaming. “I love you, son.”

“Love you too, kepa,” Jon told him before they released one another.

A knock soon sounded from the solar door, causing both men to turn towards it. “Enter.” Jon said aloud.

In stepped King Eddard, dressed more comfortable now instead of the royal armor he wore the day he had arrived in Kings Landing. His head bowed to Jon as he greeted him, “Your grace.”

“Enough of that I told you,” Jon told him with a laugh. “No formality is needed between family.”

Raising his head, Ned chuckled as well. “Forgive me, Aegon. It is difficult for an old wolf like me to learn new tricks,” Jon noticed how his uncle called him Aegon instead of Jon. It made him frown.

“Please do not call yourself old, goodbrother. Makes me feel the same way,” Rhaegar told him.

Turning his head, Ned smirked. “Only, you aren’t old.”

“Aye, I am not,” Rhaegar replied. “But I feel it.”

“Both of you have years yet to look forward to. So do not think on your age now whilst you still hold all the color in your hair.” Jon japed. Both men turned to look at him before laughing simultaneously.

“While I would love to spend time with just us three here, I must be on my way. I shall return when I most able to do so,” Rhaegar told his son and goodbrother as he turned and began to leave. 

“Kepa, be sure to go and let muna know where you are going!” Jon yelled after him.

“I know!” Rhaegar yelled back as his footsteps sounded further and further away.

Turning back to look at Ned, he found his uncle smiling brightly at him. “What?” Jon asked, unable to hide the joy from his tone.

“It is just…I have not seen you smile so much since you were but a boy,” Ned told him. “It gladdens me to see you be this way.” Jon smiled in turn as he met his uncle's gaze. But his smile quickly faded as he noted past the joy he wore on his face, Ned's eyes were sad.

“Is there something bothering you?”Jon asked, concern showing in his tone and on his face.

Ned’s eyes widened slightly at his question. “Nothing for you to be concerned with, my boy,”

He used to call me that all the time . It had never been what he had wanted Ned to call him. All his childhood he wished for lord Eddard Stark to call him son and look on him with the same pride he did Robb - now he knew why. 

Despite that, hearing Ned call him so always made him smile. But now? All it did was sadden him.

“You have not called me that in a long time,” Jon spoke, chuckling only slightly. “Last time I heard you say so I do believe I was not but a young lad,”

Ned could not help a wistful look. “Aye. That time seems like a lifetime ago now.”

“Several lifetimes,” Jon said lowly, but he could see that Ned had heard him. And once more the King of the North’s eyes were filled with sadness.

“I am sorry for it all, I hope you know that,” Ned told him as he shut his eyes. Jon’s own eyes now widened in surprise. “I only ever tried to do what I thought right for everyone. For our family. But my eyes were alway too blind to see what was true and what my path should have been,”

“You need not explain anything to me, Lord Sta-!”

“I should have treated you as I did your siblings, had you raised as they were with the Stark name. But I was too afraid, and that fear damned you. And eventually it would have damned us all.” Jon saw tears building in his adoptive fathers eyes as he spoke every word, the tears finally cascading down his face as he uttered the last of them.

Jon felt his own throat grow tight as he listened. “You did only what you thought best. I cannot fault you for that.”

“I am gladdened to know that, Jon,” Ned replied, his voice wracked with sadness. “But I cannot help but fault myself,”

“Lord Stark…”

“I should have done more for you. Told Catelyn the truth so she wouldn’t be so bitter. Done anything at all for you to make you feel needed. Wanted…”

“Uncle…”

“I should have said so many more things to you while you were in your youth. Told you how much I loved you, how I saw you no lower than Robb or any other of my children. I should have…”

“Father.” Jon called, at last ending Ned's words. “Please, say no more on this.” The two Kings locked eyes again for a long time before the King in the North's head fell. He then began to chuckle, just as Jon had done a few moments past. “Father?” 

“Father…it seems like such a long time ago since you called me that,” Ned told him. “Not since your mother and my goodbrother returned do I think you called me such.”

All at once it became clear to Jon as to why Neds eyes held such sadness. Why all of the words he spoke moments ago were said with such sadness. This is my fault , Jon told himself as he walked forward and placed his hands upon his father’s shoulders.

Ned looked up for a moment before Jon pulled him into a tight hug. Ned wasted no time in hugging his son back just as tightly. Both crying into the other's shoulder, their tears speaking for them when words would never do what needed said justice.

As they at last moved away from one another, Jon was the first to speak. “I’m so sorry, father,” The words left him in a broken mess. But Ned did not stop himfrom speaking furter. “I never wanted you to think that I would ever think to replace you. That is an impossibility for me. No matter the year that come or with the return of my muna and kepa, you will always be the man who raised me as his own and loved me as his own. ”

“And you will always be my son, Jon,” Ned told him before he hugged Jon again. “And I will always be proud of the man you have grown to be.” The hug was just as tight as the last with Jon burying his face in Ned's chest. 

The embrace did not last as long this time, it ended with Jon pulling away fully and wiping at his eyes. “This all reminds me of something,” Jon said as he turned and walked to he corner of the solar to fetch something. “Kepa and I found this a few days ago while we were in the catacombs underneath the keep. I had wanted to give it to you with the rest of our family here, but this is good enough.”

“You don’t need to give me anything, Jon. You have given me enough,” Ned told him, but Jon would not be denied in him giving this gift.

“You shall not say so in a moment, Father,” Jon said as he moved a stack of books out of his way and found what it was he was seeking. Taking it up he turned and could not hide his amusement as he watched Ned's eyes grow wide and his mouth fall open.

“It cannot be…That’s…” Ned began to say.

Looking down, Jon admired the crown himself. The front had an engraved weirwood tree showing proudly to all. Around the rest of the top of the crown were beared the faces of direwolves, each holding the handle of a blade in their maws. The crown itself was made of Valyrian steel, not an ounce of it with a speck of rust on it.

It was a crown like no other, and belonged back in the hands of the Kings of Winter.

“Aegon the Conqueror kept these and the other crowns of the Kings of Westeros in a special vault on Dragonstone. When Maegor finished the construction of the Red Keep he had them moved here for safe keeping,” Jon told his adoptive father before presenting it to him. “And now, as the King of Winter sworn to House Targaryen, it is yours.”

Neds hands trembled as he took he crown into his hands. His thumbs running along the ancient runes of the crown as he inspected every inch of it.

“No words…” Ned said as he cleared his throat. “No words could express how great a gift this is, Jon.”

“No words are needed, your grace,” Jon said with a smirk before they both began to lightly laugh. “Now come, let us go show Robb this. No doubt he will be as shocked as you were.”

“Even more so I imagine. Your brother will be overjoyed by this,” Ned told him as they both walked from the chamber.

“I have little doubt of that, father,” Jon agreed as they made their way back to the royal quarters.

 


 

Sansa Stark

 

“Do not be nervous, love.”

Biting her lip, Sansa couldn’t help the slight tremor in her left hand. She gripped her knee through her modest dress - of a cut of the Reach that Margaery had picked out for her, not of the kingdom she was to be the Princess of but close enough. At least till she was acclimated. “Can you truly blame me if I am, Trystane?” The wheelhouse jolted, likely hitting a hole in the middle of the road. While the Roseroad was paved, she doubted Robert Baratheon or Aerys Targaryen before him to be the sort to care about road maintenance. Jon certainly will.

Chuckling, Trystane Martell shook his head, reaching over to place his tanned palm over her pale, trembling hand. “Would it help if I told you I was quite nervous when riding up to Winterfell?”

“Hmmm… it might.” Sansa couldn’t help a smile at how effortlessly charming her man was. “So your shivering wasn’t from the cold, but rather nerves?”

“Well… perhaps mostly from the cold.” They shared a laugh together, Sansa finally resting her head on his shoulder. “It shouldn't be too problematic, I don’t think. You’ll be meeting my sister in Highgarden along with your goodsister’s brother Ser Garlan. If he is anything like Margaery the two of you would get along famously - though I hope not too famously.” His brow rose.

The half-jealous look upon his face made Sansa kiss it off. “Do not worry. I am more partial to the swarthier sort.”

“A Prince of amber rather than gold?”

“Ugh, I wish I hadn’t told you about that.” Looking back on it, even without the benefit of Jon’s declarations of what her stupid future/past self had done, those dreams of marrying Joffrey and being the Queen alongside a golden-haired King were… quite embarrassing. “But I did end up catching a Prince, so I suppose my childish fantasies mostly came true.” Squeezing Trystane’s free hand, she sighed happily. “I only wish your father and other brother were here, so I could meet them.”

“Father would’ve liked you, I do think,” Trystane mused, his voice a little hollow. Jon’s avenging of Doran’s death in the fight between him and Aerys did some to mitigate the loss for him, but not fully. “Quentyn… I loved my brother but he was a bit of an arse.”

Sansa giggled. “All siblings are bit of arses, but we do love them.” She quirked her lip, looking up at Trystane. “Should I worry about your sister?”

“Think you’ll get a bad first impression?”

She shrugged. “I’ve heard stories about her, about her vivacious, adventurous nature. Doesn’t truly seem like someone who would appreciate a Stark goodsister raised to be a proper lady of court.”

Trystane laughed. “Nothing proper about what we did a few hours ago.” Sansa blushed madly. Her maidenhead was still intact, but that didn’t stop her from seeking out carnal pleasure with her man. A burning in her loins still lingered at the memory of his tongue there, and Sansa could still taste a hint of salt in her mouth from his seed. Did it condemn her as a slattern that she wished he’d do it again, right now? No, I’ve heard worse coming from Jon and Daenerys or Margaery and Robb’s chambers. Even… No, she did not wish to think about her mother’s moans. “But you’d be surprised about my sister. It seems she’s truly settled down with Ser Garlan… gods, never thought I’d say that, about a Tyrell no less.”

“Father did say this triple alliance between our houses was unprecedented.”

“For the Starks since they rarely ventured south. For our two houses since they hated each other.” 

“Your uncle did say that he feared Garlan would douse Arianne in scorpions as poetic vengeance.” 

“He tends to be dramatic sometimes.”

Sansa’s brow rose. “Sometimes?”

“Fair enough.”

Surrounded by horsemen, mostly Martell but also some Stark troopers gladly escorting their King’s daughter, the wheelhouse and associated wagons rolled into Highgarden only an hour or two later. Sansa stuck her head out of the window much of the time, in awe at the beautiful landscape still green and vibrant even in winter. Flowers dotted the banks of the Trident, while smallfolk were out planting yet another harvest and picking fruit from the trees. “Beautiful.”

Trystane snorted. “You think this is beautiful, you should see the Water Gardens.”

An impish smile crossed Sansa’s face. “And I was told by your aunt Ellaria that the premier leisure activity there is nude swimming, no?” When he groaned, she giggled, kissing his chin.

The keep itself was whitewashed and beautiful, a surrounding outer wall the only true battlement while the buildings of the inner keep were more built for aesthetics than a siege. Given the martial tradition of the Reach, mayhaps the renowned horsemen preferred to engage each other in open battle on the plains than bottle themselves up in sieges - Sansa didn’t ever suggest she was a military mind. Her first, and hopefully last and only taste of combat was facing and killing Ramsay Bolton. 

Never would she experience just exactly why Jon spoke his name with such revulsion and hate, what Ramsay had done to her, but a sense of perverse pride built deep down in Sansa that it was thanks to her own actions that she would be safe.

“There’s Ari,” she heard Trystane exclaim, drawing her from her musings. Peeking out, an utterly gorgeous and sultry woman appeared. Her figure was slender except around the chest, dress rather revealing much of skin of a darker hue than Trystane’s. It was no wonder this woman had such a realmwide reputation for beauty, and with her own features Sansa felt… a little plain in comparison. Arianne stood close by her husband Ser Garlan, arm wrapped around his wife. He looked like a taller, more muscular Loras. A true knight.

A guard opened the door to the wheelhouse and Trystane exited first, holding out his hand to help Sansa down. She smiled at him, feeling her dress brush against the wood as she lowered herself to the cobblestone ground of the Highgarden outer courtyard. A discreet, gentle stretch of her limbs and joints, thankful to be done with that travel. 

“Prince Trystane.” Ser Garlan had walked towards them, hand rested one hand on an ornate sword with a pommel carved in the shape of a rose - one undoubtedly that the northmen would mock, but Sansa knew that sword had tasted much blood. Giving Garlan a closer look, she found him wearing a green gambeson with gold streaks, paired with black leather trousers and boots. Not as ornate as one of his wealth. “So you’ve maintained your title, then.”

“Goodbrother,” Trystane replied. “His Grace and her Grace were most generous, although House Stark outranks mine in terms of titles.”

“Aye, I can see that.” Garlan looked over Sansa, his face not quite stern but unmoving. “It says much that you’ve paid visit to my keep before mine own father, mother, and grandmother.”

“I believe that they are seeking arrangements for your sister, not to mention the… oof!” Trystane grunted as the sister crashed into him, her embrace crushing and most welcoming. Sansa couldn’t help but smile.

“Brother, you dumb idiot,” she said. “You just had to leave Dorne at the worst possible time!”

“Enduring an invasion or a Faith Militant uprising isn’t my… description of safe.”

“Nor is a Bolton uprising, a Lannister invasion, nor fighting in the Riverlands,” Arianne said. “Byt by the gods, it’s good that you’re back.” She began kissing his cheek, so much so that Trystane blushed most adorably. It was only then that the future Lady of Highgarden noticed Sansa. “So is this my soon-to-be goodsister?”

Sansa answered before Trystane. “I am, if this goof would have me,” she smirked, batting her eyes at Trystane much as she saw Margaery do at Robb once.”

Arianne grinned. “I like her already.”

Finally, the slight Dornishwoman released Trystane enough so that he could - after sucking in a deep breath, turn and face Sansa. “Sansa, my love, let me introduce you to Princess Arianne Martell. My sister.” 

“Arianne Tyrell, rather.” She stood tall. “Damned by my ancestors I might be, but I am proud of that title.” Not the heir to Dorne though she was, based on how resolute she acted it was clear that at the very least, she would share equal power with her husband over the entire Reach. She pointed to Garlan. “This is my husband, and no less a goof as my brother, Ser Garlan Tyrell. Heir to Highgarden and champion upon the battlefield.”

“Easy, my love. They are family, not visiting dignitaries.” Sansa chuckled while Arianne beamed. “It brings good tidings to welcome you to Highgarden, goodbrother. Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nodded. “Aye, I am glad to be here, though as for why we are staying here two weeks instead of continuing to Hornhill where the army rests is a mystery to me,” she eyed Trystane, who developed a shifty look.

Arianne furrowed her brows. “You didn’t tell her?” The look on Tristane’s face said it all. “Idiot.” She turned to smile at Sansa. “He came here because this is the closest major Godswood between here and Raventree Hall.”

Jaw dropping, Sansa looked at her betrothed, who was smiling sheepishly. Smile radiant upon her face, Sansa didn’t care for proprietary as she kissed him deeply then and there.

 


 

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

“Well, my dragon, you finally got that daughter you always wanted.”

It was a glorious sight, serving to melt the heart of the once-dubbed ‘Last Dragon’ as he gazed upon the wondrous moment. Lyanna sat up in the bed propped with fluffy pillows, granting her supreme comfort as the bodice of her nightgown was pulled down to expose her breast to the hungry lips of Princess Visenya Targaryen - full-blooded sister to His Grace the King. “I did imagine this to happen eight and ten years ago, aye.” He unabashedly roved over her body even as his hand moved to stroke the growing dark wisps of hair on his daughter’s head.

Lyanna smirked at him. “Get that grin off your face. There’s none of that for the foreseeable future.”

“You wound me, wife.”

“I’m the sort that could actually wound you, so I’d suggest you do shut it.” Didn’t stop Rhaegar from kissing her, nor did she stop herself from moaning and deepening the kiss.

It was that moment that Visenya released the nipple with a pop and started fussing now that her belly was full and hunger slated. “Here, let me.” Gently, Rhaegar cradled his daughter in his arms and rocked her gently. Marveling at this most perfect little dragon, one of three precious babes in his life. Her, Rhaegon, and little Rhaenys, to whom he always devoted time for - making up for never being there for Aegon. “Don’t fuss, little dragon. Kepa’s here and he’ll always be here.”

Visenya looked up at him with lidded eyes. Violet eyes, much like his own. “She has the Targaryen eyes, but looks like me in all other respects,” Lyanna observed, her smile tired but nevertheless radiant as she gazed upon her husband and daughter.

“Praise the gods, for she’ll be beautiful… though I may not like that,” he frowned in worry. “Suitors will crawl around her like rats and I’m not prepared for that.”

“She’s my daughter, so she’ll very much know how to wield a blade. Only you were ever able to get close without getting their throat cut.” Lyanna chuckled. “That’s if the dragon she’ll end up riding won’t be enough.”

Rhaegar grinned softly in response. “That heartens me, at least.” Nevertheless, he lowered his head and pressed a flurry of kisses on Visenya’s cheeks and forehead. “Don’t come of age too quickly, sweetling. Be a wee one for kepa just a bit longer.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. “Your sister calls Aegon her Northern Fool, but that clearly comes from his Targaryen side - namely you.” She stretched above her, deliberately not covering up her breasts - a devilish tease, this northern goddess was. “Daenerys can go about her duties vigorously even after birth, and yet I am stuck here.”

“A precaution, love.” Rhaegar tickled Visenya’s nose, causing her to squirm in his arms. He couldn’t help himself. “A precaution you insisted on, given what happened.”

Closing her eyes, Lyanna sighed. “Aye.” It was something they chose not to bring up often, given the repercussions of it all, but their joint deaths always loomed in the background. The gods had given them a second chance upon the world and both were determined to make the most of it. “Aemon says that I should be out of the woods within the next week or so… then you won’t be able to stop me.”

“At least go slowly back into your routines, Lya.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you still owe me a spar.”

“If it was up to you, I’d spar with you every day… naked.”

Her brow quirked up. “And what’s so wrong about your… glorious nudity?” Lyanna grinned. “And I’d be naked as well.” She always knew how to motivate him.

Once Visenya was sleeping soundly in Lyanna’s arms, Rhaegar gave his wife another kiss and bid her farewell - his duties called, and it wasn’t necessarily a duty he was looking forward to. The coronation celebrations and spontaneous cheering for the peace that finally descended over Westeros with Jon and Daenerys on the Iron Throne and all succession crises that had arguably had begun long ago with Robert’s Rebellion were over, and now it was the directive of the King and Queen to resume war preparations against the Dead. Soldiers were being sent back North, as were massive amounts of food and other supplies. Ships criss-crossed the Narrow Sea from as far away as Qarth while thousands of urban poor enlisted to the Targaryen colors and had to be trained. None was enough against the Ice King - nothing was ever enough, but it would be a start. 

That was why Rhaegar had to do this. Had to face a ghost from his past - one that had fought against his own son, but likely felt was necessary for the sake of the Targaryen cause.

Outside the small council chamber waited Ashara Dayne. Pushing herself off the wall as he approached. “Your Grace,” she curtsied.

Rhaegar bowed shallowly. “Lady Ashara.” Mother of his half-sister, she was essentially rewarded with a permanent position in court - becoming one of the most eligible matrons in the Seven Kingdoms. Time would tell if she sought out marriage or even a lover, but for now she had her own family to help tend. My nephew, Daemon. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

“He was your friend, Rhaegar, but I essentially raised my daughter and your brother with him for near two decades. We understand each other.” A small smile formed on her face. “Besides, Princess Lyanna would likely prefer me to be present.”

“I haven’t told her about this.” Ash’s brow rose at that. “Don’t start.”

“Mayhaps I am glad to be here to look out for my friend.”

“Do you think I am a pillow biter?”

“Are you?”

Now she was just trying to irk him, hence the ghost of a smirk on her face. Aye, she had been this way when they were young and she was Elia’s lady in waiting. Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “Enough, let’s just get this over with.”

Ashara nodded. “My sentiments exactly.” With that, the Hand of the King pushed open the doors.

Immediately a figure in leather armor stood, and Rhaegar was looking at a ghost. One whose eyes widened as well as they met, a tremble in his arm as he leaned against the chair for support. “My Prince.”

Rhaegar took in a breath. “Lord Connington.” In his youth, Jon Connington possessed a fiery red mane hair and beard, giving credence to a man bursting with vigor and energy. He’d been one of the greatest commanders on the Targaryen side in the Rebellion and very nearly crushed Robert before Ned Stark could reinforce him on sheer daring alone.

Now, none was present. Nearing forty, such vigor was replaced by a tired caution. Hardened with experience, but tired nonetheless. Jon still had his beard but it was coupled with a lined, leathery face - the years were not good to him, eyes pale and crow’s feet dotting the edges. His beard was still mostly red, but ash poked out here and there.

It reminded Rhaegar of all the time he had lost. Would he have looked similar had he lived? Only time would tell - at least his goodbrothers had held up decently in spite of it all.

“Gods alive,” Connington’s words drew him out of his reverie. “It was not a lie. You are alive, and in your prime.”

“No one was more surprised than myself.” Formalities being put out of the way, soon they were all sitting at the small council table, tension dissipated a bit but still mostly present. “Aerys is dead.”

Connington nodded. “Yes, I know.” He sighed. “Do you have regrets over his fate?”

“Do I regret that I have a brother who is dead? Of course I do,” Rhaegar replied curtly. “Much has changed since my death, and apart from how my son and sister turned out in finding each other and putting the rest to rights, all of it was horrible.”

“I lived it, my Prince. It was worse than you could’ve possibly imagined.” He shifted in his seat. “I have heard that you have another child.”

“Aye, Princess Visenya. One of the four new Targaryens, alongside my grandchildren Rhaegon and Rhaenys, and my nephew Daemon.”

“Daemon… Aerys’ son and heir.” A wistful smile spread on his face. “I would’ve seen him as King, you know.”

“We are aware of that,” Ashara spoke for the first time. “I would have too, had Aerys not succumbed to madness like his father before him.”

Connington winced. “You were far more surprised than I was about the transformation, and it greatly disheartened me.”

“Then you should’ve deserted, or at least switched allegiance to Alysanne.”

“Oaths are important to me…”

“Then look at me, Jon.” Connington did, and there was that same spark of desire in them that Rhaegar remembered. It would not go anywhere, but if it helped arrange for peace with the army Connington commanded… “Your first oath was to me, to fight for the cause I fought. And I now fight for my son as I did for my father. Aegon is a far worthier King.”

Connington’s will started to crack - not that it was strong coming into this meeting. “The Golden Company might, with their King defeated, but the others were merely for hire.”

“They’ll be given land and coin, but it is not just them I wish for… I wish for you to join us with your military mind.” Connington’s eyes widened. “Are you with us, or against us?” The answer was never in doubt.


 

Theon Greyjoy

 

    Few things in Theons life had brought him to openly cry. The first was when word of his brothers' deaths reached him. Both were poor siblings to him and Yara, but they were his brothers all the same. The second had been the first night staying within Winterfell. The chill in the air and unfamiliar faces all around were too much for him.

And now again he found himself crying. But not out of sadness or of fear. Holding his newborn daughter as she screamed her tiny lungs out was the loveliest sound he had ever listened to.

“What are you crying for, stupid?” Ygritte asked him from where she laid, her breathing ragged from giving birth. Despite it all she could not stop herself from smiling at the sight before her.

Smiling, he turned to his wife and told her, “Because this is the greatest moment in my life.”

Ever one to make a jape, Ygritte smirked as she said, “I thought that moment was the night you finally got to roll in the furs with me.”

Even with tears streaking down his cheeks, Theon could not help but chuckle at his wifes jape. “It was till our daughter was put in my arms.” With great effort Ygritte got to her feet and came to stand beside Theon. Instinctually Theon grabbed hold of her by the hip to help her steady herself. “Love, you should lay back down.”

Ygritte only huffed. “I am a shield wife of the freefolk. Me mum and hers did not let popping out a babe stop them from anythin.”

Theon smiled before kissing the crown of Ygritte’s head. “I love you,”

“Of course you do,” Ygritte said as she kissed him back on his cheek. Holding her close the pair watched their daughter sleep soundly in her father's arms. Ygritte stroked at the small bit of her daughter's hair, it was the same color as her own. “She’s kissed by fire. Just like me,”

“She’s a blessing,” Theon said. Ygritte rolled her eyes at that despite smiling at her husband's goofy comment. Before either could say anything more a great commotion began outside of their shared tent. To keep an eye for the army of the dead Theon had come to camp on the northern side of Castle Black with his beloved people.

The camp was close enough to Castle Blacks that at first sight of the army they could flee to the Castle with next to no losses. And now it seemed such an idea was being put into action.

Theon as quickly and gently as he could placed his daughter into Ygrittes arms before grabbing his bow and blade and exiting the tent. Following the other warriors as the scouts aided in breaking down the camp, Theon moved through the Freefolk to stand in front of the line they made.

Theon did not need to ask where the army was, for they were already in sight. Turning his now wide eyes from left to right, Theon stared in absolute horror at the mass of undead that now stood in a great line. And they seemed prepared to charge.

“My lord, the scouts are clearing the cmap as quick as they can,” one of Theons ironborn reavers told him as he ran up beside him. 

Turning to the man Theon ordered, “Have half our men aid the scouts. We need to get as many people out as we can.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said as he ran off. Turning back tot he foe before him, Theons eyes scanned the great line of undead monsters. Knocking a dragonglass arrow he looked for the leaders, the White Walkers. Theon remembered vividly hearing for Jon of how if they are killed all those that White Walker had ressurected will crumble back into a pile of bones.

A long moment passed before the line of deadmen began to move. But instead of marching forward they began to part way in the center of their line. Theon readied his arrow as he watched a single figure walk towards them. 

And with him the dead began to follow.

Men! Knock!” Theon yelled as the line of freefolk and ironislanders drew forth their bows and knocked an arrow of their own. As they readied to release their volley a great wind picked up. Theon nearly fell on his back from the force of it as many others did.

The strength of this wind reminded him of the harshest winter storms that blew over Winterfell. But none of them compared to this. As Theon shielded his eyes from the upchurned snow and dirt that the wind blew his way he heard the unmistakable sound of wings beating in the air.

“GET DOWN!!” Theon yelled to all who could hear him beore a great roar ripped through the storm. Falling to the ground his eyes grew wide with terror as the massive dragon surged into view. It’s scales looked the color of the ice that the Wall was built of.

It’s wings dug into the earth, crushing trees and all unfortunate enough to be around where it made landfall as it grounded itself. It did not stay in place as it surged forward more power than any other creature could have in the world. 

And as it smashe into the Wall, the massive wall of ice began to crack. Large chunks of ice fell from the top of the Wall as the dragon force it’s way through. Acting on instinct Theon got to his feet and rushed back to his and Ygrittes tent.

“Ygritte!” Theon yelled as he neared the tent. Finding her exiting it as he got to her Theon wasted no time in taking his wife and daughter into his arms to get them away from the camp.

Chaos fell upon the camp as chunks of ice continued to fall upon them. Ygritt kept her eyes on the skies as Theon just continued to run, trying to reach the tunnel to Castle Black before the undead reachd them.

Theon dared not look behind him to see how close they were now sinc he took his eyes off of them.

Bellowing out a reat roar, the ice colored dragon crashed through the Wall and landed on the other side. Sheets of ice fell like snow as it did, crashing to the ground and crushing all unlucky enough to be found where they fell.

Theon had never ran so fast in his life as he made it within the tunnel as the wall crumbled. But he found himself trapped as the roof of the tunnel collapsed as well, blocking their path forward.

“Fuck!” Ygritte yelled as they looked upon the sight before booking behind them without thinking. “Theon…” 

Theon had never heard his beloved sound so frightened, and it made him fear to look behind him. Bracing himself he did so, and found a piercing pair of blue eyes staring at him. 

But what terrified him more was who was staring at him.

“Jon? Is that you?” His skin was pale blue and eyes the same color. His head and beard were still dark, but there was no mistaking him.

“It’s been a long time, Greyjoy. Can’t say it’s good to see you.” His icy eyes moved to look at Ygritte. “Interesting. I wonder what else has been altered this time.”

“The fuk you talkin bout?” Ygritte said. “Thought you was on our side, dragon lord.”

Jon chuckled as he smirked. “Don’t worry your fury little head over it. It won’t matter for much longer.” he told them before beginning to turn. As he did Theon took his moment as he took grittes bow and another of his dragon glss arrows. As he began to loose it, Jon motioned him not to with his finger. “I’m in a good mood now, so I’ll let you live long enough to send word to those in the south about what coming.” Jon turned to look Theon in the eye again. “Loose that arrow, and I’ll kill the both of you here and now and turn your child ito a White Walker.”

Theons hand slacked as Jon laid down his threat. He could not risk his wife and daughter for a single shot.

“Smart squid.” Jon said before moving out of Theons way. “Now run. And tell the world of their doom.”

And Theon did as he ran past the former bastard of Winterfell. A terrible fear coursing through his body as he ran through the opening in the Wall. He refused to look back as the dragon roared once more. 

Theon had little doubt the roar could be heard in all four corners of Westeros.

Notes:

BlackLight - And so it begins. The final war for Westeros

Chapter 80: Before The Storm

Summary:

The final battles nears

Notes:

BlackLight - Sorry this took so long. We have been trying to find a way to properly wrap up this fic, and now we know how.Hope you all enjoy this long awaited update

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rhaegar Targaryen

 

How can someone be so tiny but weigh so much whilst in my arms?, Rhaegar asked himself as he looked down at his daughter. Like Aegon, she was a perfect mix of himself and Lyanna, only this time she took after him in how she looked instead of her mother as Aegon did. Even if that had happened Rhaegar would not have cared, his heart soared regardless as he held his baby girl.

“Don’t hog her for yourself, my love. She needs her muna as much as she does her kepa,” Lyanna told him as she remained in their bed, her lower half covered beneath a thick set of furs.

Rhaegar smiled as he kissed his precious daughter atop her head before handing her back to Lyanna. “Here, love,” He told her before stepping back to admire the scene before him. Rhaegar had only been able to see such a sight when Elia had given birth to Rhaenys and her Aegon. Never had he been able to see Lyanna hold Jon the same way as a babe, or hold his second son when he was newly born into the world.

That fact still pained Rhaegar. Just as much as remembering his first two children were gone.

“She has quite the appetite,” Lyanna said as Visenya drank from her breast hungrily. 

Rhaegar chuckled. “Of course she is. We dragons have grand appetites,” He smirked at her as his gaze traveled from her face to her even lovely chest.

Lyanna kicked at him as he did so. “Move your lecherous gaze away from my chest whilst our daughter is held to my breast,”

“You think to give me commands, lady Stark?”

“It’s princess to you,”

“Indeed,” Rhaegar said as he moved to sit beside Lyanna in their shared bed. He wrapped his arms around her before kissing her brow. “My princess,”

“Always and forever,” Lyanna told him as she leaned against him. 

They stayed wrapped together for a long while. Both simply basking in the other's presence, and both watching their daughter as she finished feeding and falling into a peaceful slumber.

Rhaegar brushed away a loose curl of silvery hair from his daughter's face before asking, “Did Aegon sleep this soundly?”

“He did,” Lyanna answered. “Only when the nursemaids took him to wash and swaddle him did he begin to cry,”

“Rhaegon was much the same from what our son says. He never liked being apart from his kepa or his muna,” Rhaegar said. “At least until they returned to Winterfell, that is,”

“It’s the Stark in him, love,”

“Are you sure, my love? I think it’s the dragon in him.”

“Could be both.” Lyanna said as she looked up from Visenya to her husband. “Wolves and Dragons only care for their own kind.”

“Then how do you explain us, my love?” 

Lyanna smirked. “You just made the cut.”

Rhaegar chuckled as he leaned in to kiss his wife before they rose from their bed to walk together to lay Visenya in her crib. Rhaegar placed his hand atop his wife’s as they stood beside one another and watched her take in little breaths.

“Aegon told me something when last we spoke,” Rhaegar said.

“Oh?”

“After all of this is done and over with, he’s going to have Summerhall rebuilt for us,” Rhaegar told her. “He wants us to have a place of our own. I had thought for us to go back to Dragonstone, but Summerhall works just as well.”

Lyanna's eyes went wide at the news, seeing so made Rhaegar smile. “That is…I had thought we would simply remain here with Aegon and Danaerys,” she said. “But this…it’s more than I could have hoped for,”

“Our son wishes for us to have a place of our own. Apart from the Red Keep and Dragonstone. And Summerhall is the perfect place for us to raise our daughter. And all the other children we will have,” Rhaegar's hands, which had been wrapped round his wife and laying on her stomach, now began to slowly move down to take hold of her hips.

“Rhaegar! Not when Visenya is sleeping!” Lyanna said as she smacked at his hands. “Damned lecher,”

“And you love it,” Lyanna could not help but smile as she shook her head at him.

Time passed like a blur as Rhaegar began to tend to several matters he had now as Hand of the King. The army under Jon Connington’s command needed to be integrated into their own forces, as well as find a place for them to reside in until their march north could be started. Lyanna on the other hand slept soundly in their bed, the exhaustion from birthing Visenya not yet fully gone from her yet.

Rhaegar's quill wrote out as he made plans to be sent out by raven when a succession of knocks came from the chamber door. The sound woke both Lyanna and Visenya, though thankfully Rhaegar managed to see to his daughter before she began to cry. 

Lyanna answered the door in his stead and found the queen of the seven kingdoms waiting for them, the crown prince sitting comfortably in her arms.

“Daenerys! You needed not come to check on us yourself, you should be resting!” Lyanna chastised her good-daughter and good-sister. She was likely the only person in Westeros who could.

Daenerys chuckled. “I am feeling better today, Lyanna. And besides, Rhaegon wished to see his aunt Visenya,” Rhaegon gurgled something as though to agree with his muna. 

Lyanna smiled as she knelt slightly to take Rhaegon into her arms before peppering his face with kisses. “How is my little prince this day?” Rhaegon giggled as Lyanna walked back into the chamber with Daenerys as Rhaegar met them with Visenya in his arms. As Daenerys said, Rhaegons full attention became focused on his younger aunt, his little arms reaching out to her as Lyanna held him close to her daughter, but not close enough to where he could grab hold of her. 

A happy smile formed on Rhaegar’s face, an image playing out in his mind as he sees the both of them as younger children, close to five namedays old as they ran round the gardens of the Red Keep together. All the merriment only children could have filling their every step. 

It was a sight that Rhaegar was assured he would see one day happen before his eyes.

“But, there is something we need to discuss,” Daenerys told them, making both look to her. “Please, follow me. Jon is calling the others to speak as well,”

Lyanna and Rhaegar looked to one another before they looked back to their good-daughter. “What has happened, Dany?” Lyanna asked.

The look on Daenerys face told Rhaegar all he needed to know. Gathering what few things they needed and dressing more appropriately, maids and wetnurses coming to tend to the babes, both Rhaengar and Lyanna followed after Daenerys as they headed towards the small council chambers.

 


 

Lyanna Stark Targaryen

 

The room was silent as they entered, and seeing so made a chill travel down Lyanna’s spine. Eyeing the table itself, she noticed a drawn map of the North sitting in the table's center. Lyanna could only imagine that news came from the Wall of movements of the Army of the Dead. When first she had been told of it she could hardly believe it. Had anyone told her such was possible before her return she would have called the one who told her such a fool.

 

But standing here now, returned from the dead herself, she could not think it preposterous anymore. 

 

With their entry to the chamber, the doors shut behind them. The only people present in the room were her own family, both Stark and Targaryen, and those who Aegon and Daenerys considered to be trustworthy.

 

Samwell Tarly and her nephew Robb stood on either side of Aegon as he read a raven scroll bearing the seal of House Greyjoy.

 

The silence finally got to Lyanna as she decided to break it. “Aegon? What has happened?” Her son did not respond, not verbally. The scroll fell from his fingers as he rubbed at his face with his right hand - gods, that brooding expression of frustration was exactly like his father’s. Rhaegar stepped forward to take hold of the scroll as Daenerys rounded the table and placed a reassuring hand upon her beloved's shoulder.

 

Aegon took a deep breath before placing his hands upon the small council table. His gaze drifted to all in attendance before he spoke, “Castle Black has fallen,” Lyanna could not stop herself from gasping at the news. “Theon sent this from Last Hearth three days ago.” As he spoke, Aegon held up the ravenscroll of Theon’s.

 

Only one thought pierced the terror gripping her. “Benjen?” Her beloved brother - gods, she hadn’t even seen him yet. Did he even know that she was alive?

 

“Was at Eastwatch during the attack. He’s gathered the remaining Watch and Free Folk to march for Last Hearth.” Some relief, at least.

 

“Then it has begun. The final war,” Robb said. “We will need to mobilize immediately.”

 

“Agreed. Though, I fear we will not be able to mobilize swiftly enough.” Lyanna looked at her brother, whose face was grim. “It will take at least a moon for our forces to gather and pas through the Neck.”

 

“Not to mention the casualties we suffered from fighting Robert, Tywin, and Aerys,” Samwell remarked. “The Golden Company and Aerys’ sellswords serve as partial replacements, not to mention integrating the Westermen and Stormlanders to our total, but they are still disorganized and need to be placed into the chain of command…”

 

“We shall send Ravens north to the Riverlands and Vale to move within the next three days,” her gooddaughter stated with determination. “Every ship shall be impressed into service, every road cleared for march. That much should aid in bolstering our remaining forces in the North,” Daenerys said, and Aegon nodded in agreement.

 

“A grand idea my love. But the North shall need its King to lead them in this effort until we are able to move,” Aegon looked to his uncle and his cousin. 

 

Robb spoke first. “I can leave tonight and travel north. It should not me long if my horse is swift.”

 

“You will be needed here, son. I shall go,” Ned said in response as he stood.

 

Before an argument could begin between the two, Lyanna watched her husband step forward and say, “There is a compromise here. Rhaegal and I can fly you both North,” Lyanna stifled a laugh at the surprised look that crossed her brother's face at the prospect of flying on dragon back. “We can reach Winterfell in no time this way,”

 

“It would be the swiftest way, kepa. Uncle, brother, the choice is up to you,” Aegon told them.

 

The King and Crown Prince of the North look in the others direction before both nodded and said simultaneously, “We shall go,” 

 

Lyanna smiled at the both of them before seeing Aegon stand and holding a worried expression still on his face. “There is more that you should all know about…all of this,” Daenerys took Aegon's hand after he spoke, squeezing it tight as he continued. “The enemy we face is not who Dany and I once thought it was,”

 

“Son? What do you mean?” Rhaegar questioned.

 

“We thought that the Night King, the great Other, was still the leader of the army of the Dead. But he is not,” Dany told them.

 

“Then what does command it?” Ned questioned this time.

 

“Not what…who,” Aegon said. “He’s me, from another time.”

 

“What?” Lyanna voiced, her eyes growing wide as she nearly felt her heart stop.

 

The King and Queen looked to one another before Aegon continued to speak, “Like Dany and myself, this other me, the Ice King as he calls himself, he is from another time.”

 

“From my time, to be precise,” Dany finished saying. “He was corrupted after he killed the Night King. He is no longer the Jon I once knew,”

 

Lyanna’s mind raced. Her and Rhaegar's resurrection was one thing. Learning her son was a grown man was another. But learning that another version of her Aegon was here and leading the army of the Dead was almost too much to bear. Noticing her change Rhaegar quickly pulled out one of the empty chairs and aided her in sitting in it.

 

Within the blink of an eye her son was beside Lyanna and clutching her hand, worry filling his gaze as she looked into the eyes that he inherited from her. “It will all be well, muna. I promise,”

 

Aegon's words could not sway her worries. All she could think of was her lost boy, and how desperately she wished to tell him those same words Aegon had just said to her.

 


 

King Eddard Stark

 

Two days passed as the news of a new campaign north spread through the ranks of the armies. The Northmen were eager to return home to defend their lands from this new threat, but Ned could see in their eyes the weariness of war. He felt it himself, it was difficult not to. Already they had lost so many brave soldiers, and now they would lose all the more as they battled a force of dead men.

A threat that none of them truly understood. Even with seeing it first hand, Ned found it difficult to truly comprehend that the White Walkers were real. That their army was real.

And that his son was leading this army on behalf of the nephew he had raised as a son.

When Lyanna collapsed in the Small Council chamber Ned understood fully the reason why. He very nearly collapsed himself at the thought of Jon, his son, being one of those…things. His dreams had been filled with images of the dead these last two nights, always ending with seeing Jon among them before he ran him through.

“Father?” Ned heard Robb call from behind him as he approached with Margaery by his side. As he turned fully to them both, his son cleared his throat. “All is ready, father,”

There was a time when Ned wished to never see off any of his children to war. Now he had done so multiple times, and rode with them as well into battle. And now he would do so again, but this time would hopefully be the last.

Gods, he prayed this would be the last in his lifetime.

“Then let us not keep your uncle waiting,” Ned told his son as he joined Robb and Margaery as they were escorted to the Dragonpit.

The whole of House Targaryen, Stark, and Tyrell waited within for them. Others did as well, such as Jon Connington and the men of the Kingsguard. However Ned’s attention laid sorely upon his own family, who waited eagerly for him. His Queen ran to him first, having to turn her belly to the side as she held him as close to herself as she possibly could. Ned could feel Catelyn cry into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed the top of her head.

The words Ned wished to say to reassure Catelyn died on his tongue as he tried to speak. Instead he simply took her face into his hands and captured her lips with his own. He poured every emotion he could into it as he tried to portray all he wished to say in this sole action. His queen reciprocated just as vigorously, holding him close for a whole minute before they broke apart.

“I love you, my King,” Catelyn spoke through her tears.

“And I love you, my queen. More so than I could ever express,” Ned said before once more kissing Catelyn on the top of her head before falling to a knee to kiss her swollen belly. “You’ll be home soon, little pup. I promise,”

Catelyn could not help but chuckle. “She, and I, will hold you to that.”

“She?”

“It shall be a girl again. I know it,”

Ned smiled. “I have learned to never question you on these matter,” Taking her hand into his own, Ned walked over to his children. 

Sansa hugged him just as tightly as Catelyn had as she begged, “Please come home safe, father,”

Ned felt his own eyes begin to water as he cradled her head as he used to do when Sansa was but a girl. “I will try my best, dearest girl.” Moving back Ned wiped away Sansa’s tears before continuing to say. “Look after your sister and brother for me.”

Sansa nodded his head, “I will, father. They will be safe in Dorne with Trystane and I.” Youthful that he was, the new Prince of Dorne would be taking Sansa to his new realm while Oberyn led its armies. Even with this war, the future had to be planned for.

Smiling down at her Ned told her, “That’s my girl.”

Bran and Rickon both hugged Ned as he moved to speak with them. Rickon was now tall enough to be even with Neds hip, as Bran near came up to his chest. Ned knew that if any words fell from his tongue they would come out in a mess. Kneeling instead he grabbed both his boys heads and pulled them into his chest.

Rickon cried more than Bran did, still but a boy Ned could not fault him for that.

“Are you afraid, father?” Bran asked. Not wanting to lie, Ned could not stop himself from nodding. “You told me once that was the only time a man can be brave,” Ned smiled again. It seemed a whole lifetime had passed since he had told Bran that when he was but a boy.

Ned knew the reason for the question. He did not truly understand Bran’s gift, he doubted he ever would, but he was wise enough to know when someone was telling him to not be afraid. It coming from his son was something he never thought to expect, but it was oddly comforting.

“Please come back, poppa,” Rickon said between sniffles.

Shutting his eyes for a moment Ned steeled himself before telling his youngest child, “I will, my boy. I swear,” He kissed the boy's auburn locks before standing up right and nearly falling backwards as Arya leapt into his arms.

Ned knew not to expect any words of begging promises from him of his return, that was not her way. Instead he gripped her tight as he could before he felt her loosen her own hug on him. Looking at her as she moved away Ned could see his fierce girl holding back her tears.

 

“I want to fight with you,” she murmured.

“Someday you will, my wild wolf.” It was all he could say, the rest seeming uncertain in the moment. Only to give her a look to try and convey that they would see one another again. Arya nodded, understanding what Ned was trying to say.

Placing her down Ned turned to find Lyanna approaching. She was dressed in a woolen dress, a classic style of the North but with a massive three-headed dragon emblazoned upon the skirt. “Ready, brother?”

A deep breath left him as Ned looked over to where Rhaegal sat. “As anyone can be, I suppose. You faired well, so that must say something,”

“Don’t think so too quickly, Ned. You are not yet in the clouds,” Lyanna told him.

Ned chuckled. “How was it when you first flew on dragonback?”

“Terrifying.” She told him. “And incredible,”

Looking over to the dragon again, Ned felt a great chill travel down his spine. “I’ll find that out soon enough myself,” Turning back to Lyanna, he found her rushing him and throwing her arms around him. Ned could not help but smile. Arya is just like her, he thought to himself as he returned the embrace.

“Watch after Rhaegar and Aegon for me,” Lyanna whispered to him. 

“You need not even tell me so. You know that I will,” Ned answered.

“Yes, I do,” Moving back Lyanna looked up at her brother. “You come back as well. I have lost too many of my family, I cannot lose you too,”

Ned smiled. “You shall see me again before you know it,”

It took a long moment before Lyanna let go of Ned - it reminded him so much of the little girl who clung to him the day he was sent to be fostered in the Eyrie. Little sisters will always remains so, it seems, Ned thought as he turned and walked towards Rhaegar and Jon.

His son and goodbrother stood beside Rhaegal as the dragon enjoyed feeding on a pair of freshly killed goats. From the corner of his eyes Ned could see Robb kissing Margaery and giving his own goodbyes to their family. Looking back to Rhaegar Ned could not but think, In another life, I wish our sons did not have to battle with our children against this evil.

Both the King and his Hand turned to face him at the same time. “Ready, Ned?” Rhaegar asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Ned answered as Robb moved to stand beside him.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robb said, his tone showing how he was as nervous Ned was for this.

“It’ll be easier once you get in the clouds,” Jon tells them, incapable of stifling his amusement.

“Your mother said the same a moment ago,” Ned said before his second son approached and embraced both him and Robb.

“Dany and I will be right behind you. We’ll save our home together,” Jon told them both of them whilst they stayed embraced.

“I never doubted it, brother,” Robb told Jon.

As they parted Ned told Jon, “Best hurry. Lest we end this war efore you and the Queen ever take flight,” They all chucked at the jape.

Turning with Robb they followed Rhaegar as he spoke to Rhaegal in the Valyrian tongue. The great green dragon looked back at the pair of Stark men and snorted at them before finishing his meal. Robb climbed up first and Ned quickly followed.

Rhaegal’s back spines were easy enough to take hold of, but Ned would have much preferred a actual saddle like Rhaegar was now sitting in. Ned could hear his goodbrother once more speak in valyrian and Ned clutched tight to Rhaegal’s back as he stood.

A roar left Rhaegal as he beat his wings once, then twice, and then finally began to take off. Ned shut his eyes tight as they cleared the Dragonpit and the sounds of accompanying roars called from below. Rhaegal called back with one of his own before they turned northward.

With luck, and the gods blessings, Ned hoped they would make it in time.

 


 

Robb Stark

 

I will never get used to this , Robb thought as he stayed clutched to Rhaegal’s spines. His brother had laughed at him on their flight back from Essos to the North for how he stayed in place the entire time on Saragon’s back. His father was left in a similar state beside him, making his uncle Rhaegar chuckle each time he looked back at them.

For a day and a half they flew, only stopping once near Moat Cailin so as to let Rhaegal rest his tired limbs. The retinue of soldiers Ned and Robb had stationed at the ancient fortress gave them quite the welcome after Rhaegal landed. Hot food and good drinks were brought to them as chambers were prepared.

Robb walked on wobbly feet for a time before he was able to get his bearings back. His father was left in a similar state, which was not surprising. Riding on dragonback was difficult to become accustomed to.

“We should fly out at first light,” Rhaegar suggested as they sat around one of the many fires lit in Moat Cailins ruined yard. “We must reach Winterfell within sundown tomorrow.”

“We are of the same mind, goodbrother. I sent word to my bannerman still in the North to converge on Winterfell,” Ned told Rhaegar. 

Rhaegar smirked at his good-brother. “They will need their King to lead them to victory. As well as their crown prince.”

Crown Prince of Winterfell. It had been odd when Robb had first received word of such when Robert had decreed the North once more independent. But with Jons own official decree, it made it set in stone. Robb had not expected that, never thought he would once more wear a crown as Jon said he had in his last life. But it seemed that despite not wishing for it, it was his fate.

“I sent several riders into the Riverlands before we departed. They shall be rallying our men there and marshaling them north,” Robb told his father and uncle. “They should reach here within the next few days,”

His father smiled wide as he placed his hand on Robb’s shoulder. “A smart move, son. We will have to institute a commander here to lead our forces north once they arrive wholly,”

“With your permission, father, I would remain here to be that commander,” Robb suggested. 

“Are you certain of this, Robb?” Rhaegar asked him, his arms crossing over his chest. “Ned and I will need your aid at Winterfell,”

“And you shall have it, uncle. Along with all the swords we can gather from the Riverlands,” Robb said. “It will not take us long to march once we are all gathered here in the Moat,”

Ned and Rhaegar looked to one another for a moment. “It would aid in rallying the men. And we will need all we can get.” Rhaegar spoke as he looked back at Robb. “I see no fault in this,”

“I am of the same mind, it is a well thought idea, son.” Ned said before standing. “Now, we should get as much rest as we can. The next days are crucial,”

Robb simply nodded as his father patted his shoulder once more before walking towards the Gatehouse tower. His uncle Rhaegar took his leave not long after as he went to rest in the Children's tower. Robbs body desired rest, but he could not will his mind to allow him the release.

His thoughts were with Jon. Not his Kingly brother who remained south with the rest of their family, but the one who was leading the army of the Dead. He wished to know a way to help him, to save him from the fate laid upon him. For even in the altered state he was in now, Robb could ever imagine fighting his brother.

Old Gods help me if we meet on the field, Robb thought. He knew he would never be able to strike a killing blow upon Jon.

It was long past the hour of the Wolf when sleep finally found Robb as he lay covered in his furs within the Gatehouse tower. The lantern had long since burned out as he perused a raven he would send Margaery at first light, when the first of the many long columns reached Moat Cailin that would fight for the living.

Dearest wife,

I hope the capital treats you well, as does my mother. Forgive her if she is ever overbearing, I am her eldest child.

We have only been married a short while, but I find my bed lonely without you. I love you, and when we win this war and peace is at hand, I hope to never find you elsewhere but my side.

Robb

Damn it all, he figured, smiling. Even with his desire to change the past and marry for a proper alliance, he found love with the most beautiful woman in the world. Both of great political standing and the warmth of his heart. 

Closing his eyes, smiling at the thought of he and Margaery cuddled together in his bed at Winterfell, but the nature of destiny pulled him into darker ones. 

In both fates, one of the monarchs had become a walker - Daenerys in Jon’s lifetime and Jon in Dany’s. As if preordained… but was it? Was this fate? Was it decreed by the gods that Jon had to destroy himself as he did the Dany he first loved? That Dany kill the original holder of her heart? It likely would be, unfair that it was.

But even in his sleep he could not help but try and think of a way to try and save his fallen brother.

He could think of nothing.

 


 

The Ice King

 

Last Hearth, the northernmost keep before the New Gift. Aptly named, too.

Until now at least. Combing through the rubble, the Ice King picked up a brick and chuckled. There were no further hearths left lit in the entire keep. Not the destroyed parts or the ones left standing.

All Highest…

He turned to regard one of his subordinates. ‘Yes? What is it?’ 

There were no living within the walls. They all left.

A shrug. Made sense, he supposed. ‘My counterpart isn’t keen on giving me any reinforcements. Smart of him, but it won’t stop him.’ He hefted his ice lance and laid it over his shoulder. An almost human gesture that even the force of black energy coursing through his icy flesh couldn’t extinguish. ‘Find the gravesites and crypts. You can raise the skeletons there to add to the ranks.’

At once, all Highest. It felt good, commanding these men. Commanding the vast hordes of snarling, mindless corpses that shambled along. No grousing, no treason - no threatening to do harm to others from mindless prejudice. When he found his love, his Daenerys, none of them would ever question her judgment again. 

“Your love for her still blinds you, I see.”

Tensing, the demon who feared nothing felt the malevolence fill him as he looked up. Seeing the head of the Ice Dragon stick out of the great fog that surrounded him. “Forgive me, master. I merely…”

“Yes, yes, I know.” The dragon’s eyes radiated contempt, blue skin rippling in the low light. “To have her after being denied her in your past - preventing the man that killed his own version of Daenerys from threatening this one. You humans are so predictable.”

“I am not human anymore.” He had given that up a long time ago. “I am the storm, the blizzard. Death itself.”

Facial features rather developed, unlike his former living mount, the dragon cast him a wry expression. “Spare me, one who was Jon Snow.” He chuckled. “You are but an instrument, a tool that I gave the poor Children of the Forest the magic to create. Three separate men were bound before you, and if I have to I will find a thousand more lined up to take your place if you fail me.”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “We had a deal. You give me Daenerys as my Queen and companion, and I will lead you and your armies to victory.”

“Be careful, Jon Snow, as soon as I made your kind I can destroy it… your only luck is that only you can grant me the energy to the heart tree - and that it will amuse me greatly to see the Starks and Targaryens die at the hands of one of their own.”

“They will serve us as white walkers, oh great and terrible one.”

“Even better. Dragons who are slaves.” Lost in his own chuckles, the Ice Dragon did not notice the Ice King slip away. Kicking through the rubble of Last Hearth, of which the dragon had destroyed in his rage over not finding any living being within. He had an insatiable bloodlust, one which spelled doom for all the living that the Ice King had spared.

What use was compassion to a living god? What use was mercy to a being all powerful?

Jon…

He stopped in his tracks, knowing that voice. 

Jon… my love. What has happened to you?

“Go away. Leave me in peace.”

You are a slave to him, my love. A dragon is no slave…

Shutting his monstrous eyes, Jon hoped to end the torment of hearing his wife speak to him. Or was this not Daenerys? Rather the Daenerys of the interloper’s time, communicating through the aether. “I did what I must… for the power to protect us from the monsters of humanity.”

Losing your own humanity in the process. Ever loving, even now, after everything. My poor King…

“Enough!” he snarled. “You let your weak, pathetic fool kill you!”

I asked him to do so, begged him… whereas you willingly gave up your soul for the power. The sob was audible. Make the right choice, Jon.

“That is not my name!”

Please, make the right choice…

As her voice disappeared, fading back into the aether, Jon finally snapped out of his anger. Left with despondency. “Dany! Don’t leave!” But it was too late… she was gone.

He clenched his fists. Soon he would have her back. His Dany.

Winterfell was to the south, and to the south they would all go.

 


 

Bran Stark

 

He could see them. He could see them all as they marched south, to his home and his family. The army was larger than any Bran had ever read about or could ever imagine. They reduced Last Hearth to a smoldering ruin in less than half a day before they began to move further south, following the massive dragon that had destroyed the Wall.

A dragon. Larger than any of Jon or Dany’s. Larger than Balerion the Black Dread. Bran saw them, but had never seen anything like this monster. Not a Valyrian dragon, but something else entirely.

Bran's flock did well to stay out of the dragon's flight. His skills on the wing had improved significantly since he awakened to his gifts, and with all he can he would use this gift to help his family. 

The shifting of the wind forced Bran to turn his flock east as the army continued south. As he does he see’s how the undead have begun to split their force. No doubt this splinter group was meant to attack Karhold, as well as the other keeps in the North's eastern half.

While the main force scoured all the others from the land. Including Winterfell.

Another great wind-shift forced Bran to dive this time. And as he did he watched a great shadow fall over his avian form. His blood ran cold as the great jaws of the dragon surrounded him and he cut his connection to his flock.

The color came back to Bran's eyes as he shot up from where he laid beside the weirwood tree. Shaking his head, he couldn’t shake the last image of the dragon's massive maw closing in around him.

He knew it was me, Bran thought to himself as he stood on shaky legs. How did he know it was me?

Looking back to the heart tree, Bran placed his hand upon its trunk as he focused his mind. He needed to see more, know more in order to be of use. Another shadow flew over him, forcing Bran to jump and fall into the snow. Thinking the worst he looked to the skies, anticipating seeing the massive blue dragon looking down at him.

Instead Bran felt the weight that weighed on his shoulders lift as he saw his uncle Rhaegar's dragon circle above him. Feeling the strength in his legs return, Bran rose to his feet  as he began to race towards the keep’s courtyard.

Reaching the yard, Bran felt a smile split his face as  he watched his father descend from the back of the green dragon, followed swiftly by his uncle.

“Father!” Bran called as he ran towards him, thinking not of anything apart from embracing him.

“My son!” Ned called back as he knelt down and hoisted his son into his arms. “I have missed you greatly, my boy,”

“I missed you too, father,” Bran told him, unable to hold in his emotions as his father hugged him tight. “They…they are coming…”

“I know. They will not take our home,” Bran felt his father kiss the top of his head before placing him back down on the ground. All at once the other occupants of the keep fell to their knees as Ned looked over them.

“Hail King Eddard!” One of Winterfell's men-at-arms yelled from where he kneeled down.

“Stand, all of you,” Ned yelled, and all those knelt did as their King commanded. “A great evil comes for us all, but we shall not flee! They shall find the men and women of the north ready to meet them with blade and axe!”

“Ready the defenses of Winterfell, you men!” Rhaegar commanded those who stood in the courtyard. “Those upon the walls, meet me in the northern field. We have much work to do to prepare for this battle,” 

Winterfell became a chaotic bustle as the men and women ran round to help prepare as best they could. Bran watched it all, feeling the fear he had mere moments ago whilst flying be replaced with hope. Hope that the undead would be felled. Hope that his family would be well when all was said and done.

Hope that this time, the Long Night would be stopped. Once and for all.

Notes:

Preview - The final battle for Westeros begins

Chapter 81: The Night

Summary:

The battle for the Dawn begins

Notes:

BlackLight - We are close to the end of this fic. Buckle up for the last stretch

Longclaw - Everyone, my new time travel fix it story co-written with GreedofRage is published. It's called Shielding their Realms Forever. Be sure to check it out!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jon Targaryen

 

“He is close, cousin. We have not much time till the battle approaches.”

“Bran…” He shifted in his seat, fear chilling his insides until nothing remained of the warmth of the dragonsblood. “Is there any remnant of the man that I was inside of him?”

While the Three-Eyed Raven of his time mirrored the depths of wisdom dating millennia in the past, Bran here hadn’t lost his humanity. There still remained that spark of emotion within him, and that emotion was apprehension. Worry for his brother in all but blood. “He is still you. He has your fear, your pain, your zealousness and steadfastness. Such makes him deadly.”

Jon leaned back, thankful Arya wasn’t there with one of her sarcastic quips. Or Ygritte, or Alysanne for that matter. Small comfort. “He loves Dany as well.” Not a question.

Bran nodded. “She is his love from their shared past, while you…”

“Am an interloper,” Jon finished, sighing with deep agony. The memories still paining him. “They were lovers, spouses, while I lost my Daenerys to the whims of that monster.” Only days separated Winterfell from that fateful meeting of forces. Before the living were broken and greatly outnumbered. They would still be outnumbered, but not by much with the battered but unbroken forces of a united Westeros. And yet he was still nervous, for the monster was now someone far more monstrous. Someone who could change the entire course of the fighting. 

“You can speak with her.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Daenerys, your Daenerys.” Bran leaned forward. “The magic is swirling, Aegon. Go to the godswood and try to make a connection with her. Mayhaps the answers you seek will be with her.” 

His warm breath fogged in front of him, Jon for once marveling at the sight he had grown used to since boyhood. It truly seemed magical, especially here. This had been the place he married Dany in his past, the place of so many memories with his siblings, with his uncle - with his parents now they had reunited. Taking in the hauntingly beautiful trees and bushes now covered in a small dusting of snow, Jon knelt by the heart tree, facing the carved face in the wood. Bran the Builder carved it himself according to the legends, and now his descendent waited at the foot of the tree, seeking the same guidance of the old gods as he did once.

Sighing, Jon looked at the face in silence. The old gods were clear, despising dishonesty. Despising gimmicks or vain pleadings of any sort. He could only speak the truth here, and give out his feelings candidly. No matter how emotionally fragile he was. But… was he not happy? Was he not healed from his past? Clearing his throat, Jon would soon find out, digging out that which he had buried long ago.

“Daenerys?” he murmured, biting his lip at how ridiculous it was… “I hope you can hear me. Just…” A sigh left him. “I feel lost. The clash is coming, against… myself, in truth and I can’t help but…” The wind shook some of the branches, sounding much like a wailing. Jon looked behind him but saw nothing but rustling pine bushes. He shuddered. “I’m doubtful that you can even hear me…”

“You always were the skeptic among us.” He turned again to see Daenerys standing there, dressed in her white coat the color of fresh snow. Smiling, looking radiant. “Which was always odd, since you were the one that insisted I believe the impossible.”

He groaned as he rose. “Forgiveness, Dany. I just… needed some answers.”

She cocked her head. “And you sought me out?”

“No, your past form from my lifetime…”

“Aye, me.”

“No, but…” He trailed off, cocking his head back at her. Daenerys looked… different. As if slightly older, wearing a style she hadn’t worn before except in his memories. “Wait?” This was an odd feeling.

Chuckling, Daenerys approached him, wrapping her arms about his waist. “You look handsome in our house colors, but nothing could compare to the grey cloak you wore at our wedding here, nor the black cloak with a red dragon I placed over you in our cloaking.”

Jon gasped. “Dany…” It was his Dany, the one he had first fallen for. They hugged close, they kissed, it felt warm and welcoming. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.” It seemed like a lifetime since he last spoke with her in his dreams, and even longer since… “Don’t cry, my love.”

“I cannot help it, seeing you…”

She cupped his cheek. “Now is not the time for those words, my sweet.” Again did Dany kiss him, but when they pulled back, her lips were pursed pensively. “You seek answers of yourself. Of the Ice King.”

He nodded. “I know not how to fight him - to fight myself.”

“He is lost, Jon, as you once were. Not irreversibly consumed by the dark magic…” 

Jon shook his head. “I cannot take that risk…”

Her expression was insistent, pleading and desperate. “No, Jon. You must listen to me.” Dany’s hands gripped his arm tightly, almost hurting as they digged in through his cloak. “It is the monster. The great beast, that controls him. That controls all through its magic.”

“What are you speaking of…”

“We all thought it was the Night King, but we were wrong. He was but a servant, working for the one who seeks death and cold. It is he who must be destroyed - ignore yourself. Ignore the Ice King and instead strike the monster where he is weakest…”

Bwarm! Bwarm!

The hornblows rocked Jon, and when he looked back from where they resounded from - Daenerys was gone. “The great beast…?”

Bwarm! Bwarm!

Footsteps crunched in the snow, revealing Robb, his muna, and… Daenerys. His wife, Daenerys. “Jon,” she called out, hugging him. “I think it’s time.” Her brows furrowed in a determined steel.

He nodded. “I think so too.”

Bwarm! Bwarm!

“Three sets of hornblows,” Robb mused. “The Dead approach.”

“Get to the dragons, my son,” Lyanna insisted. “Your uncle and I will ensure the army forms up properly.”  

Jon shook Robb’s hand, while he hugged his muna. “Stay safe.” He whistled for Ghost, who bounded towards them. A vest of armor surrounded his flesh, as did for all the direwolves. “I’ll have Ghost stick by your side just in case.”

She smirked at him, patting her sheathed sword. “I shall, but you as well.” Lyanna thumped his shoulder. “If you fall, I’ll find you in the seven hells and kill you all over again.”

“A fate worse than death.” He kissed his mother on the cheek and hurried off. Daenerys right beside him. Jon reached to grab her hand, squeezing.

When she squeezed back, he felt nothing but calm in his heart.

 


 

Lyanna Stark Targaryen

 

“Stay safe this time.” She hit his armored chest, getting her point across. “If you fall a second time so help me by the old gods I will…”

“Journey to the Seven Hells and kill me all over again, I am aware.” Rhaegar smiled, exuding confidence, but she could see the cold determination in his violet eyes. He was focused, and not reckless or brash. “You stay safe as well.”

She just grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him with all she had. A final display of what he would be fighting for before her Prince climbed upon Rhaegal and ascended into the cloudy sky above.

Knowing Rhaegar was waiting on a ridge several miles away with her son and the other dragons and riders didn’t stop Princess Lyanna’s eyes from flickering to the sky. Imagining the dragons were there. 

“They’ll appear when they’re fully committed,” Arthur said from behind her.

“I know,” Lyanna replied. They took their place among the massive force - the northern part of the greatest army ever assembled of the living. Behind a massive trench and wall of staves tipped with dragonglass, they stood between it and the walls of Winterfell, the Northern force guarding the entrance to the Godswood while the Unsullied and Reachmen held the road to the gatehouse. Ghost trotting beside her, she stood next to her brother, dressed in what kingly finery was worthy of a King of Winter. “Ready?”

He shrugged. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Me too.”

And in an instant the temperature dropped.

Lyanna was born of the North. For all but the span of a year and a half she had dwelled within it, surviving chilly summers and icy winters. Slogged through snow, ice, and freezing rain. Cold didn’t faze her, but this… This was no mere cold. This was the feel of death itself, and it left not a sliver of warmth in her bones. If even she could be chilled, let alone the forces of the Reach, Dorne, and Unsullied. Gods help them.

“Can’t see anythin’ in this fuckin’ storm!” muttered Dacey, readying her mace next to her.

“Be careful what you wish for, my Lady,” Arthur replied, both swords stabbed into the snow in front of him. Better that than having them stick in the scabbard. 

“Shut it.” Lyanna smirked. The rumor was that the two of them were sleeping together. She had all the proof she needed right here.

It got colder though, and her teeth started to chatter - Lyanna hoped it was just nerves, and that she wouldn’t have to face her fellow northmen after being discomforted by cold of all things. “How will we know they’re close?” she murmured to her brother.

The King in the North shrugged, Lyanna finding him deeper in his brooding than she’d ever seen him. “You’ll feel close to death, and wishing for it.” Cryptic. Pithy and cryptic. “Plus the eyes. The blue will shine through the storm.”

That was at least more specific. “How blue?”

Arthur’s words would ring true in that moment as in almost a single second, the swirling grey-black vortex ahead simply erupted in a mass of twinkling blue pricks. Tiny orbs of light, always in pairs. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. What had to be over a hundred thousand gathered in the darkness ahead.

For men that had fought in a dozen battles, most in the war of the Targaryen Restoration but many from as far back as Robert’s Rebellion as well, warfare was a close companion. Death was a close companion. But this sight shook even the most soulless of warriors.

Lyanna had been taken in the warm embrace of death, but in this she faced something utterly different. “My gods.” She shivered, the sight of a hundred thousand soulless eyes hitting into her soul.

A man tried to run, then another. “Don’t you fucking dare!” Benjen grabbed them both and hurled them back into place.

Assembled in a long, three-layered line that stretched near three miles in length around Winterfell, Jon had formed the strategy for the entire battle to come. And it was a simple one - absorb the attacks of the dead and simply hold them back until he and Daenerys could kill the Ice King. Each of the two rear lines would serve to reserve the other, while the heavy knights and Dothraki screamers would act as the last line counterstrike force just in case there was a penetration. 

A simple strategy, but passive. Now that the innumerable horde of blue-eyed corpses were growing in view, Lyanna near faltered. She trembled, fear stabbing its icy blades into her heart. How could they stand against this? How?

Suddenly a warm tongue ran up a sliver of exposed skin between her wrist and coat. It was Ghost, red eyes gazing up at her. Not her son, but her son’s wolf was an extension of him, and it filled Lyanna with a confidence she desperately needed. Clenching her fist, Lyanna marshaled her wolf-like spirit, “Shield Wall!” The words howled from her, and like contagious humors they spread across the entire line. The Northmen and Free Folk raised their simple square shields, three lines deep. The third line leveled long pikes that jutted between the shields, while Lyanna’s line and the one behind it held their swords at the ready. Each of them sheathed in dragonglass.

Gritting her teeth, Lyanna met her brother’s gaze. “Much worse than Old Nan’s stories,” she found herself saying.

Ned blinked, then a rare grin spread on his face. “You always used to crawl under the covers with me. Want a blanket?”

“Not a bad idea,” Lyanna replied, thinking on it. “Could use the warmth.” Suddenly both of them were laughing, a cackling guffaw used in times of great stress. Lyanna fixed it with a howl, banging her chest with her swordarm. On the other side, Arthur picked it up. Then Dacey, then Benjen, then Robb, then Jory…

Soon the entire army was howling and cheering. First the Northmen and Free Folk before even the Andal components shouted. Those of Essos, the Dothraki wailed their war cries, the Golden Company sang a paean, and the Unsullied stomped their feet. All in defiance of the monsters that were hurling themselves at the lines of the living.

Lyanna grinned wolfishly as they reached the killing field. Behind, the archers, crossbowmen, and siege artillery opened up a fusillade of projectiles. Already the immense horde of corpses began to fall to the dragonglass darts. Blue eyes snuffed out forever. The cheering grew, especially as the mass reached the obstacles. “Let them come!” shouted Lyanna. “They may be death, but we’ve all faced death before and lived to tell the fucking tale!” 

Another cheer, just as the first globs of snarling humanoid corpses - some fresh, some rotting, and some just skeletons - emerging from the trenches and stakes to race at them. “Brace yourselves!” Ned roared, just as they crashed…

Feet dug into the ground, Lyanna was still nearly thrown back if not for the thick line of stalwart northmen behind her. Their bulk held her steady, and she managed to hold firm as the horde started pushing. The dead, they weren’t completely mindless beasts with but teeth and claw. Some gripped swords and others spears, hacking and stabbing away at the shield wall. Men fell all around, victims to blows to the head or neck or chest. Armor helped, but only just.

“Take them down!” Arthur cried, stabbing Dawn forward. The ancient steel was like a knife through butter, scything through two wights at a time. Lyanna stabbed her own sword through the gap in her shield. The snarling skeleton in front simply snuffed out. Collapsing into a pile of loose bones. Another took its place, which she stabbed again. Then another, her hand squeezing the hold on her shield while Ned dispatched it for her.

Wheezing out of a jawless maw, a legless wight - likely felled by one of the boulders loosed by the catapults - wedged itself under Lyanna’s shield and tried to swipe at her legs. Ghost growled and clamped his jaws on the monster’s neck, ripping off the head. A soldier behind her stabbed his spear into the still writhing body.

“Hold the line! Hold the line!” Even with Ned’s demands, their wall was being steadily pushed back. Wights broke through in places. Swords and spears and Dacey’s mace managed to patch the lines left by their own dead, but they were being whittled down slowly but surely.

Until the entire blizzard ahead of them disappeared in a torrent of flame. Tongues of fire emerging from the blackened sky, heralding not death but salvation.

It was Aegon, and Daenerys… and Rhaegar. “Fire and Blood!” she screamed, breaking her shield to swing at a corpse, only to reform it again.

“Fire and blood!”

Above shot a green dragon, another shot of flame incinerating the mass of corpses ahead of the line. Lyanna gazed up with love, even as she continued the dance of killing with her blade, the shield wall inexorably marching forward to reclaim the ground it lost.

 


 

Alysanne Targaryen

 

Carnage. That was the best word Alysanne could use to describe the battle below. Ragnar’s flames only added to it as the fleshless bodies of their enemy were reduced to cinders - but no matter how many she and her loyal dragon fell, they simply continued to come. 

Are they without number? Alysanne shut her eyes to the gust of biting ice assailing her face as she and Ragnar turned round to take another pass at the waves of undead. Azure flame spewed from Ragnar's jaws, incinerating another line of dead men a hundred feet in front of the shield wall.

Mayhaps they are, muna, but it shall matter little. Our fires shall rid us of them all, Ragnar told her. He had grown far more confident since being reunited with his brothers and sisters that also flew through the air. A confidence that filled her with resolve as well. Baring her teeth, she again peeled down, squinting through the swirling vortex of ice and snow.

Far from the mindless horde of insect-like corpses hurling themselves at the shield wall, the dead were actually using tactics. The Ice King - Jon in actuality, which never stopped making her both enraged and filled with sorrow - had sent his drones in to test the weak points in the defenses. Those weak places found hundreds of wild beasts alongside one or two giants. They advanced in a wedge and broke through the shield wall in a dozen places, drawing in the living giants and the cavalry reserve to charge in and try and stem the tide. 

One part was doing horribly and being forced back. Not today.

With a mighty roar Alysanne and Ragnar dived closer to the ground, allowing the azure dragon to swipe at their foes with his mighty tail. One of the giant wights threw a punch that landed upon Ragnar’s shoulder, making him howl and Alysanne wincing through the pain in their bond - but a gout of flame incinerated its face. A line of crumpled corpses formed on the ground as a gap opened in the undead lines, but was quickly filled within the next breath. More flames burst from Ragnar's maw, cutting off a vast number of the dead from advancing as the royal forces advanced to regain ground.

Watching the battle below still, Alysanne felt her blood suddenly run cold as the flames parted. A single figure led the way through them. From the height they flew Alysanne could not make out this foe, but could feel in her bones that this one of the fabled White Walkers.

When Aegon had told them all of this threat to the realm, she could not help but think to Aerys. In his last days when they were still together he spoke of things that boggle the mind and seemed nothing more than fables from children's stories.

But here she was, riding a dragon into battle like her ancestors did for generations. Thinking of that made her nephew's words seem less insane. 

Ragnar drifted low to the ground again as they raced towards this monster of ice. The beats of his wings shattered the corpse monsters as well as his tail had moments ago. Another roar sounded behind them and Alysanne looked to see Aegon swoop down, Sarogan’s bright orange breath destroying even more undead.

A smirk formed on Alysannes face before dread filled her. She could see the monster now, his arm leveling his weapon at them. She had watched the Unsullied drill enough to know what was coming, and with a split second to do so she commanded Ragnar to bank to their right. 

It saved both of them.

A spear of ice shot through where they had been but a moment ago, flying past with an inhuman speed. Glaring at the thing, Alysanne could just barely make out how the monster was smiling up at them. As though in its twisted form a kind of joy sprouted from within it at watching her and Ragnar flee from its attack.

Alysanne’s ire rose. And so did Ragnar’s.

Pathetic creature! Alysanne heard Ragnar roar. Think not to attack a dragon and not be burned in turn! 

Ragnar became the wind of a hurricane as he swooped round and down at the White Walker. His tail swung forward first, dispersing the  dead for him to land as a torrent of blue flame came from his maw again. A flaming circle burned as Ragar swooped down, his mouth wide as he lunged at the monster. It dodged the first, and the second bite, but the third at last encircled the Walker.

Ragnar’s teeth bit deep into the monster's icy flesh, cracking it as it tried to rest itself away. Alysanne thought for a moment Ragnar would simply bite through the Walker and then fly away, instead her child surprised her. Once more his azure flames spewed from his mouth, with the Walker still held tight between his massive fangs.

With satisfaction Alysanne watched the Walkers armor be the first thing to burn. Then it’s withered hair. Then it’s frozen flesh. And then finally she watched it crumple into shards of ice.

All around the battlefield a great many of the risen dead fell as the Walker died. Ragnar bellowed out a roar of triumph before flapping his wings again and taking himself and his muna back into the sky.

They rose and fell into a line with Rhaegar and Jon as they each burned a long line across the field as the storm seemed to rage more around and above them. Watching the field below Alysanne watched the combined dragonfire begin to die out as the storm grew more intense.

A great hulking shadow began to loom over as the storm grew blinding for Alysanne. Instinctually she looked above herself and felt her blood chill at the sight.

A dragon, larger than any ever recorded flew above them. Its skin was the same blue as Ragnar’s, but it shimmered even in the low light as if made of ice. With a shriek, ice-cold fire shot from its maw and incinerated one of the Winterfell towers, arcing over the keep. While Sarogon could match Winterfell’s breadth in his wingspan, this monster was clearly over three times that size, mayhaps even four. And its eyes were squared upon the three of them as it began to drift down towards them.

“Targaryens!” Gods, was it speaking?! “The time has come for the icy claws of death to destroy you.”

 


 

The Ice King

 

With a snap of its jaws, the Ice Dragon sounded a bellowing crack over the whole of the battlefield louder than even the howling storm itself. The dark green dragon swerved out of the way, screeching with fire at his attacker. 

“Pathetic insect!” boomed the dragon. Through the air streaked a gust of blue fire, bathing the Ice King in a residual cold that chilled even his frozen flesh. The Valyrian beast - made of fire - shrieked in pain as the cold fire assaulted its skin…

A flash above caught the Ice King’s attention. “ Bank left!” he commanded, and the dragon swerved just as a bath of flame engulfed his wing. He roared, a grey dragon swiping with its claws. It ripped part of the wing.

Rage burned in the Ice Dragon’s blue eyes. “You insignificant lizard!” Roaring, he beat his wings and gave chase. “You will pay for challenging your magnificent, conquering King!”

He was more confident than the Ice King at the moment, who gripped his spear as they gave chase to his failure counterpart. They have more dragons than I thought, the Ice King thought as he and the great Ice Dragon swooped down upon Jon Snow as he linked up with the blue dragon of Alysanne. A smile finally spread across his frozen face as he watched them all try to get out of their way, hearing through his superior senses his other self speak in his old mother tongue to his dragon.

“Adorable little drakes, these so-called ‘dragons’ are.” The Ice Dragon spoke over the roaring winds. “I look forward to raising them to become my own personal flock,”

The Ice King's eyes stayed fixed upon his other self as he remained on the wing. He desired to see him dead, to strike the killing blow as Olly had once to himself a lifetime ago. To take his woman back and have her take her rightful place beside him, where she always should have been.

As the monstrous, magnificent beast he had mounted jinked hard to the right to keep up with the fleeing Jon Snow, the Ice King's hands stayed gripped upon his great neck as he now swooped down, coming once again into view of both the army of the living and of Winterfell. The sight of the ancient keep would have made him feel a multitude of things once. But now only a single desire sprouted where his heart once was.

The desire to destroy it, and everyone within who stood in his way.

A deafening roar echoed across the battlefield as the Ice Dragon opened its massive maw. Flying lower to the ground, the Ice Dragon’s roar morphed into a jet of icy blue flames. The central lines of the living’s army were vaporized as the flame devoured them. Through the breach poured the dead.

Smiling now, the Ice King watched as half of the army began to retreat back to the fortress home of House Stark, while the other half found themselves on the end of a losing battle. With fire to their back and his soldiers to their front, all those warriors would soon find was death.

And as soon as he was done with his own business, the Ice King would welcome them gladly into his service.

“Tremble, mortals!” His master yelled as he turned on his wings and flew quickly towards Winterfell. “Death comes for you all!” The ancient walls in Winterfell neared quickly, and the Ice King expected to see them go up in flame. But his master seemed to have a different idea.

Keeping low to the ground, only at the last moment did the massive dragon move just slightly upward. His wings and body were high above the walls as they flew over, but his tail tore through the stone as though it were a lightning bolt. The North gate fell as well, blocking off any escape for those men who thought to find shelter within the walls of Winterfell.

The great keep became a perch as the Ice Dragon landed upon it, making it begin to crash in on itself. Another jet of cold blue shot out and bathed the courtyard of Winterfell, destroying all that it touched.

Watching the fire grow, the Ice King suddenly heard something approach them from behind. Looking back he spied the blue and green dragons sneaking up on them. Opening his mouth to warn his master, the words near choked him as he felt himself and the Ice Dragon lift off with the beat of the dragon's massive wings.

“Think me some fool, you wretches?! You shall pay for thinking such!” His master roared as he flew back down and began to chase the two much smaller dragons.

They enclosed on the pair of them quickly. The Ice Dragon opened its massive jaws as it swooped its neck towards the blue dragon, as a spear of ice began to form in the Ice King's hand. His gaze locked onto the other dragon, the dragon that had once been his own.

He shall be mine again after he dies, the Ice King told himself as the spear formed, and he reared back to throw it forward.

His throw was interrupted as the third dragon swooped down from above them - his mount tried to bank out of the way with a tilt of his wings, but he suddenly screeched. A deafening sound, causing him to stall out and expose himself to the new dragon of Jon Snow’s. It unfurled its wings and crashed into the Ice Dragon’s neck. The dragon was far smaller than its foe, but its weight forced the Ice Dragon’s neck down enough that it missed snapping up the blue dragon. 

Before being able to get his grip back, the Ice Dragon rolled in an attempt to force the smaller dragon to let go. It succeeded, but also forced the Ice King to be thrown off as well. Tumbling to the ground, he could not help but think that had he still been human he would have been crippled from the fall. Or at the very least just dead.

Rising to his feet, the Ice King locked eyes with the rider of the grey dragon. The one he came to kill.

Himself.

Still sat in the saddle of his dragon, Jon Snow quickly let go of his dragon's spines and slid down onto the snow. “Sarogon, soves!” he ordered, and the dragon obeyed as it flapped its wings and took to the sky.

The two Kings kept one another gaze as they waited for the other to make the first move. They looked over one another, watching for even the slightest twitch of the other's feet or hand. Either through growing annoyance, or possibly thinning similarly, they moved simultaneously. Jon drew his twin blades, as the Ice King formed two ice blades.

“So it begins, Jon,” he stated flatly.

Jon Snow cocked his head. “No, Jon. So it ends.”

Both roared as they ran, weapons ready. Both content with knowing only one would be standing when their duel was over.

 


 

Bran Stark

 

“I have to go,” Bran said to Theon as he felt the ground shake all around them. 

Sword in hand as he guarded the gate, Theon shook his head. “I’m not letting you out of here.” 

Closing his eyes, the middle son of House Stark took a steadying breath. Being unable to help in the battle due to his age, Bran was secluded down in the Winterfell crypts with the servants and those fleeing smallfolk that managed to escape the army of the Dead. Bran had been monitoring the battle for the majority of his time below ground - hand touching one of the roots of the great weirwood tree to connect him to the gods - but with the storm caused by the Ice Dragon he could no longer see through his flock of crows. The storm had killed or scattered them all. “You must, I’m useless here. Out there I can help.”

“That’s fucking suicide!” Theon yelled at the young Stark, his voice echoing through the dark halls of the crypts. Cursing, it was clear he would have been above in the thick of the fray if he had his way, but he had yet to recover from the fall of Castle Black. He had barely been able to stand upright for more than an hour when Ned returned to prepare Winterfell's defenses. So he was ordered to protect Bran with Ygritte, who stood only a few feet away with their babe held to her chest as she tried to lull her to be calm. “There’s a war going on out there against monsters, Bran! You can't help anymore than I could right now.” 

“You’re wrong, Theon,” Bran told him as the ceiling to the crypt shook again. Dust and dirt fell on them all as several of the people began to weep openly. The fear was thick in the air, and Bran felt just as they did. Despite all that, Bran felt compelled to go back above. He needed to. “If I don’t get to the godswood they are all going to die out there.”

Theon opened his mouth for a moment to retort before he shut it again. “I think we should listen to the lad,” Ygritte murmured, handing their babe to a nursemaid of House Umber and grabbing her bow - slinging her quiver over her shoulder. “Ye’ can git him there. I’ll cover ye from the door.”

“Ygritte…” Theon began to say as his wife gave him a look that spoke for her. Had it been any other circumstance the sight of this would have been comical, but now was no time for that. “Fine, damn it all to hells! Fine!” The Greyjoy heir snarled as he looked back to Bran. “What’s this plan of yours?”

“Get me to the Godswood first. I need to go to Heart Tree.” The archers both nodded to him before Theon spoke a few words to the other soldiers that were stationed in the crypts before grabbing his own bow and quiver, along with a sword. The pair both kissed their daughter’s forehead before they began to leave with Bran.

The courtyard was as chaotic as Bran had feared it would be. The great keep was crushed under the Ice Dragon's foot, and Bran could see the northern gate had been destroyed. The furious sounds of battle sounded from the fields as the dragon continued to roar and blast great gouts of icy fire all over Winterfell.

At a screech, Ygritte’s bow thwacked. A rotted corpse fell from the battlements, hitting the ground with a thud. “Go!” she shouted, nocking her bow.

The trio ran as fast as their legs would carry them from the courtyard and into what remnants of the old keep still stood. Ground shaking, a massive shadow covered the keel as the massive dragon took flight once more. A trio of dragon roars called out from above as they twisted round corners and did their best to avoid the debris that littered the entirety of Winterfell.

Bran felt his back grow hot, above the dragons of Rhaegar and Alysanne and Daenerys literally bathing the sky in flame. At last they found the doors to the Godswood. Theon threw himself at the great doors, trying desperately to open before a wooden beam began to fall. Thanks to the quick reflexes of his love, Theon avoided it, but the door was blocked from opening any further. “Damn it all!” Theon roared as he kicked at the massive piece of wood as he tried to push it out of their way.

With Bran and Ygritte’s help they managed to move the beam just a small bit, but not enough for the older two of the trio to be allowed access to the godswood of Winterfell. Thankfully though, Bran was not held back in the same way.

Before either could argue against it, Bran maneuvered through the sligh opening and made his way into the sacred wood. The great weirwood tree stood proud in the ancient wood, untouched and almost ethereally incapable of being harmed by the raging battle outside the keeps wall. 

Breathing rapidly, Brandon Stark ran with what strength he had left to the tree's base. As he finally reached it the young Starks knees gave out on him, leaving him knelt before the tree. Being forced to crawl the rest of the way, Bran at last placed his hand upon the trunk of the great Weirwood tree. 

Hello again, young Brandon, A familiar voice spoke to him through the tree. Shall we begin?

Notes:

Preview - The final battle begins

Chapter 82: All Men Must Die

Summary:

The final battle begins

Notes:

Longclaw: Question guys. Would y'all want to see the long on hiatus semi-prequel fic "The Last Targaryens" finished up after we wrap this story up?

BlackLight - We're in the final stages now, guys! This journey is just about finished :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robb Stark

Chaos. That was the only word to describe what the battle devolved into after the massive dragon let loose upon them. Larger than anything Jon or Daenerys had hatched, the monster’s blast likely killed more than the corpses it controlled had done in this battle. It was a miracle that Robb and his father did not get cooked by the icy flames, for they were but several yards to the right of those that had. But the resulting shockwave the attack caused sent Robb and all the men and women around him to the ground.

It was Ned that helped Robb back up to his feet, their family’s reforged blade quickly decapitating three wights with a single swing immediately afterwards. 

“We must fall back!” Ned roared over the chaos, his arm never ceasing in felling their undead foes. “Regroup and reform!”

“Yes, father!” Robb yelled back as he gave the orders to their banners - the surviving ones at least. Battered and with many bleeding from wounds, they still reeled from the shock of the dragon attack but listened as he spoke. Falling back several paces, their lines reformed, with a heavy shield wall forming in the front with dragonglass spears stretched out at their foes. The undead skewered themselves upon the dragonglass spears, those who managed past the phalanx were swiftly cut down by the men who hid beneath the shield line, only revealing themselves when a wight grew close to the line. Robb numbered among them, refusing to lead from the back of the line. 

“Hold the line!” Robb yelled to the men beside him. “Give not an inch more of northern ground!”

“For the North!”

“For Westeros!”

“For King Eddard!”

“For King Aegon!”

The men chanted as the assault on their line continued. Corpse after corpse fell, forming a wall of meat and bone that the oncoming dead had to leap over to get at them. We’ll add more to the pile, so let them come, Robb told himself as he cut down another walking corpse, running through with his blade before decapitating another. Three more charge him and are impaled by a trio of spears. He cannot help but smirk at the sight as they crumble to the ground.

Another roar sounded overhead, sending a chill through Robb as he looked to the sky. But the chill was replaced with warmth as he saw not the massive dragon that had broken their lines, but instead Rhaegal with fire erupting from his open maw.

Rhaegar and his great mount made two passes over the army of the dead, reducing hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them to ash before he flew away to the other side of the battlefield. But it was all Robb and the men needed and more.

A roar of approval rose from the men as they were allowed a moment to breathe as the flames halted any further advance from the dead. Robb took in large gouts of air with every breath, his muscles feeling the strain from the unending battle.

“We cannot hold for much longer,” Ned told Robb as he too breathed rapidly. “We will need to fall back soon, lest they wear us down more and more.”

“We can still hold, father.” Robb said in turn. “We still have to give Jon the time he and Daenerys need.”

“And we shall. But that does not change the reality of the battle before us,” Ned said before a commotion caught both of their gazes.

The dead. One by one they stepped forward and fell upon the flames. They burned together, but as they piled upon one another the flames began to slowly die. 

They had minutes at most.

“Fall back!” Ned ordered the army. “Back to Winterfell!” Quickly but fluently, the army moved back to the dug trench before the walls of the keep. Stakes were put into the trench and the pit was lined with oil. All it would need is a single spark and the dead would be held off for longer still.

“Hold!” Ned called as he held his blade high for all to see. None would act until their King gave the command. He and Robb watched as Rhaegal’s fires at last were snuffed out enough to allow the undead passage.

It began in a trickle, then a wave, then finally a flood as the dead began to step through the flames over the bridge of corpses used to snuff out Rhaegal’s fire. They readied for their charge as flint and steel were brought forth to light the secondary trench. Robb watched the spark fly, and then watched it die a cold wind blew their way. Looking back to the field he locked eyes with one of the monsters, the White Walkers.

It smirked at them as it drew his ice spear and motioned for the army to charge. Robb knew they needed to kill it, doing so would break up the lines of the dead long enough to give them a few moments more to be ready.

But they were fresh out of dragonglass arrows now. But thankfully not out of dragonfire.

As though sent by the gods themselves Alysanne descended on Ragnar, burning another line into the earth where the White Walker stood. The monster did not melt away like those it had commanded, but it was alone now. Alone and vulnerable.

Pulling out the dragonglass dagger from his belt, Robb jumped across the trench. He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, only noticing he was not alone in his run to the monster when his father reached their enemy first.

He was but three steps away from his father and the Walker as they began their battle. Robb joined quickly as he armed himself with castle-forged steel and his dragonglass dagger. He knew his sword would be no help in this fight, the Walker would shatter the blade with a few swings of his own weapon.

I need to give father an opening to kill the fucker, Robb told himself as he thrust at the Walker’s head with his blade. The monster seemed to sense it and ducked beneath the blade, sending the blunt side of his weapon into Robb’s gut as he remained crouched. The blow pained Robb, but did not inflict enough damage to force him backwards.

With his dagger, Robb aimed for the Walker’s face, making its icy blue eyes widen at the sight. Its own icy blade spun around and knocked the glass dagger from Robb’s hand. It skidded across the snow covered dirt before the Walker stabbed Robb with it.

This time he had no choice but to jump back to avoid being skewered.

Ned took the moment to strike again at their foe, swinging down to detach the White Walker’s icy head from its shoulders. Robb watched as the monster rolled backwards and regained its footing before lunging back at the King in the North.

As they crossed blades Robb looked round for his dragonglass dagger, it was the only way he could be of some help to his father in this fight. Finding it behind him in the snow he ran to retrieve it before turning back and watching the battle as he ran back to rejoin it.

Robb had never run so fast in his life as he watched his father fight desperately, the Walker getting the better of their exchanges. Rejoining the fight, Robb aided in forcing the Walker back onto its heels as it dodged both his blades and his father’s.

As he blocked with his sword he struck with his dagger, trying to plunge into the Walker’s gut that was not  covered by its armor. Once more he thrusts forward with it as the walker evaded, this time losing several locks of hair as he then dodged Ned's blade. 

They were getting closer to killing the monster, and all three of them knew.

“Flank right,” Robb whispered as he and Ned were close for a moment. “I have an idea.”

Running together they slashed at the Walker with similar vigor. Sparks fly as Frost landed against the Walker’s spear. Taking his moment, Robb rushed in, his own blade attacking the Walker's armor - cutting off several sects of it and sending it into the snow. The Walker smirked for a moment before Robb struck upward with his dagger.

All he could do is graze the Walker’s face, leaving half of the monster's face with a new wound upon it. “Damnit!” Robb curses aloud before the Walker retaliated, nearly cutting his throat open as he spun his spear around at the both of them. 

Seeing a chance, Robb spun as well as he twisted his dagger around in his grip. Striking with his blade again he watches it shatter as it collides with the Walker’s spear, sending metal shards flying back and cutting into Robb’s left arm as he shields his face from it. With both hands he gripped the dagger upward and as he rushed forward.

But Robb’s strike fell short as a searing pain surges in his back. It forces him to the ground before he can strike the Walker in his flank. Looking up he sees his foe ready to deliver his killing blow. It is only stopped once Ned reaches them and blocks the thrust aimed at Robbs head.

With a roar, Ned unleashed his newfound anger upon the White Walker, forcing the monster onto its heels as his undead soldiers tossed a hail of darts at whomever of the living were in their way. 

Reaching behind himself, Robb yanked on the dart… a jagged sliver of wood and metal that could’ve been some wildling cooking tool or something, but found the damned thing stuck deep in his back. He’d need help, and something to bite into to remove it fully. So instead he opted to break the shaft from it. It did not dull the pain in the slightest, but did help somewhat.

Standing back up, Robb watched as the fight turned once more in the Walker’s favor. His father had to both dodge darts and the Walker’s blade, making it near impossible to land a killing blow. But with the Walker’s attention focused on Ned, Robb saw his chance.

Running as fast as his legs allowed, he made it halfway to the both of them as he flung his dagger at the monster. This time, the blow struck home as the dragonglass pierced the monster's arm, reducing it to shattered ice as it fell onto the ground.

But the rest of the monster remained. 

Screaming from the pain of it, the White Walker backhanded Ned as it dodged his strike at its chest. Then turning its weapon in its hand it stabbed into the northern King's right thigh.

“Father!”

Seeing it happen made Robb forget the pain in his back as he closed the distance and shoulder bashed the Walker away from his father as he fell down. Both sprawled upon the cold earth as they tried to regain their footing, Robb heard his father speak, “Frost. Take it.” 

Their family blade was offered out to him, and gladly he took it from his father. It was time to end this fight.

Robb fell upon the Walker with a fury and a howl befitting the heir of Winterfell. Pain surged through his body, but it was ignored as he traded blow for blow with the monster that haunted his boyhood nightmares. With but one arm the Walker could not retaliate as it had before, it could only defend.

As their blades crashed together once more, Robb watched pain stretch across Walker's face. Looking down he spied his father, gripping his own dragonglass dagger as he plunged it into Walker's foot. Taking his moment, Robb forced the Walker’s weapon up before cutting off its remaining hand and then at last severing the monster's wretched head from its shoulders. 

And as it fell, hundreds of the dead fell with him.

But Robb could not think of that right now. His mind remained upon his own father and the pain that still ailed him. He moved to help his father up, but thankfully the task was not left to him alone as several of their men had raced to aid them. It did not take long to return to their lines, and have both of their wounds seen to.

But with his father crippled, Robb took command. “For Winterfell!” he yelled as he raided Frost high as blood ran down his sword arm from where his own blade had shattered upon him.

“For Prince Robb!” the men cried back, and Robb could not help but smile. Hope surging through him as much as the pain in his back did.

 


 

Lyanna Stark Targaryen

 

Charging into a gap, Lyanna swiped her sword like a scythe among wheat. A half-dozen had fallen where she now stood, but ferocious, the she-wolf held off the shrieking monsters single-handedly. “Hold the line!” she cried. “Hold the line!” 

A wight snuck through her swings and reached out as if to try and claw her, only for a sword to thrust from behind Lyanna and skewer it through. “You heard the Princess, men! Move your fuckin’ arses!” Benjen screamed into the night, leading the remnants of the Night’s Watch forward through the mess of bodies and chunks of bodies that was the strip of land before the northern gate of Winterfell. 

Flashes to Lyanna’s other side brought forth Arthur Dayne, Dawn and his second blade slicing through the air in a fluid dance of armor and muscle."Hold!" Suddenly he cried out as a spear pierced him just below his left shoulder. 

“Arthur!” Lyanna snarled, breaking the ragged formation to lunge forward, decapitating the wight holding the spear. 

She needed not worry. Yanking out the broken spear shaft, Arthur refused to yield - standing strong like the walls behind him as a saber-toothed cat met the ancient steel of the Sword of the Morning. “No one’s comin’ at my back this time! Come at me, cunts!” 

Hours of nonstop fighting were starting to slow Lyanna. The vigor of youth she still had was not enough to stem the tide of exhaustion, only the certainty of all their lives hanging in the balance keeping her upright and fighting like the she-wolf she was. The last reserves had been thrown into the fight, the walls of Winterfell only a hundred feet behind them. Much of the castle smoldered from the Ice Dragon’s attack, while the remaining archers and crossbowmen and siege artillery placed on the battlements did what they could for support. Volleys had given way to at will attack, an arrow felling a wight or javelins and darts tearing at the hides of beasts. 

They would fight till the end, but with each ache of her overworked muscles brought a hope that the end would soon come.

"Duck!" Not having noticed the massive wight, easily two heads taller than her, Lyanna did so. The monster swiped with an axe, a blow that could’ve easily taken off her head. Charging through the gap was Jon Connington, her husband’s friend driving his greatsword through the hulking brute’s chest. It fell to its knees with a strangled shriek, then went limp. Blue eyes fading away. Connington cast his face back with a single look of satisfaction before a rusted sword sliced through his neck. A mortal wound, but not before his dagger jammed into the wight’s rotted flesh.  

Another man giving his life for the Dawn.

Another soldier whom could not be replaced.

Lyanna would not have time to mourn him. A screaming wight in the ragged, ripped furs of a wilding charged over the piles of bodies, bronze axe glinting in the firelight. Lyanna batted the weapon aside, while from behind Dacey Mormont’s mace shattered its skull into a mess of brain and bone. Spears jutted out from the ragged line, smashing through the rotted flesh and torn furs of the attacking corpse. Throwing the limp body off of her, Lyanna hit a skeleton and both crumpled in a heap before her.

The trench before them filled with bodies, most still but the ones at the top writhing as they tried to clamber up the piles of flesh only to tumble down again - or with limbs or parts of limbs embedded in the mass. While the effort was concentrated elsewhere with the beasts and giants, those of the Night’s Watch, House Stark, and House Mormont continued to be assailed by monsters bursting forth with bony hands and sharp daggers. Hacking at and dragging men in the shield wall to their deaths. "Fuck you!" Lyanna screamed, hacking down at a half-rotted woman over and over till the blue was gone from its eyes, face a pulp of dead flesh. "We need to fall back!" she yelled at Benjen. "We'll be overwhelmed!"

Smashing the nose of a wight, Benjen shook his head. “There’s nowhere to go…” Suddenly he cried out, a spear embedded in his side.

“Benjen!” Lyanna cut the monster down. "Fall back, men! Five paces!"

“Aunt Lyanna…”

Drawing back her blade, the corpse falling before her, Lyanna recognized the voice in her head. “Brandon?” She knew he had the greensight and warg abilities, but to communicate through minds…

“Aegon needs you.”

Her eyes widened, parrying a blow before a punch sent the attacking wight to the ground. “What? Where?!”

“The crest of the hill south of Wintertown. Hurry. They both need you.”

“Both?” But Bran’s voice was gone, leaving Lyanna to ponder it by herself.

With a lunge, the wight’s head came clean off, the glowing blue of its eyes fading away forever. Another came at her, but out from the swirling vortex of snow, ice, and clashing bodies did Ghost leap out. Jaws sinking into the corpse’s neck, inhuman screeches joined with the vicious growl of her son’s wolf. Lyanna wasted little time, letting out a battle cry as she stabbed downward - blade piercing the monster’s face. 

She whistled to Ghost. “With me!” Jogging, slashing at men and beasts with each pump of her legs, suddenly a riderless horse with the protective armor of a Vale knight galloped towards her. She lunged for the reins, slowing the beast until she could haul herself up. If she was going to make it to her son and whomever else Bran said she needed to protect, being mounted was the surest way to do so.

Riding close to the walls of her childhood home with Ghost bounding right alongside - the pure white direwolf the size of a mid-sized mare quite the sight to see in the midst of battle - a wave of silent terror filled Lyanna with each stride of her destrider. Sometimes the shield wall held, if bent and retreated to near breaking point. Most cases it had broken completely into the same chaotic slaughterhouse she had endured. Archers and crossbowmen from the walls rained down darts and missiles which stemmed the tide, but the increasing gale-force winds blowing frozen ice reduced their effectiveness. 

Lyanna spurred her mount just behind the ragged lines, keeping the bulk of the army of the dead away from her. It was only partially successful, given the broken shield wall. Lyanna gritted her teeth, raising her sword as dozens of corpses tore away from the many duels or hedgehog Unsullied squares to throw themselves at her. She dug her heels into her destrier, spurring the horse into a fast gallop as she twirled her sword. Ready to smash aside her foe. Dirt and snow kicked up behind the stallion’s hooves as Lyanna and Ghost - the wolf’s maw open in a fierce snarl - thundered along the walls. 

The first corpse - little more than a skeleton - was trampled by the stallion’s massive front legs, crushed by the hooves. Ghost tore into another and threw it at the walls with a swing of his head and neck. Lyanna shouted the rage and frustration of hours of constant fighting, swinging her sword with abandon. Taking one out after the other. Two shadowcats, blue eyes smoldering, charged out of the snowbank. Ghost met one in a furious clash of teeth and claw. Lyanna leaned into her saddle, sword pulled back and up, and waited for the beast to leap at her.

“Fuck you!” she bellowed, hacking down. Rotted flesh and fur simply dissolved under the dragonglass-coated blade. The horse jolted, weight of the large cat crashing into it, but the beast was well-bred and simply climbed atop the fallen creature. Leaping through the air as if in a race. 

More simply bled through as she made it past the walls to Wintertown. The arrows and darts disappeared, and the remaining cavalry and broken infantry were having a hard time forcing back the steady trickle of monsters emerging. Lyanna, half-blinded by the swirling ice and snow, slashed wildly at her foes. Her gloved hand almost lost her grip on her sword as it sliced through rotted armor and decayed flesh as a knife through butter. But dragonglass was true, killing each wight with a single blow. 

Ghost and she worked as a team, the wolf stalling the larger wights for Lyanna to stab only moments later. The smaller ones they simply ran over and ignored, hurtling forward as the endless wave still came on.

Suddenly the ground rumbled beneath them. Out of the mist came a giant, not one of theirs for its eyes glowed malevolently - nothing behind them but an urge to kill all in its path. Lyanna pulled the reins, urging the horse to go around, but she was going too fast…

Out of nowhere came a jet of flame, enveloping the giant in red-orange death. Unlike a smaller wight it didn’t disintegrate, ear-piercing shrieks of pain echoing through the hellscape of Winterfell and Wintertown. 

Above, a green dragon winked by, wingbeats kicking up a massive cloud of snow. Lyanna watched the dragon with a tired smile, a twinkle in her eye. “Thank you, my love.” With that, she spurred the horse on, her path clear towards the hills south of the town.

 


 

Jon Targaryen

 

All came spewing forth.

The memories, the agony. Seeing Daenerys and his son taken from him. His friends taken from him. His very soul ripped to shreds as Longclaw pierced the breast of the woman he loved by his own hand. Years of suppressing the anger, of holding it together by sheer willpower and the love he had found again in this new world, finally broke.

A roar that rivaled any of the dragons he or Daenerys had hatched in the flames echoed over the fields he had been raised in. Jon twirled his blades in his hands, one in reserve whilst the other hacked downwards in a powerful blow. Ready to kill his enemy.

To kill himself.

The gods certainly had a dark sense of humor. 

Flashing downwards, the powerful hack would’ve killed nearly all of Jon’s opponents, in all ways inferior to the greatest swordsman of his day. The Ice King was not any mere opponent - not even one of the better ones. Armed with the dark magic of the primordial blackness, a lifetime’s worth of experiences himself, and Jon’s own natural talent, he merely sprung back in a quick dodge of the blow. Spinning around, he was suddenly on the offense as his spear stabbed towards Jon’s left. Jon flinched, the second blade darting up and catching the sudden attack, ice only half an inch from his nose.

“Is that the best you’ve got, Snow?” the Ice King smirked - Jon’s own smirk, both very familiar…

…and alien, the malevolence within so unlike him.

Unlike Jon, this version of himself having broken under his suffering.

“Not at all.” Shouting at the top of his lungs, Jon shoved forward, left blade batting aside the spear and granting him some room to maneuver.

He slashed forward, which was dodged. The Ice King spun, careening a blow against the left sword and nearly sending it out of Jon's grip. He bucked back but firm footwork left him firmly planted to the ground. Gritting his teeth, Jon felt his strength surging within, catching the next assault with his right. When the Ice King swung around, going again for the left, Jon did a spin of his own and hacked downward with both blades. 

Jon missed, but it forced his opponent to draw back to regroup.

Blades held forward, parallel to each other, he watched himself circling. The Ice King holding the spear in one hand as the malevolent eyes narrowed. “You defend what is not yours, Snow.” His alter ego cocked his head. “Daenerys, the one you lay with - she is not the woman you fell in love with.”

Narrowing his eyes, Jon took even breaths. The dragon’s blood in his veins warming the icy air swirling all around him and entering his lungs. “And yet I love her all the same.”

A chuckle left the lips of the Ice King - the one white walker who ever had the emotions of a human. “You failed her. You lost her.” The chuckle turned into a snarl. “You killed her!”

Jon closed his eyes, faced with the anguish of it all. “She wished it for herself.”

“I would never do it!” The ice and snow grew thicker, the winds howling around them. “You’re the monster, not I!”

“You serve the greatest evil in existence,” Jon countered. “Willingly serve him. Daenerys, both my Dany and yours, would be ashamed of you!”  

The Ice King’s eyes narrowed. “I do all this for her, so that she would never be harmed again.”

“All you did was break her heart.”

A deep laugh seemed to boom over the landscape. The ground rumbling. “And what did a heart do for anyone, bastard?”

There was no mistaking anything for what this was. “The Ice Dragon.”

Out of the void, thirty feet above the head of the Ice King was a massive head. One that could’ve fit Sarogon’s skull inside three or four times over. And unlike his dragons, this one could smile. A toothy leer filled with amusement. “Poor deluded Jon Snow. The blood of your ancestors drawing you to the same end as they did. Of failure - at least they managed to chain me and trap my creations north of the Wall. You will not have such false victories. 

“You remember what we discussed,” the Ice King barked at the monster. “Oh magnificent, monstrous, eloquent one,” he added at the last minute with a grudging deference.

The monster laughed again. “Do not fret, you will have her forever - just kill him. I will deal with the rest.” Glowing blue eyes, the same shade as his own dragons’ but an ice blue, twinkled with an evil amusement. “I will not just kill your loved ones, Snow. I will turn them into my generals. My captains. My Lords to rule over this world… a world in my image. And you will watch your wife and children and mother and father enslaved from the afterlife. Death is my gift to you.” With a massive beat of his wings, the Ice Dragon ascended. Hurling itself into the dark skies.

Teeth clenched, trembling from anger and fear and dread, Jon met the eyes of the Ice King. “You don’t have to do this.”

Closing his eyes, the Ice King sighed. And for once there was a look of pain on his features. “Aye, I do.” And with that the pain vanished, replaced with a grim determination. The spear spun about and he charged. Jon dug his feet, ready to meet the attack.

Notes:

Preview - Night Falls, and the Dawn Rises

Chapter 83: The Dawn

Summary:

King Aegon and Queen Daenerys bring the Dawn

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Ice King

Valyrian steel met enchanted ice in a flurry as the two kings stabbed, slashed, spun and parried one another’s blows. The battle on the wing above them raged just as fiercely as their own, but neither could dwell on such thoughts. To do so would mean their death at their counterparts hands.

The Ice King led their battle, forcing the Targaryen King back with his inhuman speed. He was honestly surprised his other self was able to keep up with him. But that fact would make his inevitable victory all the sweeter when he struck Jon down.

Feiniting with his spear, the Ice King struck with his blade for Jon's head. The blow was deflected quickly before Jon twirled round and thrusted forward with both of his blades. A spin of his spear deflected both from the ice King.

“Your feints, spins and parries will not save you,” the Ice King told Jon. “This day you die for the final time.”

“Or you will,” Jon growled back as the two struck at the same time. Ice and steel scraped against one another again before Jon struck again with his second blade, this time aiming for the Ice King's dominant arm. A graze was all he managed to land upon the Ice King, but it was enough to force the Ice King to drop his sword.

The small scrape burned his icy flesh, and the small wound did not heal as it should have. He almost felt a smirk pull at is lips as he remembered how dangerous those blade were to him now. It made this contest all the more exhilarating.

Instead of taking his blade back up, the Ice King changed things up a bit. Snatching his spear into both his hands as he leapt forward and stabbed at Jon’s head. With both blades the King of Westeros deflected the strike before slashing down with both blades. The Ice King smiled as he lifted up his spear to block the blow before delivering a sound kick to Jon’s chest.

The blow sent Jon flying back into the outskirts of Wintertown.

Leaping again the Ice King fell upon Jon with his spear hefted high, the frozen tip of it aimed at Jon’s heart. A second before the death blow could have landed he rolled from the attack's path, striking back as he lay upon the ground.

Jumping back, the Ice King waited for his foe to stand before redoubling the attack, striking at Jon’s head again with a horizontal slash. Jon managed to block the slash before striking with one of his own, aiming for the Ice King's gut.

The strike fell short as the Ice King brought down his spear with both hands and knocked the blade from Jon’s grip. Striking down with the spear again, the Ice King found his own attack blocked this time before Jon struck him with a swift punch to the ribs.

Had he still been flesh the blow would have no doubt forced the wind out of his lungs.

With the both of them now wielding one weapon, they struck at one another with blinding speed, ensuring to pay one another back for every blow they landed on one another. Jon’s forearm bled from a cut as the Ice King's thigh did the same, their shared blood mingling on the frozen earth beneath them.

If things continued, they would battle like this until they were bled dry. But the Ice King did not mind, immortality had a great many benefits.

“Stop!” A woman cried from behind the Ice King. “Stop, please!” 

The Ice King could not remember ever hearing this woman's voice before, but all the same it seemed familiar. He could not rightly describe it. “Muna?!” Jon yelled back. “Get out of here, this is my fight!”

Muna…? Impossible… the Ice King told himself. It was a trick, a way to divert his attention and give his other self a moment to deal a fatal blow. 

“You cannot do this, either of you! I will not let you kill one another!” the woman cried again as he heard her climb down from her saddle. Perhaps he simply wished to humor this farce, maybe to simply look upon the woman claiming to be Jon Snow's mother before he struck her down in front of him. That no doubt would fill his foolish other self with despair.

But looking upon her proved to be a mistake.

With his head turned away Jon swung for the Ice King's neck, but he managed to duck and have only a few bits of his hair cut off instead. Rolling backwards and rising back to his full height, his cold blue eyes looked into the woman's own. He did not know why, or how it was even possible, but he knew from a simple glance that Jon calling her his muna was no mistake.

And for the first time in his life did the Ice King look upon his mother’s face.

“This is…how is this possible?!” the Ice King demanded to know. “What trick is this you play on me, Snow?!”

“I am no trick,” Lyanna told him, her voice taking a soothing tone as she inched close. “I am real, my son.”

“You…you are not my mother! She died long ago!” the Ice King yelled as he watched her take two more steps towards him, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Jon do the same. But he was much further away than Lyanna was.

“Destiny has seen fit to bring me back, just as it did for you and Aegon.” Aegon. The name made him remember so much from his old life. The pain, the betrayal, the anger at learning that was his true name. It all came rushing back in complete clarity.

Lyanna continued to walk his way, never stopping until the Ice King leveled his spear her way. She was but four feet away from the tip of the weapon. “Stay away from me…”

“You shan’t hurt me,”

“Are you so certain?” Was he certain? He could no longer tell at this moment.

“I am.” Lyanna said as she pushed the spear away from her, the cold making her face show the pain from the brief contact with the dark weapon. “You could never hurt me, my child.”

That’s a lie, I'm the reason you’re dead, The Ice King took his eyes from her as he did so. As he looked back he found her in front of him, her hand reaching up to touch his cold cheek. And as she did the Ice King once more felt warmth radiate through his body.

“My boy,” Lyanna spoke to him soothingly as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “You have been through so much.” Her arms enveloped him and pulled him close, giving him something he had always wished for when he was still mortal.

The love of his mother.

Without thinking the Ice King wrapped his arms around Lyanna as well, and it was then he noticed something shocking. The icy blue tint that had come to his skin after becoming the Ice King began to fade from him, making him look human once more.

And with the change in his appearance came more changes, those that wracked him to his very soul. By the gods, what have I done? Tears began to fall from his own eyes as he buried his head into his muna’s neck, sobs wracking his body as she held him close.

“Disgusting,” a dark, evil voice called from above them as a loud crash came from behind. “You humans never cease to show me how useless sentimentality truly is. And here I had begun to think better of you, Jon Snow.”

Turning his head round the former Ice King looked up into the displeased gaze of his former master, and he felt what little warmth his muna had brought him fade just as quickly as it had come to him. “Run,” he whispered to Lyanna as he removed himself from her embrace. “Get back on your horse and run.”

“Now, this does prove a most interesting opportunity for you, Jon Snow. you can finally have the family you always wanted. With your Daenerys, and your mother.” The Ice Dragon’s voice was like a roar of thunder. “Simply kill her, and then the two of you can slay that other version of you. He has been a thorn for me for too long.”

Before he could speak anything more a deep chill took hold of him, starting from his toes and spreading to his chest. Looking down he watched as his hands once more became icy blue, changing him once more in the Ice King. I am losing myself again , he thought as another spear of ice formed in both of his hands.

“Kill them, kill them both, my servant,” the Ice Dragon ordered. “Do it now!”

Looking once more into the eyes of his muna, the Ice King felt her warmth remain within him. Giving him his self back, giving a chance to not make things right, but to try at least.

Rearing back his left arm, the Ice king aimed his spear at Jon, but before any could tell what he was doing the Ice King turned on his heel and aimed upward… into the chest of the Ice Dragon. The spear hit home, but not enough to kill the beast that had corrupted him, but he did revel in how it cried out from the pain it inflicted upon the monster with his act of defiance.

The sense of accomplishment was short lived as the Ice Dragon brought one of his wings down and flung it at the Ice King. The blow sent him flying, sending him into the center of Winterfell. It was only due to his body becoming corrupted once more that he continued living after the blow, but his body was broken. 

It is up to them now, the Ice King told himself. Do what I never had the strength to do.

 


 

Rhaegar Targaryen

Ice and snow crashed against Rhaegar's helm as he flew through the storm, but he could not give such a second thought. His mind was focused on one single objective as he and Rhaegal flew back towards Winterfell. Lyanna had ridden that way, away from the majority of the fighting. Rhaegar could not even begin to guess as to why, but knew the situation must have been dire.

Banking with Rhaegal, the storm let up slightly and revealed the ruined keep beneath them. And the monster responsible for its destruction. The massive ice-colored dragon loomed over the eastern wall, staring down at something that stood far below him.

Rhaegar's eyes widened as he realized what it must have been. “LYANNA!!” He roared as Rhaegal roared as well and beat his wings. Their speed increased as they flew upward and then quickly descended towards the Ice Dragon.

Vibrant flames spewed from Rhaegal’s open maw as they closed in on their enemy, making the Ice Dragon flinch back as the flames licked at its massive head.

A rumbling laugh left the Ice Dragon as its head tracked Rhaegar. “Is that all? You come back from the dead simply to tickle me? No wonder you failed your family the last time you walked this world.” The Ice Dragon’s wings unfurled. “And now they shall watch you fail them again!” With that the Ice Dragon rose itself from the earth and quickly began to encroach on Rhaegal.

“Rhaegal, Sovegon!” Rhaegar yelled in his mother tongue to his child. Rhaegal answered with a roar before beating his wings upward and entering into a cloud. Their cover was quickly broken as the Ice Dragon’s long neck reached through and snapped at one of Rhaegal’s wings.

Tugging on Rhaegal’s saddle saved the both of them as they twirled through the air, evading the Dragons massive jaws. “You are an evasive little shit!” The dragon yelled. “And they call you the Last Dragon?! BAH!!”

Rising above the clouds brought Rhaegar but a moment to breath before icy blue flames jetted out towards him. Rhaegal met the flames with his own, stalling the Ice Dragon’s attack for only a moment. But a moment that saved them yet again as they then dove under the flames, but this time they could not escape unscathed.

Half of Rhaegal’s tail was scorched, the cold blue flames scorching his scales black. “Rhaegal!” Rhaegar yelled, fear and worry filling him at the sight of his son is such pain.

‘I shall be fine, Kepa. A dragon does not fear being burned!’ Rhaegal told him as he beat his wings again, rising upward towards the Ice Dragon.

“Your persistence is admirable, little princeling!” The Ice Dragon said with a chuckle. “But it shall prove to be your undoing!” The monster began to ready another jet of flame, but roared out in shock as an azure shadow flew past, bathing his back in its flames. 

“Alysanne,” Rhaegar breathed, watching her and Ragnar bank away. His eyes narrowed in resolve. “Soves!”

As the Ice Dragon reeled from the attack, Rhaegar and Rhaegal attacked as well. Beating his wings as hard as he could, Rhaegal aimed for the Ice Dragon’s massive wing membrane, burning a massive hole through it as he ascended.

“Damned pests!” The Ice Dragon roared as he spun around, hitting both Rhaegal and Ragnar with his wings as he did so. “Do not think so highly of yourself simply because you get lucky once!”

Both dragons roared in pain as they fell back into the clouds. It was only once they fell back below the cloud line did they both manage to regain themselves.

Looking over, Rhaegar looked over and met his sister's gaze. Alysanne nodded his way before she told Ragnar something and they began to ascend back into the clouds. Rhaegar and Rhaegal followed after them.

The Ice Dragon met them within the clouds, snapping his jaws and hurling his wings their way as they flew past him. A plan formed in Rhaegar's mind as he and Alysanne flew around their massive foe, both attacking when they could find a moment outside of simply evading.

The hole Rhaegal burned through the massive wing membrane had begun to grow in size with every beat of the Ice Dragons wings. ‘We burn enough holes in this bastard's wings and we’ll ground him!’ Rhaegal roared as he finished Rhaegar's thought.

Incapable of telling Alysanne his plan, Rhaegar instead decided to lead by example. Banking yet another swipe from the Ice dragon's wings, Rhaegal unleashed his flames against the wing membrane again before tearing at it with his jaws. A roar of pain came from the Ice Dragon as honed in on Rhaegar, snapping his tail at him in retaliation.

Only Alysanne’s intervention stopped the intended death blow from landing. Ragnar crashed down onto the Ice Dragon’s back before the strike could land, allowing Rhaegal to weave back behind their foe.

Again he attacked the wings membrane, making three holes in all in the Ice Dragon’s wings. “We need to do more damage!” Rhaegar told Rhaegal.

Rhaegal hooted. ‘Leave it to me, Kepa!’ With that said Rhaegal ascended again, intent on rising back above the clouds once more. Seeming to sense his brother's plan, Ragnar ascended as well.

And the Ice Dragon followed.

Together, the green and blue dragons waited for the Ice dragon to emerge from his cover. He emerged in a rage, snapping his jaws at Rhaegal as his right wing swiped at Ragnar. Ragnar let out a pained yelp as the ice Dragons massive claw managed to land and open a gash on Ragnar's side. 

But the wound did not stop the young Dragon as he dove, his blood trailing behind him as he did so. Rhaegal followed, intent on sending the Ice Dragon falling back to the earth.

Azure flames mixed with bright orange as Rhaegal and Ragnar twirled together and tore a massive hole through the Ice Dragons left wing membrane. Looking back, Rhaegal watched  with a smile as the membrane of the massive dragon's wings tore and made the Ice Dragon begin to have difficulty staying in the air.

The brother dragons separated as they descended back below the clouds, and roared in victory as they watched the Ice Dragon crash into the ruined remnants of what had once been Wintertown.

Ragnar burned his wound closed as they remained in the air before they began to descend onto the Ice Dragon. Rhaegal landed on his right as Ragnar landed on the left.

“DRACARYS!” Rhaegar and Alysanne yelled together, and watched as their sons breathed their fire onto the Ice Dragon's head.

Overhead a shadow flew and Rhaegar did not need to look back to know it was his other sister. ‘Get my wife out of here sister, please,’ Rhaegar spoke to himself as he and Rhaegal continued their efforts against their enemy.

Every second he could take of the Ice Dragon’s attention was another second Lyanna had to get away. Rhaegar would stay as long as needed to ensure she would be safe.

 


 

Daenerys Targaryen

From her place upon Aragon’s back, Daenerys watched as her brother and sister flew in and forced the great Ice Dragon to fall back with the combined weight of Rhaegal and Ragnar barreling into the monster. She could not know what was happening on the ground. She could see only two who stood before where the Ice Dragon once loomed.

Flying down towards them she recognized them as they ran away together from where they once stood. “Jon! “Lyanna!” Dany yelled as she swooped down. Looking back she spied Rhaegal breathing fire onto the Ice Dragon as it tried to regain its footing. “We need to get out of here! Take to the wing!” As she yelled she watched Jon say a few words to his mother before she ran into what remained of Winterfell. 

For a moment she pondered why her godmother was not riding away on her horse, but her wonderings were quickly banished as Bran spoke to her, ‘Dany, you need to take up the spear.’

‘Spear? What spear?’

‘Jon, the one from your world, he left it for you. It’s the only thing that will kill the dragon.’ Bran told her. ‘You must hurry!’

Bran's words echoed in her mind as she descended and fell from Aragon’s saddle. Jon questioned her why she had done so as she looked around for the weapon Bran had spoken of. Finding it at last they raced to retrieve it from the wall it had been embedded into.

Dany grabbed hold of its center but quickly found her hand erupting in pain. The ice burned like fire against her skin, forcing her to let go the second she took hold of it.

“Dany!” Jon yelled as he ran up to her, worry etched on his face. “Come on! We need to go!”

“No!” Daenerys yelled back. “Bran says we need this spear. It can kill that… thing!” Her eyes darted to the Ice Dragon as it still was being kept on its back by Rhaegal and Ragnar's combined assault. But that would not last much longer.

Jon looked at the spear, and with his free hand tried to take hold of it as well, but similarly his hand was also burned by its freezing touch. “Seven Hells!” He cursed as he withdrew his hand. “We can’t use the damned thing if we can’t even pull it from the stone!”

‘Together,’ Bran told them. ‘From one world and another, condemned to death, they would emerge and together forge the lightbringer.’ The prophecy… suddenly it made sense to Daenerys. ‘You must do it together. Only then will the Great Other be vanquished.’  

As the young Stark instructed them, the King and Queen reached together and took hold of the spear. It burned their hands again, the icy cold more searing than any sort of dragonfire or wildfire, but the pain quickly subsided as they heaved it out of the wall. As they held it together, simmering blue flames enveloped the magical weapon. 

The pain faded entirely as they turned to face the Ice Dragon together.

Bracketed by flames, suddenly the Ice Dragon reared up on its legs, tail propping it up. “ENOUGH!” Blue flame sprayed out his maw, neck simply sweeping through the air and leaving a malevolent blue glow that drenched the entirety of the battlefield. Rhaegal and Ragnar were forced to retreat as the Ice Dragon regained its bearings. “Do not think that little sliver of my power can kill me, you fools! YOU WILL ALL BURN!!” The dragon roared as the cold flames emerged yet again, to which the two dragons fought to dodge. Both of them fleeing, the Ice Dragon took advantage and turned its neck in the direction of Winterfell. “Accursed little Raven. I have tolerated your meddling for the final time!”

Daenerys’ eyes grew wide as they watched the massive dragon begin to move towards Bran. Jon yelled to Sarogan in Valyrian before turning to kiss Daenerys quickly. “I’ll stall the fucker. Find somewhere good enough and throw this spear into its heart,” Jon told her. “I love you, Dany.” 

Her heart ached, praying this wasn’t the last time she’d see his beautiful face. “I love you too,” Dany murmured back as Sarogan skidded quickly onto the ground and Jon climbed into his saddle. His blade remained clutched in his right hand as they ascended. 

Heart beating out of her chest, Dany began to run into what remained of Winterfell. The battle outside the northern wall of the keep continued to rage as Sarogan, Rhaegal, and Ragnar all flew overhead - weaving out of the path of the Ice Dragon’s flames. Struggling through the fallen snow, Daenerys searched blindly for a vantage point as chaos ensued all around her. For a moment she looked to the old keep, or what was left of it. Impossible, given the madness as men battled shambling corpses and wild beasts…

But another arena remained available.

The fighting grew more intense as Daenerys was forced to make her way towards the Godswood. Her goodbrother was there, the target of the Ice Dragon and where it was headed. If there was a chance to kill the damned thing she would find it there. She found the gate leading to the ancient copse of trees blocked off as the ceiling had collapsed upon the door. As she searched for another way in, a great crash sounded from the other side of the wall before it collapsed behind her. The Ice Dragon’s tail fell where she had stood moments earlier, and now unknowingly gave her a way in. 

Fire billowed through the godswood as she ran to the heart tree. Before even getting close Dany could see both Theon and Ygritte standing at Bran’s side as he knelt beside the magical tree. Several dead laid motionless at their feet as they sucked in deep breaths.

“Bran!” Dany called as she approached. Looking back, Dany watched as Jon and Sarogon swooped down and breathed bright orange fire onto the Ice Dragon’s head. It roared in annoyance and tried to swat at them with its head. Turning back, Dany yelled, “Bran, how do we kill him?!”

“The spear,” Bran cried in a strained tone. “You need to throw it into his heart. Your Jon left a mark on him, look for that weakness.”

Looking as Bran said to, Dany indeed spied the wound that was inflicted on the Ice dragon's chest. It was small, almost impossible to see from where she stood - a chink in its armor made by its own dark magic, wielded by its chosen champion. Almost poetic now that she thought about it, while the monster's height did not help either as he towered over everything.

Able to fully look at the Ice Dragon now, Daeenrys could see how his massive wings had become tattered and filled with holes. No doubt from Rhaegar and Alyssanes efforts to distract the Ice Dragon. Noting the disadvantage, Daenerys thought up a strategy. “Bran!” She yelled back. “Tell my brother and sister to force the Ice Dragon down! I need it closer to the ground!”

Bran could only nod his head slightly before relaying her message to the dragon riders. Rhaegal took the dragon's attention as Ragnar flew upward. The Ice Dragon snapped its massive jaws a hair's width away from Rhaegals tail before the emerald dragon soared upward as well.

Cold blue fire began to flicker out from the Ice Dragon’s mouth as it reared its head upward to bathe Rhaegar and Alysanne in its flames. Its flames were interrupted as Sarogan emerged from the storm, bathing the Ice Dragons face in his bright orange fire. As the dragon reeled from the pain and closed its eyes, Sarogan dived down towards the Ice Dragons chest.

Even through the lashing winds of ice and snow, Daenerys could see Fyreclaw glimmer in what light there was to reflect off of it as Jon and Sarogan flew down and beside the Ice Dragon’s chest. Daenerys could only assume he knew already where the wound upon the dragon's chest was as he slashed thrice at the massive frozen scales.

The shriek the Ice Dragon released as the blows landed made Daenerys near go deaf.

Before fire or words could leave the Ice Dragon’s mouth, Rhaegal and Ragnar descended. Their taloned feet dug deep into the Ice dragon's neck and forced it down. The massive head fell into the far off wood as its chest became much closer to the ground.

“YOU DAMNED PESTS!” The Ice Dragon roared before Sarogon descended as well and landed upon the dragon's head. All the while Daenerys ran towards the massive beast's chest.

Getting close, Daenrys saw what Jon had done when he attacked. His three strikes did not attack the dragon's weak spot directly, instead he carved a triangular mark into the Ice Dragon’s chest.

A target for her to aim at.

The Ice Dragon’s heart towered over her as she rooted herself in place. Her right arm drew back, her hand gripping onto the weapon fiercely as she lined up her sole shot to kill the monster. The Ice Dragon thrashed and began to rise up from where he had been forced down. Rhaegal, Ragnar, and Sarogon roared as they were forced to dodge its flames. Daenerys could feel its massive blue eyes on her back, but nothing would stop her. No matter how much the massive dragon's gaze unsettled her.

With a roar of her own, Daenerys threw the Lightbringer upward, aiming straight for where both Jon’s had wounded the Ice Dragon. Several long seconds stretched as she watched the spear fly to its target. She refused to turn her head round to see where the Ice Dragon’s head was, fearing the spear, their only hope, would disappear from this realm should she take her eyes off it.

Seemingly guided by her gaze, the spear found home in the Ice Dragon’s chest. The sound of the Lightbringer spear cracking through the Ice Dragon’s scales was unlike anything Daenerys had ever heard, she could only think it was what hope itself made audible.

Said sound was quickly drowned out as a scream of utter suffering came from the Ice Dragons mouth. Fire and ice poured out from the wound in its chest as it began to flail around. Its massive claws scratched at its hide, but found it could not stop what was happening. “THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE!! I AM A GOD!!” 

Daenerys couldn’t help a tiny grin. “Killed by your own magic.”

The dragon’s massive blue eyes found her in that moment as its body began to break apart. “YOU LITTLE BITCH!!”

The Ice Dragon’s right wing raised up as it roared in pain and was sent to flatten her. Daenerys thought to run, to find cover from the blow but knew that she could not get out of the wings range quickly enough. So instead she glared up defiantly, resolute in dying if it meant she saved her family from this evil forever.

“Jon, Rhaegon, Rhaena, forgive me. I love you so much.” Dany spoke to herself as she closed her eyes, accepting her end.

A harsh cold wing was all she was met with the next moment. Opening her eyes again she expected to find herself in the afterlife, but instead she found herself still standing in the godswood. The Ice Dragon’s wing had disintegrated into ice and snow before it could make contact with her. Looking up she watched as the rest of the Ice Dragon began to fall apart as well.

One last roar escaped the Dragon's throat before its head finally faded away as well, leaving nothing but ice and snow to fall down upon Winterfell. A great cheer sounded out from the northern field, signaling to Daenerys that the army of the dead had been felled as well.

Breaths heavy, what little wind remaining casting an icy cold tinge to the sweat beaded on her forehead, Daenerys’ knees wobbled. Her head spun, just staring into the massive patch of crushed snow and bare ground that once was the final resting place of the Ice Dragon - the largest beast in existence. 

Now merely a remnant of ice swirling in the air, blown by the last tendrils of the blizzard it had conjured into creation. 

Her legs gave out just as the sound of legs hauling themselves through the snowdrifts reached her ears.“Dany!” Daenerys lazily turned her head, the world rolling near out of control. Kicking through the snow, nearly tripping several times, Jon sprinted at her without any care.

The sight of him brought clarity to her world - if the fatigue of sudden quiet stubbornly shrouded her still. "Jon…" she murmured. Turning just in time for him to yank her into his arms. Husband and wife embraced tightly, tears leaving Daenerys’ eyes as she was painfully squeezed. While crushing, the embrace brought joy to her heart. He was alive, and so was she. They had made it through. 

“I thought I lost you,” Jon rasped, kissing her cheek and brows over and over again. Clearly desperate for whatever contact could be found, to which Daenerys didn’t fault him for. Her own arms greedily wrapped around him, keeping her body flush against his "I love you," Jon breathed, pulling back and looking into her eyes.

Dany felt hot tears falling down her cheeks, smiling warmly. "I love you." Their lips connected in a kiss, falling into the snow together. 

Never breaking it even as Saragon and Aragon landed close by their sides, standing vigil over their muna and kepa.

Not even as the sun rose over the horizon for the first time since the Ice Dragon broke through the Wall - ending the darkness of not one but infinite lifetimes.

The night was forever taken.

The dawn forever returned.

 


 

Jon Snow

Pain.

Suffering.

Death.

These were things that were only ideas in the mind of the Ice King. Banished away by the malevolent immortality in which he had absorbed from the useless wretch he had killed in single combat long before in another lifetime. The Ice King never felt physical pain, only the mental agony of his life before.

He never suffered hunger or cold or thirst, only the hollow feeling inside of a crushing loneliness.

And how could he ever fear death when he was the incarnation of death itself - at least in the creation of the one being he served, the Ice Dragon.

But the most grand and magnificent monster had graced its last upon the plane of existence. Destroyed as the prophecy foretold by the two halves of the Lightbringers, each brought from a different world. His Dany and the other Aegon, forged by destiny to rescue all of creation from the destructive force of chaos spawned out of the primordial ooze. Jon Snow’s mind still failed to grasp it, even so close to the seat of such dark power.

And with its death, with his own injuries at the hands of all that he fought, Jon Snow felt the return of mortality to him. The pain of wounds, the suffering of cold and thirst, and the herald of the sweet release of death.

Was he scared? No, for he had faced all of them before.

Jon welcomed it, for it meant the terrible curse was lifted from him. He was free, even if it meant he couldn’t have Daenerys beside him again. Enough comfort to know she would be alive and happy with one that did love her.

Himself, no less.

Content with it all, through his coughs and wheezes and shivers as the life ebbed out of him, something stabbed through the veil of ice that surrounded Jon. A tight grip around the restored flesh of his right hand, bringing warmth.

For the first time in years, he felt warmth.

Eyes fluttering open, Jon found himself face to face with the woman that had born him into the world. “Mu… muna?” Gods, his voice was his again.

Lyanna Stark smiled, tears coursing down her eyes as she squeezed his hand. “My son, you’re safe now.”

He chuckled, which dissolved quickly into a fusillade of wet coughs. Blood and red foam frothing on his lips and whiskers, drawing horror from his muna. “My soul is… safe, I suppose. But I’m dying.”

“Don’t say that, we can…”

Weakly raising his arm, Jon placed it on her wrist, stilling her. “Just stay, muna.” He sighed, coughing again as the same emotions and memories befitting Jon Snow rather than the Ice King flooded his mind and soul. “Just once, let me have the mother I… always wanted.” Lyanna closed her eyes, face scrunched with suppressed sobs, but she finally leaned down to kiss his forehead. Squeezing his arm as a loving mother would. Finally he knew what that was like - but it felt incomplete. Jon knew why. “Dany… bring Dany…”

“Jon?” His eyes widened, sapping what little energy he had left but there she was. His Dany, the one that long ago had won his heart. Behind her was the other - Aegon Targaryen, but he wisely hung back. There was no need, for he held no hatred for his other self anymore. “Jon, is that you?”

“Aye… I’m me again.”

A tear fell down her cheek. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything that happened.”

“It was… preordained. I hold… no grudge.” He reached out with his free hand, barely able to hold it up before Dany took it, squeezing hard. “Just know… I love you… even if we were… never meant to be.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Daenerys leaned forward and kissed the space between his eyes, warm and full of affection. “It’s so wonderful to see your eyes again.” 

He smiled. “It’s… good… to see… again…” One hand gripped by his mother, the other by the woman he loved, the man once again Jon Snow tilted his head back. Enjoying the warming rays of the sun banish away the cold for the final time.

The last he felt was the warmth of the sun, and now it was warm everywhere. Not oppressive like the sands of Dorne, or the mugginess of the fetid human swamps of King’s Landing, but something perfect. Something calm and soothing for a man that bore witness to the deepest cold imaginable. Was this the afterlife?

If it was, then the gods hadn’t damned his soul.

“Hello, Jon.”

The most familiar voice - one that only heralded love in Jon’s life. He tried to open his eyes, but found it difficult. “Daenerys?” he murmured, shifting about. Forcing his eyes open to gaze into the familiar violets he so loved. For a moment fear stabbed at him, that his love had died in the instant between his death and his arrival here… but that faded.

This wasn’t his Dany. The differences were subtle, but they were still there, and he knew his Dany intimately. She knew it too. “You’re destined to be beautiful in every lifetime,” she said, cupping his cheek. 

“You’re his Dany. The one he failed.”

A sigh. “He didn’t fail me, Jon. It was destiny.” Her thumb rubbed his cheek. “Nor did you fail the one you loved.”

Easing himself up to a seated position - resting his back against the thick trunk of a weirwood wherever in the afterlife they were - Jon closed his eyes. The weight of it all falling on him. “It sure feels that way.”

“If you did, you’d never be here. With your actual second chance.” His brow rose, confused until Daenerys reached beside her and scooped up a bundle. A dozing bundle. “Rhaegar, my son. His son.” She held out the boy to him. “Your son as well, if you so choose.”

The boy was asleep, but he looked perfect. The sweetest boy, silver hair like Daenerys but his face was all him. Jon was entranced. “And if I think I don’t deserve this?”

Daenerys - not his Dany, but one that looked upon him all the same with love - leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. A kiss that turned passionate, but loving. Filled with affection. “Then make yourself worthy of it all, Jon.” Jon said nothing, only kissing her back, continuing to hold his babe in his arms.

The three of them, finally at peace.

Notes:

BlackLight - Just one more chapter guys and gals. Thank you so much for sticking with us this long :)

Chapter 84: Epilogue

Summary:

Sixteen Years have passed since the Long Night was ended. The realm now readies for it's crown princ to be married

Notes:

BlackLight - Here we are guys and gals, the final chapter. Hope you all enjoy this final part of this story :)

Longclaw - well, it's been five years and several different co-writers. Blacklight and I have taken over as the fourth set of writers after the original author had to quit, Cymatt had personal problems, and Colin... God rest his soul. But we persevered and the story is now complete. At times, I didn't think it would ever be finished but here we are. Thanks to everyone for reading and staying with us to the end, and I hope you enjoy the Epilogue.

This is for Colin. God bless you, buddy.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen

 

“Hold still.” Lips pursed, Daenerys leaned up on her toes to reach the laces of her son’s cloak. Tall and strapping, Crown Prince Rhaegon was taller than his kepa and thus towered over her. “Son, you best stop squirming or this will take longer.”

“Mayhaps if you stopped making my skin chafe I wouldn’t squirm as much… ow.” He rubbed his shoulder from where she pinched him.

Daenerys cocked her head at him. “Do not speak back to me or I will pinch you again.” He glowered but nodded, a frown on his face as he seemed to retreat into himself while Dany put the finishing touches on the outfit. “Just like your father, you are.”

Wait…

Rhaegon stood before her not the cutest little babe with a dusting of silver hair on his head and a cherubic smile, but rather a powerfully built Targaryen dragonriding Prince. An all black outfit of simple armor with a dash of red in his cloak and a sash around his waist - befitting a Targaryen, though a few snarling direwolves flanked the Targaryen dragon on his gorget to denote his grandmother’s house. He looked like something out of a dream of hers, of the family she once yearned for, his trousers fitted perfectly to his legs and the darker silver of his hair left entirely down, much to her delight.

Blackfyre rested on the table beside him, the sword of the future King.

A smile brightened her face as she cupped his cheek, affection blooming for her silver-haired beauty of an eldest son. “You’re just like your father.”

Giggles left the three ladies perched on the couches of the royal solar, a cast of violet and grey eyes twinkling with mirth at their older brother. “Rhae marrying his aunt, just like kepa.” Rhaena, the eldest of them, sighed. Her hand over her heart. “Ah, so romantic.”

Daenerys saw through their words and the mocking they meant. While she stifled a giggle, Rhaegon glowered. “Shut it.”

“No, really brother.” The youngest, one and ten year old Princess Lyarra, wore her innocent expression for all it was worth. “How you paced all night, worrying if dear Senya would back out of the wedding and break your heart… it was so sweet!”

“You did that?” three voices called out at once, Daenerys concerned while Rhaena and his middle sister Daena were beside themselves with glee at their brother’s nervousness.

His eyes widened in fear. “I told you that in confidence!” Rhaegon buried his face in shame. “I’m such an idiot!”

Glaring at her three girls, whose giggles died at the stare of their muna, Daenerys embraced her son. “Don’t fret, sweetling. Visenya loves you.” Her niece, a beautiful girl who likely was what Jon would’ve looked like had he been born a woman. It… worked out very well. “What would I tell you if she was worrying much as you.”

Rhaegon peered at her skeptically. “She could get any man she wished, why would she worry?”

“Mayhaps it’s because she loves you and only you? Much like your kepa and I?” Her son smiled softly, to which Dany kissed his cheek. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Thank you, muna,” he murmured, kissing her temple. Daenerys felt her heart swell with love. Detangling from her, Rhaegon advanced on his sisters and - them yelping the entire time - hefted up Daena and Lyarra into his arms. “And you three shall not trifle with the Crown Prince of Westeros.” They kicked their legs and tried to smack and slap at their brother, but all were laughing, especially Rhaena. 

And Daenerys. It was such a lovely scene. 

Everything that she ever wanted.

A knock on the door was a bit abrupt, but the door opened to reveal the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. “Your Graces?”

“Yes, Ser Loras?”

Even approaching forty namedays, Loras Tyrell still looked as handsome as he did when he and Margaery journeyed to Winterfell for her and Robb’s betrothal. “There are some guests who wish to speak to Prince Rhaegon prior to the wedding.”

Dany nodded. “Send them in.”

No sooner did Ser Loras open the door a bit further did Rhaegon’s dashing twin - well, that’s what the cousins called themselves anyway - charge into the chambers and heft Rhaegon up with his mighty arms in a bear hug. “You magnificent bastard! Today’s your big day!”

Rhaegon laughed. “You made it, you dumb cunt!” Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Meereen, laughed and the two began punching each other’s arms. Gods, the two were more brothers than Rhaegon was with anyone else - it heartened Dany.

With the boisterous arrival, she hadn’t noticed Alysanne enter until the raven-haired dragonrider detangled with the girls, all crowding around to marvel at the latest fashion from the Bay of Dragons. “Let me see my nephew.” Aly surged forward with all grace, wedging herself between her son and nephew. “Handsome lad. Visenya will devour you in the bedchamber.”

“Aunt Aly…” Rhaegon blushed, gesturing to Daenerys. “Not in front of muna.”

“What? Believe me, I shared a tent next to theirs on the Dothraki Sea. They set the record in that regard.” She and Dany shared a smirk while all the children covered their ears, retching. “Enough of that, I just managed to land on the Dragonpit, clean up, and come here, so wedding time!”

Soon, she was arm in arm with Daenerys as the group of them escorted the groom to the great hall of the Red Keep. “Glad you could make it, sister.”

Aly beamed at her. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” The siblings shared a smile, both radiant, mature beauties that still turned many a head. “Soon, Daemon will wish to settle down, and then I can come live on Dragonstone with you and Aegon.”

While Daenerys loved the sound of that, she bit her lip. “You could still remarry.”

“Me, no. I’m content.” The realm had gone into mourning when Ser Jaime caught a fever and passed on four years before. Tyrion followed not sixteen moons later, leaving the under house arrest Cersei - ironically enough - the last of Tywin Lannister’s brood. Daenerys didn’t worry about Casterly Rock. Lynesse’s son Loren was a loyal Lord, and madly in love with Sarra Stark, the last child of Ned and Catelyn. Cersei’s daughter Lyanna had been fostered with her cousin Shireen at Storm’s End, and was more Baratheon than Lannister. A marriage had already been contracted to the heir of Highgarden, something Tyrion had worked out before his death and all parties agreed too… even Cersei, who would be passing to the care of Garlan and Arianne once the wedding happened.

House Lannister, ironically enough, was no threat. 

“Arya tells me you hold two lovers, neither of whom know about the other.”

Alysanne smirked. “He’s clueless, while she suspects.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “Jon is enough for me, thank you.”

“Your loss.”

A still thick northern brogue had Dany’s skin shivering and her smile widening from behind them. “If you will excuse me, aunt, but you are arm in arm with my wife.”

Alysanne gave back a flirty chuckle. “And here I thought it was every man’s fantasy?” She nevertheless, with an impish smile, handed Dany off to Aegon. “My King.” Aly curtseyed and made her way to the great hall. 

Jon took her hand, looking ever so handsome in his ceremonial robes and the crown of Aegon the Conqueror on his head. “Hello love.” Ghost sat on his haunches behind the King, alongside his mate - a direwolf from beyond the Wall Dany had taken to calling Spirit. 

“Hello husband.” Dany couldn’t help but kiss him. Cut short when Ghost and Spirit began nudging them with their snouts. She giggled. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, Dany.”

The wedding was to be held in the Red Keep itself, a break from tradition but not one the monarchs concerned themselves with. High Septon Meribald would officiate the ceremony so the new Most Devout would be quiet. They had two continents to placate and it would therefore go smoothly. A massive crowd of nobles and their families gathered within, all falling to their knees at the dragon monarchs as they entered - two massive direwolves following behind tended to ensure compliance after all. Daenerys greeted every fourth one, smiling and nodding to each gesture of respect. The greetings grew more personal as they reached the van, where their family and friends were. Some were missing, having perished in the Long Night or in the years since in more peaceful manners.

It tugged at her heart, but such was life. Compared to the world she escaped, Daenerys wouldn’t mourn more than appropriate.

“Muna,” she heard Jon say, hugging Princess Lyanna who was at the very front. “Is she ready?”

“Aye, she is.” Lyanna then greeted Daenerys, the two royal women both still slender and beautiful in spite of the years and the many children they each birthed - it was still a bit of a surreal experience that her goodmother was the same age as her. “Tell my grandson he should stop being so nervous.”

Dany looked to where Rhaegon stood still at the front next to the High Septon, but she could tell. “He thinks Visenya has second thoughts.”

Lyanna chuckled. “Just like his father and grandfather.”

Both women then sighed. “Aye, just like them.” What had been amusement was now rendered with affection.

As soon as the King and Queen stood beside the Princess, hand in hand, the music began. All eyes turned to the back of the great hall to reveal the Princess Visenya Targaryen, arm in arm with her kepa, Lord Hand Prince Rhaegar. Dany’s eyes widened at how beautiful her niece looked, certainly matched in awe by her son. Senya’s dress went the typical all-white of both a new bride and that of a Stark winter wedding, the color of freshly fallen snow though the fabric was stitched to look like dragon scales - she was the rider of Viserion, matching her mount. While much was covered, her shoulders were bare but for the bridal cloak of red and black which contrasted so nicely with both the dress and her pale skin. Daenerys could tell a Mereenese style - likely a contribution by the bride’s best friend, Aemma Lannister, Alysanne’s eldest with the late Jaime. 

The only sign of her true Stark blood was the black hair allowed to fall free down her neck and shoulders, the same shade as Jon’s. Otherwise, she looked the pure Targaryen Princess, and future Queen. Rhaegon and the Realm would be in good hands, as Daenerys intended her and Jon’s sharing of power to become a permanent arrangement between King and Queen. It worked so nicely.

What words the septon began with were lost, Daenerys merely focusing on her son and niece. Rhaegon was entranced by his bride, and she with him. Dany had watched Visenya grow up, and saw the friendship she and Rhaegon - who were inseparable - have morph into affection and then love. There was no doubt as to their mutual eagerness to seal their union into an everlasting marriage. 

As if their lives had come to this point, and they truly had. All of them.

Clearing his throat, Meribald finished off his monologue by reaching the proper words. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Rhaegon removed the Targaryen cloak from Senya’s shoulders, paused as he looked to the crowd, then put it back on. Everyone laughed, given the circumstances.

A Targaryen marrying another Targaryen. 

Visenya wore her dreamy smile all throughout, looking to Dany and her own muna for steadiness. Dany nodded, everything proceeding as planned.

“My lords, my ladies,” Meribald began again. “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One heart, one flesh, one soul, now and forever.” The septon glanced between them, the sign for them to raise their arms and so they did. Rhaegon lifted up his left hand to place it atop Senya’s right. Dany didn’t miss both of theirs trembling.

Gods, hers trembled as well, but Jon without prompting laced their fingers together, holding her hand lovingly. She resisted the urge to kiss him. That could come later. 

A ribbon appeared in the septon’s hands, Meribald tying it around their joined fingers. “Let it be known that Rhaegon of House Targaryen and Visenya of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.” 

A chorus of draconic roars from outside placed their emphasis on that. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” Meribald let go, the ribbon remaining in place as he stepped away. “Look upon one another, and say the words.” 

They turned to face each other, Rhaegon and Visenya gazing at their respective betrotheds with all their focus, attention, and affection. As if they were the only thing in the world to each other. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.” 

“I am hers…

“I am his…”

“...and she is mine…”

“...and he is mine…” 

They both were grinning like madmen by this point.“From this day, until the end of my days.” 

Rhaegon reached up with his free hand and cupped Visenya’s chin, his new wife shuddering with pleasure as he brushed away a wayward strand of raven hair. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” The entire hall erupted in cheers as the couple kissed, a passionate meeting of mouths lost to the rest of the world.

Slowly, Jon raised Daenerys’ hand to his lips, kissing it with love. Tears fell from her cheeks, Daenerys never having been happier in her life. 

Sometimes it felt too good to be true, but she never ceased to enjoy its blessings.

 


 

Lyanna Targaryen

 

Winding her way through the throng of merriment, Princess Lyanna couldn’t help but draw herself to the high table where the delighted couple sat, arms intertwined as Rhaegon fed her sweet Senya a slice of cake. Her dragonriding daughter devoured most of it, though a little vanilla coated the side of her mouth. Rhaegon devilishly licked it up before she could, and it simply ended in a passionate kiss.

His grandfather’s move, right there. Lyanna shook her head with a smirk. She’d never tell Rhaegar or Jon on how Senya sought out advice from her goodniece Margaery on how to best please a man right before the official betrothal dinner. Senya would be mortified if she knew her muna knew, but Lyanna didn’t mind. The two of them only seemed closer and more devoted to each other afterwards, clearing the last hurdle before the wedding.

It wasn’t just them lost in bliss. Near sixteen years since the end of the Long Night had brought new dawn to Westeros, including to the court and their ‘Famous Families’ as many were beginning to call them. House Targaryen was repopulating, Houses Martell, Lannister, Tyrell, and of course Stark experienced new life, while the near destroyed Arryns and Baratheons prospered under their new and unconventional rulers. It was… a fitting epilogue to decades of struggle and pain.

Just drifting past, a frown crossed her face as she spotted young Daena Targaryen - her beautiful granddaughter. Confused as to why such a lovely girl of mere four and ten was moping rather than being the life of the feast, she strode over and took a seat. “Lovely night.”

Daena nearly jumped. “Grandmother, you gave me a fright.”

She chuckled. “You didn’t get your poetry from your father or I, that’s for sure.” Lyanna wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

A shrug. “No one wants to dance with me.”

Lyanna snorted. “You’re a Princess and a dragonrider. I’d expect your kepa to use his sword on the suitors to keep them away.” Her brow rose. “Or do you have someone in mind.”

Daena blushed a ripe red, but her eyes gave her away. Frittering over to her crush.

“Eddard Martell?” The eldest son of Sansa and Trystane, he had inherited all of Sansa’s charm and his father’s family’s lustiness. “Good choice. He’s very handsome.”

“Grandmother…” Her blush deepened.

“Go ask him to dance.”

“Me?” She looked mortified. “Ask him?”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You’re the daughter and granddaughter of powerful women warriors. Be bold like your dragon.” Biting her lip, Daena needed a little nudge from her grandmother before she stood and hesitantly walked over to her cousin. Currently bantering about something with Robb’s sons, young Eddy suddenly went white when Daena approached. Lyanna bit back her chuckle at how surprised the confident Martell appeared when Daena asked him to dance. A single nod from him and it was like all her nervousness disappeared.

Pretty soon, they had lost all their apprehension, merrily as entranced in each other as the other couples on the dance floor of the wedding banquet. All centered around the King and Queen as they danced alongside the newly wed couple, her precious grandson and darling daughter. It all reminded Lyanna of her own royal wedding, an event she was against having but her boy insisted upon it.

A way to celebrate that we are all still alive , Aegon had put it at the time. It didn’t feel right to her at the time, she had wed already on the Isle of Faces before her gods - being wed before the seven didn’t sit right with Lyanna now. But quickly she found herself battling against unfair odds as Rhaegar agreed with their son. Looking back on it all now, she was glad to have such a stubborn son and husband. That had been one of the happiest days of her life, few others before or since could truly compare to it.

“Something on your mind, my love?” Rhaegar asked from beside her as they sat at the high table. Dressed in her royal garb of red and black with the Hand of the King badge ever present on his chest, her husband had barely aged a day since the day they won the war for the Dawn. Save for a few greying hairs in his long locks, the Prince of Summerhall was as regal as the day Lyanna met him.

Lyanna smiled over at her love before leaning towards him and kissing his cheek, making him smile back at her. “Simply some matchmaking.” 

His brow raised, finding the young couple. “They’ll be nice together.”

“For sure, for sure.” She kissed his cheek. “Also can’t help remembering our own wedding, my husband. I find myself reminiscing more and more as the years pass us by,” she told him.

“Ahh, a grand night that was,” Rhaegar said as he looked back to the floor, a proud smile coming to his face as he watched their grandson dance with their daughter. “Especially the bedding,”

A small gasp. “You lecher.” Lyanna punched him in the arm for the comment, making Rhaegar chuckle. Despite being a lecher, Lyanna agreed with him, it had been a grand night. One that resulted in their second son, Daeron. He was the spitting image of Rhaegar and was the perfect heir to Summerhall one day.

The gods blessed them thrice more in the years following Daeron’s birth. Their third son, Daemon, was born five years after his second eldest brother, named for their nephew. Daemon was born with one violet and one steely grey eye, and a head full of silvery curls. Many called him the Rogue Prince born again, and despite his mother and father’s efforts to stop such talk from circulating, the young Targaryen embraced it. Though, thankfully, he was not as much of a troublemaker as the first Rogue Prince was famous for being.

 And then, just three years prior, Lyanna was with child again. Or more accurately, she was pregnant with a small litter. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, a mix of their parents completely. Jaeherys had his mother’s hair but his father’s eyes, while Jaehaera was the opposite.

They, like all of Lyanna’s other children, were perfect. Even if they got into more trouble together in the past three years than all the rest, save for Aegon, did in all their combined lives.

Taking a moment to look around the floor for her other children, Lyanna found Daemon first. He stood near the back of the hall with his cousin Sarra Stark, the third child of King Robb and Queen Margaery. Even from so far away, the she-wolf could see the smile on her niece's face as her son spoke. No doubt a betrothal would be brought to them before long for the pair of them from Sarra’s mother and father.

The pair of them ascended to their ruling status in the aftermath of the battle for the Dawn. Ned’s battle wound left him permanently limp in his wounded leg and in his own opinion her brother felt he no longer had the capacity to be King. And so, as Robb had tried to give back Frost he was instead told to hold it firmly before Ned placed his crown upon his heir's brow.

Catelyn did similarly with her own Queen's crown when Margaery was at last able to reach Winterfell, little prince Torrhen Stark swaddled against her chest as she arrived. In the years since, King Robb proved himself the equal to any of the Kings of Winter from before the Conquest. The Freefolk were fully settled along the Wall and in the gift, with some also returning beyond the Wall to where they once lived. 

While the new King and Queen ruled, Ned and Catelyn alternated between visits to Kings Landing and living in Winterfell. Their youngest daughter was always with them, bringing nothing but joy wherever she skipped round and proceeded to wrap every single person she came across around her finger.

Gods, Lyanna knew that girl would be trouble one day for sure. But the good kind of trouble, like herself.

“Might we take to the floor, Princess?” Rhaegar asked as he stood and offered his hand. “I feel a need to stretch my legs.”

Lyanna smirked. “You simply wish for an excuse to have me pressed up against you outside our bed chamber,”

“Aye, that too.” Rhaegar confessed. Taking hold of one another's hand firmly, they made their way to the floor. The gathered lords parted way for them as they walked and joined the other happy couples.

Getting a better look at all those gathered, Lyanna could see her other family amongst the crowd. Sansa and Trystane drew many a gaze for thor dance, a haughty display that perfectly embodied the people of Dorne. It sometimes shocked courtiers at how the prim and proper Sansa Stark had adapted so well into being a saucy Dornish Lady, but Lyanna knew there was a wolf in there. On display as she ruled with her husband or raised their five children, soon to be six. The only ones who could match them was the Princess of Drone and her devoted husband. Arianne and Garlan often seemed to enjoy making a competition of things when the two couples were found in the same place at the same time. It’s part of their charm, Lyanna told herself as she felt Rhaegar take hold of her hip and pull her close to begin their own dance.

As they twirled she saw two more of her brother's children. Arya was engaged in a drinking game with her husband, lord Gendry Durrandon. Being Robert's bastard had caused complications when Aegon wished to legitimize the lad, but he seemed smarter than one would think for a lad who had previously served as a blacksmith. Choosing to take up residence in the Crownlands and take the ancient name Durrandon had proved a perfect compromise when lady Shireen had at last been able to take up ruling Storm’s End.

Bran was also among the crowd, sitting beside his wife, the former Meera Reed. Still plagued with visions and his otherworldly powers, Lyanna’s nephew was granted Queenscrown as a home. It allowed him to be close enough to the lands beyond the Wall and also to still be in reach of his family. The pair of them had since had two children, Jojen and Mya Stark.

The only one of Ned’s children Lyanna could not see was young Rickon, but that was not too surprising. The lad often kept out of the center of things, and no doubt he was enjoying his time with his own betrothed, lady Myrcella. The two of them had been found to be fond of one another by the late lord Tyrion and he suggested such a betrothal. Robb could find no reason to object.

Pulled close to Rhaegar's chest, Lyanna could not help but smile as she watched all those she loved around her, each having their own happy smiles spread across their features. Wrapping her arms tight around her husband, Lyanna buried her head into his chest as they swayed to the gently played tune.

It felt good to be alive, to see the dawn every morning and sleep knowing tomorrow would come.

 


 

Aegon Targaryen

 

Idly running a hand along the tall grass, Jon trudged in his boots through the field. It was deserted, the only sound being the wheat whipping along in the wind. Peaceful, quite the contrast from the hustle and bustle of the Red Keep - or Dragonstone when the royal family made their court there. It was… refreshing.

He didn’t have to wait long alone. “Bout time you showed up.”

Smiling, Jon turned and immediately was greeted by a tight embrace. One he relaxed into, how wonderfully familiar it was. “Daenerys.”

“Mmmm, Aegon.” There was once a time where such a reunion would lead to a kiss, which would quickly follow by one of them shoving the other onto their back and tearing at their clothes. But now they merely pulled apart after he kissed her forehead and she his cheek. “How are you?”

He cocked his head at her. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

A giggle. “Aye, it was a wonderful wedding. Rhaegon and Visenya look so happy.”

“They are.” Jon and Daenerys began walking through the field - they held hands, the only homage to their previous love and marriage. “And Rhaegar?”

“Oh, he got married as well.” His brow rose, quite surprised. “You know Viserra Targaryen?”

“Daughter of Jaehaerys and Alysanne?”

“Aye. Apparently he fell madly for her - she spurned him what, twenty times before they finally went for a dragonride together. Rest is history.”

Jon laughed. “Good for him.” He hung his head. “I miss him so much.”

Daenerys turned to clasp both his hands. “I know you do - Jon loves him as his own, but I’ve still told him of you.” Her thumb caressed the back of his hand. “One day, when your work is done in the mortal realm, we’ll all be united.”

He nodded. “But not the same as before.”

“No, not like that.” She pulled up his hand and kissed it. “But I have no regrets.”

Hugging her again, Jon nodded. “Aye, no regrets.”

Jolting awake, Jon very nearly pitched onto his back. His breaths were heavy and eyes still a mix of foggy and a bright white - the same state as when one stared at the sun far too long. “Gods…” he murmured, blinking rapidly while opening and closing his jaw. Trying to recover his bearings as best he could. “How can Bran make it look so easy?” His brother could greensight without breaking a sweat, slip into the sight or warg into Summer and then return with only a few blinks and a slight tremor in the hand. “Or am I just getting too old?”

“I wouldn’t ever call you too old.”

A smile curled to his face without him prompting it. “Oh?” Jon didn’t turn even as two arms wrapped around his upper body, dainty fingers caressing the light sleep tunic he still wore. “And why would you say that?”

Daenerys kissed the crown of his head, nuzzling his hair with her cheek. “Four and thirty and your hair still holds the same dark color that makes you so enigmatically beautiful.” His Queen ran a hand up to his curls, idly playing with them. “You can still vanquish anyone upon the battlefield or sparring court with your longswords and…” Her voice dropped to a throaty purr. “And drive your wife to madness with your greatsword.”

Jon grinned. “We’re calling it a greatsword now?”

“Why not?” Licking the shell of his ear, she lowered a trail of kisses till she was lightly sucking his neck - making him groan. “You certainly showed it to me last night.”

“How could I not, after you threw yourself at me?” He had a wife who was still the most beautiful woman in the world. Only a fool wouldn’t enjoy himself at every opportunity, especially when a few cups of wine had left her rather frisky and ravenous - Daenerys needed no encouragement to jump him, but the wine woke the dragon and Jon very much liked the dragon awake. “Mayhaps we should follow it up this morning?”

Snickering, Daenerys lightly bit his neck. “Lecher.” Oh, it would happen, but Daenerys paused, starting to massage his shoulders. Clearly wishing to speak with him first. “Why are you here, my love? Our bed was too cold to continue sleeping in, and it was quite unpleasant not to have you to snuggle against.”

She was definitely a cuddler, not that he minded. “Apologies, Dany.” Jon sighed, suddenly pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just needed to speak to someone.”

“Through a weirwood?” With both the King and the High Princess Lyanna being of the Old Gods, a proper heart tree was planted in the godswood of the Red Keep - it had already grown to a quite decent size. “Does your head hurt?”

Jon nodded, to which his beautiful wife began massaging his temples. “Oh, that’s good.” 

He could envision her smile. “Anything for my lovely husband.” Her fingers were like magic, Daenerys always knowing just how to ease the tension in his body. “How were the others, by the way?”

“How is it… oh…” he groaned as his headache was being wiped out by her deft massage. “That you know who I’m speaking with?”

“A long marriage, not to mention we are of the same blood. We are connected in a multitude of ways, Aegon Targaryen.” Daenerys sounded smug, but from the tales of her deeds both in her long-lost past, prior to the Long Night in this earthly realm, and during the Long Peace as they were calling it, she deserved to be a little arrogant in her abilities. “So how are they?”

Jon smiled. “Happy, as we are - mayhaps more, since they need not engage in the drudgery of ruling.”

“We have plenty of help, so it’s not that bad.” Daenerys pulled her hands away, but before he could protest she had walked around and sat in his lap. Straddling his legs with hers. She wore a robe over her sleep shift and her hair was askew from sleep and the… activities that preceded sleep, but still radiated an everlasting grace with her silver locks, violet eyes, and radiant smile. “I can see the appeal in a simple, idyllic life of just you and me.” 

“You tending to the cooking fire at home while I go hunting for our next meal?”

“And I cannot hunt?”

“You could, but I’d prefer to walk into our home to see you bent over, tending the fire. Ready for me to hike up your dress…”

She hit him, laughing. “You are a lecher.” Jon silenced her with a kiss, and a few minutes were lost to moaning and wandering hands. None were what Jon would consider wasted, kissing Dany being one of his most important Kingly duties. He had to kiss her enough for their three lifetimes in just one, a duty he would spend the rest of his life engaged in. Eventually though, air became an issue and they pulled back, panting and smiling. “You still take my breath away.”

“That alone makes me one of the great Targaryen Kings.”

“I think so.” Daenerys leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m afraid we must reconsider the planned betrothal between Rhaena and Ser Torrhen.” Robb and Margaery were quite eager on the desire to marry their heir to the young Princess. “Fond of each other that they are, dear Prince Daemon was seen sneaking out of Rhaena’s chambers by Arya.”

Scowling, Jon sighed. “She’s too much like you for our own good.” Daenerys hit his shoulder again, grinning. “That’s fine then - Daemon’s a fine match and she’ll be Princess of Meereen, but what should I tell Robb?”

“That Ser Torrhen and little Daena are far closer than he and Rhaena ever were.” Their third child, as wild and fierce as her grandmother - perfect as the future Princess of Winterfell. “Everything manages to work out, it seems.”

“Aye, it does.” He sometimes couldn’t believe their good fortune in the last decade and a half of peace and prosperity as the realm recovered under the restored Targaryen Dynasty. “Feels like a dream, it does.”

Daenerys turned so that her back was pressed to Jon’s front, grabbing his arms and looping their fingers together. “It’ll feel even more than that, look.” Almost with childlike glee, she pointed to the eastern horizon, expanded vastly from their perch atop the cliffs of Aegon’s High Hill. Barely a second later, the muted darkness of the pre-dawn sky exploded as the first tendrils of sunlight emerged from beyond the horizon. Red-gold, the color of their dragons’ flames. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Was it? The warmth of the sun on his skin, the panoply of colors in the sky, the shimmer the sunlight made against the bobbing waves of Blackwater Bay. Yes, it was, but Jon’s eyes frittered elsewhere. To his wife, seeing how the rays of the sun made her skin glow. Her hair and eyes sparkle. “Aye, beautiful.”

As if realizing where he was looking, Dany turned her head to the side. Expression one of rapture. 

They needed no words after that, lips pressing together in a kiss. 

King and Queen.

Lightbringers.

Aegon and Daenerys.

Jon and Dany.

Oh, wasn’t it grand?

Notes:

BlackLight - I started reading this story years ago when it first began, and I never would have thought at the time I'd help finish it up. I hope you all have enjoyed the ride this story has taken us on. Hope to see you all as Claw and I go on to finish the writing for Last Targaryens ;)

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