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Chapter Text

“Can’t you just feel it?”

“Feel what?” Jamie mumbled, leaning over the railing of the ship, his chin on his crossed arms. He hated this. He looked out over the bustling piers and markets in the distance, scowling. It smelled rancid, like dead fish and sweaty bodies and weird spices. The air seemed to stick to the back of his neck. It was hot and he hated the heat. If he had his way he’d be back up North, where he’d been training with the Northmen. His streaky blond hair stuck his forehead and fell in tendrils around his sharp cheekbones from the tie he’d pulled it into earlier that morning. He felt like he was melting in his armor, still not removing it despite the instruction from his uncle that it was unnecessary in Essos, for they had been living in a land of peace for many, many years.

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the horizon. How could there be peace anywhere? He’d been conceived in war, born in war, grown up in war, and trained for war. He didn’t understand the concept of peace. It was a farce. For fairytales. Fairytales weren’t real, that’s why they were just tales. His blue eyes darted sideways to his twin sister, who looked like she was living out a fantasy she’d read about in one of her books. Her green eyes danced in merriment. “Isn’t this magnificent?” she giggled, leaning far over the railing of the ship, her toes lifting from the deck.

He gasped. “Get back, you might fall!” He tugged her back, rolling his eyes. Mother told them that he’d been constantly trailing after his sister since the moment they both took their first breath. Joanna was always stuck with her head in the clouds, or in books, or anywhere but on earth. Meanwhile, he was the serious one, trying to live up to some sense of chivalry and capability. They were bastards and while Joanna might be fine with the surname Hill, he was well aware of his station in life and was not interested in being known as the Kingslayer’s bastard son.

He was Ser Jamie Hill, born to the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard and the first female knight, Ser Brienne of Tarth. He was going to do his mother proud and ensure he lived beyond the reputation he’d had slapped on him since his birth. Just because his last name was not Lannister did not mean that he would be a failure. His father may have died protecting his evil queen sister and had killed the king he was sworn to protect, but he would not go down in the history books with a caveat on his name. “Why are we here again?” he grumbled, following Joanna as she scurried along the deck, up to where their Lord Uncle was at the helm, with the captain of the ship.

“For adventure!” Joanna exclaimed, spinning on her toes. She’d practically thrown her dresses overboard the moment they’d left Kings Landing and was wearing male breeches and a tunic with a wide brown belt, a dagger dangling from it. Their mother had ensured they were well trained in close combat and Joanna was fearsome with a dagger. When she could notice danger of course. Her curly blonde hair was chopped almost clean to her head, like their mother. It got in the way, she’d always complained.

They both came to the helm and he gazed over the port of Volantis. It was the largest of the Free Cities. He’d never seen a city quite this large. It seemed to sprawl in every direction, small hovels and grand stone houses for miles. He looked down at his uncle, who was checking at the pin on his vest, making sure the raven sigil was predominantely displayed. “Uncle, why are we here?”

The dwarf sighed, for he had answered the question many times on the journey from King’s Landing. “I am here on business, of course, and you are both here because your mother wanted to make sure you’d see a part of the world that wasn’t fighting itself nonstop,” his uncle said, not meeting his gaze. Jamie arched an eyebrow, but Uncle Tyrion did not bother to look back to him. He nodded at the captain and turned away, walking towards the other side of the ship to look at the remainder of the city.

As they made their way into port, Jamie ducked, his eyes widening as a massive shadow crossed over the ship. “What is that?” he murmured.

Joanna came to stand beside him, for once, speechless, her emerald eyes following the shadow as it made its way over to the top of a giant red pyramid, looming over the city. Her voice was hushed. “Is that…?”

Tyrion nodded, his voice grave. “That is a dragon.”

The dragon let out a screech that sounded like nails on stone from the top of the pyramid, but no one in the ports or on the ship paid it any attention. It let out another terrifying sound and took off, beating its wings to begin a long, slow path around the city, as if it were guarding it. That was when Jamie noticed the flags of Volantis were flapping with the banners of something else entirely.

It was a symbol he had only seen in books and did not knew flew again.

A black background with a blood red three-headed dragon, of course he knew that one. There were tattered uniforms and flags in the dungeons of the keep with that symbol. Only there was something different with these banners.

For in the center of the dragons, a white wolf head pierced through the center, in a silent, ominous howl.

-----

It was like her uncle was scared, which was something Joanna had never seen before. She always thought of her uncle as a brave and strong man, despite his small stature. He was the smartest person in the world, besides her mother, and he seemed as though in this strange place he was hiding from something. Or someone.

She walked behind him as they left the ship and made their way through the streets and markets. The people were lovely, all different ages, shapes, sizes, and colors, she thought. Men with blue beards and women with violet eyes. Many wore the red cloaks of R’hollr and had ornate gold and ruby collars on their necks. There were tradesmen from Pentos and bankers from Bravoos. She spied women from Lys and men from Thyrosh. There were even Ghiscari and men from Yi Ti.

To her shock she wondered if she also saw Dothraki, walking their horses through the crowds, their eyes darkened with soot and wearing leather and their horses battletested and bigger than any she’d seen in Westeros. Men with spears walked in formation, their helmets stamped with the dragon, a wolf in the center.

The deeper they went into the markets, she itched to sample the oils, salves, jewelry, and clothing they were selling. Exotic fruits and vegetables for sale. Grains and spices. Her mouth dripped with saliva. It was more food than she’d ever seen at once in Westeros. Even in the summer they had to ration, for The Reach still could not produce enough for the people. She nibbled on her lower lip, her bright eyes scanning a stall, filled with books. “Oh Uncle Tyrion might I…” she took a step and then sighed. No, he had business to attend to here.

Tyrion chuckled and nodded, gesturing for their cohort to stop. “Go ahead sweet niece. Is there one in particular you’d like?”

All of them, she wanted to say, reaching for an old book, the cover dusty and the title in a language she recognized as High Valyrian. “Do you read Valyrian?” the old crone behind the table asked, smiling to show she had a row of bright gold teeth. She tapped a book off to the side and picked it up. “This is the history of the Targayrens of Valyria. You might like it, Westerosi.”

She took the book, her hand running over the gold lettering, smiling down at it. It was written in High Valyrian, which she didn’t know very well. She nodded and glanced at her uncle. “I’d like this one please.”

“You know I could tell you about the Targaryens. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it all,” her uncle said, paying for the book.

“Do not speak ill of the Targaryens,” the old woman hissed, her friendly wrinkled face immediately hard and warning to him.

Her brother reached for the top of his sword, frowning at the woman. “Was that a threat?” he demanded.

“Jamie, stop,” she grumbled. He was so overprotective of her. It was so boring. She gestured for them to leave. “Come on Uncle, Brother. Let’s go. I have a book to keep me busy.”

Tyrion seemed to want to say something more to the woman, but wisely closed his mouth and nodded. He looked up, at a series of dragons circling. Her mother had told her they existed, but she hadn’t believed her. There had been dragons in Westeros, several years before, but they had died or left. No one spoke much about those times. She had read Maester Tarly’s book, but found it entirely one-sided and hadn’t asked about the fate of the silver-haired Queen and her massive black dragon.

It seemed the dragon had spawned, she figured, at least five of them above the skies. No one in Volantis paid them mind. She wondered what their names were. If they had anything to do with the curious banners flying beneath the Volantene ones. Volantis was a Free City, like Braavos and Lys and Tyrosh. There were the former slave cities on Dragon’s Bay, formerly Slaver’s Bay, Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor. They were all prosperous and every single city had been rid of the slave trade, something that seemed to be a miracle, but for a Westerosi was foreign.

She’d spent many moons before the journey reading up on all the lands of Essos, for they seemed so much more magical and free than Westeros. Maester Sam told her that long ago the Maesters of Westeros had rid the Kingdoms of magical books, but he hadn’t told her why. Just mumbled something about control and never she mind about it and then ran off to answer a call from the King.

They hadn’t even made it to their final destination and yet she wanted to stay forever. It was so much more interesting and different than the bore that was the Raven’s Landing, the renamed red and black stone of former King’s Landing. Thank you Mother, she thought, smiling behind the book cover and hurrying along after her uncle, brother, and their cohort.

They weaved through streets and arrived at a stately merchant’s home, her uncle indicating that he would be awhile. She’d tried to find out what he was doing in Volantis but hadn’t been able to get it out of him on the journey. Several handmaidens led her and Jamie into a beautiful solar, gesturing to a stone basin set into the wall. “To clean your hands and face as you wish,” one of them said, turning a dial on the wall. The girl had introduced herself with the name of Ezze.

To her shock, cool water poured from the stone dragon inset against the wall. “Oh my gods,” she exclaimed, hurrying to examine the creation. “Water in the wall!”

Jamie scowled. “Quite odd.” Joanna rolled her eyes, of course he would pretend it was not interesting.

“Ingenious,” she murmured, trying to find the source.

The other handmaiden, Merri, smiled and offered her a clean cloth for her hands. “We will bring you refreshments shortly. Your rooms are not yet ready. Is there anything else I can get for you now?”

I would not even know for what to ask, Joanna thought, turning in circles as she took in the gorgeous white stone solar, with curtains of purple lace and bright red flowers pouring out from ceramic pots in every corner. There was even a lemon tree! “No, thank you so much,” she said, since her twin had the worst manners of all.

The two handmaidens nodded and moved to leave, before Jamie turned from the window, where he’d been observing the port. “Who rules here?” he asked.

Ezze and Merri glanced at the other and then Merri nodded up to one of the dragons screeching as it made another turn above the temple. “Volantis is a free city, but we owe our freedom and our continued prosperity to the Dragon Queen.”

“Dragons are supposed to all be dead,” Joanna said.

Both maidens chuckled. “Not in Essos. Westeros has magic that has long died out, correct? The Dragon Queen returned, she rose by the hand of the Lord of Light, and she has maintained our peace and our prosperity while Westeros suffers in famine and war.” The woman Ezze frowned a little and shrugged. “Your arrival brought with it more dragons. Usually it is just Silverwing who provides us protection, but now there are four more. They fly from New Valyria.”

“New Valyria?” Jamie asked.

Why is it she has never heard of this, Joanna wondered, wishing she could return to the Grand Maester’s library in King’s Landing. Maester Sam always had such unique and strange tomes, some he’d even stolen from the Citadel in Oldtown. She knew of the Valyrian Freehold, the islands in southern Essos, which only achieved their greatness because of their dragons. The intelligence and the magic they were able to wield formed an empire that lasted centuries until the Doom. It was no more; just smoking ruins everyone feared, for they never returned otherwise. Dragons were gone, the Targaryen line died out with the Dragon Queen who destroyed the capitol.

At least, that was the only Dragon Queen of whom she knew. No one spoke much about her. Just said she was a mad woman and let it lie. Her uncle seemed afraid to talk about her, saying it was wrong to speak of the dead when King Bran could see all.

Maybe there was another Dragon Queen. More dragons. More magic and more advances in the world than even they had in Westeros. Maybe someone else found them and wielded them. Joanna cocked her head slightly and spoke soft. “Valryia? Valryia is no more. The Doom destroyed it.”

Merri, who placed her hand over her left chest, nodded and bowed slightly. “Valyria has been reborn. By the grace of the dragon and the mercy of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, the first of her name, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, and the Queen of the United Cities of Essos.”

United Cities of Essos? Joanna opened her mouth to question more, but both women nodded, smiled, and took their leave, closing the door behind them. So many questions, she wanted to scream, whipping around to face her brother and lifted her hands up, shaking them at him. “Oh my gods! So many things we don’t know! Aren’t you glad we’re here?”

Jamie shook his head, scowling and striding to the windows and peering out at the massive red pyramid. “I’m not glad. We know nothing of this place! Clearly he kept things from us. Seven hells, clearly our mother and everyone we knew kept things from us! I lived in the North for most of my early life and not once did anyone at Winterfell speak of the Dragon Queen or New Valyria or any of this nonsense!”

On that they were in agreement. “Our education has clearly been lacking and I’m sure it is because of Tyrion.” She wanted to strangle her uncle. There was a remote possibility even their mother knew, but something told her that if this existed her mother would likely not know. Their mother was often consumed in her own world of being a knight, managing the Kingsguard and the City Watch, and also taking on the role as Master of War and Strategy.

Didn’t help she was often saddled with the rumors that still persisted over her mothering of Ser Jamie Lannister’s bastard twins. Whatever would happen to Westeros without gossip? It may just fall apart, she mused. Joanna didn’t care about the gossip, but unfortunately it was a reality of their lives. She crossed her arms over her chest; suddenly wishing she had a dress that was loose and flowing like the maids. The tight Westerosi cotton tunic threatened to smother her in the growing heat of the Volantis afternoon.

She turned away from her brooding brother and went to the other side of the room, looking out and over to where the dragons were slowly turning in the sky. They were gorgeous colors. The largest was silver with dark gray tipped wings. There were four others. A vibrant purple one. A small red. One with green and gold markings and the smallest of them all looked to be merely a child compared to the rest, trying to keep up. This one was a pretty gold and orange. Each one had a variety of spikes and horns, some larger and more intricate than others. Like a marking, distinguishing every dragon as a unique being unto itself.

Joanna propped her chin on her hand and began to wonder about what else lay out there in this United Cities of Essos. Were all the cities along the Narrow Sea members? What of the far outlying ones of mysticism and magic? Did anyone actually rule the Shadowlands or the ancient city of Ass’hai? Was there such a place as Stygai or Nefer or K’Dath? The maps of Essos in the ancient books were so lacking in detail. She longed for more information.

Most of all she wanted to know about this Dragon Queen. Queen Daenerys was dead, a name never spoken of in Westeros. Fear of the name seemed to lead to a fear of the person. Someone who had one dragon and destroyed the entire city in merely an hour. Someone mad with power and who laughed at the misery of others. It did not reconcile with the pride and honor the women had spoken of the Queen Daenerys in Essos. The love they seemed to have for her.

How could I go my whole life and not know this was happening out here in another continent? How did the dragons come back to life, how did Queen Daenerys come back to life? And why, Joanna wondered, looking straight at the flag with the dragon, was there a Stark wolf on the Targaryen banner?

Chapter Text

Tyrion felt his heart quicken the longer he remained in the company of the Volantene merchants. He knew it was folly to come and ask for more leniencies in the loans the Crown owed to the Volantene merchant guilds. He also knew that they did not loan their money without the approval of their Queen. The idea that he was here, in this land, and he hadn’t been captured the second he stepped off the ship was a blessing.

He also knew he was playing with fire, so to speak, by ensuring his niece and nephew were with him. Nothing would happen to him with them in his charge and he knew it. Or at least, he hoped that was the case. He did not like to be so far from Westeros, in this ancient land, since even the Allseeing King could not see this far to the east.

They kept their spies active, of course; he was not an idiot. The concept that they had no need for a Master of Whisperers with a king who could see everything was a fallacy. When the whispers of a force to the east arrived in his ear, he knew he had to reestablish a network of spiders. At first he’d thought it a joke, just the people of Essos creating a story to tell to keep their people in line. Then the whispers grew louder and louder, until they were naught but screams. There was a unifying entity in Essos, something was binding the cities together.

Meereen was the first; they all knew that, the Second Sons ruling when she’d departed for Westeros. She did not want to be the Queen of Essos but to conquer what her family had lost. Until the cities on Dragon’s Bay were bound somehow to Tyrosh and Lys. That meant nothing to them, Lys was just from where Lord Bronn’s whores all came. Tyrosh had no importance to Westeros. Then a few years later Pentos announced that they were bound to the same government that the others belonged. This was what startled him the most. Nothing would matter, he thought, for the two largest cities were still independent.

And then Braavos sent a raven to the Crown, announcing they were no longer the Free City of Braavos, but a member of the United Cities of Essos, representatives to a greater council of all the major Essosi cities. King Bran was not concerned. “Let them be part of whatever they want to be,” he’d said, before his eyes went white and he disappeared somewhere else entirely.

Tyrion found himself with more and more responsibility the longer Bran spent somewhere else. He only cared about the old gods, establishing orchards of weirwood trees, and occasionally sending what little remained of the Crownlands’ banners to the North to quell rioting and raiding. If Braavos, long the bastion of independence, thought it prudent to bind itself to the rest, then they absolutely had to worry.

Who had brought them all together? Whispers spoke of dragons coming from the Shadowlands, of a gathering hoarde of Dothraki at Vaes Dothrak, and pirates waving banners with dragons on them as they sailed from the Basilisk Isles. Slaves threw their chains and collars into burning piles, dragons swooping down to light them aflame. Anyone caught with a slave was killed without trial or chance to explain.

He knew it before he’d received the raven.

He knew it when he heard of the young woman with silver hair they called the Undead. With her Dothraki and Unsullied and a shadowy black figure who followed her. He had yet to identify that follower.

It could not be. It was not possible.

The day stood out to him brighter than any other. He’d been pouring over the accounts, the gold they’d barely managed to accumulate spent as soon as it arrived in the coffers. Bronn had renounced his Master of Coin title, too busy trying to whore his way through all of The Reach. Jamie and Joanna were in the study with him, it was but a few years ago, arguing over a game they’d come up with, something to do with stabbing each other with wooden swords. They were quite violent, but he supposed that was to be expected given their lineage.

Jamie had come over, holding the scroll. “This came for you Uncle.” He frowned, pointing to the seal. “What’s that sigil?”

“Just set it down, I’ll get to it in a moment.” There was a mountain of scrolls awaiting him, this was just one more.

Naturally, curious Joanna raced over, snatching the scroll. “Ooh, it’s a dragon!”

Dragon!?

Without a word, he pushed the twins into the hall and closed the door to their protests, staring at the scroll. The red wax seal, blood red, fire red…he closed his eyes, knowing the information it contained was foreboding. Impossible, he’d said, over and over and over. He’d called for the Onion Knight, not wanting to be the only one to have to read it. To make sure he wasn’t drunk or hallucinating from exhaustion.

“It is not possible,” he said, still staring at the scroll, hours later.

Ser Davos’s voice was soft, reflective. “You have not seen some of the things that I have seen to think that it is not possible.” The wax seal they’d surmised had been made from blood, the ink the same dark color.

We have no quarrel with Westeros. Should you interfere in the affairs of Essos, you will have wished you had prayed to all the gods, old or new, drowned or dead, one or seven, dark or light, that I burned you where you stood the last time I saw you.

With fire and blood, I will come back to take what is mine, what was stolen from my family thrice over.

It was unsigned, but the single iron black dragon scale said enough of the author.

Thrice over was the only thing he did not understand from that raven. He’d folded the parchment and set it in a desk with the scale, ensuring no one else saw it. They did not need anyone in the troublesome kingdoms to know that she was still alive. Dorne, the Iron Islands, and to a point even the Stormlands had been giving them cause for concern of an overt revolution. If they knew she was alive…

Somehow, by gods somehow, she was still alive.

He scanned the steely gazes of the Volantene merchant’s guild, a lump forming in his throat. This was not going well. Even his tongue could not duel him out of this battle. “My lords,” he began, his hands out to the sides, palms up in a symbol of surrender. “The Crown…”

“The Crown does not have our money, nor the full payment, nor the interest, and not even a quarter of it,” the leader of the guild, a spice merchant, with flame red hair and a blue beard, announced. He tapped his fingers on the table, sunlight glinting off his many jeweled rings. “Lord Tyrion, do not play games with us. We know your kind. A Lannister always pays his debts, yes, but the crown of King Bran of Westeros clearly does not follow the same.”

Tyrion winced and looked out the large oval windows behind the row of merchants. It seemed the dragons grew agitated, swooping down from the red pyramid and growing closer to the house. Another merchant chuckled. “Are you afraid of the dragons? You get used to them.”

“Of course he’s afraid, he orchestrated the death of a dragon.”

“Of two dragons I imagine,” another chortled.

Two dragons? Tyrion’s eyebrows came to a point. “My lords, now is not the time for history lessons…”

“But I think it is,” the lead announced, coming to stand, his golden silk robes rippling like waterfalls down his shoulders and arms. He stared across the table, scowling. “You came to us in good faith more than ten years ago to ask for a loan to assist in the rebuilding of Kings Landing. What coin you had from taxes, you used to pay the Iron Bank, but you still have not repaid that debt. Without the North as a kingdom, you have no income from the ports or the fields there. Your Westerlands are in ruins from dragonfire and your granaries hold only enough for the next winter. Dorne does not engage with trade unless it is to their advantage and the only thing they have to offer is whores and wine, of which I hear your Lord of the Reach has all but blown through. You can sell all the gold and silver and what remains of the Lannister fortune or the halls of the capitol, but unfortunately, Westeros is on the brink of financial collapse.”

The merchant shook his head, his voice grave. “Lord Tyrion, you are in serious trouble. Are you sure you want to tie yourself to a reign such as this?”

Even if I do not want to, I have, he thought, glancing back out the window at the dragons. Ask me again in ten years.

He turned to each merchant in turn. “My lords, yes, Westeros is in serious financial distress. We have been ravaged by war after war and as you all know, wars are quite expensive. Taxes are not enough and it is not as though our people have any money to give. King Bran the Broken has extended good will and sympathy to his people, offering them shelter and food at no cost. We are growing as much as we can now that the summers are upon us these last few years. The North, while it is no longer a member of the kingdoms, is a close ally as you know the Queen in the North is the sister of the King.”

“And we all know how their independence came about,” one of the merchants, a wine trader that Tyrion knew to be loyal to Dorne, announced.

Tyrion ignored him, as he had many times he’d had these discussions with members of the Essosi elite. “We are doing the best we can with what we have. I did not come here to ask forgiveness for our debts, only to ask for your gracious leniency as we rebuild from the horrors of the last decades of war.”

The merchants exchanged looks. “You are in luck my lord.”

“I do not believe in luck,” Tyrion replied.

“I have been instructed to give you this.”

A single scroll emerged from the robes of the spice merchant. It was unwrapped, but sealed with a single red wax emblem. The sweat began to drip down the back of his tunic again. He said nothing and took the parchment. He glanced at the merchants, who all stood and single-file departed the meeting room. When he was alone, in the giant carved wooden chair with engravings of snakes on the arms, he pulled apart the scroll.

His gaze darted over the words, his heart sinking into his stomach.

Welcome to Essos, my Lord Hand, forgive me for not greeting you in person but I hope the extra presence of my dragons reminds you that you are in my territory now and not even your sharp tongue and dull wit can save you here. I know you are using your niece and nephew as shields, always the coward you are. Fear not, I have no interest in seeing you burn today.

Just knowing you will be in my debt is enough. I have instructed the Volantene merchant guild to forgive the debt of Westeros, and in exchange, you will depart the shores of Essos immediately and never return. You still have the Iron Bank to deal with, not even my generous offers of assistance will sway them.

I also know you wonder about the new addition to my sigil. Your little whisperers did not tell you about that, did they? Did you really think you could drive away the only living dragon? A dragon cannot be imprisoned, whether in death or in ice. Look to the shadows and you will have seen him all along.

I will leave you to ponder that.

He allowed the parchment to roll back up, his hands damp with cold sweat. He knew she was alive, but…this he could not have foreseen. He slid off the chair and marched to the table in the corner, pouring himself a hefty glass of wine. He took a couple sips and stared beyond the dragons to the red pyramid. This was the birthplace of the religion of the Lord of Light, Rh’llor or whatever his red clad followers called him.

Davos Seaworth said something to the effect of not underestimating the red priests, when they’d received the final confirmation from a spider in Norvos that she was alive. It was clear that her dragon had taken her here or wherever there was a skilled priest or priestess in that sort of magic. He would never have believed it had he not witnessed the dead rise, dragons fly, or a crippled boy fly. Samwell Tarly said the Citadel had books in their library that spoke of all the mysteries of the world, but they did not allow anyone to read them. Even the ones he’d stolen were lacking great detail on the true mysteries of the world.

It seemed the Dragon Queen had somehow unraveled some of those mysteries enough to return from the dead, bring even more dragons back into the world, reestablish the Valyrian Freehold and even now had him worried that he may not make it out of the city alive. It was a risk to come here, one he took, knowing full well she could swoop it at any moment and have him burned. Something was restraining even her darkest impulses.

Ask me in ten years, he’d said to the man in the black cell, who was sitting in nothing but regret and pain.

He looked back down at the parchment, the sign-off the familiar dragon headed sigil. The wolf concerned him. That had been a new development, one that somewhat frightened him. For if the wolf was with the dragon again…there’d be no stopping them if they turned their attention to the west.

How though, he wondered, turning quickly and hurrying out of the meeting room. He made his way to the rooms where he knew the merchant had placed their things, and grabbed a scroll and parchment, beginning to scribble out a note to the one person he knew would be just as concerned about this as he was.

Chapter Text

The soft breeze from the sea ruffled through the lemon grove and the weeping trees, the pale green fronds of the willows blowing out to tickle anyone who walked by. The air smelled of citrus and salt, the dying sun casting everything in a glow of reds and oranges. As summer ended and winter began, the nights were growing colder, but even here it was not cold enough for him.

He reached over and ruffled his old boy’s head, lighting stroking the soft white fur. “Maybe it will snow again,” he said. He smiled as one red eye rolled up to peer at him. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you boy?”

Ghost merely closed his eyes in agreement. It was not the amount of snow he would have preferred, but since their island was situated equal distance from the cold north and the warm south, it suited everyone, wolf and dragon alike. He got up to his feet, leaning down and lifting the little bundle from where it was curled into Ghost’s chest. Ghost rolled over, seemingly pleased with the ability to stretch in his sleep.

“Mmm,” the small bundle grumbled from the movement, but curled into him immediately. Jon wrapped his arms tight around his son, carrying him from their spot to observe the sunset over the sea, walking back down the curling paths through the thicket of trees, to emerge in the small glen where the thatched roof cottage, with its black dragonstone siding and simple towers sat.

The red door opened then, his wild red-headed friend emerging, clad in thick furs and hoisting a large sack up onto his back. “Little Crow!” he exclaimed. “I hoped to see you before I left.”

“You just got here,” Jon complained, sorry to see Tormund leave so soon. It had only been a couple of weeks. He frowned. “You can’t stay longer?”

“Must get back. Need to keep sending these letters pretending like you’re still a king in the north,” Tormund chuckled. He patted the pack. “Missus Dragon there sending me back with some of those fancy oils and things.” He grinned, lecherous. “Says there’s one that can give me even more children. For stamina!”

Jon rolled his eyes and grinned. “I don’t think you need more stamina mate, its your wife needs more tolerance for you. You have enough children.”

“Can never have enough Giantsbane seed in the world. I’ve got five daughters. Need a son to balance it out!”

As though on cue, his son began to fuss, tiny hands beating on his chest. He reached out and gave Tormund a one-armed hug, his eyes closing briefly. It was nice to be reminded of the North from time to time. “It was good seeing you. Come back as soon as you can. I’ll send word.”

“Take care Little Crow,” Tormund said, planting a kiss on top of his head and laughing as he nuzzled his thick red beard onto the soft cheek of the baby. “And you too Baby Crow!”

“Baby Dragon,” a soft voice came from the doorway.

They both turned to see “Missus Dragon” standing there, a small smile flirting on her lips. She nodded towards the path leading down to the docks. “Your ship should be ready, I just received word from the captain.” A small dragon flew away from the roof then, flapping its wings to return back down to the dock.

Tormund grinned. “See you soon.”

“Safe journeys.” He watched as Tormund made his way down the path, whistling ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’ He waited until the wildling was gone before he turned back, focusing his attention on the woman standing in the doorway, waiting for him.

You wouldn’t know that she was a Queen of an entire continent. Fancy dress and jewels were only for certain occasions. Today she was clad in breeches with strips of brown fabric hanging down in a makeshift skirt, a bodice of the same material dyed purple and exposing her chest and arms to the sun, where they had tanned to a dusky golden glow, and her hands clad in matching purple gauntlets. Her silver hair was tied back from her face in a simple braid and she wore no jewelry save for the silver and ruby ring on her right index finger.

The ring that signified her position as the Queen, made from the material of her mother’s crown, long thought lost since she was a girl, and found when a Pentoshi magister presented it to her when she claimed the city as hers.

He smiled at her and approached, gesturing towards their child. “I believe he’s hungry.”

“Oh darling,” she cooed, her face softening as she reached for the babe. He fussed and she cooed, carrying him into the house.

They made their way to a soft chaise, pushed against a wide-open window to overlook the sea and sunset, and she tugged at her bodice to expose her left breast, the babe immediately latching on and suckling. He closed his eyes briefly, not out of desire to give her privacy, but to fight back at the sudden rise of bile in his throat, as he often did when he could see the puckered scar beneath the curve of her breast, along her rib, the skin separated and the gash black.

She ignored him, as she often did, giving him the space that he needed in that moment. When he’d pushed back at the haunted memory, he moved to join her, sitting back against the wall and allowing her to lean against his chest, both of them wrapping their son in their arms and staring at him in pure bliss as he ate. The only sounds they could hear for a long while where the gentle sucks of the babe, the light crash of waves upon the shore, and the soft humming from a room upstairs. “How did this happen,” he murmured, staring at his child.

She answered, as she always did, for he asked that question nightly. “Not even death can keep us apart.”

No, it could not, and not even death could stop her. He rested his head to hers, eyes closed. There had been several ravens coming and going today. Something was happening, and while he normally preferred to stay out of the business of running Essos, he knew he had to get involved this time. “Is something happening?” he asked.

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, her finger lightly stroking over their son’s cheek. Dark curls dusted over his forehead, but his eyes were the same lilac as hers. “Tyrion arrived in Volantis. I’ve known he was going there for some time. He brought his niece and nephew with him, to avoid me targeting him of course.”

Anger rose up in Jon’s chest at that notion. He closed his eyes, once again infuriated with himself for trusting in the Imp. He knew she shared the same regrets. “He wants the debt forgiven?”

“I forgave it.”

Of course she did. She was still haunted by what had happened in Kings Landing. This was her way of trying to repay what she’d done. He nodded. “And now what?”

“He’s up to something else. He did not travel all the way to Volantis for just that. I was simply ensuring he knows what will happen to him if he tries to get involved and dictate the way things happen again.” She left it at that, but he knew of course, she was referring to the manipulations of the Imp from her short time as the Queen of Westeros.

“Will you be going there?”

She shook her head. “Not right now. Not unless things change…but he is going to want to know about you. I don’t think even Tormund pretending like you are still with the wildlings will convince him.” Her voice wavered. “Jon I think we may have to arrange a meeting.”

That was something he’d been afraid of happening. Things were good right now. They went through periods of upheaval, where the regrets and the pain of the past reared their ugly heads, threatening to drive them apart for good. Right now they were at peace. He looked down at their son, the babe’s mouth slack and eyes rolled back as he snored softly, sated with food and love. “We can…” he trailed off. The idea that they would have to emerge from their haven of bliss had been discussed, he knew there were contingencies, and yet…he didn’t want to do it just yet. “Not yet. For me, at least.”

“I understand.”

The people knew she existed, of course. She had conquered cities in Essos with her emissaries. The remainder of the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Second Sons, and even the former slaves of the Dragon’s Bay cities had taken over on her behalf. The presence of Drogon, now larger than even Balerion the Black Dread, was enough for leaders to immediately bend the knee. She had not shed one drop of blood in her unification of Essos, but she had also not appeared in person before large crowds or groups unless she had to and even then it was from afar, preferring to remain somewhat of a myth.

He knew that with the creation of the new sigil, with the white wolf, it was a sign to everyone in Essos that there was another assisting in her rule. He hadn’t wanted it, but somehow she had convinced him that his presence tempered the fear that may exist of her becoming a single-minded tyrant. “It is like the days of King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne, they ruled together,” she’d explained.

“Papa.”

The soft voice filtered down like harp music from the staircase to the second floor and he felt his heart lift even farther into his chest, if that were possible. He slowly extricated himself from his wife and son, going over and sweeping the small child up into the air and laughing with her bubbling giggles. “Finished with your nap, aye?”

Their daughter grinned, her cheeks rosy from sleep and her gray eyes dancing. Dark curls streaked with silver tousled about her head, the ribbon tying some of her braids together falling loose. “Yes, I want to go for a ride.”

“Dragon or horse?” he teased.

“Dragon you silly!”

“Not right now, it is almost time for supper,” Daenerys announced, carrying little Aemon to his basket, setting down the sleeping child in the light silk blankets. She dusted her hands on her thighs, glancing out the window at the dying light. “We still need to practice today.”

Little Lyanndei’s eyes widened to gray moons. “I want to watch,” she demanded.

“You have to stay quiet and still,” he advised, carrying her out and gathering the basket in his free hand, setting them both down beneath one of the shady trees. He heard the ground thunder beneath them and didn’t flinch when it seemed the sun disappeared for a moment, Drogon peering down over the tops of the trees to watch. Seems we have quite an audience, he thought, reaching to his scabbard as she drew her sword. They both stared at each other for a moment and in the blink of an eye, he had Longclaw unsheathed and clanging against Dark Sister.

The long lost ancient sword rippled, the Valyrian steel shimmering almost ruby and onyx, but it was an extension of her hand and just as she had hit Longclaw, she spun around, parrying and darting, their swords clanging in the silence, with just their children, dragons, and the white direwolf as an audience.

Chapter Text

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering who the woman was staring back at her. It seemed the years had been kind in some ways and in others they had been harsh. The shadows beneath her eyes were dark and she felt her bruises and aches more deeply than before. Then again, before she didn’t wield a Valyrian steel sword nightly. She hadn’t birthed four children, only two living.

She hadn’t risen from the dead.

She lifted her hand up to her hair, lightly touching her right hand at the braid looped over her shoulder. With a quick flick of her wrist, the dagger in her left hand sliced through the silver hair, sending wisps floating to the ground. “There,” she murmured, returning the dagger to her hip and dropping the braid into fire.

After several moments, she had her hair cut around her face, cleaned up and barely curling around her earlobes, the style she kept it in every few years when she sliced it clean off. “I don’t understand why you do that,” Jon said, from where he’d been watching her in the doorway of their bedroom.

“The Dothraki cut their braids when they lose a battle,” she said. She answered him the same every single time.

“You haven’t lost anything.”

I have lost enough. On the anniversary of the burning of King’s Landing she cut her hair. It was something of a penance. The battle she’d won with fire and blood had meant the loss of the battle in her mind. She had succumbed to her emotions and her anger and her pain. So she reminded herself each year. “I am going to fly to New Valyria,” she said. She’d made the decision earlier that evening during their practice.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Who will watch the children now that Tormund has departed?” She reached to her hip and removed the old dagger, studying it for a moment. This was the dagger that Kinvara had removed from her chest. The dagger that had killed not just her but their unborn child. Only one had returned to life. It was morbid that she continued to carry it, but it reminded her of how far she’d come in this second life of hers.

It reminded her to only trust in herself.

And it was a silent reminder to him as well, and he knew it. She glanced over at him, lightly gesturing to him with it. He flinched, but said nothing. Sometimes she thought they were fine, that they had moved beyond, but then there were times where he could not get out of his own head. She sighed. “No, you should stay for now until we can find an alternative. I will not have our children anywhere near the Lannisters.”

“Did he truly bring his niece and nephew to keep you from going after him?”

“Do you really think he would only bring them to expand their knowledge of the east?” She’d wanted to meet these Lannister bastards. Rumors from the west said they were quite intelligent and somehow the characteristics that brought about the rise and the fall of the Lannister family had been weeded out of them. They only seemed to have the best of their father’s bloodline, not that there was much there, she thought. Brienne of Tarth was loyal, kind, and she knew that as their mother she would have raised the twins well.

Jon sighed sadly, his voice quiet. “No, I’m afraid I would not believe that at all.” He leaned against the post of their bed, meeting her gaze in the reflection of the Yi Ti mirror. Gray meeting violet. “I love you Dany.”

I know you do sweet wolf. She turned around and reached for his hand, the rough callused skin of his palm scratching at the soft velvet of hers. Without breaking his gaze, she took his hand and cupped it beneath her left breast, ensuring he could feel the gap in the skin. It never felt warm; it was always cold. He took her right hand then and brought it to the collar of his loose linen shirt, slipping beneath to slide over his warm skin to the scar over his left breast. They maintained each other’s gaze for a long moment, before he leaned down and captured her lips with his.

The kiss was heartbreakingly sweet, full of apology, as his often were in these moments. Don’t be sorry, just do not ever do it again, she thought, and he nodded, their minds connected through their shared experiences. She released a soft gasp as he spun around, pressing her back down into the cloud-like mattress and silk sheets of their bed. She drew her hand from his chest and snaked it up to tangle in his hair, which he’d cut short during the summer. He began to kiss down her chest, lingering on the scar for a moment before trailing light kisses along her belly, pausing again. With his hands on her hips, he pressed his forehead against it.

Her eyes closed around the tears. The anniversary of the burning of King’s Landing brought with it another anniversary. That of her death. Of her resurrection and of the cost that had to be paid for that resurrection. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she sighed. “Do not pity the dead,” she whispered.

His breath ragged, he nodded. “I wish I had known her.”

“I wish I had known at all.” Maybe if she had she would have been able to tell him before the knife slid into her ribs. Before it cut off the life to their child. She drew him back up to her and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him back to the present and out of his thoughts. “Jon, that was the past. That was a different time. We are who we are because of it and we have learned and we have two beautiful children now. We have the dragons and Ghost and this home.” They’d lost so much to get it. The home they both wanted. The family they’d longed to have.

He nodded and kissed her again. “If Tyrion is here that means he knows I am no longer at the Wall. He’ll want to know about the wolf.”

“Let him wonder, let him sit and question and wonder.” She sat up, drawing her legs beneath her, and her eyes fiery on his. “Jon, you escaped death for killing me because of your family, because of your family name, but Tyrion exiled you to placate my supporters. Do you think he also did that for no other reason than to ensure he could stay in King’s Landing and manipulate things to his pleasure? He is the last Lannister, the Hand of the King, and essentially he rules Westeros.” She licked her lips, her eyebrows arching. “He’s back and he will want to know where the threat to his rule is located.”

They both knew that was part of the exile. To send the last dragon away, to stay frozen in ice and never return. Die in the Lands of Always Winter. Jon turned his head away. He hated this part of their life and she knew it. All he wanted was to stay here and to return occasionally to check on the freefolk. When he wanted, he donned the garb of the smallfolk and wandered through the streets of Braavos, Norvos, Meereen…he was particularly fond of Ass’hai and she knew it was because the sun rarely shined and the air was still with a chill from the Shadowlands. He had the blood of the dragon and the First Men, the world of magic and shadowbinding spoke stronger to him than it did to her.

He climbed off the bed and walked over to the corner of the room where Longclaw rested against the wall. Beside it, even larger than the ancient Mormont sword, stood Dark Sister. He touched it with only a fingertip. It was warm to the touch, she knew, and for whatever reason it hurt him to hold it. The discovery of the sword in the snows of the remainder of the Wall had been what had brought him, in a way, back to her. “Do not let this out of your sight.”

“I was not born yesterday.”

“Keep that dagger with you at all times.”

“I always do.”

He spun around, his gray sharp as flint. “If the lion even thinks of hurting you again…”

“He won’t get his hands that dirty,” she said, standing up and walking over to him. She smirked. “Like I said, he brought his niece and nephew as shields. If he does anything to harm me, he knows that they are in the line of fire. Something tells me even the cold heart of Tyrion Lannister would not want anything to happen to his brother’s children.”

Jon nodded. “Just so long as he never learns of ours.”

Never. There was a reason her children remained unknown entities to the world. Only Tormund and a handful of her closest allies, Kinvara, Unsullied and Dothraki, knew of their existence. She brushed her lips over his again. “Bring the children on Eddarion when I call for you. I’ll go first to New Valyria. I’ve ordered Tyrion Lannister to depart, but he’d be a fool to leave so soon. He’s doing something else here and I’m going to find out what it is.” She nibbled on the bottom of her lip, her brow furrowing. “Jon, what of your sister?”

“Which one?”

One was busy fighting off her own people and the other, thought lost to the Westerosi and her family, was actually still on her ship attempting to navigate through the shores off the coast of Sothoryos. She would soon come to the territorial waters of New Valyria, where the dragons would meet them soon enough. “You know which one,” she said. She shook her head. “She did what she had to do to get her crown and she won’t stand by if there’s a chance she may lose it. She will want to know you’re here.”

It hurt her, the pain in his voice. Seeing him in pain over the disloyalty of his family, when all he’d given them was is, made her want to see them burn. “Sansa Stark is not the sister I knew. Let her wonder.” He didn’t have the force behind it to really mean it. It was just lip service. It pained him daily that his siblings had become what they were.

We can approach that topic at a later date. Daenerys kissed him again and reached around to take Dark Sister. After changing from her linen and comfortable clothing into black leathers, boots, and with the red sash that draped around her neck and pinned to her shoulders with the wolf and dragon, she secured Dark Sister to her hip and went down the hallway to give her sleeping son a kiss. “Do not grow too much while I am gone,” she ordered, but Aemon merely smiled in his sleep and gave a small snort. She chuckled and turned to the other bed, where her daughter was sleeping, like her father, arms thrown out at all sides. Ghost took up much of the bed and dropped his head over Lyanndei’s legs, keeping her from rolling off. “And you as well,” she said.

Ghost sniffed and peered towards her. Lyanndei had been his since the moment she came screaming into the world. While he would die for all of them, she knew that her daughter’s blood ran wild with the wolf. Even as her belly swelled with her daughter’s growth, Ghost trailed around her constantly and slept every night with his head on her stomach. Daenerys left, blinking at tears. She hated to leave her children.

She left their home and strode towards the thicket of trees, walking down and out to the large meadow where her son slept. As she approached, he immediately lifted is massive head, smoke furling from his nostrils. He bared his teeth and moved to allow her to ascend his wing. Jon stood at the base of the wing, looking up at her. “With fire and blood,” she said, her voice ringing clear in the crisp night air.

Jon nodded, his voice returning. “With fire and blood.”

She gripped the horns on either side of her mount, looking out at the black sea ahead of her. The stars were hidden behind clouds, which would provide them good cover as they flew south. She scanned the other dragons, who had awoken, and were watching her. There were two small ones she’d brought with her from New Valryia, ones she wanted trained in combat at Drogon’s side. Then there was the other.

The concept of a dragonrider was mystical and foreign to so many. There had only been three dragons in the world at one time and then there was only one. After she’d returned, she’d studied and read and spent most of her first few years after death in the old libraries of ruined Valyria, wondering how she could bring about the petrified eggs she’d discovered in the crumbling towers and in the Shadowlands. When the first dragon after her beloved sons were born, so many years later, she wondered who would be his rider. He was sweet, gentle, but fearsome when needed. He always seemed to be longing for someone.

A sparkling onyx, he did not have the red and black of Drogon, but streaks of snow white along his wings and tail. The horns and spikes were sleeker, shinier, and the moment she saw him with Jon, she knew. Jon had bonded with Rhaegal, named for his father, and had lost him. The idea that he could ride another dragon, she didn’t know if it were possible, until he announced that he wanted to name this one and that he wanted it for himself.

Eddarion rumbled over to Jon, as if waiting for him to climb up and fly off. “Not right now,” Jon said, stroking the dragon’s white snout. “Soon.”

Daenerys nodded at him and whispered to Drogon. “Sōves.”

They took off, the cool night wind blowing back the short tendrils of hair around her face. The sash around her neck blew back to swaddle her and she closed her eyes, smiling. The ride to New Valryia would take most of the night and well into the day tomorrow. She turned her head and looked back down at the speck of their island, watching it disappear from view, back into its safety of obscurity and hidden from the prying eyes of anyone who dared to harm its inhabitants.

Chapter Text

“Your Grace, a raven for you.”

Sansa peered over the top of the parchment in her hands, barely acknowledging the Maester with her cool gaze, simply flicking her fingers towards the other scrolls waiting for her to review. As Queen she rarely needs to speak, giving only a look or a gesture to get what she wants. There are days where she need not say one word and sometimes goes weeks in silence, spending her time with herself, praying in the godswood or retreating to her rooms to read over reports from the bannermen or tally accounts of grain and coin. Here she held all the power.

And power was power.

Something she learned from the best.

The Maester said nothing after dropping the scroll and turning away from her, leaving the large space and closing the door quietly behind him. She set down the parchment and turned her chair away from the desk, coming to stand and gaze out the window, the glass warped from the cold. There was a crack forming in the base and she filed away a mental note to have someone fix it. They couldn’t start having the windows cracking as winter approached.

The death of the Night King and the disappearance of the White Walkers had limited their seasons to last merely several years at most. Gone were the Long Summers of her youth or the winter that would never end she’d always feared. The longest in the last decade or so had been about three years. The Maesters could not explain the change, but she knew it was because they could not see what the Starks always had. That there were other things that existed that were beyond the simple understandings of a Maester.

She watched children play in the yard below, a smile pulling on her lips. These were good days. There had been an influx of women and children over the past couple of weeks, as the Ironborn waged their wars along the coast, pushing further inward. She had sent a new group of men to fend them off, but it was too late. The Ironborn had already set fire to some of the only farms that had decent grain. It seemed they would prefer to starve as well, not even bothering to take it for themselves. Yara Greyjoy ignored all the ravens sent her way, threatening all out war.

The scroll the Maester had dropped was pretty worn down, as if it ahd comef rom a greater distance than just Raven’s Landing. Besides, her brother had been quiet lately and she hadn’t heard any word from him from her latest raven asking for the Crown’s help in fending off the latest attacks. She offered a percentage of the taxes levied on the ships in White Harbor as compensation for the help, but no one had returned a reply. Tyrion must be busy with other things, she had figured, since all the responses came from him anyway.

Sansa picked up the scroll and studied the seal. It was just blue wax, but no raven sigil from the Crown. She lifted the mug at the edge of the desk, finding her hot brew of lemon and honey had gone cold. “Damn,” she muttered, setting it down. That was some of the last bit of lemons they had from a shipment from Dorne that she had all but sold their last stash of Northern ale for. She slipped her finger beneath the seal of wax, walking towards the great fireplace, which used to warm her father and the other Lords of Winterfell and now warmed her.

She sank down into the tall chair with wolf heads at the top that served as her throne for formal occasions. The parchment unfurled and she forced it open more, once again realizing it had come from a faraway place given how long it had been in that rolled state. The writing was small and cramped, which she recognized instantly as Tyrion’s.

I am in Volantis for the Crown with the twins. Volantis has forgiven our debt but that is not why I write this letter. The Dragon Queen lives, Sansa. I have known for some time but we did not want word to get out to her supporters in Westeros. I am sorry I have not told you but things are dire here. She is alive and it is worse. She has dragons. More than five circle above as I write. I cannot imagine how many more.

If that does not frighten you then this will. Jon Snow is with her. When did you last hear from him? We have long believed he was beyond the Wall, of course, but it seems that that has been a ruse, for how long I do not know. There are too many questions to write out. I will ride for Winterfell as soon as I return to Westeros and inform the King of this development. In the meantime I need you to confirm your brother’s location. Send emissaries to the wildlings and do not mention our fears.

At this time her eye is not on Westeros but it is only a matter of time before she seeks revenge and we must do something now that we know he is with her. I am sorry to share the news this way, but we have to act now before it is too late. I know he is your brother, but right now he is a Targaryen and he must be stopped.

Breaths come in short gasps. Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods. Her hands shook. She threw the parchment into the fire and grabbed an iron rod, stabbing at the curling edges, watching until it turned to ash. She reached to rub at her chest, closing her eyes and sending a prayer for help. For guidance. From someone, anyone.

In that moment she felt more alone than ever.

All her family dead. Arya lost somewhere at sea, not heard from in almost six years. Bran, broken and the King, but not even really Bran anymore. And Jon…well he wasn’t her brother, was he? She saved him from death, but she also knew that it was her way of apologizing for betraying his trust. Something that he hadn’t spoken about since she’d told Tyrion the truth of her brother’s lineage. It got rid of the Dragon Queen. The Mad Queen, she thought bitterly. That woman came into Winterfell with her brother’s balls in her hand. Men are stupid, only caring about one thing, she thought, glaring into the fire. It hissed and cracked. She closed her eyes again.

There were no tears. There hadn’t been tears since she put Theon in the fire and watched him burn. It had been over a decade since she became the Queen in the North and in those years her rule had been plagued by famine, violence, and disease. The only person she could trust, the only person who could help, well that was her. There was no one else. No family. No friends.

And Jon Snow….well he was never her brother, not really. Not even when she was a child. He was a bastard. Her mother had told her over and over again not to view Jon as anything but that.

But he wasn’t a bastard. He was the true heir to the Iron Throne. Not that bitch queen who demanded their loyalty without earning it.

And now the Iron Throne did not exist. It was nothing but a pile of melted swords.

Find Jon, Tyrion told her. Well, the last she heard, he had disappeared from the Wall into the Lands of Always Winter, to live among the Free Folk. Some of the wildlings that had moved south into the North told her that he was gone. Not only in body. “Into the wild, Your Grace,” they said. “Nothing but a spirit.” Some say that Ghost was he and that his body was gone but he lived in the wolf. Like a warg. Like her brother.

Sometimes there were letters. They were in his hand. She recognized the scrawl. A giant wildling would bring them down from Queenscrown. The giant red man, with a horn he claimed held giant’s milk, would bring them to Winterfell and say that Jon sent his regards. “Whatever the hell those are,” the giant grunted.

After a long while of sitting in front of the fire, staring into the flames, as the night fell and morning was almost near, she finally stood and went to sit at the desk. She gathered paper and ink, and set about writing about to her banners. What remained of the Karstarks, the Glovers, and the Manderleys. She wrote to Meera Reed in the Neck and to what remained of the Umbers at Last Hearth. To the Vale, to her uncle, and to anyone she could think who would come to her assistance.

She blended truth with lies, which she learned worked wonderfully for securing support. Her brother was possibly in danger, the former King in the North who saved their realm and helped secure Northern independence with his slaying of the Dragon Queen. We must all band together to find him. If your queen should one day fall or fail to produce a Stark heir, he will return and take up the mantle as King in the North, she wrote. We must find him. Anyone with word on Jon Snow’s whereabouts was to make haste for Winterfell to answer to her.

For the Vale and the Riverlands, she informed them that she had heard distressing news of her brother’s disappearance and should they one day need to fight against whomever had taken him, would they stand with the North? Leave the King to me, for I will convince him that your assistance is required and will be most rewarded.

With what, she didn’t know, but that didn’t matter right now. They had to find Jon. They had to get answers. She finished writing the letters, sealed them the wolf signet ring on her finger, and sat back in her throne, her jaw set.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Enter,” she called.

A Glover ward, one she’d taken from Deepwood Motte when Lord Glover had refused to hand over the stores of grain he’d been hiding from her, entered the rooms. “Your Grace,” the young girl, named Tora, said, bowing her head slightly. She straightened. “You did not come to your rooms last night and there was no request for supper. I wanted to ensure you were not ill or did not need anything.”

She wasn’t hungry. Not that there was much to take. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said. She gathered the scrolls. “Take these to Maester Wolken.”

“Yes Your Grace. Would you like to break your fast in the Great Hall?”

“No, I will not be eating. Thank you.” The chill in her voice was enough to dismiss the girl, who nodded and scurried off. Sansa stood and walked over to close the door, turning to lean back against it. She closed her eyes, feeling her shoulders slump. There were times where she wished she had someone to lean on, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Her father had her mother, but beyond that love, she had yet to see any match work out to anyone’s benefit. They all ended in pain and death and heartbreak.

She walked over to the desk again and picked up the final letter she’d written out to her brother. Telling him that they had to find her brother, was he able to see where Jon was located?

As if on cue, the door knocked again. “What?” she demanded.

“Your Grace.” Wolken entered, slightly breathless. “From Raven’s Landing.”

“Thank you.” She snatched the parchment, ripping it open immediately.

I cannot see Jon and have not for some time. Smoke rises in the east in warning. Dragons live again.

A frustrated yell released from her chest. She flung the scroll across the room into the fire, screaming in frustration again. Her brother was dead. That thing in Bran never seemed to focus on the most important things. Smoke rises in the east? “Dragons are coming for the wolves,” she breathed. “We’re all going to die.”

Her brother had betrayed them if he was with that foreign whore. The woman who refused to give them the North even after she saw them fight for their lives ten times over. The woman who had her brother by the balls and who went insane and who caused her brother’s downfall. Jon could have been King of the Seven Kingdoms. The North would gladly have remained a part of the realm if he were in power. Jon would have been a just king. Not a mad tyrant.

His love blinded and destroyed him, like it did so many in her family. In the end, he did what was necessary. She accepted his exile to the Wall because it was the only thing she knew would keep the dragon’s allies from killing him. She wiped at her face with her hands, feeling cold in spite of all the furs wrapped around her. Why didn’t Jon see that what she had done was for his own good? Now he was gone.

What if she kills him? What if she’s playing a game with them and kills him? The man who drove a dagger into her heart? There was no way Sansa would forgive someone doing that to her, even someone she loved. She went back to the desk and grabbed a sheaf of papers, beginning to go over the accounts again.

It took her a few minutes to realize her hands were shaking, not from the cold, but from fear.

The Dragon Queen lived.

Sansa Stark knew she would probably be one of the first people on her list for revenge.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean we are leaving?” Joanna demanded, standing in the center of the garden. She had her new book in her hand and a furious gleam in her eyes. “I don’t want to leave! We spent months on that damn ship from Raven’s Landing and we’ve only been here for like three weeks!”

Jamie looked up from where he’d been polishing his sword. He shrugged. “I don’t really care.”

“No one asked you!” she roared, throwing her book at her brother. He dodged the book, but then again he was accustomed to dodging things she threw at him. She reeled around and went to stand over her uncle. It was petty and mean of her, but she didn’t care right now. She had her mother’s height and towered over most girls her age, let alone her uncle. She crossed her arms over her chest, hissing. “I do not want to leave. I want to go to Valryia.”

Tyrion laughed, waving his wine glass in her direction as he went back over to the table with refreshments. “Oh no, we are not going to Valyria. I promised your mother I would see you two safely here and safely back. There is no going to Valyria.”

“Valryia has freedom of speech, religion, and wonders that Westeros could only imagine!” she exclaimed. In two weeks she spoke to every single person she could find, spending hours in the market interrogating people about the beauty and imagination of Valyria. It seemed like intelligence and magic and progression were the only thing that mattered there. In Westeros she knew she only had one of a few futures. Her mother was an anomaly, a woman who had made her way in a man’s world, but…in this land…she could be anything.

Blonde tendrils fell from the mess she’d tied her hair into that morning. Many women here wore their hair free and lose or in intricate braids she learned were how Queen wore hers. She longed to see this beauty. People spoke of her like a myth or a goddess. Silver hair and purple eyes. Ethereal, even. She blinked back furious tears. “I will not go!”

Jamie stood and left his sword on the bench, walking over to stand between her and their uncle. He bit his lower lip and hesitated for a moment. He shook his head and spoke quietly. “I’m sorry Uncle Tyrion but…if Joanna wants to stay then I will stay with her.”

She glanced sideways. “Jamie you don’t have…”

“No, I want to.” He shrugged. “Uncle, she’s right. This place is so different than what we know. War and famine. I cannot think of the last time we could just have food sitting out without someone stabbing another for it. The people here are happy…it’d be nice to stay for a bit and…experience it before we return.” He hesitated again and then shook his head, a nervous habit. “And…honestly when I go back I’ll have to go back North.” He smirked at her. “And that place is a bore.”

Finally you’re listening to me, she thought with a tiny smile at her twin. She glanced back to Tyrion, who had been staring at the floor, his grip tightening on the goblet of wine. He had been so odd since they arrived in port. The business for the King clearly was not going well and each day he seemed more ashen. “Come on Uncle, please.”

He looked up at them both and shook his head firmly. “No. There are things you do not know about. Dangers here that for the both of you, you cannot begin to understand. Westeros fought battle and after battle and barely survived the Dragon Queen. I do not care if Essos is prosperous or whatever you think. It is only because of the Dragon Queen that I am here begging for scraps from these people! Your father is dead because of her!”

Joanna didn’t know much about her father. Just that her mother rarely spoke of him other than to say he was a good man who died for his queen. She heard rumors though. Rumors that turned her stomach about what kind of man her father may actually have been. She pursed her lips and squinted at her uncle. She breathed slowly for a moment and then spoke, choosing her words carefully. “From what I understand, my father did not die because of the Dragon Queen. He died because he was a fool.” She jabbed her finger into her chest, hissing at her uncle. “And I am no fool.”

She didn’t wait to hear her uncle’s reply, striding off and out of the garden, the heels of her boots clicking on the marble and smooth stone of the manse. The merchant who was housing them had been more than generous with his time, food, and servants. She’d spoken to the servants and knew they were paid generously, allowed to care for their families, and did not fear retaliation or any punishment by their employer, not like they did when they were slaves.

The events of the past in Westeros were just that, in the past. She was not even born yet and it seemed she was paying for the sins and failures of everyone around her. She remembered when she was in Storm’s End with her mother’s family and Ironborn attacked the shores. She’d huddled in the dark cellars, scared and crying as she heard the stampeding hooves of horses and screams of dying men.

Her brother had gone to fight in the North because her mother said she trusted the Queen there to keep him safe and ensure he learned to fight properly. He was not even a grown man and had had to fight in battles. Meanwhile her uncle was safe in the confines of Raven’s Landing, doing whatever it was that he did. Her mother tried to keep the city safe, but there were revolts every day over food and goods. One day she might be caught in it, but she was confined in her tower, almost a prisoner in her own home.

She strode into her room and grabbed a leather satchel she’d bought in the market to cart her books. She threw in a few things she knew she might need and grabbed a couple of books. The one in High Valyrian she placed on top, her hand smoothing over the top. “What are you doing Joanna,” she wondered out loud.

Her brother’s voice broke the quiet. “We’re going to Valyria.” Jamie leaned against the doorway, smiling over at her. He nodded. “Come on, we can snag some horses and head out.”

“But…” Was she seriously doing this? She hesitated. It seemed like a good idea a moment ago, but now she was wondering if she had been too rash. “What about the Dothraki?”

“We’ll figure it out.” Jamie walked over to her. He bit his lip again. He glanced around, like he was checking for spies, before he lowered his lips to her ear. “I heard Uncle Tyrion the other day talking with someone who came in through the back door. I think he was a spy. They were talking about the queen…I think Tyrion wants to kill her.”

She turned her head quickly, her green eyes flashing. She frowned, brow furrowing. “But…why?”

“I don’t know, but living in the North…Queen Sansa hated the Dragon Queen. Blamed her for exiling her brother or something. If he’s here? I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to be in the middle of it, especially if Tyrion is doing something that he shouldn’t be doing.”

They both smirked. Of course they knew that was true. Joanna raked her hands through her hair, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. She folded them down in front of her lips, thinking. If they ran away they could cause more problems than solve. She didn’t know what Tyrion was doing, just that she was sure he was up to something bad. The Dragon Queen had destroyed King’s Landing and thrown everything into turmoil. Her allies in the Iron Islands and Dorne were always at war. The Reach was nothing but ruin. The thing was…from what everyone she had spoken to said…that was wrong. Queen Daenerys was good, she was kind, and she had ensured no one would want for anything. No one spoke anything bad about her and if they did, they said she would want to know what she had done wrong and would try to rectify it.

“The wolf, we don’t know much about…just that one day the banners started going up with the wolf on it. Maybe she got married,” a woman in the market had said. She had smiled dreamily. “And then we will have a good Queen and a good King.”

Joanna chewed slightly on her knuckle, a bad habit she’d had since she was a baby. Her mother still chastised her for it whenever she saw. She blew out a hard breath. “Jamie we’re only fourteen.”

“I know how old we are.” They may have only been fourteen but it seemed like they had lived a dozen lives. Growing up in war would do that to you, she figured. The King had knighted her brother, giving him responsibility not even their father had had at that age.

“Well we have nothing for us in Westeros, that much is true, I don’t care if you think you can become the greatest knight in the world. I mean, what does it matter? You’ll become a knight and you’ll either die protecting King Bran the Broken or you’ll die on a field somewhere fighting for….” She sighed. “For nothing.”

So where did that put them? Jamie reached over for the book in her bag, lifting it up and studying the script on the top. He flicked through it a few times. “This is about Targaryens?”

“Sort of. It’s about the establishment of Valyria. The first one.”

“Did you know the Targaryens only survived the Doom because they escaped to Dragonstone in Westeros? They united the kingdoms with dragonfire, but only two kingdoms joined somewhat willingly.” Jamie opened it to a page in the back of the book, where an eagle and a wolf were drawn. “Visenya let a little boy ride Vhagar and the Vale fell. Torrhen Stark knelt as the Last King of Winter to save his people.”

What the hell was he talking about? Of course she knew all of this. They were her favorite stories. “Yeah, so?”

“All I’m saying is…if Queen Daenerys wants Westeros, she’ll get it. Not with fire or blood, but because the people need someone right now who will care about them and stop fighting for once.” Jamie closed the book, setting it back down on her bed. He lifted his blue eyes to meet her green ones. He tapped his finger on it, his voice soft. “If Tyrion wants to try to stop her from coming in and taking over…that’s his business. He can’t make us get on that boat. We can run away or we can stay here and wait him out. Write to Mother. Tell her we want to stay longer. He won’t defy her, you know it.”

When it came to their education and rearing, he was right. Tyrion did not question Brienne. He simply tried to do what he could because they were the last remaining Lannister blood in spite of their bastard surname. “Okay,” she agreed. They’d stay. She lifted her finger and pushed at his chest, threatening. “But if Tyrion does one thing that I disagree with, I’m out of here.”

“Fine, I’ll be right behind you.”

They both left the room. Tyrion hadn’t come to find them, so he must have been too drunk or was waylaid by ‘business.’ She wanted to go back out to the markets. Some people said that musicians would play in the square and she knew Jamie liked to watch the duels that water dancers from Braavos would put on for the large crowds. She blended into the crowds of people, wandering through the streets, her hands in the pockets of her breeches.

After several hours of wandering, they found themselves outside of an orphanage. There were some children milling around in the fountain, a stone dragon with water pouring from its mouth instead of fire. She walked over to sit on the edge of the fountain, dragging her finger through the clear water. Water in Westeros was full of filth. They had to boil it before drinking, according to Maester Sam, to rid it of toxins and filth.

“Where are you from?” a small voice asked.

Joanna glanced at a little girl, who was dipping a cup into the water. She smiled, helping the girl with the cup, which was overflowing. “I’m from Westeros.” She gestured with her hand around the square. “Do you live here in Volantis?”

“I am from Westeros too,” the small girl said. She smiled shyly. “Well…not really. My mother was from there. She came here a long time ago.” She nodded towards a woman who was sitting on a stoop, weaving on a small loom and selling the fruits of her laboring. The little girl smiled again. “She got hurt. So she came here.”

“Hurt?”

“A dragon burned her. When she was really small.”

Joanna looked back over her shoulder at the woman and saw that the skin on half of her face was slick and shiny. It was bright red and her hands were small, the skin tight on the bones. She ducked her head, her brows furrowing again. “A dragon?” she murmured.

The little girl nodded. “Yes. But she doesn’t blame the dragon. It was just doing what dragons had to do.” She climbed off the edge of the fountain and waved. “Bye bye Westerosi.” She turned, running off with the cup, water sloshing over the edge of it as she brought it to her mother.

Dragons were just doing what dragons had to do. The little girl had no idea, Joanna thought. It seemed that was all the dragon could do at the time. Not that it was good. She knew the Dragon Queen had killed thousands and destroyed the city. She wondered if she was sorry for it. She reached back into the water and dragged her fingers around through it, before looking up when a shadow dropped over her. She smiled slightly at the cloaked woman, who also held a cup to fill. “Hello,” she greeted.

The woman had short hair, cropped to her skull, and her eyes were violet. She smiled and took a seat beside her. “Hello,” she greeted. She filled the cup and took a sip of water, before offering it. Joanna declined. “Just as well. More for me then,” she teased.

The woman was extraordinarily beautiful, with delicate features, but there was also hardness about her. Joanna could see that there was a sword beneath her gray cloak. She wore a ring of silver and ruby on a length of brown cord around her neck. Tan and brown linen and leathers were the simple clothing she wore. Joanna folded her fingers into her lap. “Are you from Volantis?” she asked. There had been so many people of all faiths and regions she’d met in two weeks. She secretly hoped this woman was from somewhere exotic.

“I am from Westeros, believe it or not,” the woman said.

Damn. Another Westerosi. It seemed we are everywhere, she thought, concealing her disappointment with a fake smile. “Oh? Whereabouts?”

“The Crownlands. I believe they now call it Raven’s Landing.” The woman set her cup down, not blinking. The violet eyes were unnerving. This woman must have Valyrian blood, like some of the Dornish, Joanna observed. “My family used to live there but they had to flee an uprising.”

There were so many stories like that. So many uprisings. She nodded in understanding. “Yes. I like Volantis. I wish one day to see New Valyria. I hope maybe on this journey my brother and I can go see it.”

A warm smile pulled on the woman’s lips, revealing a row of even teeth. “Valyria is a beautiful place, I hope you have a chance to see it as well.” The woman paused a moment and then smiled again. “Your Valyrian is quite good for a Westerosi.”

Joanna grinned. She’d been practicing a lot this trip. “As is yours,” she teased.

The woman laughed. “Yes, I’ve been speaking it since birth.” She looked around at the orphanage, her smile falling. The sparkling in her eyes dulled. A haunted look crossed her face. Joanna frowned, wondering what had made her so sad all of a sudden. She observed the children playing and looked around for a moment. Joanna let her think and when the woman spoke again, her voice was hushed. “Do you know what this place is?”

Joanna shrugged. “An orphanage, I suppose.”

“No…not just that.” The woman nodded towards the little girl and her burned mother. “That woman was injured in the burning of King’s Landing. Many more are just like her. People who lost their families, their skin and their limbs. They came here for treatment and for a better life after the burning.” She looked down at her cup of water, her voice dropping. “Queen Daenerys established many places like this throughout Essos for these people. She paid for anyone who lost someone or was injured to come. She paid for their transport from Westeros and they live here, free of charge and they have food, clothing, and each other.”

Wow. I had no idea, Joanna thought, scanning the crowds. It was then she noticed women and men with burns. Their children ran about, happy and loved. They were healthy here. She looked back at the woman. She seemed so sad. I wonder if she lost someone too. It seemed like the entire weight of the world was on this woman’s shoulders and her gaze was faraway and reflective. Joanna knew what that was like. It seemed her mother was always looking off into the distance, her mind in another time. She reached over and touched the woman’s wrist lightly, sympathetic and understand. “Did you lose someone in the burning?”

The woman met her gaze for a brief moment before looking away, her voice barely audible. “I lost a lot in the burning.” She stood quickly, almost levitating in place. She turned around and offered her hand. The air rippled with a change in her demeanor. The sadness was gone, replaced with a quiet strength. “It was lovely to meet you Westerosi. I hope you enjoy your time in Essos and you get an opportunity to visit Valyria.”

Joanna watched the woman walk away, almost disappearing into thin air. She frowned. That was so odd. She shook her head slightly and got to her feet, walking back across the square to where Jamie was watching a group of boys play with toy swords, shouting in Valyrian as they battled. He looked up at her as she came to stand beside him. “You ready to head back?” he asked.

“I guess.” She couldn’t shake that encounter with the woman. There was just something so heartbreaking about her answer about the King’s Landing burning. The reverence in her voice as she spoke about the people who had lost something there. She shoved her hands back into her pockets and began to slowly walk back towards the manse. She looked sideways. “Jamie.”

“Hm?”

“If we had a chance to stay here…stay here forever…would you do it?”

After a few minutes of walking, he stopped. He waited a moment and then turned, his gaze meeting hers. He reached for her hand and squeezed. “If you were going to stay then yes. I would.” He sighed. “But Joanna…I don’t know what you think is going to happen. The world is the world. Tyrion is always going to be looking out for himself. Mother is always going to be looking for a purpose. We are the lucky ones in Westeros. It could be so much worse for us.”

That was true, but it didn’t have to be. They didn’t have to live the way they were living, not when they could live like this. She let go of his hand and began to walk away. It had been a few weeks, but her mind was made up. They didn’t have to live in the life they were currently living if they had an opportunity to change it. Her voice was strong, full of resolve and strength. She may only be a teenager but she could help. Somehow she could help.

“I hope one day the Dragon Queen wants to come back to Westeros and take what was hers. I’d fight with her if she did.”

Chapter Text

The sun baked down on the ship, cracking what remained of the wooden hull, and burning whoever remained on board. They had run out of water some time ago, men had gone mad long before that. This journey had not produced anything but sorrow and pain, she’d lost too many men and it seemed from the beginning, the moment they departed from Oldtown, they were besieged by storms, disease, and bands of pirates and even worse, foreign wildlife—basilisks, manticores, and wyverns.

Arya leaned back against an empty barrel, staring out at the blinding sun, willing it to just set them aflame. Just let it be done. This will be how I end. Not from actually crossing the Sunset Sea, but from simply going down to see what existed in Ulthos. What existed there, she’d been unable to discover, for from the beginning all the horrors began. She reached her hand up, brushing at her forehead, looking down at the blood smeared on her dirty fingers. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily. So this is how I die, of thirst, she laughed.

Not in riots, war, or killing, but on a ship in the middle of the sea, begging for water. I wonder what Winterfell looks like now, she thought, blinking as black spots began to block out bits of the sunlight. She blinked a few times, wondering if this was part of the hunger and thirst, but realized the spots were moving and getting larger. Her eyes widened. “Wyverns!” she rasped, forcing herself to her feet. She dragged herself up to the helm, pushing the captain aside. “Hard left!”

“They aren’t wyverns,” her captain gasped.

There were three of them, screeching, the sound reverberating in her head, bringing her back to a time when she had stood on the side of the road, watching as dragons flew above the thousands of Unsullied and Dothraki soldiers. She stared, knowing that dragons had returned, but she didn’t think she would ever see them again. She didn’t want to venture to the lands where she’d heard they were seen, for she knew the Shadowlands were only for the strongest, and she didn’t think she was ready to take that test.

Arya pushed over to the edge of the ship, looking out and seeing sails making their way towards them. “We’re going to be boarded,” she said. She watched as the ships moved closer, wondering if the Iron Fleet had made their way this far south or if they were pirates. She stared in fascination and horror as the sails rippled closer, black canvas with a red three-headed dragon….and a white wolf howling.

“Oh gods,” she whispered. Jon. Dragons…she blinked again. What…what was she even seeing? This was a hallucination. It was the thirst and the hunger and the fatigue. Maybe she had a fever. She barely moved, her hand resting on the head of Needle, knowing she was too spent to try to fight, not against this fleet.

After a few hours, she found herself on the ship, men in gray armor and uniforms, the dragon and wolf sigil stamped on their left breasts. The captain of one of the ships looked down at her, offering her a leather bladder filled with cold water. “We will be sailing to New Valyria. The Nymeria will be towed to port and you will be taken to the Queen of the United Cities of Essos.”

This is the strangest dream, she thought, closing her eyes and falling into a strange half-sleep, her limbs heavy and her mind racing. What remained of her crew were gulping down water, coughing it back up as their bodies rejected the sustenance. Where am I, she thought over and over again, her gaze fixating on the sails. Why is there a wolf and a dragon? I only know one of those and he’s at the Wall…she closed her eyes and fell backwards, her head hitting the deck and everything going black.

--

“We’re here!”

Arya jumped awake, looking out as the crew of the ship scurried about, throwing ropes over to a dock. She pulled herself up, ashamed that she’d fallen unconscious when she had to be most alert. She felt better. It seemed like someone had given her something of a shock from lightning. She stared out over the edge of the ship, her mouth falling open, watching the bustle of the massive ports beneath them. “Gods,” she whispered. “Where is this?”

“Welcome to New Valyria, the capital of the United Cities of Essos.”

Valyria? “But…” she looked out at the water. “This can’t be the Smoking Sea!” In her travels she had not heard of this. Well…she’d heard talk of people returning to Valyria, but she didn’t think they would actually survive. No one survived after the Doom. This could not be. She looked up at the massive, spiraling towers, all made of shiny black stone. It seemed to go on forever, towers and hills, all covered in green moss and vines. There were more screeches and her head tilted back, mouth dropping open as at least ten dragons circled the skies, varying sizes from the size of her ship to as small as a dog.

How…how were they even here? “Who is the Queen?” she whispered. Her heart began to drop in her chest. I can’t be here. There’s no way I can be here…I’m going to die. This is it. This is how I die.

The sailor merely smiled. “Queen Daenerys Stormborn. Not even death can kill her.”

What do we say to the God of Death…not today.

Not today.

Steel pushed her spine straight and she set her jaw. Not today. I killed death, she thought. I put a dagger in his stomach and I killed death. I wiped out the Freys. I fought in King’s Landing. I am Arya Stark. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, as the captain approached her, gesturing for her to disembark.

“That is not for me to know, but for him to tell you,” the captain said, gesturing again.

Arya turned her head and barely blinked as the Unsullied soldier she remembered was called Grey Worm approached her. Instead of his gray armor, he was clad in a black doublet, breeches, and boots, with a simple silver wolf and dragon sigil embroidered in the center. He was unarmed, his arms behind his back. He did not smile or show any emotion on his steely face. “Come,” he ordered.

“I’m not going with you.” The moment she spoke, sailors all had spears pointed to her back. She scowled, mumbling. “Fine.” She followed Grey Worm off the ship and down to the dock, reaching for Needle.

“I would not do that if I were you, you will be dead before you hit the ground.” He didn’t even turn around.

Arya blinked. How did he…she released her hand from Needle, following him to a series of soldiers wearing the same uniform as him, black with the silver embroidery. Everywhere she looked there were flapping banners with the wolf staring down at her. This couldn’t be. Wolves did not associate with dragons. “Where is my brother?” she demanded. Was this a trick? Did the Dragon Queen kill him and start using his sigil to gain followers?

Grey Worm said nothing. He pulled a smaller horse towards them and gestured for her. Arya scowled, but hopped up onto the horse, looking around. There was no way she could escape out of here. Besides, she wouldn’t leave without her men. “Where are you taking me?” she asked. He said nothing, but took the reins and tied them to his horse. Maybe he didn’t speak the Common Tongue fluently. Maybe he only knew a few words. She tried in her poor Valyrian, but he barely acknowledged her.

They set off and she jolted a bit, unaccustomed to riding a horse after so long at sea. She scanned the surroundings, taking in everything. It was magnificent. Even she could acknowledge that. She had been around the Sunset Sea and found that the other side of Westeros was the other side of Essos. There were things she hadn’t wanted to see. She’d been stuck in the Grey Waste for what felt like years. She’d made her way north from there, landing in Skagos for months before she could end up back in Westeros. Only to go back out again, when she found there was nothing in Westeros for her besides her sister and more war. She’d tried to go to the Wall to see Jon, but the remaining Night’s Watch men said he had disappeared up north and sometimes they got letters, but overall, he was gone too.

She sees water flowing in fountains and children running up and down the streets. There are people from all over Essos. Maybe even Westeros but…Westeros was a mess. War, famine, and disease. How would they have ended up here unless they were here to begin with? They marched through the streets, people stepping aside and studying her with a look of disdain.

Scowling, she looked up as they arrived near the top of the hill, to a large black stone edifice that looked no different than all the others they’d passed through. There were strange balconies inset into the stone, spiraling towers, and she realized that everything looked somewhat familiar because it was kind of like how the Red Keep looked, before it had been burnt to nothing.

Aegon and his sisters were from here, she remembered. They brought with them their dragons and they came to Westeros and they conquered with dragonfire. They united the kingdoms and they built the Red Keep. Of course it would resemble what they knew. Valyria. The large doors at the base of the biggest tower opened and they entered, guards along the entire length of the entrance.

She slid off the horse, following Grey Worm through a large courtyard, filled with exotic flowers and plants. The sun went dark in that moment and she stopped, unable to move as she stared up at the shadow that blacked it out. They said Balerion the Black Dread would block the sun, his shadow casting nightfall on entire cities. It seemed in that moment as Drogon flew over the compound, that he was rivaling Balerion for size. It had to be him; none of the other dragons she’d seen were even close to that size. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her voice somewhat panicked, even as she tried to hide it. Come on Arya, you’re a Stark. You’ve seen more than anyone.

Not today, she kept repeating.

Grey Worm led her into the castle, through hallways and up staircases, until they came to a room at the top of a tower. He rapped his knuckles on the door and then opened it without waiting for a response, leading her in. He reached for Needle, before she could stop him, and yanked it from the scabbard; along with the dagger she kept on her other hip. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

“No weapons,” he said, his Common Tongue accent thick.

She turned, looking into the courtyard beyond the room where she was currently standing. The black stone shined, inset with jewels. Beyond that, it was austere, very little furniture. There were filmy curtains in the open windows and in the courtyard more exotic plants. She took a few steps forward into the sunlight, stopping when she realized what she was seeing.

The Dragon Queen.

The last time she saw Daenerys, she was in all black leather, her hair a pile of complicated braids, shouting in a foreign tongue to her legions of soldiers. Insane, mad, and responsible for a massive slaughter of innocents, far worse than anything Cersei had ever done. Now, Daenerys was sitting on the ground, wearing black breeches and boots, a black vest that hung down to her knees, with a deep ‘v’ at her neck, revealing a silver necklace with a dragon on one end and a wolf on the other.

How dare she wear my sigil, Arya thought, venom spitting into her mouth. The queen’s hair was short, cropped close to her skull, and she was holding something out to a young dragon, about the size of a small horse. There was a soft smile on the woman’s face and she was speaking to the dragon in Valyrian.

Arya approached slowly, wondering how many eyes were pointed on them. There was no way she could be allowed to get this close to the Dragon Queen. Not after what had happened before. She heard the Valyrian word she thought meant something like “quiet” or “gentle.” Who ever heard of a dragon being gentle?

The Dragon Queen did not even look up when she spoke, her voice cool. “When you went through your Faceless Man training, did you learn control?” Arya said nothing. Danerys glanced up at her, still smiling. “I suppose that is a yes. You have to forget yourself, from my understanding of the House of Black and White. That’s something you could not do, I gather? Too emotional, you Starks. The irony.”

She continued to say nothing, not giving the queen the satisfaction of acknowledging her. Until she couldn’t, her chest bursting with want. “Where is my brother?” she demanded. “Did you kill him? Take his symbol?”

Danerys offered some raw meat from a pouch on her belt to the dragon. “Contrary to what most people believe, I do not have that many dragons. Obviously, one is enough, but I only have so many eggs I have discovered and only one of my dragons has laid eggs.” She lifted her gaze up again, smiling. “And each dragon is special. They are all my children, born of my blood. Some are easier to train than others. Much like children I imagine.” She stood, tossing some of the meat to the dragon. “Dracarys.”

The dragon, a mottled blue and green, blew fire at the meat and happily bit into it, swallowing it whole before sitting back, blinking a yellow eye at its mother. Daenerys said something to it in Valyrian and it turned, flapping its wings and flying off. Arya felt somewhat comforted by its departure, but now it was just she and the Dragon Queen.

She looked back at the woman, glowering. “Where. Is. My. Brother?!”

A slim eyebrow lifted on the queen’s forehead. “This is what I get for saving you and your crew?”

“You did not save me!”

Arya felt like a child suddenly. Of course she did. They were in Valyrian waters. Dragons probably spotted them and came and told her or something. Some magic that only the queen could understand. She scowled. “What, can you see all like my brother the King?” She said that just to dig the knife in a little. Oh how she wished she had Needle. She’d have stabbed this woman and be done with it. Stop whatever had brought her back. How was this even possible!? So many questions raced through her mind.

The queen did not flinch at the reference to Bran. “No, I simply know that you ran into a band of pirates a few months ago. My fleet captured them. They were trading in slaves. They told me they ran into a ship near Ulthos with a wolf mast.” She smirked. “I put two and two together.”

“Where is my brother?” she asked. She would not stop asking until she knew.

“Your brother,” the queen said, smiling again. “Is perfectly alright. He’s around here somewhere I imagine. Or he’s on the way; I’m not quite sure. You will see him soon enough.” She walked over and took a seat at a stone table and set of chairs, gesturing for Arya to take the second one. When Arya didn’t move, she shrugged. “Tyrion Lannister arrived in Volantis several weeks ago. I know you have been out of Westeros for some time but your brother Bran Stark’s rule is not succeeding the way you may have hoped. Some time ago the Crown took a significant loan from the Volantene merchant guild. Tyrion came to ask for extension of repayment and I in turn forgave the loan.”

She lifted her lilac eyes up to meet Arya’s dark gray ones. “And when Tyrion realized that he made a mistake coming here, when he saw that your brother had joined with me in ruling Essos, well he decided that it was time for me to die…again.”

This is why I’m here, Arya thought, realizing that the queen must think she was the assassin. “You think I’m the one sent to kill you?” she demanded.

“Well it would be quite fortuitous that a trained assassin lands on my shores when the Hand of the King, her brother, happens to come my way.” Daenerys smirked. “No. I do not think that you were sent to kill me, I think it just happened this way.” She smiled again. “You want to know what happened to your brother? He finally figured out who is really is.”

Arya glared at the woman who presumed to know anything about her family. “How do you know Tyrion Lannister wants to kill you? I haven’t spoken to him since I left Westeros.”

“I have people who are loyal to me, they tell me things.” Daenerys smiled again. It was grating on Arya’s nerves how this woman just seemed so happy. So manipulative. “If you know what is good for you, Arya Stark, you will return to Westeros and you will ignore any outreach from Tyrion Lannister to come here and take my life. It would not be wise.”

Loyal? Loyal people? Arya shook her head, her voice quiet, filled with rage. “You murdered thousands of people. For nothing. For a chair!”

A flicker of…something…crossed the queen’s smooth forehead. Suddenly, her eyes went downcast to her hands, folded on the table. The courtyard filled with a heavy silence. I did it, I got to her, Arya thought, smiling at the small victory. Until her smile fell when the queen lifted her face, which was filled with pain and her eyes dark and somewhat sunken.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes I killed thousands of innocent people. I am paying for that every single day of this new life. I died, Arya Stark. You were taught in Braavos to fight the God of Death. I lost that fight and I died. Betrayed by the one I loved. Betrayed by my family. Every single day I live with the hollow knowing that and knowing what I’ve done. I see the effects of it every day. I make sure of it. I do not ever plan to forget it and it haunts me still, as it should.”

In one quick movement, the queen rose, and came to stand before her. Arya realized how small she actually was then. Not much taller than her. How could this tiny woman wield so much authority and control over so many people? It wasn’t just the dragons, Arya thought. That was part of it of course, but there was something else.

The queen spoke, quiet again. “The people of Westeros needed to fear me because they did not love me. The people of Essos, the ones I freed from slavery, the Dothraki who followed me to their almost destruction…I hope one day the people of Westeros can feel the same. The thing is…I don’t need your Seven Kingdoms or Six Kingdoms or however many you are today. Maybe they will love me if I save them from the disaster they are living. If I take them from the hunger and the pain… I know a lot of what is happening in your world, Arya Stark and to be frank, it does not affect me other than knowing that there are innocent people hurting and I just want to try to stop that…to give back for what I’ve done.”

Arya felt the cool detachment from the woman. This was not the angry, almost sullen woman who she had met in Winterfell, when no one would listen to her. The one demanding the respect without earning it. She was something entirely different. “Will you send dragons?” she whispered. She shook her head. “They’re already dying over there. Will you send dragons to burn them alive again?” She smirked. “I was there on the ground in King’s Landing. I felt the heat from the fire and choked on the ash. The smell of burning flesh. I will never forget it.”

The queen stared at her. “Neither will I,” she whispered. She turned away; her hands folded in front of her, and went to stand in front of a lemon tree, studying it for a moment. Her voice was clearer and louder when she spoke, tossing over her shoulder. “I have allies in Westeros. Not everyone in the great houses there supports your brother’s rule. Not everyone there even supports the new concept of government you have installed. In any case, you do not need to be my enemy Arya. You may not believe me, but I would never harm Jon’s family.”

She turned around fully and this time her impassive face was filled with something Arya could not recognize. It seemed that there was a passion to her words now, filled with strength. “The Starks may have wanted me dead and may have helped to orchestrate it by telling everyone about Jon’s true lineage, but I do not want to harm you or anyone in his family. That’s the difference between us. I only ever wanted to love him. To rule with him. You killed me before I even had a chance.”

Arya said nothing. That was not her decision. Jon was her brother and he swore them to secrecy in front of the weirwood tree. There was no higher oath than that for her. Sansa was the one who betrayed the secret. Sansa was the one who wanted the North independent. She was the one who wanted the dragon queen gone. I trusted her, Arya thought, looking away. She said nothing, her hands balled into fists. If there was one thing she saw and could not deny, it was how the queen had looked at her brother.

She lifted her head. “What are you going to do with me now?” she asked.

The response was not what she was expecting at all.

The queen cocked her head slightly. “You know I remember at the feast after the Battle of Winterfell…the Lord of Storm’s End could not stop looking for you. It seemed you were the first person he wanted to find when I legitimized him.”

Arya’s eyes widened. Gendry!? What did that have to do with anything? “So?” she demanded, feeling oddly uncomfortable.

Daenerys smiled, but it was somewhat teasing, like what an older sister would do to a younger one. “I know who are my allies in Westeros. I also know the things they want and despite many matches, the Lord of Storm’s End has yet to find a lady.” She turned and began to walk away, pausing and turning, smiling again. “Feel free to look around the castle. I know how you like to explore.” She turned back to the door and strode away, closing it with a light click behind her.

Arya stood in the center of the courtyard, stunned. She felt her stomach sink and lifted her head, watching as a gorgeous black dragon with white markings lowered itself from the sky towards the castle. “Jon where are you?” she wondered, missing her brother terribly in that moment.

Chapter Text

They had been in Volantis for over a month. He was somehow still alive.

Tyrion continued to venture out beyond the manse, the merchant continuing to allow them to stay there, at the “grace of her Grace” he’d said when Tyrion had demanded to know how come he hadn’t sent them returning to Westeros after the debt had been repaid. He left the twins to their own devices, knowing that nothing would happen to them while he was still there. They disappeared a lot, going into the markets and the libraries, and once he even heard Joanna talk about how she wanted to go to the Great Temple of Rh’llor.

He tried to meet with the few contacts he had in Volantis, too nervous to send ravens to the other contacts in nearby cities through Essos. There was no contact from any; just one of the merchants saying in passing at a supper that Arya Stark had been found off the coast of Wyvern Point, near death, and brought to New Valyria. So she had her, he thought, standing before the window in his rooms, nursing a glass of wine. The best wine was in Essos these days, the Dornish hoarding all theirs from the rest of the Six Kingdoms.

The only messages he sent back to Raven’s Landing were to Ser Brienne, informing her that her children were safe, exploring, and learning High Valyrian. They had been somewhat disturbingly well behaved since Joanna’s outburst a few weeks before about wanting to go to New Valyria. He was starting to wonder though if he shouldn’t make the journey himself. It was an insane idea, but…he’d done insane things before. Quite the risk, obviously, venturing into the lion’s den.

Well, the dragon’s den.

But he’d done that before, he thought, remembering how he almost shit himself taking the collars and chains off the now long departed dragons. I did that for her, he thought, closing his eyes. Once upon a time ago he believed in her. That she would stand up for the smallfolk. Her experiences were what shaped her. It was her blood that damned her.

It seemed not a coincidence that Arya Stark was in New Valyria at the same time he was trying to put an end to this for once and for all. He should have done it when they got the first letter. Was Snow with her then? The only answer he’d received had been a hastily written message from Sansa, saying the Northern houses had no word of Jon Snow and the wildlings were refusing to say anything other than he was safe. He’s with her, Tyrion knew, deep down. He closed his eyes. The two of them…they’d conquer Westeros in a moment.

If Jon Snow appeared at her side, the lord would fall to their knee without shedding a drop of blood. He hoped at least. Edmure Tully might fight. Robyn Arryn was too young and inexperienced, but Yohn Royce would certainly stand against her, for the North was a protectorate of the Vale, even if the Vale remained part of the Six Kingdoms. He wondered what The Reach would do. Bronn would fight back, but he only had the support of a handful of minor houses that just wanted peace, no matter who they allied with.

He drained the glass of wine, turning and going to refill it. As he poured, he heard the door open, barely glancing over his shoulder to see his niece and nephew enter. “Good timing,” he said. He was glad he was slightly drunk, he could blame the decision on that. “We are leaving.”

“No,” Joanna said instantly.

“Well you’ll be pleased, we’re going to New Valyria.” He wanted answers from the dragon queen before he ended her once and for all. She may have forgiven the debt, but it wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. If she still had one, he thought, wondering what happened when you came back from the dead. He’d heard the talk of people from the North about Jon Snow. Ser Davos never spoke about it.

It would also do to speak with Arya Stark, if he could get to her. It was a massive risk, but again, he’d taken those before. In the end he somehow survived. He was the last Lannister, the embarrassment to proud Tywin, the one with the mind and the sharp tongue instead of the hatred of his sister or the blind devotion of his brother. “We leave as soon as we can,” he said, gulping at the wine.

Joanna and Jamie exchanged a curious look. “Why now?” she asked.

“Because I have business.”

“Why are we really here Tyrion?” Jamie demanded.

“For business, I told you.”

“Does our mother know what your business is?”

He sighed. “I am Hand of the King and your mother is the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard. She is busy with her work as I am with mine.” He frowned at Joanna. “besides, I thought you were positively dying to see New Valyria.”

“Oh I am, I just like knowing what your ulterior motives are,” Joanna said.

Where was his sweet Joanna? The little girl with the curly blonde hair who wanted him to read to her from books of history and lore? He frowned deeper. “What?”

Joanna sank down onto one of the chairs near the table of food that seemed to never go empty. “We’ve been here almost a month, Uncle Tyrion. You were scared when we arrived and now I know why. Obviously the Dragon Queen is still alive and you were part of her advisors, weren’t you? You had to be. Which means you know what she did in King’s Landing and you obviously did something to break from her because she died and you’re still alive.” She scowled and in that moment, Tyrion thought she slightly resembled his sister. “So what is the truth? What really happened with the Dragon Queen? They love her here. They all but worship her. We have nothing like that in Westeros. Why?”

Jamie had been silent. He finally spoke, his voice quiet. “I want to know why we have been living in war our whole lives, when over here they’re at peace. What happened?”

I suppose now is finally the time. They just didn’t seem old enough, he thought, his gaze moving from one to the other. He supposed they were almost as old as his brother was when he joined the Kingsguard and when Tywin tried to arrange Cersei’s marriage to Rhaegar Targaryen. Then Aerys humiliated him, marrying off Rhaegar to Elia Martell. Rhaegar had the last laugh though, Tyrion thought. He ran off with Lyanna Stark and look what happened there. Jon Snow was born and it set about the downfall of Daenerys Targaryen.

He poured himself another glass, the wine sloshing at the rim of the gold cup. “What do you want to know?” he whispered.

Joanna shrugged. “Start at the beginning.”

So he told them. Told them how he went east to search for her. The War of the Five Kings was coming to an end and at the moment it was looking more and more like the Lannisters were the wrong bet for the crown, not when there was a legitimate heir to the Iron Throne that Aegon Targaryen created, with live dragons and a khalasar of Dothraki. Who fought warlocks, broke chains, and walked out of fires unburned. He met her and she wondered if she should trust him. The lions killed her father, after all. What would stop him from killing her? She was right to wonder that, he thought, as he told them about her kindness with the people. They loved her. She freed them from chains. She wanted to rule and she wanted to do good.

“The day she made me her Hand was the happiest of my life,” he admitted. He was finally worth something. He lifted his gaze to theirs, seeing the confusion on their faces. “You’ve heard the phrase about the Targaryens, of course.”

Jamie nodded. “Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin and hold their breath.”

“And her coin flipped. We thought it had landed on the good, the side of greatness, but like all Targaryens…” he trailed off. How many in the line had actually been good? There was Jaeherys and Alysanne. Daeron. Aegon, even, the true Conqueror. Rhaeger would have been a good king, had he not followed his heart and kept to his duty. He sighed again, his head beginning to feel fuzzy from the wine. He took another long pull from the goblet. “Her coin flipped,” he repeated. He frowned, whispering, almost to himself. “Her coin flipped.”

The room filled with silence. He kept drinking and the twins just looked at each other, the floor, the ceiling…anywhere but him. Until Jamie spoke. “You know Uncle…the same could be said about the Lannisters. Greatness and madness, the two sides of a coin.”

Tyrion set the goblet down on the stone table, blinking at his nephew. He shook his head. “We are nothing like the Targaryens. The Lannisters are your family.”

“No they aren’t,” Joanna whispered. Tears wavered in her green eyes, turning them into pools as bright as wildfire. She sniffed. “We’re not Lannisters, Uncle. We’re Hill. We’re bastards.” She shook her head again, whispering. “And here in Essos, it doesn’t matter if you’re a bastard. You could become a leader, you could…you could have anything.”

They were no longer the twins he used to watch, he thought. They were grown up. They were Lannisters in blood, if not in name. They had sharp minds. They could not be controlled or influenced the way they could when they were younger. Joanna had always been questioning and curious, while Jamie just wanted to play with swords. He should have realized when Maester Sam came into the Small Council chamber and said that Joanna was asking about the ending of his book, a A Song of Ice and Fire. She said she didn’t think it was finished. It seemed to just end.

“I sent you North,” he said, looking over at Jamie. He paused, choosing his words as carefully as he could. “I sent you to Queen Sansa for training. I wanted you to become something. To become a knight. You did. You were knighted even younger than your father. I wanted you to see what we fought for. Their lives, in the Battle of the Dawn…their independence. They have always been the watchers for the realm.”

The young man, who looked so much like his older brother, smiled again, but shook his head. “No Uncle…you forget. You wouldn’t have won the Battle of the Dawn without the forces of the Dragon Queen to help.” He stood and looked over at him and suddenly Tyrion didn’t think he looked like his brother any longer. “My namesake may have been your brother, but I don’t want to be like him.” He walked away, the door shutting with a light click as he left.

Tyrion closed his eyes, tears pricking in the corners. He was only doing what he could do. To survive, like he always had. He wiped at his face and peered at Joanna, who was studying him. He shook his head, throwing his hand sideways to the door. “Aren’t you going to leave too?”

“No,” she said.

“Well then what?”

Joanna stood up and walked over, taking the glass from his hand and reaching for his shoulders, helping him off the chair and leading him across the room to the bed. She helped him up onto the mattress and propped a pillow behind his head. She tugged off his boots and tossed them into a corner. He blinked again, everything going blurry. She leaned down and he saw she was still crying. “Thank you for bringing us here. I’m sorry that things aren’t working out the way you wanted, but…for our sakes, I’m glad we’re finally able to see that the world doesn’t always have to be filled with war and strife. Please just understand that. You were lucky, you were born in a time of peace. That’s all you knew for most of it. How far do you think you would have gotten if you always feared an attack each time you ventured beyond your walls?”

You are too smart for your own good by little lion, he thought, watching her get up and walk away. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful slumber, filled with screams of people running from dragonfire and the cold gaze of a soulless queen. Until she became the shy woman offering him a pin and asking for his council.

Then it went black.

--

About two weeks later, he was not surprised when their ship is met by about five of her Unsullied, or whatever she called them these days. The group was led by Grey Worm, who looked as if he hadn’t aged a day, standing straight in front of the formation, his arms folded behind his back. “I see you are still in service to the queen,” Tyrion said, stopping in front of him. The twins were making their way down the gangplank, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping so they couldn’t hear. “They are innocents.”

“The queen has given orders not to have them harmed.”

“I see you speak the Common Tongue.”

“Practice,” Grey Worm simply said.

They get into a cart and Tyrion focused on the joy in Joanna’s face, her hands clapping together as they began to make their way through Valyria. The last time he was here, he was with Jorah Mormont and they were making their way through the Smoking Sea. This was the first place where he ever saw a dragon. Now there were several, flapping through the sky, occasionally letting out a screech.

Even Jamie, who always tried to be stoic and unimpressed, was smiling, looking at the Valyrian steel arakhs and spears. They made their way through a large square, a stone likeness of Rhaegar Targaryan playing a harp in the center. In another, he recognized Barristan the Bold. One had a giant figure, Dothraki gathered around it, and he wondered if that was her Khal Drogo. They arrived at a large building and he bid goodbye to the twins, hoping he would see them again. He watched as they were led off by a few Dothraki women, the two of them bouncing around in sheer glee. This was the happiest he had seen them since they were small.

This is it, he thought, turning and following Grey Worm up into a tower. It was sparse, but the colors were mostly cool grays and white. He wondered if this was where they’d do it. Would they give him a trial? He walked towards the figure standing in the arched stone entry to a large veranda.

And stopped.

The figure turned and it wasn’t the Dragon Queen.

Jon Snow stood before him. Only it wasn’t Jon Snow. This man wore a black high collared jacket with a flash of red on the inside of the collar. There was a silver wolf pinned to his left breast. Black breeches in black boots and the faintest hint of red under the sleeves. His dark hair was cut short and his beard neatly trimmed. Dark eyes were unmoving, like black pools, locking onto him.

He waited a moment, but Jon did not speak. He sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Of course,” Jon said, walking over and pouring him a goblet. He handed it to Tyrion and gestured with the one he poured for himself. “Have a seat.”

“You look…different.”

“Things have changed.”

“Do I refer to you as ‘Your Grace’?”

Snow smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes. Was this man ever happy? He shook his head. “You can refer to me as however you did in the past.”

“King in the North does not seem to work any longer.” Tyrion smiled. “Or are you Aegon Targaryen now?”

The jab did not have the effect he wanted. He’d hoped to throw Snow off kilter with the use of his birth name, but instead, the other man simply flashed that half-smile. “In a way I am.” Jon took a seat and gestured for Tyrion to join him at the wooden table engraved with dragons and wolves. The characters on the piece of furniture seemed to be dancing.

I suppose I have to ask the simplest question, he thought, taking a sip. He swallowed. Good wine. “So…what happened?”

Jon reached for the goblet in front of him. He looked up, his eyes like steel. “I asked you if it was the right thing…you said ask me again in ten years.” He paused. His voice hard and unforgiving.

“I did not need even ten days to know it was a mistake.”

Chapter Text

I hate this place.

Renaming it Raven’s Landing, because “I am a raven not a king” according to Bran, did nothing to purge the horrible memories she had here. Bile churned in her stomach, she had not eaten, choosing to give her rations over to the crew of the ship from White Harbor. Just something to try to get the Manderly support to remain with the North.

She tapped her fingers on the edge of the terrace wall, peering out over what had been rebuilt over the last decade or so. They had borrowed significantly from The Iron Bank and Essos and she wondered if Tyrion had also taken from some of the other Houses nearby to try to make Raven’s Landing look how it had before. The Targaryens built King’s Landing, but they also destroyed it, she thought, turning away from the window and walking over to pour herself a glass of wine.

It had been a couple months since she received the news from Tyrion about Jon. She looked over at the door to her chambers, calling out when she heard a soft knock. “Enter.”

The door pushed open and Brienne entered, wearing the white and silver armor of the Kingsguard. Ravensguard, she corrected. “Queen Sansa,” Brienne announced, bowing as she entered. She smiled warmly. “I hear you stopped at Riverrun and The Eyrie on your journey south. Did you find your uncle and cousin well?”

Do not remind me. Sansa rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “No. They refused to send men North to search for my brother.”

“I am sorry. Has there been word of Jon Snow?”

“The wildlings are not speaking.” She would have their heads if they belonged to her realm, but beyond the Wall she had no authority and they knew it. The possibility that Jon was still North of the Wall was long disappearing into nothing. She just did not want to face what the alternative would be. Jon Snow had abandoned the North. He’d abandoned the Starks and joined up with that foreign dragon witch. She looked over at Brienne, her voice dropping to almost nothing. “Storm’s End has fallen to the east.”

Brienne’s smooth forehead flickered with concern. “My Queen?”

“Riverrun and The Eyrie refused the search because they cannot spend men, not with Storm’s End refusing to assist in protecting the Raven’s Road through the Crownlands and into the Riverlands.” Sansa closed her eyes. “Lord Baratheon is refusing to respond to the ravens from my uncle and cousin. I fear he has abandoned us.”

“Lord Baratheon is accepting poor counsel from his advisers,” Brienne said. She scowled. “Queen Sansa, with Lord Tyrion in the East, with my children mind you, I fear the King is not taking council from anyone.”

Not that he did before.

Sansa had yet to see her brother. Samwell Tarly said that he was refusing to meet with anyone, choosing to spend time in the godswood with the weirwood trees. It had been somewhat comforting for her to see the heavy presence of the northern gods the farther south they made it. She did not realize that Brienne’s children were with the dwarf. “Have you heard from them? Are they safe?”

“My daughter has sent a couple of ravens, it seems she is…” Brienne trailed off and smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “She is in her element, Your Grace. My son on the other hand, I hope for him to return as soon as possible, so I can return him to The North.”

“He is most welcome at Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, I know he prefers it to the South.” Brienne hesitated. “Your…your Grace…I do not have the time or the ability in my station to truly counsel the King on matters of politics and alliances. I am trying to keep the city from falling to itself. My City Watch is understaffed and untrained…but at my heart I am a mother and my children are my world. I do not know what Lord Tyrion is planning, I just know he has my children and I want to ensure they are safe.”

I understand. At least, I think I do, Sansa thought. She nodded. “I am sure your children are fine.”

“Not if the Dragon Queen lives.”

“What do you know of that?”

Brienne cocked her head, a lock of her blonde hair falling over her eyes. She tossed it aside and shook her head again. “Your Grace I have seen things…the dead walk, a shadow murder another…to come back from the dead as a living, breathing…I do not know.”

“So you don’t believe it possible?”

“I do not believe you could be the same person if you did.”

Maybe that was true. She had heard things from the people in Winterfell, the smallfolk, and the Night’s Watch who had come to fight against the Army of the Dead. Some said that her brother had died. The Red Woman brought him back. It was magic, they said, dark and evil magic from across the sea. Nothing from the South or the East has ever been in Winterfell’s favor, she thought, pushing it out of her mind. “We gave Lord Baratheon his castle, his people, and his name,” she said. “He will support us.”

Brienne frowned a little and turned to face her further. “Your Grace…if I may…I am from the Stormlands. The lords there are not ones you want to fight with. They are tempestuous and always looking to fight. Lord Baratheon has done admirable work in garnering their support over these years.”

What exactly are you saying? Sansa arched a slim red eyebrow. “And?”

“I am simply saying that you have to be careful with the Storm Lords. They can be…fickle.” Brienne twisted the pommel of her sword, Oathkeeper, and lifted her face again to meet Sansa’s. “I am a mother now Your Grace. I will do anything for my children and I do not want them caught in the middle of this. They are safe right now because regardless of what happened with the Dragon Queen…”

“The Dragon Queen murdered children. She burned them alive. What makes you think she won’t do that to yours?” Sansa demanded.

A muscle Brienne’s jaw twitched. She shook her head. “I do not know,” she whispered. “Perhaps I am relying on your brother to temper the fire within. If he really is there. I cannot think of the alternative, not with my children in the dragon’s lair.” She squinted. “And we both know Lord Tyrion is relying on that as well.”

Yes, I suppose we are. She nodded. “I am sure your children are fine, Ser Brienne. In the meantime, should the King not see me, I will journey to Storm’s End and meet with Lord Baratheon.” She pursed her lips, her eyebrow arching again. “Remind him of who installed him in that position and his fealty to his King.”

--

In all the time she had spent in the south, she had never made it to Storm’s End. It was a great castle, dark and oddly…stormy. It blended into the cliff, a sprawling series of turrets and walls. It had never been destroyed in a storm. She chose to come via horse, not wanting to brave the swells that crashed into Shipbreaker’s Bay. She had reached out to Ser Davos, but he chose to remain behind in the capital, for he was the only one left to advise the King.

Not that that mattered.

The horses were led into the castle walls by Baratheon guards, wearing an inverse coloring of black doublets and armor with golden stags emblazoned on the plates. It was the bastard’s sigil, the inverse of his father’s, she realized. Lord Baratheon was not a bastard any longer, but it seemed he still maintained some of the customs. She nodded to the men and slid off the horse, removing her gloves. “Queen Sansa of the North,” her men announced.

A Maester nodded and bowed to her. “Your Grace, Lord Baratheon awaits you in the study. Please, allow me to show you the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, scanning the yard. Baratheon men practiced and there was a large smith nearby. She lifted her eyes up to the turrets, the banners whipping in the coming storm. The storms of the coast were legendary. The worst that the realm had ever seen.

Stormborn.

She blinked, the name of the former queen suddenly flashing in her mind. They called her that, like it was part of her name. Daenerys Stormborn. It meant nothing, she tried to tell herself, just another lie the queen told to gather followers. She followed the Maester into the castle, through the corridors, and eventually in a wide-open study, with massive floor to ceiling archways looking out onto the Narrow Sea.

Gold and black tapestries hung from the walls and above a large fireplace hung a giant war hammer. She approached it, studying the handle and the iron. It was old, dust on the clasps holding it against the stone. There was a dent on one corner of the hammer.

“My father’s.”

The voice startled her and she turned, quickly composing herself when she saw the Lord of Storm’s End standing in the doorway. “Lord Baratheon,” she greeted him. She did not bow to anyone, as a Queen in her own right, so she waited for him to bow to her.

Instead, Gendry entered the room, breaking his gaze from the massive hammer and going to stand at one of the archways. He looked quite different from the blacksmith she’d last seen in the Dragonpit at the council that established her brother as King and finally granted her family the North. In the council he’d been a newly appointed Lord, wearing brown furs and avoiding any overt displays of his family name. Now he wore black velvet jerkin and a cloak with a golden yellow lining. The Baratheon stag was pinned to the center, holding the cloak around him. His dark hair, almost shaved to his head before, was longer and she realized that he resembled Robert Baratheon more than he had before.

He nodded at her, still now bowing. “Queen Sansa.”

She pursed her lips, but did not mention the break in protocol. “It is good to see you, it has been some time.” Might as well just get started. “You did not respond to my letters regarding the search for my brother. I heard from the Lords of Riverrun and the Eyrie that you have abandoned any support you were providing them in protection from rioters and the Iron Islands.”

“The Iron Islands do not harm Storm’s End,” he said.

Well that makes one region of the realm they’ve avoided plundering. “Yara Greyjoy ignores my messages.”

“Yara Greyjoy is defending her people.”

“By pillaging and destroying the lands of others.”

“They do not sow.”

“I know their House words.”

Gendry turned back to look at her again. He folded his arms behind him, walking over to stand beside her at the fireplace. He was as tall as her and she realized quite handsome. Arya had been close to him. She narrowed her eyes. “It has been almost fourteen years since you took over Storm’s End. You still have not married.”

He flashed a quick smile. “It has been almost fourteen years since you took the North and you still have not married either, Queen Sansa.”

Her lips twitched. Very well, they were going to have to fight this out then. “I came to inquire in person regarding your disregard for the other Kingdoms…”

“Did your brother send you?”

“He is your King.”

“My King stays in Raven’s Landing, refuses to meet with the smallfolk or leave his godswood, and the only thing I have received from him was a series of weirwood trees that I had to install in our lands.” Gendry shook his head. “I am not a religious man, but the Stormlands follow the Faith of the Seven. They did not take too kindly to the old gods being forced upon them.” He scowled. “Nor did my lords appreciate their men being pulled from their protection to venture North.”

That was when the Thenns had attacked, she thought, several years ago. “The Thenns attacked White Harbor. Without that harbor, the North would not be able to send grain down to the Six Kingdoms. It was in everyone’s interest.”

“What grain? We’ve yet to see any grain from The North.”

“The Iron Fleet invaded and burned our fields.”

“And my lords were called to the Reach to quell uprising there,” Gendry continued. He waved his left hand, circling it in the air. “And so it goes, over and over and over again Queen Sansa. My lords are tired. I am tired.”

She followed him away from the fireplace and to the archways. “You are refusing your king?” she demanded.

Gendry’s gaze moved sideways. He grinned. “My king? It is funny how that happened, isn’t it. The council to choose the king? Funny how the Starks had quite a lot of representation on that council, along with their allies.” He looked back to the sea, his voice hard. “I was a new Lord then. I grew up in Flea Bottom, I never knew my father until after his death. To be a bastard of the King? Well…that was quite something, now wasn’t it? I had to come out here, to a land I did not know or understand, and convince the lords of the Stormlands to follow me. A boy who knew nothing about ruling or nobility.” He chuckled. “And somehow it worked. They followed me and I did what I could and still do.” He turned fully again. “Queen Sansa, I will always have support for the Starks. Your sister was my friend and…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “And I love her. Loved her. I do not think I could have gotten as far as I had without her. I will always support Arya Stark.”

Arya Stark. Not the Starks. Sansa scowled. “You owe us your support. We made you a Lord.”

“No you did not.” He leaned against the stone archway. “No, it was the Dragon Queen who made me a Lord, after the battle.”

“She only did that to get your support. We allowed you…”

“You did not allow anything,” Gendry interrupted. He pressed his palm into his chest, into the stag in the center of his jerkin. “She made me a Lord, whether it was to get my support or not, I do not care. Daenerys Targaryen was the one who saw that was not just a bastard. It was funny, she could see through people like that. A queen who did not care for titles or history. I betrayed that, I see it now, and I made a mistake. I supported the Starks at the time, but what as become of your house, Queen Sansa? Your sister is missing in the East and your brother is a king who does not listen to his subjects.” He narrowed his gaze on hers. “What happened to the Stark honor when you had Queen Daenerys killed?”

That was our honor. Our honor is what gave us the ability to do that. To protect the world. Her brother took it upon himself to prevent future atrocities. “We have honor,” she whispered.

Gendry walked over to a large table on the other side of the room. He rummaged over some parchment and found what he was looking for, carrying it back over to her. He turned it towards her and she looked at the drawing of troop movements, the handwriting oddly feminine. He nodded towards it. “Look at the number of troops. She brought all of her forces, she stopped her quest for the throne, just for you. For the North.”

She said she loved my brother. Sansa glared up at him. “What does this matter? It has been years.”

“She lost a dragon for you. I was there, in the North. I fought them. She was there too.” Gendry squinted. “When were you ever out there, Queen Sansa? When were you on the front lines with your men? She was. She was out there, putting herself at risk, and fighting for her people.”

She murdered her people. “You need to watch your tone, I am a Queen,” she said.

Gendry did not listen and continued. “Where was the Stark honor when she lost everything for you? When you convinced the man she loved to murder her? How is that honorable, Queen Sansa?”

“Jon knew his family. She would have killed us, he protected us!”

“You did not even give her a chance before you stabbed her in the heart.”

“She murdered thousands!”

Gendry shook his head. “I’m not defending her int hat. That was horrific. I grew up with those people and they did not deserve that death, but Queen Sansa, neither do they deserve the starvation and the ignorance that they’ve had to endure for almost fifteen years.” He straightened up and his voice changed. It was deeper and more formal. “I did not know Ned Stark and wish I had, but from what people say, I think he would be ashamed at how his family has become, turning into the ones who had him beheaded.”

It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She tried to keep her voice measured, but her chest rose and fall with short, angry gasps. “Do not…do not speak of my father!”

The Lord of Storm’s End ignored her and walked away, his voice clear and loud. The Flea Bottom accent should have given him less gravitas, but in a way it made him sound more powerful. One of the people, so to speak. “The Stormland lords have spoken. We have decided that we no longer recognize the rule of King Bran the Broken.”

This should not be happening.

All she wanted was to find her brother, to get to the bottom of Tyrion’s panicked letters, the establishment of the Dragon Queen in Essos and how now it seemed they were all at risk from her wrath. Sansa gaped at him. “Why now?”

“Why now?”

“Yes. Clearly you have felt this for some time. Why now?” she demanded.

Gendry took another letter from the table and held it up. “This is from Yara Greyjoy in the Iron Islands.” He set it back down. “I have received dozens just like this one. The Dragon Queen lives. Her sailors heard things, coming from the East, and they went to investigate. It’s true. She’s alive and she has turned Essos into something even greater than it was. Something we need here in Westeros. The people here are dying and it is time we do something about it.”

If they lose the Stormlands then she knew that was it. Dorne and the Iron Islands already refused to acknowledge the rule of her brother. She felt her heartbeat quicken, the wolf sewn into the bodice of her dress seem to start running away. “You do not have to do this,” she whispered. “Lord Tyrion is in Essos right now. He’s trying to get the debts paid and forgiven. Once we do that, we no longer have to have the heavy taxes…we can…” she trailed off. She did not even know. It was not her place to figure out how to govern Westeros, she just need to worry about the North.

“From what I have heard from Essos, Lord Tyrion made a mistake going there,” Gendry said.

She closed her eyes. Yes, he did. He took a risk and failed miserably. “He is still alive. She will not kill him, not with Ser Brienne’s children with him.”

“No, she will not,” Gendry agreed. He shook his head. “But Queen Daenerys was too smart for him and took her chance.”

Queen Daenerys. Not Dragon Queen, as everyone else referred to her as. She scowled. “You have received word from her. In treason to your king.”

“I have received at least two letters but did not think them real,” Gendry admitted. He smirked. “I may have seen the dead walk but I did not think they could actually rise and have a true beating heart.” He sighed. “It is time Queen Sansa. My father, Robert Baratheon, he went to war against the Targaryens because he thought they took the woman he loved.”

It was Jon Arryn who raised his banners though. Because my grandfather and uncle were burned alive. Robert merely was the one who killed Rhaegar Targaryen. She scowled at Gendry. He was defending the son of the man his father killed. Defending the sister of the man his father killed. “What does that have to do with the reasons why you are going to war against my brother?”

Gendry released a long breath and looked back to the hammer on the wall. The hammer that started a rebellion and killed the Targaryen dynasty. “Maybe it is not my place, but my father went to war because a Stark and a Targaryen ran away together.” He turned back to her.

“I suppose I’m just continuing that legacy.”

Chapter Text

The dwarf followed him silently as he led him from the courtyard on the east side of the castle to where they liked to keep the dragons, in a gorgeous tower, one of the largest in Valyria. It was almost like a nursery of sorts, where they came and went, where Silverwing had laid four eggs, the only ones the dragons had produced in the years since their return.

He walked into the tower, hearing the dwarf’s footsteps fall behind him. “They won’t hurt you,” he called, reaching the large courtyard where Eddarion was seated. He smiled at the dragon, the great beast lifting his large head and silver eyes closing, almost purring in contentment. He touched the dragon’s nose, murmuring. “Hey boy.”

Tyrion appeared at his side, eyes wary. The dwarf had not aged well, no doubt from the stress of ruling a dying kingdom and drinking his days away. The golden Lannister hair was gray and his beard now white. He had not said much since they left the rooms, not that Jon expected him to. Tyrion could be quiet when he needed to be, unfortunately never when he absolutely had to be. He cleared his throat, loud enough that Eddarion focused one silver eye on the visitor. “This one is…yours I presume?”

“Eddarion.”

“I wonder what Ned Stark would think of a dragon named after him.”

My father allowed a stain on his honor at the belief he fathered a bastard. He lived with that his entire life, knowing the talk it would generate. The shame from his wife and legitimate children. All to protect me. To keep me from sharing the same fate that I gave to the other Targaryen in the world. Jon suspected Ned would not have much of an opinion of it. Even if he could speak with his father…he would just want to know about his mother. Lyanna. Ned hardly spoke of her and now Jon knew why. He was just keeping the secret. He stroked Eddarion’s snout, allowing himself to disappear back into a world where he was just the bastard of Winterfell, hiding in the shadows at great feasts and ducking his head in shame each time Catelyn took one look at him.

He looked down at Tyrion. “I am sure you have more questions than I have answers.”

“To start.” Tyrion looked up, some of the dragons peering down from their alcoves. “How many do you even have?”

“Enough.”

“One dragon is enough.”

“Imagine what she could have done with all three.” He wondered if all her sons had survived, if things would have been different. If she would not have broken the way she did, from watching her children die. He wished he had been there with Rhaegal. “When I found out about my lineage, part of me did not want to believe it, but then I knew. I suppose I’ve always known. I was never a Stark, not really, and then…it was true.” Jon sighed. “I suppose I knew it was true when the scorpions sent Rhaegal into a watery grave. I felt them. I heard his screams in my head.” They’d been on the ship, making their way south, and he’d been brought to his knees.

Mother!

And then a pitiful screech and a louder cry. Father!

He knew before he set foot on Dragonstone. Then he’d met Eddarion. It was like the dragon had been waiting for him, a small thing at the time, no bigger than a foal. The connection he’d had with Rhaegal had been timid and new, scared and questioning what it may have meant, since he didn’t know much about dragon lore but there had to be something greater at play for a dragon to allow a non-Targaryen rider. He wondered why Daenerys hadn’t questioned it at the time. Maybe she did, but did not care. When he met Eddarion, the connection felt instant. The dragon’s thoughts were his own and vice versa.

The dragon names came from history, their personalities, and he knew she saved the names of loved ones for the dragons that had the strongest connection. Her sons were named from her brothers and her first love. Eddarion named for his father. There were two eggs remaining unhatched, she could not get them to birth, and he wondered if those were meant for their children, and perhaps they would share names of loved ones as well.

A cheeky little thing, almost as large as Eddarion though, peered down from the alcove, glaring a ruby eye at Tyrion, baring his teeth and unfurling smoke. “Wildfyre,” he warned. He lifted an eyebrow, speaking in his terrible Valryian that somehow the dragons could understand. “No. Leave him alone.”

Wildfyre growled, but pulled away from Tyrion, screeching and pushing away from the alcove, beating his orange wings and taking off into the sky. Tyrion closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. “Gods.” He looked around the open tower. “When the Targaryens started chaining the dragons they grew small and sickly. They died in the Dragonpits.” He gestured to the alcoves. “These ones aren’t confined.”

“A dragon is not a slave.”

“And yet you seem to be a slave to her, the Breaker of Chains,” Tyrion fired back.

He barked out a short laugh. He stroked Eddarion’s maw and let his hand fall, Eddarion rustling his head and beating his wings, before turning and pushing off, flying away, likely to hunt. They had to fly farther out beyond Valryia to hunt, since Dany kept the livestock out of the city to not tempt them to attack anything they may thought of as livestock, like children. He waited until Eddarion was a black speck in the sky and looked down at Tyrion. “So what do you want to know?”

Tyrion looked up under the dark gray hair falling over his eyes. “How did you end up here from the Wall? Without us even knowing?”

Jon smiled.

--

Three Years After Queen Daenerys’s Death

Tormund approached the tent, holding the torch aloft and meeting the red-eyed gaze of the silent wolf. The wolf turned his head, trotting between the heavy burlap that served as door of the tent. He sighed heavily, stepping as quietly as he could in the thawing snow, but he didn’t think the other man would hear it over his screams.

He pushed into the tent and Ghost stood over his master, who was tossing in the sheets, covered in sheen of sweat, the furs on the floor. The sight of the fatal scars on Little Crow’s chest no longer surprised Tormund, for nothing really surprised him anymore. He set the torch in the holder by the door, leaning over and reaching for the Crow, lightly touching his shoulder. “Jon,” he hissed. “Hey, wake up, it’s just a dream.”

“No….no…don’t….don’t do it…” Jon mumbled, most of his words incoherent. Sometimes they sounded like a language, something Tormund recognized from the Dragon Queen’s men, those ball-less bastards who scared the shit out of him. Jon seized, beginning to shake, his back arching up.

Fuck, Tormund thought, grabbing at the Crow and shaking him. “Jon! Wake up!”

“No!” Jon screamed, surging forward and beating on Tormund, his face wet with sweat and tears. He heaved his breaths and went limp, eyes opening as he took in his surroundings. He waited a moment, still breathing and reached to touch his chest, at his scar. He blinked and turned away, wiping at his face, embarrassed.

Tormund pretended like he didn’t notice and sat back on a stool in the corner, studying his friend. It had been almost night after night of this. The wolf was too thin and his eyes hollow. Every day he wasted away, sometimes he disappeared for weeks on end, and most of the freefolk wondered when he’d return. Tormund kept waiting for the day he wouldn’t. He nodded to the wolf. “He came to get me. Must have been a bad one.” He offered Jon a leather bladder he’d just filled with water from the stream. “What was it again?”

Jon did not look at him, but took the water. He closed his eyes. “I keep thinking…why did I do it?”

“Because she was going to kill everyone.”

“But…but why? Why didn’t I reason with her? Why didn’t I figure…,” Jon wiped at his eyes again. He looked over at the wildling. Tormund had become the closest thing he had to family in the two years since he’d abandoned the Wall. What Wall? Half of it was fallen into nothing and the other half was beginning to melt, as summer started to thaw at the great divider, no longer necessary with the death of the Night King.

He kept dreaming about it. Fire at the wall and a thin sword that rippled with ruby and onyx, a hilt suited for a woman’s hand and ruby and gold on the pommel. He’d never seen the sword before. Didn’t know what it was. Was it supposed to represent her? Or the dagger he’d used? He never had a full night’s sleep. Sometimes he’d drink himself into oblivion, just to not have the dreams, but it didn’t matter. Every single night, he was at the Wall and he was finding that sword and he was killing her again and again and again.

Was this his penance? Was this his punishment? It wasn’t exile at the wall or living away from his family. His family, he scoffed, they may have defended him from the death he rightly deserved for killing his Queen and kin, but beyond that they’d let him go to the Wall. Did it matter anymore? This wasn’t so much an exile, since he did not plan to stay at Castle Black with the other murderers and rapists who hadn’t died in the Battle of Winterfell.

It was the dreams.

The dreams were his punishment.

Sometimes the visions too. He’d be filling his water at the stream or hunting or moving from place to place with the freefolk. They planned to resettle Hardhome and most did, but others stuck to the nomadic lifestyle, since it was the only thing they knew. He would leave when the dreams got so bad that they’d look at him with pity the following day. The children were scared of him and most of the women wouldn’t even try to find a way into his bed. He didn’t want them anyway. He’d had one woman he loved and he lost her.

You know nothing Jon Snow.

No, he didn’t. He really didn’t. Ygritte had died in his arms. He’d killed her, betrayed her, and he had to live with that. He’d executed the boy who put the arrow into her and who put the knife into him. He didn’t plan to love again after that. He broke his vows for her. Then he died and he had no vows to break.

And then he met Daenerys Stormborn.

He had no intention of falling in love with her. When he’d entered the hall in Dragonstone and saw the tiny woman with the silver hair and violet eyes, who spoke to him about what she’d been through and said she only had faith in herself…something stirred in him that he hadn’t felt since Ygritte died. If he’d known how it would have turned out, he would have left on the first ship from Dragonstone.

It ended with him holding the woman he loved, a dagger in her heart.

When he saw her, blood would start to trickle out of her mouth and nose. He’d stare at the dragon, waiting for the fire, begging and pleading for Drogon to kill him like he had so many others. Was it because he was a Targaryen? Was it his blood that kept the dragon from burning him for murdering his mother? Or was it that Drogon was just so aware that he melted the one thing his mother had wanted, the one thing that had driven her mad, essentially?

He continued to sip the water carefully and secured the top a moment later. “I’m going to go for awhile,” he whispered. He looked at the door.

She was standing there.

Sometimes she wore the black leather coat with the red sash at her neck. The dagger was in her heart. She never said anything, because the blood would begin to flow from her mouth. Sometimes she was in other clothing. Clothing he’d never even seen her in. Pale purple filmy dresses and her hair loose. Right now she wore dark rags, her hair dirty and stringy.

Her hand reached up, beckoning him.

Tormund glanced at the door in his direction and then back to him. “What do you see?”

He blinked and she was gone. “Nothing,” he murmured. He raked his hands through his wet hair. He hadn’t cut it in some time and it was starting to hit his shoulders and his beard unkempt. “It’s nothing. I’m going to go in the morning.” He’d go back to the Wall. Something was bringing him there. “Good night Tormund,” he said, effectively dismissing the wildling.

His friend waited a moment and then nodded. “We’ll be heading back to Hardhome for a bit, should you want to come back.”

“Thank you.”

The next day he set out, Ghost at his side. He made his way through the forests, the glens, and eventually beyond what remained of Craster’s Keep. He continued to have the dreams each night, the sword glowing brighter as he grew closer to the Wall. He wondered if this was his death. If the sword symbolized her somehow.

I’m coming, he thought, wondering if she could hear him. He knew she didn’t. There was nothing afterward. He knew that better than anyone because he had been there. She died and that was it. She was nowhere and there was nothing. For that, he was also sorry.

It was a mistake.

He didn’t need ten years to know that. It was a mistake and a mistake he could not take back. All he could do was live with it. Maester Aemon, his kin he now knew, said love was the death of duty. Duty is the death of love. I did my duty and now I have to pay for it. I will have to live with that the rest of my life. It was a mistake. I never should have listened to the dwarf. I never should have let him sow the doubt in my mind.

They don’t get to choose.

That’s what prompted it. He wanted anything, any excuse, and she wanted to rule with him. She would never have harmed his siblings. Not if he asked. He knew that now. It was too late.

My siblings abandoned me.

Sansa got her crown, the crown she’d longed to have since she was a little girl, and he had defended her. He had ignored the signs, the sideways looks and the way she’d put down Daenerys. The automatic distrust and refusal to acknowledge the sacrifices the Queen had made for the North and for them. If she hadn’t come North she probably would be Queen. She’d have her dragons. Her children.

She broke the oath, the oath she’d made in the godswood, before the heart-tree. How could he forgive that? What would father think of that?

Arya even…he wasn’t sure what Bran was…they weren’t his siblings but his cousins.

I am not a Stark and I never have been.

The words haunted him.

I am not a Stark.

What am I?

Weeks later he arrived at the Wall. He did not go to Castle Black, but to where the Wall had fallen to the wight Viserion’s blue fire. He pitched camp and wondered just what he was really doing. He was losing his mind and he knew it. He was succumbing to his Targaryen blood.

I know how your coin has landed.

Everything she said would happen did. I should have listened to you Dany, he sobbed at night in his dreams. I should have listened to you.

What am I doing here? He walked along the Wall with Ghost, climbing over pieces of ice and snow, remembering when he’d climbed it. That seemed so long ago. He would love to return to those days. “What are we doing here boy?” he wondered, speaking to the mute direwolf.

Ghost would sniff and dig and sometimes abandon him to go hunt. He would always come back at night and curl up beside him. The only family who has never left me, he thought. All his siblings dead or gone. He continued to search in the rubble, unsure what he was looking for.

Until he found it.

His hand hit something solid, towards the bottom of an icy shelf of wall. He frowned, staring down as he reached further into the cavern the pieces of wall had formed against each other. “Ah!” he exclaimed, feeling heat burn through his glove. He peered down into the gap and saw it. Silver and ruby. He reached for the torch beside him, waving it over to see further in the gathering night.

After he dug some more snow out from around it, he was able to see the full sword. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t…he knew the stories. Bryden Rivers took it to the Wall. The disappearance of Aegon’s massive Valyrian sword Blackfyre and his sister-wife’s fearsome Dark Sister; many had searched for them but no one knew where to look. They were lost to history. Hundreds of years ago.

Why was I dreaming of this sword? He could hardly touch it, feeling the warmth bleed into his hand. He did not recall this ever been a characteristic of the sword. He tore off the crow furs from around his neck and wrapped them around the sword, unsheathing it from the snow. I found it, he marveled, staring at the Valyrian blade. I found Dark Sister.

And when he looked up, he could see her watching him. There was a tiny smile on her face and then the blood began to trickle out. “I’ll take it to you,” he whispered. He nodded at her as she began to fade away into nothing. “I’ll bring it to you.”

No one knew where Drogon took her body, but he wondered if he took her to Valyria, to where her family was from. Where they fled the Doom and they tamed the dragons and they lived in relative peace, where they were not conquering the kigndoms and fightin for their survival. Since the Targaryens fled Valyria and came to Westeros, they saw nothing but pain and death. I’ll bring it back home, he vowed, gathering the sword and bringing it to the camp.

“Come Ghost,” he said, the direwolf trotting after him. “We’re going to go to Essos.”

--

Four Years After Queen Daenerys’s Death

“Bloody fucking hot.”

That was only the millionth time Tormund had bitched about the heat. Jon ignored him, looking out over the desert landscape to the giant stone pyramid, a dragon sculpture on top of it. He smiled at it; this was where she’d learned to rule, he remembered. Meereen, on the bay named for the woman who freed the three slave cities from themselves. The people loved her, he’d found, making his way down from the North to Braavos and then to Volantis.

He’d planned to travel from Volantis to Valyria to bring the sword to her body, if that was where it was, or at least leave it in the home from where it originated, but he couldn’t find anyone who would brave the Smoking Sea. “Strange things are happening in Valyria, we hear there are dragons there,” sailors told him. They were scared; they didn’t want to chance anything. To risk the wrath of the dragon’s ghost.

They mourned her, he found, hearing people ask him what happened in Westeros. Essosi knew her as someone who had freed the slaves in Slaver’s Bay. Had grown up in Volantis, Pentos, and Braavos. A Valyrian of old, they said. She spoke their language and she birthed dragons. She burned the khals and led the Dothraki. He knew what she meant, more than ever, when she’d told him that she was loved and all she ever felt in Westeros was fear.

Then let it be fear.

He closed his eyes and urged the horse further; they were almost to Meereen, where he heard he could find sailors more willing to travel to Valyria. The sword burned when he touched it, but now it was wrapped up tight and secured beside him on the horse’s saddlebags. Tormund complained about the heat, but he refused to take off his furs and heavy boots.

They made their way into Meereen and found a place to stay until they could secure transport to Valyria. Tormund bought two ales and brought them over to him, lifting his. “We made it closer,” he toasted.

“Hm,” he merely said, sipping at the drink. It was different. Sweeter than Northern ale. He made a face and pushed it towards Tormund, who guzzled his and reached for the abandoned mug. He looked around the tavern, or what amounted to a tavern, and wanted to know more. He didn’t speak Valyrian and very few here spoke the Common Tongue.

Westeros knows nothing of the rest of the world, he thought. Here they were somewhat more cultured and aware. They tolerated each other. He sighed and reached to rub at his temple. “You okay Little Crow?” Tormund asked.

“It’s hard.”

“Reminded of her?”

“Yes.” He sighed again. There were Targaryen banners waving in the port and on the pyramid. They refused to acknowledge her death, he supposed. He pushed back from the table. “I’ll be back.” He wasn’t sure where he was going to go, but he needed to get out of the stuffy establishment.

Unlike Tormund, he’d tossed the furs the moment they landed in Braavos. He had changed into a linen tunic with a light jerkin, with Longclaw sheathed to his hip. He trimmed his beard and cut his hair, tying it back from his face to keep from blowing in the wind on the ships. It was a cool evening and he made his way towards the pyramid, looking up at the giant structure. It was larger than anything he’d ever seen, even in Westeros. He stopped before it and studied the sculpture in the courtyard before the entrance to the pyramid.

It was of her.

With hair over her shoulders, a long flowing gown, and a soft smile on her marble face, she could have been alive. There were three dragons, one on her shoulder, one nuzzling against the breast and one at her knees. People had placed gifts of fruit, vegetables, and linens at the base of the sculpture. There were pieces of jewelry and linens. Many had themes of dragons.

He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. She was loved. If only she realized. She was so loved. That’s all she wanted, he thought, she just wanted what we took from her family. She wanted a family. “I am so sorry,” he whispered, falling down before the statue. He closed his eyes tight, burying his face into his palms. “Dany I am so sorry.”

“Love is the death of duty.”

The voice, heavily accented in the Common Tongue, rang clear in the quiet courtyard. He lifted his head and stared at a woman standing before the entrance to the pyramid. She wore heavy red robes and an intricate hexagonal gold and ruby choker. Deep red hair piled on her head and her hands were folded loosely in front of her. She smiled mysteriously. “Welcome to Meereen, Aegon Targaryen.”

He frowned. “How do you know that’s my name?”

“I know a lot of things about you. I know you grew up a bastard. You were a king and a crow and a wolf and a dragon.” The woman walked around the sculpture, peering up at it. She paused and smiled again. “The Dragon Queen, that is what your people call her. She is more than that. Stormborn. The Unburnt. The Breaker of Chains. Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.”

Jon watched the woman make her way around the sculpture and come to pause next to him. His eyes narrowed. She was a red priestess, he realized, recognizing the choker on her neck as one that Melisandre had worn. He glanced at the sculpture again. “Who are you?” he whispered.

The woman nodded her head slightly, but did not break eye contact with him. “My name is Kinvara.” She smiled again, wider this time. “And you are trying to make your way to Valyria, but you will not find what you are looking for there.”

“I’m not looking for anything. I want to return something.”

“To return what you wish, you must go north, not south.” Kinvara’s voice was hollow, almost speaking like prophecy. “And to find yourself, you must kill the boy and let the man be born.”

Aemon Targaryen told him that. He felt prickles on his skin, staring at the woman. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How do you know that?”

“You are a dragon and a wolf, Jon Snow.” Kinvara stepped closer to him. Her voice strengthened and he could see her eyes begin to glow, almost like fire. “You needed to find out who you were in order to become what you are supposed to be.”

And what am I supposed to be? He felt entranced, unable to move as the woman began to walk around him. I am nothing, he thought. “I’m a queenslayer and kinslayer,” he whispered.

“You are a dragon and a wolf. You were meant to be King.”

“I don’t want it, I don’t want to be King.”

“You may not want it, but you are. You are a King! And she was your Queen!”

“I killed her!” he sobbed. He felt like the woman was in his head and he reached up to press at his temples with his palms. “I killed her!”

Kinvara stopped in front of him and smiled again. She paused and touched her fingertips to his chest, where the scar that never healed was located. “You of all people should know Jon Snow that death does not always mean the end of life.”

He blinked. No…no it couldn’t… “She isn’t,” he whispered. He began to panic. “No, she can’t be…it’s not possible.”

The red woman reached for the candles and wiggled her fingers in the flames, making them grow higher. He stared into the flames and thought he saw Drogon, flying over a city, with a massive red pyramid. Even bigger than the one he stood before now. He turned his head to the priestess, who let the flames die away and spoke again, her voice soft. “Kill the wolf Jon Snow,” she breathed. “And let the dragon be born.”

They used me. I killed her because they planted the seed. I let them exile me. Sansa has her crown and Arya has her ship and Bran has his…whatever he has. I lost everything. I lost my queen, my lover, and my family. She trusted me and I put a knife in her heart.

He looked to Kinvara. “Where am I supposed to go now?”

She smiled. “Are you really ready to face your true redemption, Jon Snow?”

He lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes. Yes. He was finally ready.

--

They left Meereen the following morning and he didn’t know where they were headed. He just knew that he had to follow the red woman. A red woman brought him back to life. What would he find wherever she took him? Tormund said nothing, just followed along, claiming he wouldn’t let him wander off into the desert without someone there. “Following strange women never leads to anything good, believe me,” he’d said.

It took a few weeks, but they approached a wide encampment, at the base of a mountain range. Dothraki wandered about, whatever remained of their culture after the Battle of Winterfell. He slid off his horse and let a Dothraki woman take the creature from him. Kinvara climbed down from her steed, letting her red cloak fall over her hair and to her shoulders.

They approached a massive tent, atop a series of shallow steps. He lifted his face to the sky, watching as a black shadow crossed over. “Fuck,” Tormund cursed. Fuck indeed, Jon thought, as Drogon, now twice the size he was four years ago, came to land on the side of the mountain, letting out a deep roar and flapping his wings, baring his teeth and glaring at him.

Is this my redemption? Coming into Dothraki Sea and falling to my knees before her son, to burn alive? He should have done it four years ago in the throne room. It would have saved him years of pain. He was so busy looking up at Drogon that he didn’t notice the curtains in the front of the tent flick aside. After a moment, he sensed movement, and heard Tormund’s soft gasp of surprise.

He dropped his gaze to the tent and stared.

There she stood.

In a beige linen shift, with a simple belt around her waist, and her silver hair pulled into a single braid, she stood barefoot and still, violet eyes fixated on him. She stepped down from before the large tent and came to stop right before him. Her chest rose and fall with each breath.

It was a dream.

“You’re not real,” he whispered.

She reached for the top of her shift and pulled it down over her left breast, revealing a horrifying red scar, the skin separated, black and jagged. She took his hand and pressed it to the scar. He gasped and felt his knees go out from under him, falling before her in forgiveness. She said nothing as he reached for her and began to sob, feeling as though his entire body was breaking.

Until suddenly he felt everything go black and he fell to the side, unable to stand any longer.

When he came to, he was in a burlap tent, and his linen tunic was off, a cold cloth making its way over his chest. He blinked; staring up and then began to sit, feeling like he had been sick. “Lie back, you’re still weak.”

Jon looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, living and breathing. He fell back against the pillows, unable to speak. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and sandy. He licked his lips and she touched the cloth against them, but it did nothing to assuage his thirst. “Dany,” he breathed. He groped his hand at his side, trying to find hers, but all he could feel was the edge of the cot. He shook his head, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Please…forgive me.”

Dany dipped the cloth into a bowl on a small table at his beside and reached it back to wipe at sweat gathering along his neck. She rung out the cloth and set it down, before folding her hands in her lap. Her violet eyes dropped to her hands. After a long while, he wondered if she was going to say anything at all, before she looked back up and met his gaze. “No,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes tight. Of course. She would never forgive him for what he’d done to her. He would never forgive himself. “Dany…”

“No,” she repeated. She shook her head. “You don’t need my forgiveness.” She pulled at her skirt. Her voice cracked. “When you came back…when the red priestess brought you back…she drew from the magic that surrounded the Wall. It was enough for you.” She swallowed hard. Her voice began to rasp. “But for me…death must pay for life.”

He sat up, leaning on his arm, and his brow furrowing. “Dany.”

She sobbed, pushing her hand on her mouth. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving. Her eyes lifted up again, swimming in tears. “When they brought me back, they could only bring me.” She pressed her hands into her abdomen.

No…oh gods no…he shook his head, horrified. It couldn’t… “No,” he rasped. He felt his entire body almost curl up on himself. He let out a scream, something primal from the base of his heart. He tore at his hair, sobbing. He reached for her and she moved away. Of course, she wouldn’t want him to touch her. “Dany. Dany I’m so sorry…”

“I did not know,” she said. She closed her eyes. “Our child died so I could live again.”

“If I had any idea…”

“You wouldn’t have killed me?” she demanded. She arched an eyebrow. “You would not have taken this dagger…” she reached for the bedside and pulled back, holding the dagger he’d slid between her ribs in her hand. She took it and lightly tapped it against his chest. She shook her head. “All I wanted was love and all I had was fear. I lost myself. I saw what they took from my family and I wanted everyone to die.”

He wanted to die again. Nothing he could do would make up for what he had done. Here she was, living and breathing in front of him, as beautiful as she was the day she died in his arms. The day he killed her. Killed their child. It was all a mistake. Everything he’d done was a mistake. He listened to the wrong people. He didn’t give her a chance. She’d lost everything. Her children, her best friend, and her protector. He’d expected her to be like him, to just put it away and hide it down, like the wolves do. She was a dragon, she felt and experienced, and she couldn’t live that way.

She looked at her hands, her voice soft. “I know what I did. When I came back…everything was a blur. I had trouble sleeping and I do not eat…and when I do close my eyes I can see the fire and the smoke and the ash…I wish I could die again sometimes. That wasn’t me, but it was. I will never be able to take it back, but I am dong what I can.” She looked sideways at him. “It has been four years since I came back and I have been doing what I can to make up for it…helping people and going into the villages and the cities and trying to do what I can…”

Jon sat up and swung his legs over the cot. He reached for her hand and found that she didn’t flinch, letting him hold it. They sat like that for a long time. Maybe hours. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. His Dany was sitting here in front of him, alive. That was all he’d wanted. She was back. He had a chance again. To make it up to her. “Westeros is dying,” he whispered.

“I don’t care.”

Of course she wouldn’t care. These were the people who rejected her, despite her attempts to help them. They were the ones who manipulated him. He made the choice in the end, but it was too late. “Dany, I can never make up for what I have done, please…”

“I am paying for what I did,” she said. She sighed and pushed his hand away, coming up to her feet. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against a post in the center of the tent, her gaze on the dirt floor. Her voice was soft and reflective. “I have a second chance. I was brought back for a greater purpose, Jon Snow. I realized now that I never should have left Essos. I never should have gone to Westeros. I wanted to take back what was mine and what was stolen from me…I always wanted to go home.” She turned to look at him. “You know what that is like. To be a stranger in your family. I was never welcome. They called my brother the Beggar King. He sold our mother’s crown so we could buy food.”

Dany straightened back up and went to sit next to him again. He still could hardly believe this was happening. She lifted her eyebrows and her violet eyes widened. “Essos is my home now. Whatever happens in Westeros, I don’t care. They deserve it.”

Maybe they did. They turned their backs on her. They rejected her. His family rejected her, despite his pleas. They didn’t trust him; they didn’t even believe him. They let him go to the Wall and meanwhile they lived as a king, a queen, and wherever Arya happened to be. They got to live their lives and move on. He had to live in his guilt and shame. He got to his feet and looked down at her.

He did not do it the first time, but he did it now. He fell to his knee and bowed his head. Dany stood, looking down at him. His eyes shut and he spoke. “I swear to you Daenerys Targaryen. I will serve you for as long as you live, I will never betray you, and you will forever be my queen, wherever you choose to reign.”

It may have been nothing and she had every right to take Longclaw and slice his head clean off. Instead, she dropped to her knees beside him and her soft hand stroke at his chin, lifting it up, so he could peer at her. “I cannot trust you,” she whispered. She shook her head. “You must prove your loyalty. You put a knife in my heart. I loved you, I wanted to rule with you, and you murdered me. All because of your sister and the dwarf. Don’t think I don’t know, Jon Snow, but I do.”

Of course. There was no reason for her to accept his loyalty. He nodded and moved to get to his feet, but she stilled him, her hand curling around his wrist. “Drogon did not kill you where you stood,” she continued. She smiled slightly. “My son would not do that if he did not think there was something else. I hear he burned the Iron Throne to nothing. The throne is what killed me. My quest for it. For what my family built. For what was stolen from them. You will need to do more than just pledge yourself to me Jon Snow. I loved you. I loved you more than I ever loved anyone before.” She squeezed her hand tighter on his wrist. “And I suppose in the end that doesn’t matter. You could not get beyond what we are to each other.”

Their relation did not seem to mean anything to him anymore. Sometimes he could hardly remember why it did in the first place. He nodded. “I understand.”

“You need to prove yourself to me. I cannot just forgive you after all.”

He nodded and walked around to where his pack rested against the wall of the tent. He pulled at the strings of the fur wrapped bundle and steeled himself against the heat. Turning, he held the sword out to her and dropped to his knee again. It almost smoked in his palms, but he withstood it. For her. He saw the surprise in her face and her mouth fell open slightly. “Queen Daenerys Stormborn,” he said. He glanced at the sword and then to her. “For you.”

Dany stepped towards him and stared at the sword. She reached for it, eyes wide in childlike awe. She lightly touched the hilt and then the point. It rippled, like blood moving up the steel. Her eyes darkened as she gripped the pommel and lifted it from him, using her other hand to keep the point up. With one movement, she had it whipped in front of her, and her eyes scanned up and stared at it. “Visenya’s sword,” she breathed. “Dark Sister.”

Jon got to his feet and peered down at her. “I can never take back what I did, but we have a second chance. For you and for our child, I swear to you Dany, I will never betray you again. I will die for you and I will serve you.” He felt like he finally knew who he was. For the first time in his life, he knew who he was. He wasn’t a bastard. He wasn’t Jon Snow. He wasn’t even Aegon Targaryen. He was all of them and he was none of them. A wolf and a dragon. A Stark and a Targaryen.

A king in the North and a king of Westeros.

But in that moment, he just wanted to be with her. To try to do whatever it was he could, even if it meant dying, to make up for what he’d done. For what he’d done to their child. He closed his eyes again at that. I didn’t just kill her. I killed our child. I will never be able to give that back to her. If she let him live, that would be enough.

“What can I do,” he whispered. He peered into her eyes. The eyes he’d stared into countless times, when it was just them, lying together in that cabin on the boat for weeks, and up at the waterfall. They never should have left. “What can I do to start to fix things?”

Dany looked down at the sword in her hands and then up at him. A smile tugged on her lips. “Well...”

“You can start by teaching me how to use this.”

--

Seven Years After Queen Daenerys’s Death

“So Little Crow, it’s been what…near four years since we left the North?” Tormund looked out over the cliff, shaking his head and sighing. “I gotta’ get back. My bones are going too warm. Need the cold. The snow. A good woman.”

Jon eyed his friend with a wry smile. “I seem to believe you have had quite a number of those.”

“Them Southern girls too skinny for my taste, like a woman with some meat on her,” he said with a lecherous grin. He slapped Jon on the back, nodding towards the direction of the North. “No, I should return. I take it you’re staying?”

Staying was a bit of an understatement. He believed he might never return to the North. He looked over the edge of the cliff, down to the sea. This was the farthest south he had ever been. He did not care for the warmth, but it was full of things he did not think he could ever imagine, having spent most of his life above the Neck. He nodded and scanned out over the misty towers and spires of Valyria. “I think I am,” he said.

“Well…when your sister come looking for you, what should I say?”

He’d had it figured out. He turned and walked across the smooth stone of the chamber, high in a tower in Valyria. He removed a couple of scrolls and brought them over to Tormund, handing them over. “I don’t think my sister is going to care about me, not that she did much when I was there, but send these down to Winterfell every year or so. I’ll get you more. I’ll send for Ghost once we…settle, I suppose.”

Tormund snorted. “Settle? You’re a King now, Little Crow. King Crow!”

He was not a king at all. He just watched as she moved from city to city, sitting with the locals and playing with children. Meeting with the leaders of each city, convincing them to bend their knee to her rule. It had been almost four years since he’d left the North and arrived in Essos, intent on burying an ancient sword were it was first forged, in memory of her, only to find that she was alive and intent on making up for her mistakes of the past. It was time for him to do the same. “I’m not a king, but…I’m starting to figure out just what I really am,” he said.

“Well, I’m going back there. I’ll keep your wolf for you until you decide to come get him, but don’t think I’m coming to get your body if she decides to kill ya’.” Tormund shrugged. “But I guess she’d just roast you.”

That would certainly happen. No chance of him coming back again. He smiled and hugged his friend, closing his eyes and sighing as he watched the wildling leave, knowing he’d find his way back safely. He would have plenty of stories to tell that was for sure. The only wildling to not only make it as far south of the Wall as Winterfell, but to go as far as to ancient Valyria and Dragon’s Bay. He waited a long moment and went over to the balcony, looking down at the city below.

People had only recently begun returning to Valyria, hearing that it was becoming something other than a haunted wasteland. The dragons had returned, they said, and you could get food and water. The Dragon Queen had returned. Mhysa, they called her. “Mother.” He had witnessed so many people holding out their hands, reaching to touch her silver hair and take her hands. The cities on Dragon’s Bay had united in her new form of governance and she was working on the cities to the west of New Valyria, as she called it. Volantis was close to binding with her and she pretty much had Tyrosh and Lys. She had legions of Unsullied and Dothraki and Second Sons. What remained of the Golden Company in Braavos had pledged to her, loyal to Targaryen blood.

He only watched from the side, unsure where he would fit in. Each day he trained her with Dark Sister and each night they would sit by the fire in silence. She would retreat to her bed and he would retreat to his. He knew it was never going to happen. He’d murdered her. She could never trust him with her heart, let alone her body, again. He walked away from the balcony and went to undress, tired and ready to take a long sleep.

The dreams had disappeared. In their place, he imagined a world, an island where it was sunny but it snowed, and they had their child, and they didn’t care about politics or ruling or anything. It was just a dream and he was often disappointed when he woke up now. Instead of longing to stay awake so he did not dream of her death again.

Tugging at his jerkin, he pulled it off and shrugged it down, letting it fall to the floor. He loosened the ties at the linen shirt, pausing when he heard a soft knock at the door. Heart quickening, he walked towards it and waited a second. He pulled it open and to his surprise, there she was, standing in front of the entry. “Dany,” he said, soft.

She stood in a simple purple shift, with cutouts strategically placed to hide the separated skin beneath her breast. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders. At her waist, she wore a belt, with the dagger tucked close. “I do not want to be alone right now,” she whispered.

He pulled the door open and she stepped inside, turning as he closed it and reaching up to cup his face in her hands. After a moment, their eyes locked on each other, she brushed her lips over his. He stilled, allowing her to set the pace, and after another moment, she pressed her lips even harder, and her fingers gripping at his face. A soft moan escaped her lips and she finally broke the kiss, her eyes fluttering open. She smiled slightly. “I want to ask you something.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Okay.”

“I asked you to be with me. To rule with me. If…if you hadn’t…” she trailed off, letting him fill the silence. She swallowed, her throat constricting. “Would you have ruled?”

I don’t know. I don’t know who I was then. He shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know who I was.”

“And you do now?”

“I’m not a Stark.”

She nodded. “They abandoned you.” And I’m not a Targaryen, he wanted to say, and he knew she was thinking the same. I’m a wolf and a dragon. She brushed her knuckles over his cheek and traced her finger down the scar over his eye. “It has been a long time now,” she said. “And you have been beside me. Watching me. I…I still love you.” It came out almost as a sob. She shook her head hard, tears falling down her porcelain face. “And I don’t know why. I don’t want to love you Jon Snow. Yet I still do.”

“I love you,” he said. He choked out the words, wanting to hold her forever in that moment. “I love you Dany.”

“Be with me,” she all but begged.

He could barely nod before she was in his arms again, their lips crashing over each other. It was something deeper than they’d ever felt before. Not even death could keep them apart. After a long while, he finally broke the kiss, closing his eyes. He wanted her so much. More than he ever had wanted her before. He raked his fingers through her hair, holding her head in his hands and peering at her. They still had so much between them. “I swear,” he breathed. “I swear to you. You said you did not have faith in gods but in yourself and I swear to you Dany that I will never hurt you again.”

She nodded and brushed her lips over his. “If you do, that will be the end of you Jon Snow, because I will take this dagger and put it between your ribs.”

And he knew it. He nodded and pulled her into his arms again, lifting her off the floor in the embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she buried her face into his shoulder. He knew it would not be easy and it would take time. More time than it already had. Years even, but he hoped…he hoped they could get through it. She was the only one who had ever believed in him. Ever trusted him.

And he would not let her down again. He would give her the world, if he could.

--

Ten Years After Queen Daenerys’s Death

“You can go in and see her.”

Jon pushed by the Dothraki woman and into the tent, where he found Dany lying on the bed, propped up by cushions, her white linen nightdress damp with sweat and her hair sticking to her forehead. She held a bundle in her arms and her shoulders trembled as tears streamed down her face. She released a sob, lowering her face to the bundle. “Jon,” she cried. She lifted her face up and laughed. “We have a daughter.”

I have a daughter.

He stepped to her, suddenly scared. Of all the things he’d faced in his life. Lives. He never imagined this moment, never allowed himself to imagine it. He stopped at the foot of the bed, staring at the image she projected. This was a woman who had led thousands. Freed slaves. She had emerged from fire. Emerged from death. Lost children and loved ones and even her life. Been betrayed by the ones she loved. Including him.

And in this moment he had never imagined she could look so regal. So beautiful.

He moved around the bed and came to stand beside her, looking down at the bundle. The child was a pale purple, but her cheeks rosy. The Dothraki midwife had told him there were some ‘troubles.’ She was worried they would lose the babe. He’d prayed to anything that he could think of to not have that happen. He couldn’t lose this child. Couldn’t lose her. He came to slide behind her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and the babe pressing against his other arm.

Her soft silver hair dusted beneath his chin and he looked down at the child’s face. My daughter. “Our daughter,” he whispered.

She cried, her shoulders shaking, overwhelmed. “Lyanndei,” she whispered.

Lyanna and Missandei. His mother and her best friend. He closed his eyes. This was truly happening. “I never imagined,” he said.

“I could not allow myself to wonder,” she whispered. She sniffed. “I have lost all my children but one. I was so scared.”

He closed his eyes, forcing back the rising pain in his throat. They lost their first child because of him. He nodded. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s perfect,” Dany whispered. She lifted her face up to his. She nodded and blinked back her tears. “I don’t ever want to leave this moment. I…I don’t want anything but this.”

They would keep her from the world. “No one will know about her,” he said.

“No,” she agreed.

They lay like that for hours. Could have even been days. Staring at their child. She rested her head against his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifted to sleep. He continued to hold them both, tossing over the idea he’d been thinking of in his mind. He’d been thinking about it for some time, but hadn’t brought it up, not wanting to agitate her as she came close to giving birth. He brushed his lips over her hair and closed his eyes. “Dany?”

“Hmm?”

“If you…if you want me to be your King…I will.”

She nuzzled her head against him and sighed. “Okay.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead, Lyanndei’s eyes blinking open and peering up at them. “Okay.”

--

“There’s obviously more,” Jon concluded. He turned and walked out of the dragon’s tower, heading back to the chambers where he’d originally greeted Tyrion. “But that is for another time.”

Tyrion trotted after him. “So now what? What do you plan on doing with me?”

“You never should have come here.”

“All I ask is that you keep my brother’s children safe and do not harm them.”

Jon rounded on him, scowling. “Of course, we would never harm them.” He scowled. “For all your smarts Tyrion Lannister, you misjudged that one. Why would we try to get to you through your niece and nephew? We’re not you.” He walked away and paused. They had been building up Essos for some time. Dany had spent most of the last ten years uniting the cities and rebuilding Valyria. They knew word would begin to spread; they wanted it to, but full confirmation was something entirely different, especially in Westeros. “How many of the lords know she is alive?”

Tyrion sighed. “Some. Not all. We try to stop the spread of the rumor. It’s just a rumor. The Essosi wish she were alive, they’ve created a figment of their imagination to control the locals, that sort of thing.”

“Does Bran know?”

“Of course he does. Well…I think he does.”

Interesting. He glanced down at Tyrion, his voice soft. “You know you should think about that a little more. If Bran knows that she is alive. If he knows that I am with her and that we are working together, then why isn’t he stopping it?” He smirked. “Maybe Bran does not want to be king after all.”

Tyrion gaped up at him. Jon simply smiled again. “I’ll have you escorted back to your chambers.”

After a moment, Tyrion called back out. “Has she truly forgiven you? After all this time?”

Jon stopped. He glanced over his shoulder. “I like to think so, but if she hasn’t, well…she knows how to kill me and she has the tools to do it.” He turned away from the dwarf and walked off, heading towards the main chambers to where he knew Dany and their children were waiting.

Chapter Text

“Dracarys!”

Dany laughed, watching as her daughter flitted about, shouting the word at Drogon, who merely blew out smoke from his nostrils to tease the little girl. Ghost bared his teeth silently, showing his displeasure at the attention the dragon was receiving over him. She reached for Ghost and nuzzled his neck. “She’ll come back to you,” she teased him. He blew out a hard breath and sat down hard on his haunches, glaring at the dragon.

She drew her fingers through his soft, downy fur, and leaned against the giant beast. When she’d first visited Winterfell, when it all began to fade away, she wasn’t sure what the wolf thought of her. He tended to keep his distance and only go to Jon or the wildlings. Maybe it was a sign then she should have recognized. The man she loved, his familiar, in a way that Drogon was her familiar, did not trust her. She only focused on the connection he had with the dragons.

Then when she’d returned…when Jon returned to Essos with the wolf, who was not accustomed to the heat, he tended to stay in the cool rooms with her. By the time she learned she was with Lyanndei, she realized the wolf knew before her. She leaned farther against the wolf, her eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzled against her belly. “What’re you doing there boy?” she mumbled, lightly nudging him away.

“Mai!” Lyanndei shouted. She knew the rules, only speaking in Valyrian with her mother. She waved and rolled off of Drogon’s snout, where she’d been climbing over the hard ridges and scales. He seemed relieved and pushed off from the ground, taking to the sky.

Dany released Ghost and drew her daughter into her arms. “Shall we meet some new friends?” she asked. She set down Lyanndei and reached into the basket beside her for Aemon, wrapping him in a sling strapped to her chest. He snuffled and moved into her chest, his nose pressing into the scar beneath her breast, hidden by the draping of the red flowing dress she wore. She liked when they were visiting Valyria, sometimes she enjoyed just wearing a pretty dress.

They walked from their private courtyard, which was guarded by all of her most trusted Unsullied and Dothraki guards, taking back hallways until they entered the floor where she had brought the Lannister twins. They were both in the courtyard of their adjoining rooms. She watched them for a moment, smiling slightly at the differences between the two, despite how much they looked alike. It wasn’t until you got close did you see the differences.

Joanna was lying on her stomach on a stone bench, her feet in the air and ankles crossed and her chin propped on her hands, engrossed in a large leather book. She’d ensured that some of her histories from her private collection, discovered from the ruined library and along her travels, were placed in her chambers. Off in the corner, Jamie was wielding his sword, practicing swings and occasionally stopping to hone the edges. He’d long removed the heavy Northern armor he wore and she was pleased to see he’d discovered the loose southern leathers, which afforded him greater movement.

Lya tugged on her arm. “Mai, who are they?”

“New friends, let’s go say hello.”

“Ooh!”

They entered the courtyard, Lya running straight towards them. “Hello!” she shouted, startling Joanna so much the poor girl fell right over the side of the bench. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. “Uh oh. Sorry.”

“Where did you come from?” Joanna laughed, jumping to her feet and blowing her bangs out of her eyes. She closed the book and held it against her chest, frowning. “Where are your parents?”

“My papa is a wolf.”

“Oh really?”

Lya nodded and hopped onto the bench, beginning to jump up and down, her silver-streaked curls bouncing out of their braids. “And my mama is a dragon!”

Jamie came over and joined his twin, frowning. “What is she saying?”

“Something about her mother and father being a dragon and a wolf.”

Oh of course, Dany realized, emerging from the shadows. She kept her arms wrapped around Aemon, who was still fast asleep. “Common Tongue, Lya,” she instructed. She smiled softly at the twins, who stepped back in surprise at her appearance. “Our guests do not speak High Valyrian like you.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“I’m from Westeros,” Joanna said, smiling at Lya. To Dany’s surprise, she knelt down to the little girl’s height. She offered her hand. “My name is Joanna. That’s my brother Jamie.”

Lya pointed to the sling on her mother’s chest. “That’s my brother.” She scowled. “He’s a baby. I hate him.”

“Lya,” Dany warned, still smiling. The animosity her daughter felt to her brother would not exist for long. It only seemed to exist when she had to share attention with him. She stepped closer to the twins, keeping her smile somewhat vague. She nodded to the book in Joanna’s hands. “I see you have picked up the dragon histories of Valryia. How are you finding it?”

Surprised, the young girl glanced down at the book and smoothed her hand over the engraved cover. “Oh…well it’s hard to read. The Valyrian is quite ancient, but…it’s wonderful…Your Grace.” She bowed her head and made a move to kneel, hissing sideways at her brother. “Kneel, it’s the Queen!”

“No,” Dany ordered, her voice firm. She shook it slightly. The twins glanced up, their heads still somewhat bowed. “We do not kneel here in Valyria.”

Perhaps it was the tone of her voice or maybe how she stood. She wondered how long it would take, but Joanna caught on quickly, her eyes widening in recognition. She gestured. “You…you’re the woman in Volantis. At the fountain…in front of the house of healing.”

“Yes.”

“But…but you had no guards. You were in disguise…”

“I like to visit the Houses of Healing,” she said, keeping her voice low. She wandered away from the bench and the bright flowers around it, pausing in front of a large lemon tree planted in the center of the courtyard. She reached up, fingering a green lemon, not yet ready for picking. “I like to learn what the people want…what their fears and desires are. It helps with ruling…ensuring they are listened by their most senior representative.”

Jamie finally spoke, spitting in bitterness. “More than I can say for Westeros.”

“Jamie,” Joanna hissed. She plasteredon a smile. “The Queen does notw ant to hear about that.”

“I would like to…what do you most want?” Dany asked. She arched an eyebrow. “I have heard what is happening in Westeros. I cannot say I am surprised.” I know they have lied about me, I know they are keeping my resurrection secret…she wondered what else was going on there. These two were born into it. They knew nothing else. They had a unique point of view, one she was curious to understand.

They walked with her, slowly, on either side, each one interjecting over the other. “There’s no future for us,” Joanna said at one point. She sighed hard. “I want to study and read and learn…but I know I have to marry someone. Some lord or something…not that anyone will take me, with my surname.”

“And I have either the Wall…which isn’t much of anything at this point. Or the Ravensguard…I’m already a knight.” Jaime seemed oddly proud and embarrassed by that. HE shrugged. “Not like it matters…I don’t…I don’t want to fight.”

Dany paused, cocking her head. “But you have trained to be a fighter. Your father was an excellent swordsman. Your mother is even better.”

“I don’t know. It isn’t like there’s much for us, like my sister said.”

Joanna nodded, whispering and dropping her head in sadness. “We just want to happy, Your Grace.”

I want that as well, she thought, nodding in understanding. More than they realized. She smiled softly, whispering. “I believe that is what most of us want out of life. It is something I have tried to accomplish over the last several years.”

They were quiet, each one reflecting. Until Joanna cleared her throat. “Um…Your Grace…if I may…I do not want to be too presumptuous…” She hesitated and then flushed pink. “Um…may I see a dragon?”

She chuckled, reaching down to take Lya’s hand, the small child oddly quiet. It was close to her afternoon naptime though. She nodded. “Of course. Come with me.” She took them away from their chambers, again, taking the darkened corridors away from the main ones, to keep the children out of any prying eyes from visitors.

Two visitors they had in particular.

They emerged before the Dragontower, walking through a wide gate, with a stone dragon atop the wall, its wings outstretched. It had emerged unscathed from the Doom, like most of the rooms of her compound. She looked up, just in time for Wildfyre to fly into one of the alcoves, something in his jaws. She hoped he was eating well, he’d been somewhat forlorn of late.

“Oh my gods,” Jamie murmured, craning his neck back as another dragon swooped down from the tower. He turned around, watching it fly off. “Do they all have names?”

“Yes, I do not have as many as people think I do.” She only had about ten, including Drogon and Eddarion. It seemed as if there were more, because they patrolled around the continent. She gestured to one of the smaller ones, who had approached them, eyeing the twins with curiosity. “This is Vaella,” she said. The dragon was her youngest and was a beautiful shade of shimmering pink, with large golden eyes. She stroked the dragon’s maw, smiling at her beautiful daughter. “I hope one day she will become a protector.”

Jamie and Joanna exchanged a look. “Protector?”

“Yes.”

“How do you train them?” Joanna asked, stepping forward, her curiosity getting the better of her fear of the exotic creatures.

Lya hopped around the pink beast, waving her hands. “We talk to them!”

In a way, she thought, stroking at Vaella’s snout. “I start them young,” she said. “I speak to them. They learn simple commands and then depending on their skills, I begin to train them to do simple tasks. Some are protectors, they watch over the cities. Others are scouts, they carry messages to me.”

“Do you ride them?” Jamie wondered.

She shook her head, stepping back as Vaella let out a screech and pushed off from the ground, flapping her wings to return up to her alcove. “A dragon is not a slave,” she whispered. She glanced at the curious twins. It wouldn’t hurt to tell them, she thought. They weren’t threats to her. In fact, quite the opposite, she was drawn to them. She saw something in them she didn’t think anyone else had. The curiosity and the sense of adventure. The desire for a home and for peace. In a strange way they reminded her of…her. Reminded her of the bastard boy who came into the hall at Dragonstone, claiming he was King in the North but did not act like any king she had encountered.

She watched as Wildfyre emerged from his alcove and took off again. “Dragons choose their riders, not the other way around.” There was a connection with all of her children, when she first raised them, but it was only Drogon who she knew would be her mount. The connection was too strong in her mind. She could sense him, more than her other two children, as much as she did love them.

Joanna looked around the area, walking backwards as they entered the Dragontower. “Do your children have dragons?” she whispered, in awe.

Lya had run off and was harassing one of the dragons she used as a scout, one of the few who had gone off to find Arya Stark. The sky blue juvenile named Dreamfyre was highly tolerant of her daughter, but she knew that he would not be her mount. “I hope so, one day,” she murmured. All of Silverwing’s eggs had hatched, but she had three remaining ones she’d discovered in the Shadowlands. Three eggs she kept in a chest in her chambers, kept lit with candles, and would set in the fire, watching the colors on the shells shimmer in the light.

She had tried everything, but nothing had happened yet. All the other eggs, she did what she could with them, but they had turned to stone. As had my sons, she thought. As had all the others. “Fire and blood,” she whispered. That was how they were born. It was there all along. All her ancestors had tried to bring them back, to no avail, and it was there in their words. Fire and blood.

They continued to walk around the Dragontower and exited back to the courtyard several moments later. Joanna was with Lya, standing to the side and watching as Dreamfyre blew out fire into a pit, cooking the sheep that she’d dragged back from a hunt. Jamie stopped in front of the gate, turning and meeting her gaze. He was quite stern, trying to act more senior than his years, although she supposed he’d always had to be that way. “How come King Bran cannot see you here? He sees all.”

She smiled again. “Valyria is a seat of ancient magic,” she explained. As best as she could, from what she had managed to figure for herself. “Essos is ancient, far older than Westeros. The First Men landed in the North and the Rhyonar and the Andals from the South.” She knelt, cradling Aemon, and picked up a stray stick, dragging it through the sand to illustrate. “Essos is ancient magic,” she repeated. “And when the First Men came to the North.” She moved the stick over. “And the others to the South…” She smiled again at Jamie’s surprise. “Yes, they are connected.”

It took her a long time to figure it out, something she wondered if Arya Stark had discovered in her adventures. “They’re connected,” Jamie gasped. “The First Men are from…Essos?”

“The Grey Waste,” she corrected.

“But…I don’t understand. Wouldn’t that mean he can see here?”

She shook her head. “The Children of the Forest were the ones who created the weirwood trees. They were the ones who were…in essence…the old gods the First Men prayed to. Your King cannot see into Essos because there is nothing for him to see through.” She smiled. “You were in Volantis, did you see the red pyramid?”

“Yes.”

“There is a priestess there who has been most…helpful.” Kinvara had been more than that over the years. While she did not pray to the Lord of Light, he had brought her back, for some purpose. She was not sure what it was, maybe she had already fulfilled it, but maybe it was still out there. She gestured with her free hand to the walls of the compound and the spires of the buildings around them. “Valyria is protected. Essos is dark to him. He cannot see.”

“But he can get into creatures. My mother tells me that he can become a wolf or a raven…” Jamie’s eyes widened. “What if he gets into a dragon?”

“Dragons are magical beasts. He cannot warg into a magical creature. Only common ones.”

“My sister reads a lot, but I do too…” Jamie frowned. “The Grey Waste lies above the Shadowlands and that’s where most dragons came from…so…have you been there?”

Yes, she thought, her eyes darkening. It had been right after her rebirth. She’d had to pass through the shadow to get to the light. She nodded, keeping her voice even and quiet. “Yes…I had to travel through there…in more ways than one.”

While she let him wonder on that, she turned and called to her daughter. Lya scurried over, dragging a laughing Joanna with her. She smiled, happy to see the young girl enjoying herself. “Can we stay here forever?” Joanna sighed, looking around again. She shook her head, the curls atop of her head bouncing slightly. “I just…it’s so beautiful. So unlike anything we have in Westeros.” She met Dany’s eyes, tears wavering in them. “Please Your Grace. There is nothing for us back home. Nothing but war and hunger and pain. Valyria is beautiful and nothing like that at all.” She turned to her brother, reaching to grab his hand. “Jamie! You could finally explore the unknown and…and wield your sword to protect the innocent instead of just fighting for the sake of it.”

I must agree, she thought, nodding in understanding. “Westeros is still living in the past,” she said. She’d realized it after her rebirth, trying to understand how it had happened, and trying to see where it had all gone wrong. The moment a male heir had been discovered she was cast aside. The only things her so-called advisors could wonder about were how would a barren woman produce an heir. Under the guise of protecting the people, Varys had tried to poison her, favoring the male over the female. Despite Jon’s refusal to take on the role. She’d been right all along, of course.

They continued walking away from the Dragontower, in silence, and emerged in the courtyard of their chambers. She turned to the twins, her voice clear. “My daughter likes you. I hope you understand the significance of my allowing you to meet her when the rest of the world does not know her existence. I hope you understand and realize that trust I am placing in you.” She smiled and nudged at Lya. “Sweetling, why don’t you stay here with Joanna and Jamie? Perhaps you can teach them Valyrian.”

Lya’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Come on!” she exclaimed, grabbing their hands and dragging them over to the lemon tree, demanding they watch her climb. The twins happily participated, releasing their burdens for a moment and climbing up a lemon tree, acting like the young things they were.

She left them to their antics, telling an Unsullied to keep an eye on Lya and bring her to her chambers when they were finished. She wrapped her arms around Aemon, kissing his downy head, and emerging into the wide veranda where she found Jon sitting with Ghost, staring off into the distance. She stopped, allowing herself to admire the image of strength he projected. He was wearing the Targaryen colors, something he’d only recently begun to do, and she wondered if it was a power move for Tyrion.

“Come on darling,” she cooed, lifting Aemon from the sling. “Let’s go see Papa.”

She emerged behind him and slowly lowered Aemon down over him. He laughed, reaching to take the babe. “Where did you come from?” he chuckled, cradling their son to him. Aemon cooed, gumming out a smile and reached his fingers to his father’s face, touching the beard and laughing. He looked up at her and reached his free arm around, drawing her down into his lap. She slung her legs over the edge of the chair, nuzzling her nose against his neck.

They were quiet for awhile. “Is Lya with Grey Worm?” he wondered.

“She is with the Lannister twins.”

“Oh?”

“I quite like them,” she said. She sighed. “They exhibit no Lannister qualities, which is quite odd.” She poked his ribs. “Speaking of Lannister…I believe I should meet with the Imp soon.”

He nodded. “Yes.” He sighed, turning to meet her gaze. “Dany…he wants you dead. He doesn’t want you to take Westeros…I don’t know what he was thinking coming here in the first place, but…something inside of him just…triggered it.”

“I know.” She smirked. “It is quite ironic that an assassin ends up on our shores at the same time the Hand of the King wants me dead.”

He lifted his face back to hers again. They had argued for some time over what she had discovered from her time in Braavos about his sister’s experiences there. Even he could not deny the more they uncovered, both from Braavos and from those in Westeros. He still struggled to reconcile his sister with the woman they’d learned had wiped out all of House Frey. It had been so difficult for her to watch him try to understand what had become of his family.

I’m your family too, she reminded him, although she knew he struggled with that as well. Only I have never betrayed you the way they did. She stroked at the hair at the base of his neck, admiring how the length was beginning to return. “You are growing out your hair,” she murmured.

“Hmm,” he replied. He lifted Aemon up, kissing the babe’s head and carefully leaned forward over her, placing him in Ghost’s paws, the wolf immediately curling to protect the sleeping child. “I want to see my sister.”

Very well. She nodded and climbed off his lap, making sure Aemon was safe with Ghost, and then departing their chambers. She led him up a few floors to where Arya was staying. So far the “free reign” instruction had gone unheeded, something that surprised her about the curious Stark. She rapped her knuckles on the door and without waiting, pushed it open, emerging into the chambers.

Arya had been sitting on a bench, looking out the open archways to the streets below. She glanced at the door, scowling, about to say something until she saw her brother. “Jon!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and rushing to him.

They embraced and Dany stepped aside, watching them. They did look quite a lot alike. She crossed her arms over her chest, remaining quiet. After a moment, Jon pulled away from his sister and smiled softly. “Look at you…you’ve seen better days.”

“Well…you…” she trailed off, staring at his attire. She scowled. “You’re wearing black and red.” Her eyes darted to Dany. “You…so you’re here now…not the Wall.” She scowled deeper, almost growling. “You’re becoming a Targaryen.”

“I am a Targaryen,” Jon whispered. His smile was sad, longing and faraway. “I just…just realized it too late.” He cleared his throat. “I am here to…to tell you something Arya. Something I wanted to ensure you knew. I hope you will take this information as the…the trust I am placing back into you. I hope I do not regret it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dany knew what he was going to do; they had discussed it at length a long time ago, in the event he ever encountered his siblings again. As much as it hurt her, she knew he had to do it. The break in his relations with them had broken a piece of him. The honorable Stark, the man he wanted to be for so long, could not let go of the hope and trust he placed in the women he’d grown up with. She folded her hands in front of her abdomen, watching as Arya’s eyes widened, and Jon stepped away.

She was not sure what the other woman was going to do, but then, to her surprise, Arya fell to one knee, bowing her head. “I swear,” she announced, her voice clear as a bell. “I swear to you Jon that I will never harm them. I will protect them. You are my brother and your children are my blood too.”

“I was your blood and you betrayed me.”

“No I didn’t,” Arya whispered. She stood and to Dany’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes. She shook her head again. “No…I swore before the hearttree. It was Sansa.”

“Sansa allowed me to be exiled for her crown.”

“She loves her family…she just didn’t want you to die. I didn’t want you to die! The Unsullied leader…Yara Greyjoy…they wanted you to die! They wanted to kill you themselves and put your head on a pike!”

Maybe they should have, Dany thought, eyeing Jon. This was as much a test for him as it was for his sister and she hoped he recognized that. She had told him many times over, as much as she loved him, and as much as she trusted him now, she still would kill him if he betrayed her. They had children together. They shared a bed and took each other’s bodies almost nightly, but regardless of it all…she would take the dagger she kept on her at all times and she would put it between his ribs, just as he did to her, if she ever thought he would become a threat.

She fingered the dagger, on the other side of her hip as Dark Sister. It was amusing to her how the twins had not asked about the blade. Nor had Arya Stark. Perhaps they did not think she knew how to use it, but she did. Never would she be put off guard again. She lifted her chin, studying the arguing wolves.

“Sansa betrayed the oath before the hearttree,” Jon shouted. He laughed, but it was more of a harsh wolf bark. “She set off a series of events that led to me killing the woman I love!” He glanced at Dany and reached over for her hand, pulling her to his side. He rested his palm on her stomach, warm against her skin through the thin fabric. “I killed my child.”

Arya’s mouth fell open. “Oh gods…I…I had no idea.”

“No one did, not even myself,” Dany breathed. She closed her eyes. When she’d come to, on the stone slab in the pyramid in Volantis, horrified and screaming at the betrayal and understanding of what had happened, she had felt the pain in her stomach. She had not believed it would be possible to feel it again, but when she realized what was happening, she screamed in pain. The red priestess delivered what amounted to her child, a tiny thing, blue and gone. My daughter, she sobbed, refusing to let them take her away. My child. He killed my child. Our child.

She felt his anger beginning to boil up to the surface. Yes, she thought, narrowing her eyes on him. Feel it Jon. You must. She knew he was also sharing in her pain at the memory of their child. “Jon,” she murmured.

“Of course you had no idea!” Jon exclaimed. He tried to temper it, but began to shake the harder he tried to push it down. “Not one of you bothered to ask me how I was feeling or what I went through and experienced, did you? You never thought about how come I told you that the Queen had three dragons but came to Winterfell with only two! Neither of you could bear to think about anything other than yourselves and the North and the Starks! Look where that has gotten the North now!”

Arya took a step back, her voice soft. “Jon…calm down…”

“No!” he roared. Dany’s eyes lit up and she smiled. Yes, she thought, nodding. Let it out. The anger and the pain he’d kept inside for so long. He shouted, laughing harshly. “I wanted to be your father’s son for my whole life! You may have been the only one to truly treat me as a brother, as one of your kin, but I realized too late that I may be Ned Stark’s son in name and not in blood, but I am also my mother’s son. Lyanna Stark’s son. The blood of the wolf runs stronger through me than it did Ned. Than Sansa. I am also a dragon. I am Rhaegar Targaryen’s son too.”

It took him so long to understand, but he read and he learned and he listened to her speak about her brother. Something he hadn’t wondered after he’d learned of his true heritage. He wanted so much to be like Ned Stark, emulated him in so many ways, more than even Ned’s real children. Only within the past few years, since he’d crossed the Narrow Sea to return Visenya’s sword to Valyria and instead found her in the Dothraki Sea, had he started to understand the other half of him, the half he was beginning to discover. To embrace.

“The throne was stolen three times from us,” Jon said. He lifted his fingers. “The first was in Robert’s Rebellion when he killed my father on the Trident. My father was going to take care of Aerys…to overthrow him, but he did not even have the chance. The second was when Westeros rejected the rule of Daenerys Targaryen, drove her to her death at my hands, pushed to the edge by Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark.” He laughed. “And the third? Well the third was me, Arya.”

Arya frowned. “But…you did not want the throne.”

“I may not have wanted it, but exiling me to the Wall to die in the ice was a good way to get rid of the only remaining claimant to the throne. To make sure that Tyrion Lannister could continue trying to rule by proxy and Sansa Stark to rule the North.” He shook his head. “I will not be fooled by them again, Arya.”

Dany reached for him. “Come, we should get to the children.” This was enough. They had done enough now with Arya. She smiled at the other woman, who glared at her. You may not like me, but you do need to respect me, she thought. Especially after all we have done for you at this point.

Just when she thought ARya would say something to that effect, the other woman dropped her gaze, her face softening. “I…I understand,” she whispered. “I understand Jon and…and I swear. I will help you. You are my brother, whether you think it or not.”

Jon nodded. “Westeros is in ruins. They refused to thank the woman who came with her armies and her dragons and who stopped her quest to take back what was stolen from her family to fight the Night King and the Army of the Dead. You may have put the knife in his gut, but you would never have had the chance if it weren’t for her. The North refused to thank her for saving them, for losing her children for them, and in the end, look what happened to them now.” He reached for her hand, squeezing it. She stared into his dark eyes and felt her heart skip when he spoke again, firm and final.

“Perhaps this time they will look at her with love instead of fear.”

Chapter Text

The Onion Knight was not as skilled in politicking as his other members of the Small Council; far more than Ser Bronn at least, but he was smart enough to know something was afoot. It had been months since Tyrion had departed with the Hill twins across the Narrow Sea, with only several ravens since. He knew the dwarf was going to ask for loan forgiveness, something Davos merely wrinkled his nose at.

So much for paying your debts, Lannister.

He was concerned; he knew Daenerys Stormborn was living, something he long ago would have thought impossible and now simply shrugged a shoulder at. Of course she was alive. He had thought the other members of the Council were a bit too nonchalant about the dragon traveling east with her body. Samwell Tarly admitted he was concerned, since the dragon was last seen going to Volantis, where there were red priests and priestesses. We’ll know soon enough, Davos had simply thought, and years later it seemed his concerns were validated.

The Dragon Queen lived again, much like the White Wolf. They had scoffed at his notion all those years ago in the yard at Winterfell. A just woman and an honorable man. Then it all went to shit. Like everything in this fucking kingdom, Davos thought, emerging in the Ravensguard tower. “Ser Brienne,” he greeted.

Brienne looked up over a piece of parchment, gesturing towards it. “My daughter writes from New Valyria.”

“New Valyria? Is she safe?” he demanded. What in the seven hells had Tyrion done, taking those sweet children across the sea as his form of protection? He could beat the dwarf right now if he saw him. He stepped towards Brienne, seated behind the large desk of the Lady Commander. “They were supposed to be in Volantis.”

Brienne tossed the parchment down atop several others, her bright blue eyes lifting to meet his. Concern furrowed her brow. “Well it seems that they have decided to…tempt the dragon to speak, and they are now in New Valyria as guests of Her Grace, the Queen of the United Cities of Essos.” She lifted another piece of parchment, with a stamp at the bottom.

Three headed dragon and a howling wolf.

He took the parchment, staring at the neat and curving writing. The Queen had taken them to New Valyria to expand their education. The Dwarf was with them, also as a guest, and they would return to Westeros soon. He set the parchment down, knowing Brienne was terrified for her children. “She will not hurt them,” he said.

“She burned an entire city to the ground!”

“Jon Snow is with her, by all accounts, and she will not harm them with him near.”

“He was here in King’s Landing!”

He shook his head. “And he killed her for us.” Although I’m still not sure how that worked out for us, he thought, gazing out the window to the city. He grew up in Flea Bottom and he knew it like the back of his hand. There were days where he thought it could not get worse and then it did. The poverty, the unrest…and the King only waved his hand and said that they needed to turn to the old gods. They needed to search within themselves for the answer.

Davos had tried; he’d sailed the ships around to Dorne, he’d tried to get Oldtown, who had been hoarding food for the The Citadel, to give up their goods. The Hightowers of the Reach claimed they had their own stash, but they were keeping it for themselves, for their people, since Ser Bronn of Highgarden could give a shit. He sighed heavy. “It seems the Dragon Queen is having the last laugh,” he murmured, picking up the paper again.

“There is unrest like you have never seen Ser Davos,” Brienne said. She stood, her white cloak falling from the chair to the floor as she walked to gaze out the windows. She shook her head, her palm on the pommel of Oathkeeper. “There are red priests and priestesses from across the sea, spreading out like a disease to the countryside. They speak of the reborn Dragon Queen and the prosperity of Essos. Any attempt you may have tried to keep the word of her rebirth silent has failed.” She glanced over her shoulder, voice crystal clear. “Lords demand answers. She came to conquer the Seven Kingdoms and died doing it. Now she is alive and Essos is living in peace and health and wealth. They want to know why.”

Of course they do. Tyrion’s attempts to quell the truth of what was happening over in Essos had failed. The lies he’d attempted to spread, claiming the Essosi were savages and making up what they wanted in attempts to create unrest in Westeros. Why would the Essosi give a shit about Westeros? They never had before. He sighed hard. “The Hightowers are moving against Ser Bronn.”

Brienne snorted. “Of course they are. I cannot believe it took them this long.”

“I believe they were waiting on support.”

“Support? From who?”

Davos smirked. “Well they waited for a good time. This shit world is coming to an end, Ser Brienne. This experiment has failed. Choosing a king when half his family was on the council…I should have seen it then. Choosing a king who could see all, but who does not act unless it is in his interests. Lord Tyrion has been ruling in his stead and he is failing.” He should have realized. From what he’d learned of his time at Dragonstone, the Imp had given council to the Queen that had failed terribly. In the end, he’d betrayed her, and he’d assisted in turning her into a mad woman. He sighed. “I saw a king and a queen in Winterfell. It is just too bad and too late that no one else could see it either.”

The Lady Commander turned quickly, aghast. “She murdered thousands, Ser Davos! Burned this place to nothing…she…” her voice cracked. She tried to cover the pain, but failed, releasing a sob. “She killed Jamie.”

Jamie Lannister was a fool who ran away and Tyrion was also a fool for allowing him to run away as well. He shook his head, voice soft. “I believed as much as anyone she had gone mad. Tyrion spoke of the Targaryen saying…the coin thing. I was there through it all, Ser Brienne. The woman I met at Dragonstone would not have done what she did to King’s Landing unless she thought it was her only option.” He could not believe he was defending the woman who had razed his city to the ground. Murdered innocents.

Although maybe he had also seen something else. “She lost her closest advisor, her best friend, and her children,” he said. He glanced at Brienne. “If you lost your children, I imagine you would go mad as well.”

Brienne did not acknowledge his words, simply palming Oathkeeper and staring into the distance. She sighed. “I just do not understand.”

“We showed her the only thing we could understand was fire and hate and fear, and then wondered why she did it afterward.”

“I just do not understand how she could be alive. It’s impossible.”

“As impossible as the dead walking? As impossible as dragons living again?” He wished he could show her what had had seen. A dead Lord Commander, blood soaked snow, and then he walked again. Melisandre disappearing into naught but ash. He did not think he could convince her, simply nodding in her direction. “Ser Brienne. I will go to the King now…see if I can’t try to get him to act.”

“Good luck,” Brienne murmured, still staring into nothing. He knew she was concerned for the fates of her children. Call it his own madness, but he did not believe harm would come to them. If it did, they only had to blame Lord Tyrion for it, the stupid fool trying to use children as a shield.

Davos wandered the still crumbling halls of what used to be Maegor’s Holdfast. He had always found it interesting that even after the death of the last Targaryen king that they continued to use their names for the Red Keep. Aegon’s Hill, Visenya’s Hill, Rhaenys’s Hill. Maegor’s Holdfast and the Maidenvault. Baelor’s Sept. They were all Targaryens. We were hundreds of clans and kingdoms and then we were seven. Then we were one. And now? He sighed, emerging into the Small Council chambers, where King Bran the Broken sat in his chair, staring into nothing.

As Davos grew close, he realized that Bran’s eyes were white. So he was somewhere else then. “Your Grace,” he announced, as loud as he could. He waited and a moment later, Bran’s eyes flickered and returned, darting sideways to him. He bowed his head. “Your Grace, word from New Valyria. Lord Tyrion is…guest of the Queen of Essos.” Hostage more like, he thought.

“I cannot see there.” It troubled him, his hand clenching on the arm of his wheelchair. He glanced at Davos. “Anything else Ser Davos?”

He hesitated. He was not Hand of the King, only Master of Ships. He nodded, forging ahead. “Your Grace I believe things are as worse as they can be. The Reach is all but lost…the Iron Islands gone and Dorne has been acting as its own kingdom since the death of Robert Baratheon.” Seven hells, maybe even before that. He dropped his head. “And I have heard word that Lord Baratheon has sent emissaries to meet with the Dragon Queen.”

Sansa Stark had gone to Storm’s End and had yet to return, but he heard from some of the people of the other strongholds; Greenstone and Blackhaven… they had thought that Yara Greyjoy would announce her all out rejection of Bran Stark’s rule, but it was Gendry Baratheon, the bastard who had been named a lord, who would do it first.

Bran stared straight ahead. “They are choosing the wrong path.”

“And what path is the right one, Your Grace?”

“Path to the old gods, of course.” He seemed to not even believe himself. There was something deeper troubling the king, who kept clenching his fist. He sighed. “I cannot see, it troubles me. I should be able to see beyond, but I cannot.” He glanced at Davos. “They should turn to nature.”

“They are!” Davos exclaimed, in spite of himself. He waved his hand towards the open archways, looking out onto the city. “They are turning to their base natures, they are turning into savages and looking to anyone who can help.”

The king said nothing, still staring ahead. He sighed once more. “I am King. I saw myself as King.”

And at the time it seemed to make sense.

Davos opened his mouth to speak again, to try to shout some sense, when the door pushed open, Samwell Tarly entering. “Your Grace,” Sam announced, glancing at Davos. “Might I speak with Ser Davos?”

The King said nothing and Davos strode out, turning in the hall to look at Tarly. “Yes Sam?”

“I…I heard that Ser Brienne’s children are in New valyria with the Hand of the King.”

“Yes.”

“Are they…are they safe?”

“For now,” he said. Davos sighed, meeting the young Maester’s eyes. He frowned slightly. “Have you heard of Jon Snow?”

He nodded. “I heard that Queen Sansa sent out scouts to the Wall…the…the freefolk aren’t saying where he is.” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “And now there are banners with a wolf on them in Essos.”

“You know what that means.”

Sam nodded, his voice soft. “Jon is with her…do you think he’s safe?”

I am sure he is more than safe, Davos thought. Jon Snow may finally have been acting of his own accord, finally refusing to be a pawn in others’ political games. He crossed is arms over his chest, studying the Maester. For such a young man he had so much on his shoulders. He also knew The Citadel was not pleased with his self-appointment to the Maester of King’s Landing and outright refusal to follow the traditions of Maesters. Marrying and having children, for example. Davos lifted his eyebrows, looking at the young man. “I think what you chose to do was admirable at the time, Sam.”

“And what is that?” Sam scoffed. “Choosing a King who does nothing?”

“I think at the time it was wise. I think now we see perhaps we chose the wrong king.”

Sam whispered. “Maybe we need to choose a new queen.”

Treasonous words. It seemed the young Maester may finally have been learning how to play the game, Davos thought. He looked to Sam, his voice steady. “We will be lucky if we do not end up in ash.” He turned to stare out at King’s Landing, still under rubble from the burning fourteen years ago.

“And I would not fault her one bit for it.”

Chapter Text

Gods it is warm, but gods I seem to be enjoying it now. Jamie lifted his face up to the sun, smiling as he enjoyed a moment of peace. He glanced down at the sword resting beside him and hten to the bow and arrow resting on the bench near the targets he’d set up earlier. He got to his feet, dusting off his hands on his thighs, walking to lift up the bow and arrow.

He had tossed the Northern armor the farther south they went, eventually choosing to only wear his nondescript tan jerkin, tunic, and breeches. He had long worn the grays and mottled browns of the North during his training, but had found in his chambers clothing of light linens and thin armor that he recognized the guards of the New Valyria, the Unsullied, wore. He liked wearing them; he could move quicker, something that had always bothered him in the North, weighted down. He picked up the bow and arrow, drawing it back and standing off, studying the target he’d set on a tree across the large yard.

Joanna was better at a bow and arrow than him, so he wanted to keep practicing. His twin seemed to excel at anything she placed her mind to. She was off somewhere reading. Or perhaps with the little girl, the queen’s daughter. He drew back the arrow and sighted, releasing it with a soft ‘twang.’ The arrow went straight across, but seemed to drop at the last second, missing the bullseye he’d drawn. “Damnit,” he muttered.

“Your elbow is too high, you need to drop it.”

Jamie turned, seeing Jon Snow walk towards him. He dropped his head. “Your Grace.”

The King of Essos seemed uncomfortable with that title and shook his head. “Jon, please. I am no king.” He picked up another arrow and handed it to him. He nodded at the target. “Try again.”

It seemed even more difficult, he thought, with the eyes of an expert swordsman and archer watching him. A king even. He drew the bow, took a few breaths, and released. His eyes widened in surprise as the arrow didn’t hit the bullseye, but was certainly closer than his previous attempt. “Thanks,” he said, glancing sideways.

Jon Snow did not seem like a king to him, he thought. He was wearing black with silver and red accents. He stood with his arms behind his back and did not have any weapons on him. Jon smiled at him. “You know I knew your father, but did not know your mother all that well.”

So I guess we’ll be talking about them, huh? Jamie would have preferred they stick to archery. He took another arrow, scowling. “Yeah well…no one really knew either one, now did they?” He let go of the arrow, this time it did not even touch the target. Emotions. He hated them. He scowled again. He grabbed another arrow, looking at the quiet king. “You know…I was at Winterfell most of my life. My uncle sent me there to learn how to fight. My mother let him.”

Joanna said it was because their mother had so much to deal with. Being the Lady Commander of the Ravensguard and the City Watch and even the Master of War. She could only handle one of them. Jamie knew it was because he looked like his father. She couldn’t handle looking at him. He reminded her of what she had lost. He went at the age of six to Winterfell, alone and scared, and was raised in the cold and the snow, with the stilted and distant Queen of the North watching him from the balcony of her chambers.

He glanced at the wolf. “I heard about you. Saved the realm by killing the queen. Punished to the Wall for your deed. A lot of people in the North weren’t happy about it.”

Jon smiled vaguely. “Yes,” he said, a shadow passing over his face. “Well they got their independence. That was all they wanted.”

“It was all Queen Sansa wanted.”

They were quiet, just the sound of arrows flying through the hair and thunking against the tree trunk. Jon Snow cleared his throat and stepped a little closer to him. “Your mother sent you to Winterfell, I’m sure it was just a way to protect you. To provide a future for you, since your last name is Hill and not Lannister.” He smiled slightly again. “I had only those options myself. The Wall or knighthood. Not much for the bastard of a high family.”

Maybe, but regardless, his other option that Jon hadn’t mentioned was legitimacy. He scoffed, his voice quiet. “Doesn’t matter. Even if I was born to married parents, my family is full of traitors, murderers, and power hungry lions.” He dropped the bow and turned to face the king fully. He was slightly taller than the king and ganglier, but Jon Snow exerted a quiet sense of power that Jamie feared. He kept his voice steady. He had long thought about these things, more than his sister. “I am not a lion. I’m not an evenstar either. I don’t know what I am. Lion, evenstar, bastard, or what…son of a traitor maybe.” He shrugged. “They sent me to Winterfell to train me to fight in their stupid wars. If I was a real lion maybe that’d be different. Maybe if I was a real evenstar I’d be at my mother’s house, a lord even. But I’m not. I’m just a bastard.”

He grabbed the bow from where he’d dropped it, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to nock another arrow. Then, the king spoke, his voice soft and understanding. “I understand you more than you realize. I was raised a bastard myself.” The little half smile pulled on his lips again. “Only to find out I was a king.”

Jamie knew that he was trying to bond with him somehow. He didn’t care. He was always a pawn with someone. The North, his uncle, his mother…it was just part of life. “Yeah, well…I’m definitely not a king.”

“I didn’t want it.” Jon took the bow from him and set it down, gesturing for him to follow. He walked slowly and deliberately. “But in the end that didn’t matter to people who wanted to play a game of thrones.”

“So why are you king now if you didn’t want it?”

“Because I realized too late that even though I didn’t want it, it was what I was born to be.” He stopped at a balcony and gestured down to the streets below. He sighed. “I wanted to serve. To protect and help…that was why I chose the Wall. All I ever wanted to was to protect my people. Now though…well now I see this is the way I can do it.” He gestured for Jamie again to follow him. Jaime did, because he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

They walked down a set of spiral staircases and into a dark apse near the main entrance to the compound. The king pressed on a door and it pushed open, hidden in the stone, to reveal a series of steps down into a dimly lit tunnel. Jamie glanced at him and then shrugged. Why the seven hells not? He trotted down into the tunnel and waited for the king to follow, lifting a torch and leading him down beneath the roads.

After several minutes of silence, they began to ascend and Jamie blinked against the bright sunlight as they stepped out into an alley of sorts. “Where are we?” he asked.

“New Valyria.” The king, who had grabbed a thin cloak as they made their way through the castle, whipped it around him and lifted the hood slightly. He removed the silver insignia of the wolf at his breast and pocketed it. He gestured and began to walk down the street.

Neither of them were armed, Jamie realized, alarmed. He was the only one who knew that the king was out in the streets. “Your Grace!” he hissed, hurrying after him. “This is not wise, we should get back! You could be killed!”

Jon glanced sideways and smiled sadly. “This is not Westeros, Ser Jamie Lannister.”

Lannister. I’m not a Lannister, he thought. He kept walking, surprised to see that the people barely acknowledged him. There were large areas of fountains and water from spigots that people used to water their horses. People were laughing and wearing real clothing instead of rags. He frowned. “People are…they’re rich?”

“No, well…some are. Most of Valyria is former nobles from houses in the other cities of Essos. Everyone eventually ends up here for some reason or another, but we have a good population of smallfolk. People who just want to make a home and have a family.” Jon reached into his pocket and removed some coins, setting them in a tin before a young boy who was pulling on a harp.

“Thank you ser!” the boy called, in broken Common Tongue.

It seemed that there were many languages spoken; Dothraki, Valyrian, Common Tongue, and Volantene. Jamie watched in curiosity as people paid for their items, but there were also houses were people could just walk in and get a meal or see a healer. “How does this work?” he whispered. It was something that Joanna had wondered about. Essos was so large, greater than even Westeros, and yet they were united.

“The United Cities of Essos has one queen, but everyone contributes to each other. Slavery is illegal, no one wants for food or money because it is shared commonly. People work for it and work for themselves, but if you are in need, you can come to a house of healing and get help.” Jon handed him a coin, with a dragon emblazoned on it. “Common coin, freedom of religion and speech.”

What was that like, he wondered. If you dared to say something against Queen Sansa in the North you could lose your head. Same for the King in the south. He blinked. “But…what if she does something that they disagree with?”

Jon chuckled. “Well you can disagree with her of course. She enjoys the disagreement as it makes her a better queen. You just cannot threaten her life.” He paused before a large set of stairs in the side of a huge spiral tower, a stone three-headed dragon looming before them. “This is one of the meeting places. She meets with everyone at every opportunity. Comes to them. People send representatives to speak with her if necessary. Corruption is not tolerated.”

“And murder?” Jamie wondered. There was a lot of that in Westeros. Disagreed with someone? Kill them. Wanted their horse? Kill them. It was just death and more death.

“Punishable by dragonfire.”

Well that was quite a way to go, he supposed. He paused in front of a fountain, as Jon knelt and picked up a stray toy that a child had dropped, handing it to the small boy who giggled and then ran off. The boy had flaming red hair and purple eyes. This place was so strange. He continued to follow him through the streets, as Jon stopped and spoke with the people, his Valyrian pretty bad, judging by how the people laughed and often switched to a more broken form of Common Tongue.

They stopped before a large square, with stalls and people selling goods and wares. He looked at the fountain in the center, a series of dragons twisting together, water pouring from their mouths. They were made of a series of colored stone and the same base of black smooth obsidian that Joanna told him was dragon-stone. He crossed his arms over his chest. “So what do you do…as king? Especially if you don’t really want to be one.”

“I watch.” Jon nodded towards a gathering of men near the fountain, arguing. “They’re probably fighting about the tax that we recently placed on great imports of jade from Yi Ti. Now that I know that, I can go back and tell the Queen. She’ll find a way to address it that fits for everyone.”

It seemed too good to be true. So much peace. “But there has to be some…unrest.”

“Sometimes. There are still many who disagree with the ending of slavery. Some who do not want to be united to the other cities after centuries of independence. Anything is quelled immediately.” By dragonfire, Jamie figured. He had heard so many stories of the Dragon Queen, on the back of her great beast, setting fire to little children. At least she got on the back of a dragon, he’d always say. She fought with her people. Queen Sansa just watched from the balconies and never left Winterfell.

“Is that what you wanted for Westeros? A united kingdom?”

“Westeros is savage compared to Essos.” Jon shrugged. “But maybe now they are ready for it…it just took so long to get there.”

Jamie dug the toe of his boot against the black stone. He could not even see a crack in it. “So…what about the North?”

Jon glanced sideways. “The North?”

“They’ve always wanted their independence.”

“They only wanted their independence when Robert Baratheon died and my father was murdered,” Jon corrected. He smirked at Jamie’s surprised look. “History is told by those who win, Jamie.” He sighed then, shaking his head. “Well…if the North wants to send people to a council…to be part of the kingdoms…they cannot exist on their own anymore. Not like how it used to be.”

They moved away from the square and stopped at the edge of a hillside, looking down at the sea below, still emitting smoke even after centuries beyond the Doom. It seemed odd how clear the skies were, when Jamie had heard stories of how ash still fell on Valyria. He looked over to the king, who had his hands fisted on the stone wall. “Before you knew you were a king,” he said. He hesitated. Well, might as well go ahead. When did you get a chance to talk to a bastard who actually became something, Jamie wondered. “Before any of it. When you were growing up…what did you want to do?”

Jon looked down at his hands. He seemed to disappear somewhere int hat moment. His dark eyes shadowed and transported to another time. After a few minutes, he spoke. “I wanted to help, like I said. I just wanted to be…be like my father.”

“I don’t want to be like my father.” That was certain. “I don’t want to be my uncle’s nephew. You wanted to be a Stark, yes? Well I do not want to be a Lannister.” He continued. “Joanna wants to study and become a scholar…seven hells she probably wants to be a Maester, if that were possible, but in Westeros it isn’t.”

“And you?”

I don’t know. Joanna seemed to always know what she wanted; to get out of Westeros and see beyond the castle walls. To read and explore and study. Learn every single language. But him? He hadn’t had much of a choice in that matter, with Uncle Tyrion wrapping him up in furs and sending him to the North to learn to fight. And in all that time…he hadn’t thought of anything else. Hadn’t been allowed to.

He answered, whispering. “I just don’t want to fight anymore.”

They said nothing after that, with Jon leading him back through New Valyria and to another tunnel system, leading him back and into the inner keep. He took him back up to his chambers, nodding slightly. “Let us know if you need anything,” he said, breaking the silence.

Jamie looked into the expansive chambers and then turned to the king, who had made a move to walk away. “Your Grace?”

Jon paused. “Yes?”

“When will be returning to Raven’s Landing? I’m sure my mother is worried about us.”

“Soon.” Jon gestured towards the door. “But…whenever you want to go back, you are free, of course.”

Of course, he thought, watching the king walk away. He was so unlike any king that Jamie had learned about. Even the North spoke of him, rather highly, and when he’d asked how come he wasn’t the King in the North, if Jon Snow had murdered the Dragon Queen and secured the North’s independence and saved them all from the Army of the Dead…well he’d learned quickly to keep his mouth shut on that. He’d been sent to the Wall, they simply said, to make the Dragon Queen’s people happy.

And his sister let that happen? Did it matter now, after all this time, he’d wondered at the time. Joanna had all but stabbed a small child at Casterly Rock who had taunted him about his handless father. Maybe they were closer because they were twins and because they had only each other to lean on, but if the option were to send her to exile or save her? He’d always thought that was odd of Queen Sansa.

He left his chambers and made his way around the corridors and up the staircases, turning round and round. At one point he had no idea where he was, turned around from the similarity of the rooms. He leaned against a wall, sighing. “Of course I’m lost,” he mumbled.

“Are we ever going to go to Westeros?”

The voice was of the king, of Jon Snow, but it was firmer than the soft tones he’d heard from the man earlier. He frowned, inching closer to the edge of the wall and peering around. He could see over and into the yard outside the Dragontower, where the King and Queen stood, squared off with each other and their voices hard. The queen shook her head. “We’ve been over this before, I’m not ready to go there yet.”

“When will you be ready Dany? They are suffering. If you heard that boy talk…they have nothing for them! No future! At least I had something…it was The Wall but it was something.” Jon turned on his heel, his voice dropping so low that Jamie had to strain to hear. “What about breaking the wheel? It is the same it has always been there.”

“I tried to break the wheel for them and they refused.”

“Because you burned them alive!”

“And you stabbed me in the heart, so I think that argument is done,” the queen hissed.

They were quiet. Jamie moved to leave, when he heard Jon Snow speak again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought that up…these are my people. The people I wanted to save…and that you wanted to lead. They’re dying over there. We have to do something.”

“I do not have to do anything.”

“You know that is not true. You know as well as I do that you can’t stand to hear what those twins say about their lives in Westeros. They have it better than the rest too, being in the Red Keep.”

The queen spoke, soft. “I’m scared Jon. I can’t go back there again and fail.”

“You won’t.”

Jamie slinked away, not wanting to intrude any further. He wandered back away, finally coming to his chambers, and finding Joanna waiting at the table, eating fruit and reading a book. “Hey,” he greeted her.

She threw the book aside and jumped up, running after him and flung her arms around his neck. “Oh thank gods you’re back! I was worried. Where were you?”

“Outside the walls.”

“Is it as magnificent as it seems? I want to explore but the books the queen gave me are riveting.” Joanna sat back down and reached for a pitcher, pouring him a glass of some kind of juice. “I was just reading about the history of Balerion the Black Dread.”

While she spoke about the ancient dragon, Jamie nibbled on the food, unaccustomed to such richness and vastness of his plate. He wasn’t sure what the queen and king had in mind, but he hoped they’d move quickly. He wanted to get on with a world where he could actually do something. He wanted to get to their mother and pull her away from the world she’d become so absorbed in, to the point where he sometimes wondered if she remembered she even had children.

“Jamie, are you even listening to me?”

“Yes sorry, what was that?”

Joanna picked up another book and chuckled, tossing it to him. “I was talking about how I was reading a book about the Dothraki language. It’s fascinating, their culture. You may look into it, I know you like horses.”

He nodded and idly pushed the book aside. He’d get to it later. Right now he was busy trying to figure out how to convince his mother to break an oath to the king.

Chapter Text

“You must listen to me, Lord Baratheon is not backing down. He is siding with the Dragon Queen.”

“Then that is what will be.”

Sansa grit her teeth, trying not to lose her temper on her younger brother. Or whatever her brother was these days. Bran stared straight ahead out the window. He hadn’t looked at her since the moment she rushed in, straight off the ship from Breakwater Bay. “Bran! When you told me, after King’s Landing fell, that we had to go south, that Jon was in trouble and it was time for you to take your place…” she trailed off, closing her eyes. “I listened to you. I did not question you.”

Bran still did not move. “Yes,” he murmured.

Maybe she was making headway. He always spoke about the past, maybe if she brought it up, he’d listen to her reason about the present. “After everything we had been through, after everything that our family had been through…” she trailed off. She took a deep breath, surging ahead. “The pack had to survive. That was why we supported you as King, but…you aren’t even helping your kin. We are dying in the North and you refuse my requests for aid. I come down here to help you, to try to secure your rule, and you refuse to listen to reason! The pack is dying, Bran! You’re here, Arya is gone…”

“Arya is found.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Arya. She is with Jon. They are fine.”

I…I can’t even think about Arya at this moment, she thought, pressing her fingertips into her forehead. Her wild sister was with their wild brother. She could hardly focus. “I…okay, we can discuss that in a moment. Bran, please, remember your family.”

“But you aren’t my family.” He finally turned his head, rotating it slowly to peer unnervingly at her. “I am no longer Bran Stark. I have not been for some time.”

Yes whatever you are the Three-Eyed Raven. She heaved a heavy sigh. “Whatever happens…the North remembers its treatment. You speak of the past? Well remember the past. Remember how our father was killed on the steps just beyond these walls. Remember our brother, our mother, slaughtered! Me…” she trailed off, her voice breaking. She would not speak of what had happened to her. It was still too painful for her to remember. She forged on. “The occupation of the Boltons! The North deserved its independence and we got it. We got it and you cannot forget that right now!”

Bran tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Yes. Yes of course, remember…remember that the Starks are not blameless.”

“Excuse me?” she demanded. She laughed. “All we have ever done is try to live in peace!”

“The Starks came, they killed the First Men, and they took the Warg King’s daughters as reward,” he said, voice hollow. He smirked. “The honor of the Starks was their downfall. You are the only Stark that amounted to anything more than Warden of the North because you were not acting like a Stark. You were a lion.”

Her blood surged in her veins, rushing in her ears. For a brief moment she saw blinding white. She finally shouted, no longer able to grit her teeth through the frustration. How dare he? How dare he, this shell of her brother, whoever he was, compare her to a lion? “You have no idea what I went through!” she screamed, tears rushing hot down her face. She furiously wiped them away, the leather of her gloves scratching at her skin. “The years of torture and abuse! The Lannisters held me hostage! They killed my father in front of me, they murdered my mother, and just when I thought I could get out safely, the one person I thought would help me, sold me to the Boltons, who raped me, tortured me, humiliated me, and turned me into a prisoner in my home!”

She sobbed, barely able to get out the words as Bran stared at her. “I want answers, Bran! I want help, we have to keep our home, keep our independence, and you have to do something because the Dragon Queen is coming!” She felt the fear rise in her throat, strangle her.

And then I’ll die, she thought. I’ll burn. Like King’s Landing did. Like all the others who dared to fight her. “I don’t want to die,” she whimpered. She hiccupped. “And she will blame me for everything. For not welcoming her and not trusting her and for telling Tyrion about Jon…”

“Yes.”

She blinked again, the tears drying sticky on her face. “What?”

“Yes, she will blame you and she would be justified. Because you did all those things.” Bran reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Before she knew it, she felt as though she were standing in snow, and not the stone of King’s Landing. She stared, in shock, at her brother, standing in the snow. It was nighttime and he stood shirtless outside of a tent, gasping for breath. He screamed and fell into the snow, howling as though he were being burned. She heard him, stunned, her mouth falling open, as he screamed a woman’s name.

“Dany,” he sobbed. He beat his fists on the snow. “Dany I’m so sorry.” He looked up at the sky and held his arms out. “Kill me! Where are you, you fucking beast?! Why didn’t you kill me?! You should have!” He sobbed and fell back into the snow, muttering over and over again. “Kill me, kill me, just kill me…”

Sansa blinked and suddenly they were somewhere else. She stood in sand this time, watching as the woman she had only seen in furs and regal leathers, her hair always in intricate braids, lie in the dirt beside her great dragon, crying into his scales. This woman wore rags, her skin streaked in dirt, and her silver hair chopped ragged to her shoulders. She moved and Sansa gasped, staring at the horrifying scar jagged under her breast.

The Dragon Queen was not a queen; she looked like a girl, crying and mumbling into the dirt. She spoke in multiple languages that Sansa did not understand. Until finally she heard her crying out. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I did it…I’m sorry…I want to go back…please…”

“They are broken,” Bran said beside her. He was standing and his arms behind his back. He sighed, sadly. “It is a shame they had to get to that point.”

Suddenly Sansa was watching herself, staring in shock as she stopped Tyrion from departing. “What if there was another choice?” she said.

I don’t remember this, she thought, watching as she told Tyrion the truth about her brother. She shook her head, watching as Tyrion walked away. Then suddenly they were on a ship and it was Tyrion and Varys. Then she watched as the Dragon Queen took a few bites of her meal, brought to her by a young girl, and then begin to vomit, throwing it out the window and muttering that she was being poisoned. The woman started to waste away, her hair stringy and refusing to leave her chambers, pacing back and forth. Then there was Jon, talking to her, trying to get her to see sense, and her telling him that she was right. Look what has happened now, she said, pulling away from him. Suddenly they were on a beach and Varys was burned alive.

“You set in motion things that went beyond anyone’s control,” Bran said. He blinked at her, as she stared in horror at the burning ashes on the beach that used to be the Master of Whisperers. The dragon flew away and the queen walked away, followed by her brother, who stood there and watched it all happen. “I am here because for Westeros to succeed, it must fall. I am only doing my part in the history.”

They were back in the chambers. Sansa wanted to be sick. She stared at him. “You saw all this. You saw this all happening and…and it just happened. Now you’re here.”

“And you are Queen in the North, none of us is above the other.” He stared at her for a moment and shook his head. “I am not Bran Stark. I am the Three Eyed Raven and I am only doing my part in this history.”

The Three Eyed Raven was nothing, she thought. She hadn’t heard of it at all, with Old Nan telling them the histories of the First Men, the Children of the Forest, and Bran the Builder, who built the Wall to keep out the mysteries of the true North. She wondered just what her brother was. Could he be saved? She broke away from him and stumbled out of the king’s chambers, making her way down the hall and to the White Tower, where Brienne was reading through parchment.

She looked at the other woman, who set down the parchment, and waited for her to say something first. “Your children are with the Dragon Queen,” she blurted. It was all she could think to say.

“I know, my daughter wrote me.” Brienne gestured with the paper in her hand. “And now my son. It seems they are coming home.” She stood and walked around to stand beside her. “Queen Sansa, I know you are troubled by the events…around us.”

Troubled was an understatement. “Westeros is falling apart,” she breathed.

“But you still have the North.” Brienne drew her shoulders back and hesitated for a moment.

“Speak, Ser Brienne.”

The woman, who had come into her life, claiming she had sworn an oath to Lady Catelyn to protect her, and who Sansa had rejected more than once for her help, drew herself up again. A formidable presence, Sansa thought. “Your Grace…I swore an oath to protect the king. To protect the people of this city and I do intend to hold up that oath.” She squeezed the pommel of her sword. “But Your Grace, I never anticipated I would have children. I could never imagine.”

How funny, because all I thought I was put on this world to do was marry a prince and have children, Sansa thought. “Yes,” she whispered.

“And when I had them…I did not know what it would be like. I did not have a mother. My father was not kind to me.” Brienne smiled, but it did not meet her eyes. “And maybe I did things that were wrong. Sending my son away so young…he barely speaks to me if he does at all. My daughter wants nothing to do with me. My children are all I have left of a man that I loved, but who loved another.”

Sansa nodded. “Go on.”

Breinne closed her eyes. “Your Grace, I have upheld every oath I have made, to the best of my abilities, and I take that seriously, as I am sure you understand, being a Stark. However…” she swallowed hard. Her voice turned to steel. “If I must choose between my loyalty to my king and my loyalty to my children, I will chose my children. I lost their father because of his loytalty to someone else.”

“You lost their father because the Dragon Queen burned down the city with him in it,” Sansa corrected.

Brienne shook her head. “He would have died for Cersei if it were in King’s Landing or on a ship or in the North or wherever.” She sighed. “The Dragon Queen just…she burned down the city with him in it. That’s all.”

I cannot hear this right now, she thought, turning away from Brienne, who called after her. Sansa ignored her and gathered her skirts, furiously storming out of the keep and down the familiar paths that still remained, emerging into the godswood. This time there were weirwoods planted, the faces newly carved and the red sap dripping like blood.

She fell to her knees in front of it and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. She had done what she could, but it seemed no one would listen. No one was as fearful as her. No one wanted to fight. They could fight, she thought, staring up at the tree. They could try.

And then she saw the image of the little queen, with her shining silver hair, sobbing into the sand. And her brother, in the same position, only crying into snow.

I didn’t do that, she repeated in her head, over and over again. It wasn’t my fault. Jon was the one who stabbed her. Daenerys was the one who burned down a city. All I did was fight for my family.

“And where are they now,” she wondered, looking up at the tree. She was alone.

The lone wolf dies while the pack survives.

She fell forward, sobbing into the white roots of the tree, wondering how she had ended up the lone wolf.

Chapter Text

“Mai,” Lya said, reaching for her mother. She climbed up into her lap and leaned against her, smiling. Her mother always smelled like lemons. She curled into her and watched Drogon as he leaned his head under his wing, tugging at something caught between the scales. She poked her mother, giggling. “I like our secret words.”

“Secret words?” her mother laughed. “And what would those be?”

“Papa doesn’t get it. I like it. It’s fun.” They could tell each other things that Papa couldn’t hear. He would ask if they were talking about him and she would just laugh. Then she would give him a hug, because it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t understand Valyrian.

She hopped off her mother’s lap, turning and tugging on her hands. “Come Mai! Let’s go see my dragon!” The eggs came with them everywhere and she liked to just look at it. Her egg was really pretty purple. Mai called it ‘indigo.’ It had silver on the bottom. She hoped one day it would have a dragon. Mai said she reached for the egg when she was a baby, like Aemon did with his. Aemon’s egg was as blue as the ocean and also had some silver on it.

They walked down the hallways and she emerged into her room, where she let go of her mother’s hand and ran for the fire, where her egg was resting. She sat in front of it, not minding the heat. She propped her head in her hands, staring at the beautiful egg. It was really heavy; she couldn’t hold it. Mai always held it and let her touch. “Can I touch it?” she asked.

“No love, it’s really hot.” Mai reached in, with bare hands, and removed the egg, setting it in the crate they used to carry it around, velvet nestling it.

Lya wrinkled her nose. “How come you can touch it?”

“Because love, Mai can stand the fire, but you, my little dragon, are still little yet. Maybe one day.” Mai kissed the top of her head and stroked at her curly hair, sitting down beside her as they looked at the egg. “It’s gorgeous love. Maybe one day you will be able to ride her.”

She wanted to ride dragons like Mai, but she was too little. She always got to ride in Papa’s lap or Mai’s lap, but other than that, she couldn’t ride them on her own. She wanted to grow up. To be big and tall and ride a dragon. To carry a sword like Mai did. She sighed. “How did you get your dragons Mai?”

Mai stroked at her hair and brushed her lips over her head again. “It is a long story.”

“Tell me.”

They sat before the fire, with the egg between them, and Mai pulled her up into her lap. “I was gifted three dragon eggs when I married a khal of the Dothraki. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion. They went with me everywhere. I could hear them. They were beautiful and I thought they were long turned to stone. I never imagined they would one day hatch and become my children.”

“But how?” she demanded.

“I’m getting there,” she laughed. Mai smiled, her eyes going misty and faraway. “When my khal died…my sun and stars…I put the eggs on the fire. I went into it; I wanted to be there, and then when the fire died away, I was still standing and my children were born.”

Lya frowned. Yes, but how she wondered. She shook her head. “How Mai? You just went into fire and they came out? But my egg didn’t do that.”

“It is up to the dragon, love. Fire and blood, our house words. You need both to birth a dragon, but they are not slaves. They will not be born until they want to be born.” She kissed her forehead, murmuring against it. “And yours does not want to be born just yet. You must wait.”

Fine, she supposed. She fidgeted in her mother’s arms, turning and looking around her room. It was nice, it was really big and she liked being in New Valyria. All the dragons were here and she got to see Grey Worm. It had been really fun; most of the time she could not even play with other children or people. It was always them and she wanted to see others. She could see them from her window. This time she got to meet the twins. They were old, but were really nice.

Joanna had pretty blonde hair and liked to read and tell her stories. Jamie also had pretty blond hair and he could fire a bow and arrow and swing a sword. He showed her how to fight, but she showed him too. Papa always taught her and she loved to watch Mai and Papa ‘practice’ as they said, swinging their greatswords against each other every night.

But sometimes she wanted her room in the house with the red door. “Mai when can we go home?” She missed Tormund too.

“Soon my love.”

“When?”

“Papa and I are working on something right now. When we finish, we can go home. I promise.”

She frowned. “Like West…west…west-tros?”

Mai suddenly pulled her around in her lap, staring at her with wide eyes. “Westeros? How do you know that?”

Lya shrugged and reached to place her hands on her egg, feeling it move slightly under her touch. Or maybe she thought it did. “I heard you and Papa. You guys yell at each other and I can hear.”

“Oh.”

“How come you don’t want to go there Mai?” Westeros or whatever it was called was where the twins came from. It was where Papa grew up when he was small, he told her. In the North. There was Dragonstone, which her Mai said was where the Targaryens went before The Doom. It was where they planned their invasion and where they conquered Westeros. She wanted to visit there. She wanted to see where Mai was born.

“Because, love. I did something bad there. I can’t go back.”

“Oh. Are you sorry? I say sorry when I do something bad.”

Mai laughed and tickled at her ribs, causing her to squirm and giggle. “Oh? When do you ever do a bad thing?” She smiled and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Mai was so pretty, she thought. She wanted her hair to look like hers. All she had was dark hair and then some of it had the silver like Mai. It was weird.

She shook her head. “I don’t do bad things.”

“Yes, well…” Mai looked really sad all of a sudden. Her purple eyes shined and Lya frowned, seeing tears begin to fall down her pale cheeks. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. She tried to smile but it looked pained. I wonder if Mama hurts, she thought. “Well I did a very bad thing and I cannot take it back. Just saying sorry does not always work, my love.” Mai lightly touched her hand to her side and then let it drop to her lap.

That was where Mama had a bad ouchie, she thought. She sometimes saw her rubbing oils and salves into it. It never got better. When she fell once, she scraped her knee and cried. Papa kissed it and made it better. It went away and all she had was a little dark spot on her knee where the scab used to be. Mama’s never got better. She touched the ouchie, looking up at her mother, who was still crying. “Did you get your ouchie there?” she asked, innocent.

Mai nodded, but said nothing. She finally spoke, hiccupping and trying not to cry. “Yes. Yes that’s where I got this.”

“I’m sorry.” She frowned. “Who did it? Did they get in trouble?”

Her mother laughed, but it came out like a cough. She nodded and whispered. “Yes. The person who did it…he got in trouble. In a way. He is very sorry. I know he is.”

Well that was good. She looked back at her egg and sighed. “Where is Papa?”

“Right here.”

They both looked over at the door, where Papa entered, holding her stupid brother in his arms. He bounced Aemon, who was giggling a little at her. “Aemon wanted to play with his big sister.”

She scowled. “I don’t want to play with him. He stinks.”

“I just changed his breeches. He does not stink.”

“Yes he does. He’s stupid, I hate him.”

“Lya!” Mai exclaimed, arching an eyebrow. “What were we talking about saying sorry? That’s not a nice thing to say. He’s just a babe.”

“But I want to be the baby.” She used to be the only one. The only dragon. Now there was another and she didn’t like him. Aemon took up all their time. Papa always held him and carried him. Mai always had him on her chest. Sometimes they would even take him to their bed. She had to wait until they were asleep and then run into their room and crawl into their bed, but stupid Aemon was already there.

Mai ran her fingers through her hair, which Lya liked. She closed her eyes. It felt really good. “You are my baby, my little dragon. You are Lyanndei, the First of her Name.”

“Am I a princess?”

“If you want to be,” Papa said.

Mai nudged her towards her bed. “Come love, it is time for you to go to sleep. The sun has gone down and the moon is out.” She guided her to the bed and helped her change out of her dress and into her nightdress. She crawled into the cot and sighed as she fell back into the pillows.

“I’m not tired.”

“Yes you are,” Papa said.

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Not.” Papa arched an eyebrow and she tried to stifle a yawn. He was always right. She wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Then she turned to her mother, who had poured her a cup of water, letting her have a sip before setting it on the table beside the bed. “Tell me a story,” she demanded.

“What kind of story?” Papa asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, Mai on the other side. She liked it when they both put her to bed. If only dumb Aemon wasn’t there.

She mused for a moment then smiled. “A love story. Like in my books. Like what Tormund tells me about how he fell in love with a giant lady and even though he drank giant milk he still could not be with her because there was another guy with blond hair who was a fu…”

“Ah,” Papa interrupted, before she could say what Tormund told her last time he watched her. He chuckled, while Mai glared at him, not pleased. “Perhaps Tormund will have to stop telling you stories for a bit.”

Mai laid down beside her and propped her elbow up, her head on her hand. Her voice was soft and began to lull Lya into a comfortable, dreamlike state. She spoke in Valyrian, while Papa watched. She breathed into her ear, smiling and singing it out. “There once was a girl, with silver hair and violet eyes, and she had no home. She was a princess but a princess without a castle. Without a crown. She could not even count to twenty. But one day, one day that girl would be a queen and she would have a king who she loved very much and who loved her.”

Lya smiled, closing her eyes. She loved this story. She listened as Mai told her about the princess and about the king who was not a prince, but a boy who grew up without a father’s name. She snuggled into her pillows and was almost drifting off when the story ended. She mumbled, moving closer to Papa, who had set Aemon beside her and was smoothing his hand over her forehead. “Soon Mama and I will have to leave you and you will return home. We will have Tormund come to watch over you.”

She liked it when Tormund came to watch her, but sometimes she wanted to go where he lived. She wanted to go to the North. “I want to go to the North,” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes, trying not to fall to sleep.

Papa smiled, but it was sad. Sometimes Papa was always sad and she never understood. “One day. One day my wolf cub, you will see the North. I will show you the waterfalls where I used to play. I will take you to where I used to hunt and where I learned to shoot a bow and arrow. We’ll visit where I grew up, where your grandmother rests and where your great-uncle raised me and protected me. One day.”

She dropped her hands from her eyes and to the thin blanket over her, sighing and feeling her eyelids begin to drop again. “Now,” she whispered. “I want to go now.”

“Not yet,” Papa whispered. “I just want to protect you.”

They always said they wanted to protect her. She never got to play with other children. She could see them but she could not play with them. She just had them and Aemon and the Unsullied and Dothraki. Sometimes she could play with Dothraki children when they went to Vaes Dothrak, but not always. When she asked, that’s always what they said. No, you can’t go there we need to protect you. No, you can’t meet that person we need to protect you.

She turned to him again. Mai was a princess, she was a dragon princess. “I want to be a princess in the North,” she murmured. Maybe they could tell stories about me.”

“If you want,” Mai said. “Only if that is what you want.”

They were always so sad. She blinked again, looking up at Mai. Mai was crying. Papa looked like he was crying too. She frowned. “Why are you sad?”

They both exchanged a look. “Because,” Mai whispered. She swallowed hard. “Because we just love you so much and we have to go do something that is dangerous, but we love you and when we’re done, we can go home and we can be a family.”

Okay, Lya thought, closing her eyes and feeling sleep overtake her. That sounded really nice. She just didn’t understand why they were so sad about it.

Chapter Text

The books and histories always said that the city of Valyria had exploded into many different islands, broken away by the Doom. The Doom was punishment from the gods for their dabbling in sorcery and dark magic. The septons said it was because they married brother to sister, an abomination. Some Maesters said it was simply because there were formations underneath the former Valyrian peninsula that exploded hot lava and simply turned everything to ash.

Arya wasn’t sure what to make of this place. The stories also said that those who went to sail the Smoking Sea never returned. It was forbidden to travel to Valyria and when Aerea Targaryen flew there on Balerion, she returned almost a demon and Balerion had burns and scars on his steel hide. Yet here I stand, she thought, looking down over the city below from the tall narrow tower.

From what she gathered, magic had allowed people to return, but it also kept some away. The Smoking Sea still smoked. There were still islands that were ruin. This was the largest of those and to get to the others you needed to sail, but the vessels were different. Magic, she thought, did not exist, but that had all been a lie. The old gods, the gods she had learned about and been told to pray to had known.

Arya had ventured out of her rooms to encounter Unsullied and Dothraki, but to her shock, she’d also met two men who had wings, cloaked and pale. City of the Winged Men was real, she thought. That had to be the only explanation. There was still fog that permeated the air, blocking out the light. A massive gate blocked one end of the straight between this island and the one beside it. There was another at the other end too, from what she surmised.

She pushed away from the balcony and wandered out of the rooms, finding a courtyard where she usually ate supper. So far she hadn’t seen Jon or Daenerys since a few weeks before when she’d been captured. Rescued. Whatever. She wanted to see Jon’s children.

“Seven hells,” she muttered. Jon Snow had children! Her brother, the brother who had granted her Needle and who had gone to the Wall. Who became King of the North and Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and…and who wasn’t really her brother but her cousin. A prince. A king. She always thought Robb would have children. Sansa too, since that’s all she thought she could do was produce children for a prince or a king.

It was funny how things were reversed. Robb was dead. Sansa would never marry, let alone have children. Jon was the one with the heirs. A boy and a girl, she thought. That was nice. He had both. I want to meet them, but she would not put it past Daenerys to ensure that the children had no contact with the Stark family. “I guess that’s fair,” she muttered, picking up a piece of dead leaf, crumbling it up and into a pot with a strange flowering plant.

“Talking to yourself?”

She spun around, blinking at the sight of Jon in the archway. “No,” she lied.

He smirked, approaching her. She only knew Jon to wear the browns and grays of Stark armor. Now he wore black and red. Targaryen colors, she thought darkly. “What are you doing? Finally remembered I’m here? And where is Needle?”

“Needle is safe.”

She scowled. “Don’t trust me?”

“An assassin, no, I don’t,” Jon said.

She blinked. How did he know that she had trained with the Faceless Men? “How…”

Jon said nothing, but gestured for her to follow him. “Come on, I thought you might want to join me. I have to go to Yunkai.”

“Yunkai? On Slaver’s Bay?” Yunkai was the golden city, she thought. She didn’t know much about it, just that it was one of the three cities on the bay.

“Well it is no longer Slaver’s Bay, it is Dragon’s Bay, and yes Yunkai.” Jon led her through the corridors and to the main gate of the compound. She stopped, staring as the black and white dragon flew down and landed in front, spreading its wings and screeching. He turned around. “There is a former Yunkai master who has imprisoned three women and has tried to sell them as bedslaves in defiance of the law. He was found guilty of his crimes and must be punished. I thought you might like to see how we handle justice here.”

She frowned. Yeah but… “What about Westeros? I thought you were going to go there and help.” Conquer, she figured. The Dragon Queen could finally take what she thought was hers.

Jon shook his head. “We cannot forget that we also are here. I don’t like to go out beyond the borders, but Dany is…busy.” He did not elaborate.

Arya looked up at the dragon, uneasy. “So um…” She already knew the answer to her question, but wonderd if there was some other way. “How…how are we going to get there? To Yunkai?”

Eddarion lowered his wing and allowed Jon to climb up, where he reached for two of the spines behind the dragon’s massive head. “How do you think?” Jon grinned. “I thought you always wanted to fly on a dragon.”

Well…of course, but…the notion of it actually happening… “ She took a deep breath. I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. I slew the Night King. I killed House Frey. I can fly on a bloody dragon. She hesitated and lightly stepped on the lowered wing. “Um…how do I get up?”

“You just do.”

“What if he doesn’t want me to ride him?”

Jon laughed. He smiled and she thought he seemed to go somewhere else for a moment before he answered. “Well then Arya Stark I’ve enjoyed being your brother.”

Damn then. She gripped the ridges of the wing and made her way up onto the back of the dragon, his head turning slightly and mouth opening, revealing rows of sharp teeth. She wrapped her arms around Jon, her knees gripping around the back of the dragon. “Now what?” she asked.

Jon laughed. “Hold on.” He gripped the spines of the dragon and shouted. “Eddarion, sōves!”

The dragon roared and pushed off from the ground, flapping his wings and taking to the sky.

Any scream she may have wanted to release caught in her throat. She clenched her arms around Jon, feeling the red scarf he had around his neck loosen and whip her in the face. She blinked and turned her head away from the scarf, looking down. Her eyes widened, staring at Valyria from above. It was breathtaking; the spires and swirls of the dragonstone and the gemstones embedded in the stone. There were a couple of the dragons flying above, coasting on the breeze.

The banners flapped in the wind, dragon and wolf on the black background. Why the wolf, she wondered, turning and looking in the other direction, as the dragon beat his wings, flying higher and higher. It grew cold and she wished she had a cloak. It did not bother Jon. He was probably used to this, the wind whipping through him and the clouds swirling around.

In one moment the dragon let his wings just float, soaring like an eagle above the sea below. Gods, she breathed. It was beautiful. She looked out over Jon’s shoulder as they flew. How far was Yunkai from Valyria? It was to the east, she thought, remembering her maps. She stayed silent, not that she could talk to Jon, who was guiding the dragon where they needed to go. How could he communicate with it? He’d spoken in Valyrian to get the dragon to fly. Was that how it worked?

They flew over another city, this one sprawling with a massive gray pyramid. Meereen, she thought. They were close. They continued to fly and she wondered about the sigils on the banners flapping beneath them. The dragon made sense but the wolf? Jon was a Targaryen. He flew on a dragon, he had the connection, and he was only a Stark through his mother. What part of their rule had anything to do with the wolf? Other than Ghost, who she hadn’t yet seen.

They were conquerors, Targaryens. They used fire and blood to bend people to their will. Aegon and his sister-wives had united the kingdoms. With fire and blood, she thought. She knew the stories. They burned and they killed. The dynasty that followed died because a dragon ran off with a wolf. And it died again, she thought, when it was on the verge of returning, because the wolf killed the dragon. Or was it the dragon killing the dragon? What exactly was her brother? Rather, her cousin?

In the stories she’d wanted to ride a dragon, to be just like Visenya. Except when she saw what that meant…she felt sick, remembering the smell of burning flesh and the dust of the buildings collapsing on her. She looked down, seeing the city growing closer.

After a moment, the dragon beat its wings and reared back. She yelped, gripping Jon’s shoulders. The beast came to a stop atop the base of a large dais set against the backdrop of a yellow pyramid. She felt queasy, her knees buckling slightly as she tumbled off the dragon. She looked up at the beast, its head turned to her, teeth bared. Its silver eyes blinked, rolling towards her and then to Jon, following him with its gaze. She stumbled after her brother.

There was a massive crowd, what had to be the entire city, she thought, looking at the people gathered. Off to the side was a tent, where a young man walked out, bowing his head slightly. “King Jon,” he greeted.

“Yes,” Jon said.

King, Arya marveled. Her brother was a real King. The young man smiled. “I am Yoruz, I am the translator for the trial.”

“Thank you,” Jon said. He turned away and she stood to the side, watching him walk out onto the stone dais. He stood in the center and turned to the crowd. The dragon behind him screamed and flapped his wings out to their full span. The crowd cheered and waved.

How would they hear him, she wondered, eyes widening as her soft-spoken brother shouted. It seemed to come from somewhere within him. “We are here because a Yunkai traded in slaves!” he bellowed. The translator beside him shouted the words into a different language, one that Arya did not recognize. There were screams from the people. He pointed off to the side, where two guards dragged a man in fancy robes, who was shouting that they were going to pay.

I think you are going to pay, Arya thought, looking between all the moving parts. Jon gestured to the man. “This man has been sentenced by the Yunkai courts to death. I am here on behalf of your Queen…”

“Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!”

What were they saying? They all shouted in unison and Arya could see some crying in the front, waving their hands and screaming the word. They waved banners with the dragon on them. Jon waited a moment and then spoke again. “I must pass the sentence. You have been found guilty of kidnapping three women from their home in Lys, holding them against their will, and planning to sell them as bedslaves. They have been branded with the mark of your house. This is in plain defiance of the law. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The man spit into the stone and shouted, in Common Tongue. “I am a master! I was a master and I had many slaves! I have lost my family’s heritage because of your foreign dragon bitch!” He turned to the crowd, screaming. “No whore from Westeros will tell me what to do!”

Westeros? But she wasn’t from Westeros, she was from Essos, Arya thought. She blinked a few times. But…she was born there. Born on Dragonstone. Carried away in the night when Robert killed her brother and Jamie killed the king. To live in Essos and want to go to home. Westeros. Who saw her as an invader from Essos. She blinked, wondering what that must be like. She’d only ever wanted to go home to Winterfell and then to see the world…but she had a home to go to. The Dragon Queen never did.

Jon spoke again, his voice even, not acknowledging the master’s words. “You have broken the law. Slavery is illegal in the United Cities of Essos. I sentence you to death on behalf of Queen of the United Cities of Essos, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, the Undead, the Unburnt, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons.”

Not rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms or the Andals or the First Men or the Protector of the Realm. Arya watched, wondering if Jon would behead him in front of all these people. She knew her brother had done it. Father had been clear on that regard. The one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. She just had never seen him do it. Longclaw was on his hip, but he did not draw it as the man was brought forth, struggling against his ropes.

The guards placed the man in the center of the stone dais. Jon walked away and climbed up to stand beneath the dragon. Eddarion, that was his name, after father, Arya thought. She stared, realizing too late what would happen, and could not tear her gaze away.

Jon spoke, just loud enough for her and the dragon to hear him. “Dracarys.”

The man screamed as the fire hit him. The dragon stood back, the orange fire roaring in her ears. She could feel the heat emanating and turned away. Then it was over and all that was left was a pile on fire on the stone.

The crowd screamed again. Yelling that word. Mhysa, Mhysa!

She stared as her brother walked over to her, saying nothing. She swallowed hard. “What’s that word,” she wondered.

Jon glanced at her. “It means mother,” he whispered. He looked out at the crowd of people, smiling slightly. “She is the Queen they chose.”

She looked out at the crowd again. The queen they chose. The queen we rejected, she thought. The queen the North did not want. She turned away and followed Jon back to the dragon, climbing up, still numb at what she’d just witnessed.

They flew back and a couple hours later they landed in New Valyria. She said nothing to her brother and walked off, finding herself in a hallway and in front of the man called Grey Worm. She stared at him a moment and he just looked at her, unblinking. “You were a slave,” she blurted. He bowed his head, but did not speak. She nodded. “You were sold to the queen. She freed you. She killed the masters and freed you and your brothers. You still serve her. Freely.”

Grey Worm spoke. “She wanted to free the world and you people killed her.” He turned away and kept walking down the hall.

Arya didn’t look back. She was overwhelmed. She hurried away, trying to find her way back to her chambers. She just needed to sit and think. She wanted to be sick. She believed her sister. Sansa was distrustful. She was distrustful. It had been Sansa’s plan with Littlefinger. She killed him. Her sister was no longer the doe-eyed girl who wanted to sew and have babies. Sansa was the smartest person she had met and when she didn’t trust the new queen, Arya thought there was a reason. She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t a Northerner or even from Westeros. She was foreign, she thought, wanting to convince Jon that he was being blinded by this woman, as they stood in the godswood. She wouldn’t want the North free.

And he loved her, she thought. Jon loved this woman. Targaryen. He was also a Targaryen. I don’t understand it at all. Arya ended up in a corridor, two Unsullied and two Dothraki guarding the entrance. She cleared her throat. “I want to see the Queen,” she announced.

The Dothraki exchanged a look. “Wait,” one grunted. He turned and the other stepped into his place. After a moment, the other returned and said something in their language. They both moved, allowing her to pass.

I guess it’s because I have no weapons, she figured, hurrying by them. She didn’t want them to change their minds. She entered the chambers, filled with beautiful flowers and plants, filmy curtains in the open archways. The room had a tall ceiling, with open windows at the top. It looked like you could see the stars at night, she thought, approaching the queen.

The diminutive woman was seated behind a great table, with books and papers scattered about. There were stacks of each around her. It looked like the room of a Maester, not a queen. Arya looked down at a book that looked as though it were written in blood. She felt sick.

“Books from the libraries of Ass’hai beyond the shadow,” the queen said, not looking up from what she was writing. She waved a hand. “Or from the old libraries of Valyria. From K’Dath, even.”

Cities beyond the wastelands, on the edge of civilization. Arya blinked, looking over at her. “Do you also dabble in magic along with dragons?” she asked.

“Dragons are magic. You can take off faces of those you kill and put them on at will.” The queen finally looked up, her voice cool. “My blood is that of old Valyria, yes I tend to explore the less…conventional methods. You have not seen what I have seen.”

“What like the Shadowlands?”

“And the Grey Waste,” she said.

Arya stepped towards her. “That’s fascinating, but I’m not here to talk about your travels.”

“Or yours, I gather.”

“No.” She wished she had Needle. Or a dagger or something. She eyed the ruby sword on one side of the queen’s body and the dagger on the other. “You have guards that would die for you, so why carry the weapons?”

The queen rolled her eyes up, her voice cold. “I sleep in a bed with a man who put a knife in my heart. I do not plan for that to ever happen again.” She leaned back in her chair. “What can I help you with Arya Stark?”

“Jon killed someone today.”

“A slaver. He deserved to die.”

“He did it by dragonfire.”

“Of course he did.”

Arya stared, waiting a moment. She swallowed hard. “I did not truly realize he was a Targaryen until today. That it was in his blood.”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes.”

“I just…I was not prepared is all.” She swallowed and looked down at the papers on the desk, blinking when she saw the addressee on the one the queen had been writing. “Gendry?” she blurted.

“The Lord of Storm’s End? Yes.” The queen smirked. “He was a bastard and I made him a Lord. He does not forget.” She rolled up the parchment and smashed down a wax seal. She flicked it towards her, smiling. “Would you like to do the honors? Might be slower than a raven, but it will get there I think.”

Arya stared at her. “When is all of Westeros going to know you’re alive? When you’ve sent them pieces of paper or when you fly over and burn them all to the ground?”

Daenerys smiled and set down the parchment. “Well, most do know I’m alive. Many still don’t. Your king is good at letting people know things when he wants them to. Or rather, the Hand of the King.” She shrugged. “In time.” The queen stood and walked around the table and over to a series of pillows where there was a basket nestled.

To her surprise, Arya watched as the queen lifted out a small child, the little boy, who was wrapped in a light blanket. She stared. What was he to her? Nephew? Cousin? “Oh,” she whispered, seeing the baby turn his face to her. Dark hair capped a perfectly round head and she could see the eyes were as gray as hers.

“You see.” The queen cradled the babe to her chest and fixated her purple eyes on Arya. “You see then why I do not want to go to Westeros immediately. To the place that rejected me. To where I lost everything. I thought it was my home. I was wrong.” She smiled sadly. “Is that how you felt when you returned to King’s Landing after you fled? Or when you went to Winterfell again?”

Arya broke her gaze from the babe and turned to the queen. “I’m not afraid,” she said. “I’ve been all over the world. I’ve killed. I’m a survivor.”

“You’re also a Stark. You need love as much as anyone else.” The queen cradled the babe and stepped a little closer to her. Still wary. “Your sister lives without love. She has seen what it does to people. She does not trust it. Jon did not believe he was allowed to have love, as a bastard.” She picked up the scroll and handed it to Arya, waiting for her to take it. “You don’t need to be a lady to be with someone you love.”

Gingerly, Arya took the scroll. She stared down at it, the seal with the dragon and the wolf. She swallowed. Gendry. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about him for a very long time. She was sure he doing well. She looked up at the queen, who was still watching her. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, trying to hide her fear.

“Take it to Lord Baratheon. I’ll know if you don’t, so don’t try to throw it over the ship’s edge.” The queen nodded towards the door. “There is a ship waiting for you, to take you to Storm’s End.”

“How am I supposed to know when you take Westeros then?” How can I warn people if you’re going to kill us all again, she wanted to say.

“You’ll know,” the queen said. She arched an eyebrow and smirked. “You’ll know because it will not be me taking it, but your brother.”

Arya stared in surprise. “Jon?”

“Yes, Jon.” The queen smiled again, this time it met her eyes, which sparkled with something Arya recognized as pride. “I have no need for Westeros. I have quite enough with Essos. I’m doing this because the people do not deserve what has happened to them. However, it is Jon who will take lead. Jon is the one from the North, which suffers under your sister’s rule. Jon is the one who listened to Tyrion Lannister and put me down like a diseased animal. Jon is the one who realized his mistake. Jon is the one who was punished and exiled, the last true Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne.” She lifted her chin, her voice as hard as dragonglass. “And Jon is the one who will unite Westeros.”

Arya blinked. Well then, she thought, looking at the scroll. She swallowed hard. “What will you do to my brother?” she whispered. To Bran.

“If he surrenders then no harm will come to him.”

“Surrender? Like the people of King’s Landing who rang the bells?” Arya snapped. She saw the pain flash in the woman’s eyes and saw her grip tighten on the babe in her arms. She didn’t care if it hurt her. It was meant to hurt her. “They surrendered and you murdered them.”

Daenerys’s eyes were wide and shining. Her voice cracked. “And I can never take that back and I pay for it every day.”

“Oh you do?” To her surprise, the woman moved the baby to her other arm and pulled at the strap of her filmy dress, exposing her breast to Arya. Arya blinked, stunned by the flash of the other woman’s body, until she saw what she was staring at. It wasn’t the breast, but the gaping wound beneath it. The skin was still red. It looked as though blood were about to pour from it.

Arya’s mouth fell and she looked up to the other woman, who pulled the strap back up to her shoulder. “I pay for it,” the woman said. She smirked. “You think I don’t think of that every day of my life? I do. I have children with the man who murdered me. I don’t sleep and I rarely eat. I died and came back to life, Arya Stark, and I have tried to do what I can to make up for what I did.” She cocked her head. “Did you do anything to children of the Frey family?’

Freys? She frowned. “What?”

“The Freys. You murdered Walder Frey, the one who planned your mother and brother’s deaths. Did you do anything to take care of the wives and the children of his sons? The ones who may not have had anything to do with it, but who you murdered anyway?” The queen shook her head. “Do not stand above me Arya Stark and pretend you are better than me. Every one of us has killed. Every one of us has done things that are horrific and we deserve to pay for them.”

The Freys murdered my family. She shoved the scroll into her vest, not wanting to be here any longer. She looked at the baby again, smiling slightly. “He looks like Jon,” she whispered.

The queen turned, looking down at the babe. She smiled. “Yes. He is very much like Jon.”

“You know he never wanted children. Never wanted them to be a bastard.” Now here he was, with bastards, she supposed.

The queen walked over and smiled again. “We were married before the old gods,” she whispered. Arya’s eyebrows lifted. She nodded. “Before we were married, he confessed his fear over a bastard, despite the fact that in Essos it means nothing if your father and mother said some words before a septon or a tree or however you practiced your religion. I suggested it and we were married before the old gods.”

How did Bran not see it? She glanced around at the books. Magic, she guessed. “Why are you tellng me all this?” she asked.

Daenerys smiled again. “So you can understand what your brother has given up and what he has gained, and know that you can be happy too.” She nodded to the door. “Safe travels, Arya Stark.”

With this queen she was always on her toes, she thought, numbly turning and leaving the room. She returned to her chambers and looked at the scroll, her thumb running over the seal. Gendry, she thought with a smile. It’s been some time. She tapped the scroll on the palm of her hand. It hurt her, knowing that she would be helping aid in removing her sister and brother but…she sighed hard, looking up at the ceiling of the tower. It was painted with dragons and precious stones were inset to detail the eyes and colors of the beasts.

But Jon had done something she never thought was possible. Now he could come and help Westeros. She swore to him she would never harm his children or him. She would never break that promise. She may have miscalculated and not believed Jon the first time, but she wouldn’t do it now.

She turned and went to stretch out on the bed, but did not sleep, wondering about the journey ahead to Storm’s End.

Chapter Text

There was something to be said about being a prisoner in Valyria compared to being a prisoner in King’s Landing, Tyrion thought, finishing off his fourth glass of Arbor Gold. He set it down with a large clink, the Myrish glass withstanding the force by which he hit it against the stone table.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling of his chambers. Seven hells he could hardly remember how long he’d been there, confined to this room. Wing, he supposed, darting his gaze from one end of the ceiling to the other. It was a large section of the tower, with no veranda to step onto but large open archways to gaze out onto the rest of the city.

Sometimes it was sunny, which seemed rather fake and he wondered if it was an illusion cast by a sorcerer. To his shock, he’d seen a man fly by another tower, as if he had a dragon attached to his back. Winged Men were fiction, but clearly not here. In one of his dazes, he’d thought he’d drunk too much, watching a series of cloaked men walking down the street below, their faces white and eyes a pale red, as though all the blood had been washed from them. City of the Bloodless Men was a place he thought no one survived, but maybe here.

He had a collection of books left to him, with a piece of parchment that simply read To occupy your time. They were old, histories of Essos. He’d tried to read about the shadowbinders of Ass’hai but it was too dense even for him. Had she read all these? Incredible.

It had been weeks. He wanted to know how his niece and nephew were, but he hadn’t had any visitors save for a woman from Myr who came to change linens, bring him food, and an Unsullied to watch over her when she did. He had been unable to get any sort of message out, just sat and drank wines from Dorne—how did she get those here?—and from other regions of Essos he didn’t even know produced wine, like Pentos.

At some point he would need to act. He could not sit here without treating with the damn Queen. He’d sat long enough. He pushed back from the chair and walked over to the door, banging his fists on it. “Hello!?” he yelled. “Anyone there? I demand to speak to your queen!”

To his surprise, he stumbled backwards as the door opened, the Myrish woman stepping in carrying a tray of food. “No,” she said. It was one of the only words she said to him, when he asked her for more wine, more food, more books, or time with the queen or his niece and nephew.

He knit his brows together, scowling. “I want to speak to the Queen.”

The woman set the tray down, the Unsullied standing by the door with his spear. She turned and looked down at him. Her dark hair was piled on her head, secured by a jade clip. She wore a simple shift, with bracelets on her wrists and jade in her sandals. She frowned at him. “You killed our Queen,” she said, an accent tingeing on her words.

He arched his brow. “You speak the Common Tongue?”

“Yes, I used to be a slave in the home of a former Westerosi who came to Essos to become rich. Many years ago.” She pushed up the sleeve of her shift, revealing a horrible red burn, an insignia he imagined belonged to the former master.

His eyes darted away from the brand. “It is very good.”

“Look at the brand. I will always have it, but I know I am free. She did that. She freed me.”

“I do not have to answer to you,” he said.

The woman smirked and glanced at the Unsullied, speaking something to him in High Valyrian. He replied back and she glanced to Tyrion again, still smiling. “I tell him you are a little fool. I bring your food, I change your bed, and you answer to me because I answer to the Queen.” She looked around the room again. “And I can take your books and your pen and your paper.” She nodded to the empty bottles. “I can take your wine.”

Well damn. Tyrion forced a polite smile. “Of course.”

“My name is Carlys.” She smirked again. “Since you did not bother to ask. You sit here and demand to see the queen you killed.”

“She was different then,” he murmured. He did not answer to her, but he felt guilt roil in his stomach. He looked up at her, meeting the woman’s clear gaze. “I did not want to follow her. She killed thousands. She was a tyrant. She was just like her father, but worse.”

“Our queen passes the sentence when she wants to kill someone. She does not trick someone else into doing it for her.” Tyrion blinked. The woman smiled again. “We know what you did to her. What you made the King do to her.” She touched the brand on her skin. “You Westerosi will never know what we went through when she saved us.”

Tyrion ducked his head and waited for her to walk out. He ignored the tray of food and walked to the archway, staring out at the dragons. He’d always wanted to ride a dragon. Now he feared the death at the hand of one. From what he’d counted, there were at least six in Valyria. He did not see the one that had landed on the pyramid in Volantis. The largest, Drogon…they should have shot him out of the sky if they’d known what he was planning to do with her. “Dragons are intelligent,” he whispered. They never realized how. He knew to take her to the red priestesses. That was beyond intelligent, it was downright sentient. He let out a hard sigh, speaking to himself. “What does she plan to do to me? She killed Varys for being a traitor. I did not just betray her I planned her murder.”

And I used the one she loved to do it. Jon Snow was the only one who could get close enough. The only one who was a real threat to her. His family as his weak spot, he would protect them at all costs…even kill another family member to protect them. He was too good for his own good. Ned Stark’s son through and through, not a drop of the dragon within him. They said Rhaegar was like that though. Honorable and good. Didn’t like killing. Neither did Jon. Tyrion had never wanted to die; he was a survivor. Survived his father’s wrath, his sister’s machinations…he was the Imp of Casterly Rock, ironically the only surviving Lannister in a family that prided itself on its ability to survive.

The twins weren’t like his family. They were Brienne. Jamie might resemble his father in looks, but not in his spirit. Where is the lion in them, he always wondered. Tywin would have legitimized them in an instant if he thought he could twist them into something useful. To continue the Lannister line through his perfect son rather than the dwarf monster who killed his wife, Tyrion thought darkly. He balled his fists at his side. He had managed to forgive Cersei, even mourning her death. He’d tried to ensure everything possible to keep the Dragon Queen from killing his siblings. From killing him.

At least I got out of it.

She may not have wanted to extend any goodwill towards the Tarlys or to Varys or to listen to the surrender of the city. She did forgive the man who put a knife in her chest.

“How did she do that,” Tyrion wondered. If she could do that, maybe she could forgive him. He did not wield the sword. He sighed. He’d wanted her dead when he found out about the loan. If they could rid the world of her then maybe Westeros could come out of it. Make deals with the cities along the coast and climb out of their debt. He’d had some contacts, he’d tried to figure out a way to do it but…

Coming to Valyria had been an attempt to get as close as possible. He supposed she did warn him. I should have burned you where you stood, she wrote. I will take back what is mine. What has been lost thrice over. When would she go after Westeros? Anytime now, he imagined. She had the support of at least two kingdoms for sure. The Reach was doing something underhanded otherwise Bronn would have been killed by then, but he was still standing.

And she had the wolf.

In a way, that’s all she needed. Jon Snow was the male heir to the Targaryen throne. Ned Stark’s son in blood if not in name. With him at her side, there was nothing she could not do.

He turned away from the window and strode to the door, banging on it. “Let me out! I want to speak with the queen!” The door creaked a bit under his fist and he frowned. He reached for the doorknob and turned it, almost falling over in shock as it pulled open. Good gods, he thought, looking down the hall. There was no guard. He looked the other way. No guard. What in the world?

Well…alright then. He stepped out and turned right, making his way carefully down the corridor. It seemed like he was being forced in certain directions, coming to closed off halls and doors. He eventually found himself at the base of a staircase, emerging into a small courtyard. He moved into the garden slowly, peering around a tree with long wispy fronds.

There she was.

Standing in the middle of the garden, her hands buried in a ceramic pot of dirt, flowers sprouting from it, was the conqueror herself. She did not look like someone who had gotten at least 10 separate independent cities of Essos to bend to her will. Had not annihilated an entire city. She looked like a smallfolk woman, tending to her garden. Except this smallfolk woman wore a dark gray gown of what was probably Myrish silk, a red sash wrapped around her waist and slung up over her right shoulder, pinned in place with a dragon and a wolf.

He cleared his throat, stepping towards her. “Do the Starks know you have stolen their sigil?”

Daenerys removed her hands from the pot and reached for a piece of linen, cleaning her hands. “I am a dragon, but my rule is by both a dragon and a wolf.” She arched an eyebrow. “And as it is an equal rule, I wear a wolf as well as a dragon.”

“You look different than the last time I saw you,” he said. She said nothing.

Instead, she stepped away from flowers, coming to stand before him. “I was wondering how long you planned to stay locked in your room.”

“Did you just leave it unlocked now or was there always a guard?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. He followed her over to a small stone table, taking a seat across from her.

The dragon smiled, somewhat proud of herself. “You fear me, you assume I placed a guard because you assumed you were a prisoner. You are, in a way, but you were free to leave.”

“I wanted to have you killed.” There was no beating around it. Of course she knew. That was why he was there.

“Yes you did. You’re still here though.” She cocked her head, her voice cool. “I did not burn you where you stood, when you threw your pin at me.” She mused. “Maybe I should have.”

He lifted his chin. “You killed Varys.”

“Yes, but I warned Varys.” She tapped her fingers on the table and he caught sight of a wolf ring on her hand. “When he joined me, I asked how I could trust him, a man who made his way by betraying those he served. I told him if he ever betrayed me, I would kill him. He did. He tried to have me poisoned.” She smiled softly. “If I recall, you were the one who told him about Jon Snow. He took action on it, he decided to betray me, and I found out. So you are also to blame for his death.” She tapped her fingers again and the smile broadened. “You know Lord Tyrion, it is quite funny. Everyone around you dies. Your father, your nephew, Prince Oberyn. Your sister, your brother, Lord Varys…” Her violet gaze met his. He refused to blink. Neither did she. “And me.”

Tyrion said nothing. She was right. “Varys did what spiders do,” he said.

“Yes, they bite.”

“And you did what dragons do.”

“I did.” She smiled again. “What hurt you most in your life Lord Tyrion? Your father’s rejection? Your sister’s hatred?”

Where was she going with these questions? “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You claimed once that all you had was your mind.” She tapped her finger to her temple. “And I admit, I did admire that about you. It was why I wanted you to be my Hand of the Queen.” The dragon’s eyes flashed, the fire appearing. “And all you did was fail me. Despite that, I was not going to kill you. I was going to let you sit in the cell and think. You did tell me that once. With the Tarlys. I gave them a choice and they rejected it. I was gong to see if sitting in a cell would change your mind. Let you see reason.”

“I could never find reason in murdering innocents.”

“And I could never find reason in bells meaning surrender, when all you ever did was make bad decisions, give bad advice, and allow your sister to undermine you at every opportunity,” Daenerys spit back. She stood from her seat and glared at him. Now he could see the conqueror, he thought, trying his best not to move away. Frost touched on her words, ironically, in this warm climate. “You sowed the seeds of doubt in Jon Snow’s mind. You used his family and his honor and his love against him. His ungrateful family, who betrayed him and then had the gall to be angry when my supporters wanted him to pay for his crime.”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes.” Sansa told him about Jon and he told Varys. It took on a life of its own. It contributed to her turn to madness.

“Jon Snow only survived because he had two sisters, a brother and their uncle and cousin on your farce of a council.” Daenerys’s voice softened, the change in tone startling him. She drew her shoulders back, her words finite, decisive. “I want to know, before I bring you back to Westeros and before I say my final goodbyes to you…” Her eyes narrowed. She seemed unsure. Almost scared. “Were you betraying me the entire time or were you just so incompetent at your job?

Well that was a good question, one he wasn’t even sure he knew the answer to. He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. He chuckled. “I don’t know, because I honestly trusted my sister. I thought she had something to live for and now I look back and wonder if it was all a lie. I wonder if I was just bad, because I cannot even guide the new king.”

“If I had listened to myself. If I done what I wanted to do, I would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said.

“Maybe you would be.”

Daenerys smiled, her eyes crinkling. This smile was not hard or mean as the others had been. It was real. He blinked, wondering what this was supposed to mean. She shook her head, the silver hair that had once always been in intricate hairstyles now loose and short to her shoulders, a simple small braid pulling back some of it from her forehead. “Maybe I’d be queen or maybe I’d be dead, but you know what Lord Tyrion? I am actually happy. Maybe I had to die in order to be truly happy. Maybe you do too.”

Happy, he thought with a snort. What was that? He looked up at her. There was a slight change to how she stood, how she looked. He frowned slightly. “Do you and Jon Snow have children?”

The happy smile disappeared, eyes widening, replaced with that distant, cold look he’d last seen as she stood atop the ruined keep, speaking to her troops. “You do not get to ask me that question,” she breathed. Her jaw tightened. “When you had Jon Snow put a knife inside of me, he also put a knife into the heart of our child.”

His eyes widened. Oh gods. “I…I had no idea,” he stammered.

“Why would you? Why would you dare to think about something other than yourself or your brother or your bitch sister?” The emotion that she had tempered throughout most of their conversation was filling her words. She swelled up, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I have seen so much death. All I wanted was a family, I was chased from my home days after my birth. Raised on the streets. Abused by my brother. Begging for food. Sold and raped and running from Baratheon men who only wanted to see me dead. Just when I thought I could be happy, with Khal Drogo and our son, I lost him. I birthed a dead child and when I gave birth to my dragons I thought that was all I would ever have. Then I lost two of my sons.” She drew back again and hissed. “And when I finally could have another…finally have what I’d always wanted…was born to be…a queen and a mother…you convinced the man I love to murder me and our daughter.”

Tyrion closed his eyes. He had no idea. “I thought you couldn’t have children,” he replied, weakly. It was a sorry excuse.

“Neither could I, but I also thought I could never have the Seven Kingdoms and I did. I had them for a glorious moment. You told Jon Snow that I would never share my throne with him. That he was a threat…I wanted to rule with him. He was a dragon too and I would have had him at my side from the moment I began.” She squinted. “I have sense more pain than you can imagine. I survived because I only trust in myself. The Lord of Light may have brought me back, or maybe it was just sorcery, or maybe it was the blood of Old Valyria that courses through my body. That courses through Jon’s body. Maybe in the end, I should have just trusted in myself and not believe a word you told me.”

This is how it ends, he thought. In a pretty garden in Old Valyria. Far away from Casterly Rock and King’s Landing and anywhere in Westeros. He sighed. “I only ask you one thing.”

“Do you believe you are in any position to ask for anything?”

“No, but please, have mercy on my niece and nephew.” She hadn’t said a word about them. He owed it to his brother. He wanted to protect them, thought bringing them here would protect him as well.

Daenerys sneered. “You think I would kill family to get back at my enemies?” Venom laced her words. “I’m not a Lannister.”

He close dhis eyes again. “Please just…let them go.”

“They are on their way back to Westeros. I find them extraordinary. They are smart and kind and good children.” She smiled. “Nothing like you or the rest of your kin. Your father ordered the sack of King’s Landing, allowed his men to rape and pillage and murder the people there. They murdered Elia Martell and her children. Killed my niece and nephew in their beds. You call me a monster? Maybe I am, but you shouldn’t pretend that you are as good. All of you seem to have that flaw.”

All of us? He wondered of whom she also spoke. Probably the Starks. If she had hatred for anyone else in Westeros it was them. He knew he could say nothing to convince her of anything anymore. He looked up again. “When do we return to Westeros?” At least I’ll die on my home soil.

“Soon. I’m waiting for a few things.”

“Why did you forgive the debt?” he asked. He shrugged. “Were you always planning on coming after us? Did I arrive before you wanted to conquer our shores again?”

Daenerys shrugged. “I forgave the debt because it is not fair to the people of Westeros to pay for what I did to them. I was not planning on anything in Westeros at the moment. Then you just happened to fall into my lap. You found out about Jon and well, I have no choice now.”

“You always have a choice.”

“No, I do not. The people there are dying and they need help. I am in a position to do so. I will help them, not for me. It costs me nothing to help them. Although I have no desire, but…” she pursed her lips, her eyebrow arching. “I suppose I have been convinced.”

So Jon Snow was the one behind this. He said nothing and nodded. “Goodbye Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Queen,” she corrected.

He nodded again. “Queen Daenerys.”

She called for a guard and two Dothraki and two Unsullied marched him out of the garden and up to the staircase. As they rounded at the top, he heard a sound, pausing to look over the ledge. To his shock, he saw a little girl running out of an apse, shouting for the queen. Well, well, well, he thought, smiling at the dark hair streaked in silver.

“Lya!” the queen shouted. She grabbed the girl and spun her around, hurrying her away. “You are not to be here! How did you get out of your rooms? Come on, we have to go.” She looked over her shoulder, panic stricken.

Motherhood. Seemed she had met it. The Dothraki grabbed him by the back of his tunic, all but dragging him away. He said nothing and went willingly into his chambers. This time the door slammed shut and he heard the lock click. Now I really am a prisoner, he thought. He felt his stomach turn, not even wanting a drink. He had wanted her to die. He had always wanted his sister to die for what she had put him through, but for all her faults he did know she loved her children. She would do anything for them. That was why he believed she would help them with the Army of the Dead. Why she would surrender when they confronted her after the Iron Fleet took Rhaegal out of the sky. Instead, she beheaded an woman whose only crime was being close to the Dragon Queen.

For all of that, he thought she would be different. Maybe it was folly again, but…if the Dragon Queen had a child now…he could not imagine killing her and turning that child motherless. He walked over and grabbed a bottle of wine, uncorking it and drinking from it straight. He wanted to be sick. It would only perpetuate, wouldn’t it? He murdered her, her daughter would grow up hating him, would take the dragons and burn what she could in retaliation…so it went. Over and over again.

A wheel.

Break the wheel, he thought, closing his eyes. Maybe she had done that now. They had tried in Westeros and it was failing. It was still the same. If I’m going to die, he thought, continuing to chug down the wine until he started to feel the wonderful fuzziness of being drunk. Might as well die doing something good.

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” Jon cursed, falling back into the pillows of the bed, his heart racing and eyes falling shut as he tried to catch his breath, feeling spent. His lips were dry and he licked them, but he was still too busy trying to come back down into his body. He glanced sideways at Dany, who also had her eyes shut, her breath coming in rapid gasps. Every time seemed like it might be the last he thought, pulling at the sheet that had pooled around them, tugging it up over his damp chest.

Beside him, Dany also pulled at the sheet, but for another reason, trying to hide the scar over her heart as she often did. He leaned back over and brushed his lips at the pulse point in her neck. “Give me a minute,” she murmured, opening one eye and teasing. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Well me either, he thought, smiling into her skin. She brushed her fingers over the damp curls at the base of his neck. “When we first made love I imagined us in a place like this. A tower where no one could find us, where we could just be with each other under the stars.”

The boat, he thought darkly. Where they were just Jon and Dany, laughing and loving, giggling about what the others might be saying, like lovestruck adolescents. “I imagined making love to you under the stars too,” he said. He smiled. “Putting winter roses in your hair…being together beneath a hearttree where only the gods could watch over us.”

“That would have been nice,” she murmured. She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “Jon…I have something to tell you.”

Not right now, he thought. He kissed her again, lightly placing kisses down the taut muscle that pulled in her neck as he made his way down across her collarbone and her sternum, moving slowly until he reached the beginning of the knife wound.

His tongue darted out and traced along the edge. “Jon,” she mumbled, arching against him. “What are you doing?”

His fingers followed where his tongue had been. He leaned back slightly and propped his head on his hand, using his free hand to smooth over her chest, feeling the heart thud beneath it, reassuring himself that it was real. His finger moved again, tracing the scar. It was always so cold, just like his. Even though it seemed as if the blood would start pouring from it again. He rested his head beneath the scar, his hand smoothing down over her stomach, resting on her lower abdomen.

Gods. Why was he thinking about this now? The feelings surged within him. The pain. Regret. Fear.

He closed his eyes tight, hot tears threatening to fall. “Dany,” he breathed into her skin. The tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes and he let out a hoarse cry. “It’s all coming back and I can’t lose you again.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair, but continued to stare at the ceiling of their bedroom. Stained glass filled their windows, shining colorful dragons frozen in the panes. On the rare times the sun peeked out from beyond the clouds, it flooded their bed with a rainbow of colors. The dome above their bed had clear glass, so they could make love beneath the stars every night.

As opulent and decadent as their bedroom was here, he missed their little room in the house on their island, with their large fluffy mattress and stone walls. He kissed beneath the scar, pressing his forehead deeper into her abdomen. “It’s him,” he murmured. “It’s Tyrion being here. I just…I keep thinking about it again. Over and over. It doesn’t go away. I can’t have this come back and I can’t lose you again.”

He felt her hand smooth beneath his chin, lifting him up. Her thumb flicked over his cheeks, removing the tears. “I know…I just wish it wasn’t you,” she whispered. She pulled him back up, allowing him to rise above her and she lifted her face, her eyes closing and her hands cupping his cheeks. A shaky breath escaped her lips. “I know it means nothing now…we have moved beyond and worked on this and…but…to this day I just wish it wasn’t you.” I wish I didn’t do it, he thought, closing his eyes tight. Her voice cracked. “I don’t understand why it had to be you.”

Believe me. Me either. “I don’t know either,” he whispered, the last word a sob. Gods I don’t know why I did it. They had been over this so many times over the years. After he’d found her in Vaes Dothrak. After he’d followed her from the Dothraki Sea and to the edge of the world, standing on the outside of the shadows as she ventured forth to find herself. She returned with dragon eggs and then he started to follow her around as she worked on uniting the cities, returning to the North a handful of times. He’d done all he could to prove his loyalty to her again. To regain her trust. He knew she still was scared, which was why the dagger was always with her.

One day I pray that we can just be Dany and Jon again, but I don’t know if that will ever happen. No matter what they did, it was still there, that darkness between them. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered. “I can’t lose our children.”

She nodded, her breath hitching in her throat as he pulled her against him, her body molding against his, both made for each other. “We both had two chances at life,” she said. She smiled against his lips. “We are living them now.” She pulled back slightly, her eyes on his.

The love is in the eyes, she had told him. “I wanted to die,” he breathed.

“I know.” They had been through this. He wanted to just move beyond, but Tyrion’s appearance just brought everything back. The fear that she would realize what she was doing. Leave him. Take his children. Burn him. She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting her leg to hook over his hip. She moved her arms to his shoulders, gripping tight.

He buried his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her. “I love you,” he mumbled to her neck.

“I love you too.”

They stayed that way for some time, until he moved away and lay on his side, his arm over her upper chest, keeping her close. He felt exhaustion start to creep into him, wanting to drift off into a dreamless sleep. They both wouldn’t though; sleep did not come easy to them. A consequence of rising from the dead, he thought. He kissed her shoulder. “I know you’re scared.”

Westeros was looming. They would move soon. Take back what was hers. “I want to take what is mine,” she breathed. “Not because it is my home. I always thought it was. It isn’t. I want it because it was stolen from me. I want to show I’m not a monster, but…but I also do not care what they think. I am at war between wanting revenge on the people who took my children, my best friend, and the only man who was kind to me in the beginning…and helping people.” She turned her head, eyeing him. Tears shined in her eyes. “Does that make me a monster?” She bit her lip. “Because I am one Jon. I murdered children. I turned into someone else…I…I can’t take it back but I do not want to be a monster again.”

He shook his head instantly. “No. No, you’re not a monster.”

“I hate them,” she cracked out. She swallowed hard. “I know she is your sister but I hate Sansa Stark. I don’t like that I feel like this. I don’t like feeling the hate. I did not want to go there and have the people fear me. I did not want to be the queen of ashes. I came from nothing and I built my armies and I did good and I held off because I wanted my dragons to grow strong and I wanted to learn how to rule. I was ready…I was ready to conquer and then…” she trailed off. Her eyes shut. “The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell…she told me that I needed to be a dragon. That the only thing the people would understand would be fear.”

Maybe they would have, he thought. Maybe if she hadn’t listened to him and come north first… Westeros was his home in a way that Essos was her home. Essos needed a liberator and…and he had to admit that…well he understood now why she thought at the time Westeros needed a conqueror. “The North did not understand what you gave up for them,” he whispered. My stupid sister, he mentally corrected, cursing Sansa again for what role she had in their history.

She shook her head. “No, no they didn’t.”

They were quiet for a while, occasionally the sound of a dragon screeching or a candle hissing and cracking breaking the silence. He closed his eyes again, his nose in the crook of her neck. She moved her head a little closer to him, whispering. “What are we going to do with them?”

He didn’t need to ask about whom she spoke. The answer was obvious, but he knew she was scared of what she would become. She continued, not waiting for his answer. “I want him dead. I want to burn him. I just…part of me still wonders if he meant well when I met him in Meereen.” She folded her hands over her abdomen. “But I know that he is a threat to me. To you. To our children. I just want him to watch when Westeros falls again.”

He quirked his lip up. “Something tells me he will not see the point. He has been given more chances than anyone. He has managed to survive this long at the expense of others.” At the expense of us. He closed his eyes again. “Tyrion may have stoked the concept but…Dany I was the one who did it. I chose to do it.”

“I know.”

A long time ago she asked him why he did it. They were in Pentos. She had just taken the city. He’d watched as she smoothly took control from the magisters and the tradesmen. The magister who gave her the dragon eggs, Illerio Mopatis, he presented her with the ring that came from her mother’s crown. She had not shown emotion when she took it from him.

They’d gone back to the great house where they were staying; he’d found her in her room, holding the ring and sobbing. She cried for the mother she never knew. He admitted that he had always wanted to know his mother, admitting as a child he had cried as well, wishing she were somewhere to take him away from Winterfell, to love him in a way that he never felt from Ned Stark and certainly not from the cold gaze and words of Catelyn Stark.

Maybe it was her state, the conflicting emotions of receiving the treasured gift and wanting adding another city to her rule, but she’d asked why he’d done it. The dagger in her hand. Why, he wondered. He told her he thought she would kill his family. Then she wanted to rule with him. And then she said they didn’t get to choose. He feared she’d become what she did not want to be, what she had already been…so he did it. The moment he saw the blood trickling from her nose, and saw the heartbreak on her face, and he saw the scared girl beneath the cold dragon…he wanted to die as well.

And after he admitted that and she learned the truth, he would swear that she had opened up more to him. He placed the ring on her finger, telling her he would follow her to the death. The true death, he called it. She could kill him herself. She said she would. She never forgot to remind him of that. It had thawed something between them. Not long after she would come to find him and they would take another step towards their reconciliation.

Bringing himself back to the present, his fingers reached for the scar, but she grabbed his hand, pulling it away and returning it to her abdomen. “We’ll do it in Westeros,” he said. He did not think it would matter to the dwarf, but he wanted him alive long enough to watch as she…He swallowed. No. No she would not do it. He…he Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, whatever he was calling himself at the time, as he took the country. Westeros was his home. He was going to take it back, as much as he did not want to put himself out there to do it.

He had to, for the people. It did not matter what he wanted when innocent lives were being spent.

Dany twisted her fingers into his. “What about your sister?” she whispered.

Sansa. Gods, Sansa, he could barely think of her now. They had to though. He closed his eyes. “I cannot bring myself to kill her.”

“Death will do nothing to her.”

That was a surprise, he thought, opening his eyes to stare at her. “What?”

“I know Sansa. I understand her more than she realizes. I was in her position.” Dany’s voice caught. “I was held and abused and sold and raped. I was a prisoner. I watched as my only relative was killed in front of me. The relative who sold me. Who told me that he would let Khal Drogo and all his men and horses rape me if it got him his throne.”

If Viserys was not dead already, Jon knew he would be the one to kill him. He closed his eyes hard against the anger rising in his throat. “Dany.”

“No,” she demanded. “Do not feel sorry for me. I experienced it. Sansa is the product of what she experienced as am I.”

“You took a different path.”

“Did I though?” Dany smirked. “I wanted to be a queen. So did your sister. I died before I could sit on my throne. She got hers.” She turned her head away from him, sighing. The bed shifted as she sat up, lightly tossing his arm away from her. The sheet wrapped around her as she got up from the bed, walking over to pour herself some water, still speaking. “They may not have trusted me because I was not from the North, because I was Southern and different, but they did not trust you either. Their brother, who came with a queen with two armies and three dragons…”

“I cannot forgive Sansa for what she did.” He sat up, watching as she moved away and leaned against the open archway, staring out at the sea in the distance. They had been through this before as well. She broke an oath, a sacred oath to the hearttree. He might not have been as in tune with the old gods as his father or even Bran was now, but he did pray to them and thought it mattered when you swore to them that you would not break an oath. Sansa, on the other hand, clearly did not believe the same. He looked at the ceiling and then to Dany. “I’ll do it.”

Dany whipped around, her silver hair flying like a cloud around her head, eyes wide. “You’ll kill your sister?” she blurted.

“No,” he whispered. He had something else in mind. He lifted his gaze to hers. “Something akin to what she did to me. I will take her crown.”

“Her crown?”

“It will be like death to her.” That was all she had wanted. He remembered those days as a child in Winterfell. Sansa paraded around with her nose in the air, calling him a bastard, flaunting that he was not a Stark in his face. Telling him she would be a queen one day and when she was, she would not make him legitimate, because Robb was the heir to Winterfell. Robb was the one who would rule the North one day. “The lone wolf dies while the pack survives.” He glanced up at her. “Sansa is the lone wolf.”

Dany turned her cup around in her hand, voice quiet. “What about Arya?”

“Arya will be fine.”

“I sent her ahead to Storm’s End, to deliver a message to Lord Baratheon.” Dany pursed her lips again. They pulled back into a tiny smile. After a moment, she glanced up at him. What are you doing, he thought, narrowing his gaze. She had something planned. “What?” she laughed.

He cocked his head. “Are you trying to pair my sister with the Lord of Storm’s End?”

“He has not married in all these years,” she said over the rim of the cup, still smiling. She shrugged a shoulder and returned to the bed, sitting on the edge. Her fingers twisted the silk sheet wrapped around her body. “I remember at the feast, he had been looking for her. After I turned him into a Lord, she was the first person he wanted to see. I still remember that, the joy in his eyes. I remember feeling like that.” Her face softened and she sought out his hand, squeezing it and her voice dropping to a whisper. “It was how I felt when you said I was your Queen.”

They should have stayed on the boat, he thought. Or at the waterfall. His hand tightened in hers and he said nothing, leaning forward and lightly pulling her against him, drawing her back down over him. They kissed, long and slow, achingly so. He felt her break away, but barely, her nose brushing his. “We leave soon for Westeros,” she breathed. Her hand stroked down his cheek. She took a deep breath, holding it for a moment and repeated it, as if convincing herself. “We leave for Westeros…first we fly to the Reach. We take back Highgarden with the Stormlands’ support.”

“The Iron Fleet will be in Oldtown,” he whispered. He knew the plan, he’d thought of it for some time. He did not want to be this person, to be involved in this. He just wanted to be on their island with their children, but he knew that…Westeros was his home. She may want to show to them, maybe even to her, that she was not the person they thought, but at the end of the day, Westeros was where she lost herself and all those she loved. He understood her reluctance.

Dany nodded again and crawled back beneath the blanket, moving against him, her head on his chest. She tapped her fingers along the curved knife scars on his chest, her voice faraway. “When we finish…we return to the island.”

We stay there forever. For a thousand years. “We could stay there a thousand years,” he whispered. “No one will ever find us.”

“We’d be pretty old.”

All I want is to die old with you. Jon kissed her again, feeling her rise above him. He pulled her close and rolled so that she was nestled beneath him, in the familiar curve they formed. He broke away, his thumb moving over her cheek, brushing at the tears. She sniffed and her lips parted slightly, her breath soft. “You know something,” she said. She bit her lip again and then they pulled back again, hesitant and not meeting her eyes. “The only thing I ever wanted in my life was a family. I did not want the crown since it was always for Viserys. I did not want lands or titles…I was happiest at a house in Braavos with the red door and the lemon tree. It all went away when my past came across the sea…and when I realized I could take the crown and take what was mine…I walked into that fire after my husband and my son died and my last chance at a family died with them. I wanted to die and thought I might. Then came out alive and I had three children. I thought it was my destiny and it blinded me. It was all I could see and it was all I had.”

They had talked about this before, but she had never put it in such stark terms. “You wanted to die?” he whispered.

She nodded. “I thought I could never have children,” she breathed. Tears fell again, harder now. “And like I said…it was all I wanted in the end.” She gripped him, tight. “And now…I have you. I have our children. The dragon has three heads.”

That was an odd statement to make, he thought, smiling down at her. He loved her, more than anything in this world, he thought, kissing down from her lips to her neck, down her chest and to her abdomen. When he made a move to go lower, she stilled his head on her stomach.

And giggled.

He blinked. Odd time to make that sound, he thought, rolling his eyes upwards. “What’s going on?” he asked, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“I wanted to tell you tonight, but things took a different direction.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked. He grew concerned. “Are you alright?”

She ruffled his hair, smirking. “Gods you are dense Jon Snow. You cannot tell? Must I spell it out for you?”

Sometimes she spoke in riddles, he thought, scowling. He looked her up and down and frowned. There was something off about her. He hadn’t really noticed it earlier, when they’d stumbled into their chambers after a particularly heated discussion earlier about their differing approaches to the Westeros issue. He peered back down and then palmed at her midsection. His eyes widened and he realized that her normally taut belly was swollen slightly.

“You…” His heart began to race and his eyes widened, staring up at her. She could not stop smiling now. “You’re…we’re having…”

She nodded and bit her lower lip. “Yes.”

He laughed and leaned back up to her, taking her face into his hands, smiling against her lips. “Another babe,” he whispered. She nodded and pulled him close, unable to stop smiling against his lips, her tears mingling with his. All of this, he thought, squeezing her tight. All the pain and constant back and forth. The arguments and the fights. The good and bad of it all. Even the pain and guilt they both felt on a daily basis, trying to not let it destroy them even when it reared its ugly head and threatened their existence.

As the sun began to rise, the two of them still entangled together in their bed, Jon stroked her hair, her head resting on his chest. He sighed. “You always wanted a family and a home. So did I but…I never imagined having children. I never wanted to put the bastard name on them. Now I have you…Lya and Aemon and…” he sighed and smiled, his fingers pressing into her belly. “This one.”

Dany tilted her head back, her lips swollen, hair tangled, and a blissful smile on her face. “You are a Targaryen Jon Snow.” She leaned up and kissed him. “You can have whatever you want if you fight for it.” She settled back against him.

I suppose you are right, he thought, his fingers dancing across their child. “Do you think it is a girl or a boy?” he whispered. He would not mind another girl. Although another son would also be fine. He wanted the baby to be healthy. He wanted her to be okay.

“Hmm,” she mumbled, eyes fluttering shut. “It is a boy. I can sense it.”

“A boy,” he marveled.

“I will name him after Jorah Mormont.”

Jorah, he thought, smiling. The man who returned Longclaw to him, so he could pass it on to his children. Whose father helped turn him into the leader he was today. The man who protected her and laid down his life for his khaleesi. “I think that sounds good.”

“What do you think?” she asked, looking down at her belly. He smiled, touching it as she grinned up. “I think he is okay with that. Joren, we will call him.”

He leaned back into the pillows as she fell into a restless doze beside him. In the room beside them he could hear Aemon fussing and he knew soon the doorknob would begin to rattle as Lya would want them awake to take her outside with Ghost. They would live in their world for a little bit and then they would have to leave it, returning to the issue at hand.

Soon they would fly for Westeros. His stomach flipped and his heart began to pound hard. This was his opportunity, he thought. He did not want it but he had to take it. To save the people there. To right the wrongs that had occurred years before. While he could never take back what had happened, telling his family about his heritage and not listening to her. Not believing her. Convincing her to give up her campaign and come North first. Allowing one of her dragons to get killed on that pointless trek to capture the wight.

He looked up at the open windows to the Valyrian sky, watching the clouds twist and turn. Soon, he thought, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Soon they would fly.

Until then, he would stay here in this cocoon of happiness, where he was just Jon and she was just Dany.

Chapter Text

“Mai, watch me!” Lya did a cartwheel, but landed on her bottom, giggling and jumping up to do it again. “See me!”

“I see you my love!” Dany called from the small balcony above the green where Lya was playing, showing off her acrobatic skills. She hoisted Aemon up a bit on her hip, kissing his downy head as he gummed one of his fists and used the other to pull on her hair. She glanced sideways at her companion, nodding towards her daughter. “Perhaps you should begin to teach her.”

Grey Worm merely allowed a half-smile on his face, standing beside her, back straight and arms behind him. He looked back over at the child dancing around, singing to herself. “I wish Missandei could see this,” he said.

Her heart hurt, but no longer the fresh stabbing pain of after her death, instead a dull ache. Longing for the woman she had trusted with her life and loved as a sister. She smiled, warmly this time, and nodded to her daughter. “I wish she could have seen her. She would have loved her so much.”

“You honor her by bestowing her name on your child.”

“I knew the moment she was born that I would.” The moment she found out she was with child, she knew. She would do something to honor her friend, who died so that they could liberate the world from tyrants. To see a world free of slavery. She closed her eyes. Now that she could see back into the past, she knew Missandei would have been horrified to see what she had become. Dracarys were her last words. Burn it down. Burn them all. So she did, but the innocents…not the innocents. She took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. Aemon clutched her hair, tugging.

“She would have been proud,” Grey Worm continued, his voice soft. “Proud of what you have accomplished here. Abolishing slavery. Turning Essos prosperous.”

“She would have been proud of you as well, my commander of all the armies and my closest advisor.” Grey Worm had been with her from the very beginning. He had seen it all. When she had returned to the living, he had been her first contact, flying Drogon to the ships kept around the Isle of Naath, to avoid the butterfly fever. He had fallen to his knees the moment he saw her, pledging himself to her in whatever she planned to do.

He nodded. They continued to watch Lya play. Aemon reached for Grey Worm, who frowned a little at the child. The baby gummed a smile, drooling a bit. Dany chuckled and used the edge of her dress to wipe at the babe’s mouth. He still smiled. It fell slightly and he sighed, suddenly appearing so tired. “I am tired of the killing, my Queen. I want to live in peace.”

“You will,” she said. She smiled. “I am not asking you to go with Jon to Westeros. You have lost enough there already, as have I.”

“Do you truly believe, my Queen, that the man who murdered you will do what you ask of him?” He scowled. “It took the imp only moments to convince him of your guilt and he executed you on the spot.”

It was deeper than that, but she knew that Grey Worm saw it in black and white. She appreciated him for that. She nodded. “He will.”

“You should return with Dark Sister and show them that you are the true blood of the dragon.”

I tried that and failed. I will not do it again. She lightly touched Dark Sister on her hip. There would be a time to use it. Now was not the time. “Jon will do what is right. He will do what is necessary. I have faith in him to do that.”

“I fear for your children and your life, should the Westerosi demons corrupt him again. The wolf sister of his may have realized her wrongs, but the other…my Queen I know her look. I saw it when I was a slave. She only knows power and will only take and never give.” Grey Worm glanced down at Aemon, his voice quiet. “I do not want to see your death again. I do not believe I could withstand it.”

I have no plans to die at the moment. She moved Aemon to her other hip, patting his back lightly when he fussed. She swayed from side to side, comforting her child. “When I die again, I will be old and gray and I will have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I will be in the arms of the man I love.” She stared out at her daughter, the epitome of life and love and happiness. “And I will burn in dragonfire and my ashes will rest in Old Valyria, with the dragonlords of the past.” She fixated her violet gaze on Grey Worm, who stared straight at her with his dark one. She quirked her lip. “He is mine and I am his. Should they corrupt him again, well…gods help him and the ones who do.”

Grey Worm smiled again. “Yes my Queen.”

She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, patting his chest lightly. “I understand your fear, but do not fear, because I have faced death and pain and this time I am not going to be the one who confronts them. Westeros will not be saved in my name, but in Jon’s.”

The commander, normally unflappable, dropped his jaw slightly. He closed it immediately, covering his shock. “My Queen?”

“I have no interest in addressing those lords and ladies who turned their continent into plains of war at the expense of their people. My children died there, my best friend, and my protector. I lost myself. I lost my life.” She took a deep breath again. It was hard to realize and hard for her to do, but she was going to try to let go of it. It had been weighing on her for almost fifteen years. “The people do not deserve what is happening to them and I feel shame and guilt at knowing that it is because of me. Because of what I did.” She stared at her daughter, her sweet little dragon child, born into a world where she had to be protected at all costs, when all she wanted was to run and be free.

One day, she hoped, that would be the case. She cuddled Aemon closer to her and closed her eyes, inhaling his lovely scent. She smiled. Lya always said he stank, but to her he smelled of lemons and powders and milk. He was her sweet summer child. She closed her eyes tighter, speaking quietly to her friend. “They are Jon’s people. They loved him. They wanted him to be their king. I have no interest in returning there right now.”

“But you will.”

“Yes, in time. I will not unite them, nor will I conquer them. Nor will I liberate them.” Westeros was a feral society, intent on power and destruction. It was a wheel she wanted to break, but it crushed her. She swallowed hard. “I went there to take what was mine and what was stolen from my family. It ended in my death. In my child’s death. In Jon’s exile and ultimately the downfall of their country. We are going in to help the victims.”

“And then what will you do after you help the victims?”

“Jon will attempt to unite them as we have done in Essos. They are his people. He understands them better than I.” She glanced sideways, smiling. “He is not interested in ruling Essos or in ruling Westeros, but he understands what must be done. For now.”

“Very well.”

They returned to watching Lya’s performance. She had removed her shoes and was spinning in circles with her arms outstretched, Ghost watching her carefully each time she stumbled. Dany smiled warmly again, feeling the happy tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Grey Worm.”

“Yes my Queen?”

“I am with another child. Lya and Aemon will have a sibling.”

The stoic former Unsullied leader smiled then, only this time it was happy and broad on his face. He nodded. “I am most pleased for you my Queen.”

Thank you my friend, she silently thought, nodding and leaning closer to him. She closed her eyes; once again wishing Missandei was with them. The only two people she truly could count on in her life. She looked up to the sky, watching a couple of the dragons fly by. She recognized Wildfyre and Volantys, named for the city he protected. Vaella had been out earlier. She would go check on them later.

Grey Worm cleared his throat. “My Queen, I will take my leave now. I must go to see the preparation of the ships for the Unsullied for their journey over to Westeros.”

“Have you heard from the others?”

“Yes, the armies of Pentos and Braavos have already departed, sailing for Lannisport, White Harbor, Dunskendale, and Breakwater Bay. The Qohor and Ass’ai healers and the grain, dried meats, and freshwater barrels are almost there,” he relayed.

Very well then. “We go with peace,” she murmured. “Kill the ones who decide to kill us first, no one shall be harmed lest they themselves be harmed.”

“And the dragons?”

“We will not bring the dragons. I do not want them to believe that they are being conquered.” Jon had advised her against the dragons, but she had not believed they should go anyway. She did not want to lose any more of her children.

He nodded and bowed slightly, despite her constant instruction that they would not bow or kneel in Essos. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“Be well Grey Worm, I will see you soon.” Dany turned away from the balcony and went down to the green space, offering her hand to Lya, who took it immediately. Her daughter must be tired, she thought, as she was oddly quiet, trotting along beside her as they aimlessly wandered the corridors of their castle.

They emerged in one of her favorite corridors, with the paintings and the stained glass images of butterflies, dragons, and endless seas of grass and water. She paused in front of one of the murals, gesturing towards it with their joined hands. “You are named after my dear friend, who came from an island of butterflies,” she murmured.

Lya cocked her head and touched her tiny fingers to the image. She smiled. “It’s pretty. Was she pretty?”

“She was beautiful.” She smiled, thinking about her friend. “She was kind and loving and she was of peace.”

They continued along, stopping again in front of another mural, of a tall silver-haired man and a beautiful dark-haired woman. The images came from what she remembered of the stories Ser Barristan Selmy told her of her brother and the image of the stone ghost in the crypt of Winterfell. “My brother Rhaegar, he died before I was born,” she murmured. She glanced at Lya, who seemed confused. The child did not understand death, nor should she. She nodded towards the image of Lyanna, with her gray eyes like her son’s and holding blue winter roses. “You are also named after Papa’s mother. Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf of the North. She had the wolf blood they said. I am sure it is why she fell in love with a dragon.”

Her daughter smiled and touched her hand to the dragon that was painted on her brother’s armor. “Dragon,” she whispered.

Yes, dragon. “Come, you need a nap.”

“No I don’t.”

Oh let’s not start this, she laughed, leading Lya back up to her chambers, where her daughter released her hand and ran to jump on the wide bed in the center of the stone circular room, lying back and staring up at the windows in the ceiling. Aemon was almost asleep himself, so Dany rested him gently in his basket, setting it on the bed beside Lya. Ghost was not far, constantly watching and determining threats. He curled up before the fire, watching.

Lya played with her toes, calling out. “What’re you doing Mai?”

After setting them in the bed, she had gone to one of the large armoires, where one of the handmaidens had brought new clothing earlier. She opened one of the chests and reached in, removing what she needed. “I am getting Papa ready for his trip,” she answered.

As if on cue, one of the doors across the room opened, Jon entering. “I was wondering where you were,” he said, greeting her with a light kiss. He removed Longclaw from his hip, setting it against the wall. “I was training.”

Lya held her arms up. “Come see me!”

He laughed and swooped down to grab her, tossing her into the air as she squealed in glee. Ghost immediately lifted his head from his paws, wary. “I see you,” he laughed, kissing her cheeks and setting her back onto the bed. “How could I not, my little wolf cub?”

Dany smoothed her hand over the new clothing, pleased that the seamstresses had followed her instruction and suggestions perfectly. She glanced at the wolf. “Do you plan to take him with you?” They tried to limit his excursions, knowing he preferred to stay with the children. Ghost also did not care for riding on the dragon, having to wear a harness that strapped him in.

Jon shook his head, beginning to unbutton his vest. “No.” He sighed, smiling slightly at his companion. “He’s a good boy. His fighting days are done.” As if on cue, the wolf stood and ambled over to the bed, hopping up slowly and curling around the children.

Lya yawned, trying to hide it. “Where are you going Papa?”

“I am going to where I was born.”

“When you coming back?”

“Soon, I promise.” He walked back over to her, his shirt loose and his boots against the wall. She got to her feet, bouncing on the bed. He took her hands and helped her spin around, smiling down at her. Jon dropped at kiss to the top of her hair, smoothing his fingers over the silver streaks. His voice softened. “I promise I will come back soon. We will return to our island and we will fly on Eddarion and take Ghost to the beach. I’ll read you stories and we’ll play all the games you want, does that sound good?”

It was more than enough for the little girl, who smiled, her grey eyes crinkling up as her cheeks pulled up, rosy and warm. “Yes!” She clapped her hands, still standing as he stepped over to Dany, who was holding out the shirt for him. “What are you wearing?”

They didn’t answer her. She dropped the shirt over him, blood red and light. Then came the vest, as black as night. Then the coat; black leather, which fell to mid-thigh, which tied up the center of his chest. Black breeches and black leather boots. She reached for the final piece, her breath hitching in her throat as she secured the final piece to his clothing. Her hand smoothed over the silver emblem over his heart. The three dragons and a wolf in the center. His dark curls were pulled from his face; his hair had grown long in their time in Valyria. He let her move behind him, his eyes closing as she picked up a brush and began to work.

It took her a moment, but she had tugged his hair back from his face completely, allowing his gray eyes to stand out completely. He turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder. Dany rested her hand on his shoulder, guiding him around to look at her.

Magnificent, she thought, smiling at the image he portrayed. Strength and iron. Coldness and warmth. Dragon and wolf. Her voice cracked. “Aegon.”

He turned around and looked at his reflection in the YiTish mirror. He touched his fingers to the silver emblem on his chest. “Yes,” he whispered. She almost never used his real name. Once or twice in the heat of passion. Another time after she ahd given birth to Aemon. A handful of times, knowing he did not feel his name was that of the Conqueror, but the simple name bestowed on him by his protector Ned Stark.

She saw the doubt cross his face, wrinkling his brow. “You do not have to do this,” she murmured. She lifted her chin. “We can walk away from this. Leave them to whatever they turn into.”

“I cannot Dany. They are my people. I just learned it too late.”

A long time ago, on a cliffside on Dragonstone, she had made a throwaway comment, not thinking it through. We all enjoy the things we’re good at.

I don’t.

The words of Barristan Selmy came to her as well. Rhaeger never liked killing.

They always said he was Eddard Stark’s son. The honorable and the brave and the quiet, stoic wolf. Maybe he was truly Rhaeger’s son, she wondered. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Rhaegar did not want to rule either, you know.”

“I wish I had known him.”

“Me too.”

They continued to stare at each other’s reflections for another moment more. He finally turned, taking her hands into his and kissing them. He fell to his knees and brushed his lips over her belly and she tangled her fingers in his hair. “I will send for you soon,” he murmured.

“Yes.” She guided him back up and moved him to the mirror again. With a cool, steely voice, she spoke, holding him in place. “You, Jon Snow, are a king.”

He shrugged, smiling down at her. “Black was always my color.”

They looked back at the mirror. She was wearing a red dress, flowing over her growing belly. “And red was always mine,” she said. She removed the sash that was draped over her shoulder, wrapping it around his neck and tucking it into the jacket.

He secured Longclaw around him before they walked over to the open archway. As if on cue, tethered to the connection they shared, Eddarion wheeled out of the sky, landing on the side of the castle, his talons clutching it and his jaw opening to let out a screech. He breathed heavy, waiting for Jon to climb onto his back. Jon turned and before she knew it, he had crashed his lips down onto hers, pushing his fingers roughly through her hair to cup the back of her head, crushing her against him.

Oh, she barely had a chance to think, her eyes closing and a muffled gasp swallowed up in the passion of the kiss. She whimpered against him, drinking as much as she could from him. This is not the last time, she thought. We will see each other again. Take what is yours. My dragon. My wolf.

My Jon.

They separated, gasping for air, still entangled in each other. He kissed her again, softly this time. “I am yours and you are mine,” he whispered.

“From this day.”

“Until the end of my days,” they said at the same time. The vows they swore before the hearttree that he had planted on the island, protected from the invading eyes of the Three-Eyed Raven by Kinvara’s incantations.

With another, longing kiss, full of promise to return, he broke from her and stepped to the edge of the balcony. She watched, tears wavering in her eyes, as he climbed up onto the ledge and then over the hard ridges and spines of the dragon, sitting behind his head and gripping the ridges in front of him. “With fire and blood,” she vowed. Take back yours. End the bloodshed and the famine.

Break the wheel.

He nodded. “With fire and blood.” A murmured word in Valyrian to the dragon and Eddarion screamed, pushing away and flapping his wings, flying off to the west. They disappeared into the foggy, smoking sky, there one moment and gone the next.

She continued to stand there, watching where he had disappeared. Her eyelids fluttered down and she smiled, the tears trickling down. A sound came from beside her and she opened them, peering down to see Lya. Her arm went around her daughter and they both gazed out at the horizon, beyond the jeweled spires of Valyria. “Papa is a dragon,” Lya whispered.

Dany nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “He is.”

Chapter Text

“I’m not going!”

Jaime closed his eyes, cringing as a sound of something crashing echoed into the corridor. He dared to peer around the doorway and into his sister’s chambers, finding it a mess, half-packed trunks and clothing draped over stacks of books. He mouthed ‘run’ to a couple of handmaids, who spun around and scurried away like mice.

He glanced around the doorway again, taking in the sight of his mother, trying to loom over his sister, who was now close in height to her. He skirted into the room, leaning against the wall and trying to make himself as small a target as possible, for either Joanna’s wrath or Brienne’s. “Mother?” he called, drawing back when Brienne rounded on Joanna, brushing her aside and grabbing one of the trunk, slamming it down onto the floor.

“You are going to Evenfall!”

“I am not!” Joanna screamed, hot tears on her face. She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I refuse! You cannot make me!”

“I never should have allowed your uncle to bring you across the Narrow Sea,” Brienne muttered. She threw clothing into one of the trunks, speaking almost to herself and not her children. “He is a prisoner of the dragon woman…you want to return there…your brother refuses to go to the North again…”

“The North is about to become a fireplace,” Jaime announced.

Joanna glared at him, then realized he was on her side and softened a bit. “Yes Mother! Listen to him!” She pointed out to the window at Blackwater Bay. “You may try to send us to Evenfall, but we are staying here. We want to be here when Queen Daenerys arrives.”

“She is not a queen, she is a dragon, reborn from death!” Brienne exclaimed. She threw down one of the dresses she had in her hand, turning to gaze at both of them, her forehead wrinkled in concern. Instead of her normal white and silver armor of the Ravensguard, she wore a simple navy and brown doublet. She still had Oathkeeper on her hip.

Jamie sometimes wondered if she had given birth with it beside her. He would not put it past his mother. He knew what she was about to say next, not waiting for her to start going after them again. “I am not going to the North,” he announced again. He stood by his sister. “We are going to fight for Queen Daenerys.”

Their mother’s frown turned to terror, her blue eyes widening. “No,” she whispered. She shook her head hard, a noise of distress emanating from somewhere in the back of her throat. “You are not doing that. That is treason and I will not hear of it! We do not break our oaths!”

“You’re supposed to be our mother,” Joanna cried. She sniffed through her tears, her blonde hair wild and coming out of her braid. “You’re supposed to want what is best for us!”

Oh no, Jamie thought, seeing their mother’s face fall again. He dropped his gaze to his feet, digging the toe of his boot into the stone. The stone pieces broke away from each other. He swallowed hard. Joanna was too emotional right now, seeing their mother’s attempt to protect them as another form of betrayal. Brienne did want what was best for them, in her own way. “She does,” he whispered.

Their mother stepped towards them, bringing her hands together in front of her. “Please…I know I have been…distant…but I love you both so much.” She reached out for them; Joanna turned away, but Jamie did not move. All she wanted to do was send them off to hide in her family’s home, empty all year long save for the occasional time she packed them off with a few servants and maybe a Maester or a septon.

If you loved us, then why did you send us away from you, Jamie wanted to say. He didn’t, instead, choosing his words carefully so as not to anger her further. “I do not want to return to the North,” he said. He frowned, wishing she could understand it. For once Mother, listen to what we want this time. “I do not want to fight for Queen Sansa. Or whatever we are fighting for against Queen Daenerys.”

Brienne shook her head. “You do not understand what you want, you are just a child.”

“No we’re not,” Joanna cried. She sniffed again. “Not in this world, Mother. In Essos you can have water from a fountain like it is straight from a river. There is more food than they know what to do with. Books and artwork and animals from all over the continent. Everyone can be anyone. Not here.” She shook her head again. “We met the queen and the king…they were kind and generous and they just want peace. Whatever you think of her, I do not care, because the woman I met was just wonderful. Whatever she wants to do with Westeros, I want her to do, because at this point, what does it matter here?”

Leave it to my sister to say the right words. She was always better with that than him. He gazed out the window, at the darkness falling around the city. It had been weeks since they returned from Essos and each day he thought might be the one where she arrived. The frantic movements of their mother today made him wonder if there had been developments there. “Is she coming?” he asked.

Joanna glanced at him. “Is who coming?”

“Queen Daenerys,” he said. He fixated his gaze on their mother, who was staring at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Mother, what do you know that we do not?”

A muscle twitched in Brienne’s jaw. She lifted her chin slightly and spoke coolly. “The Iron Fleet has reached Oldtown. Essosi ships have arrived along the eastern coast. We are on the brink of an invasion and Tarth is small, it offers no strategic value to an invasion. You will be safe there. You are all I have of your father.”

“That’s all we are to you,” he said.

Joanna whipped her head around, glancing between the two of them. “Jamie,” she warned.

He didn’t care. He scowled at his mother. “I am not the Jamie Lannister you loved,” he spit out. He hated the way she was looking at him, surprised, like he actually had a say in his life. “I am not him! I want to help people! I want to be good and I want to do something that matters! I can do that in Essos! I can do that with Queen Daenerys!”

“You don’t know what you want!” Brienne exclaimed. “Neither of you do!”

“We want to fight for the good,” Jamie replied.

“King Bran is good, he just is going about it in a different way…”

Joanna let out a sob, shaking her head furiously. “Do you remember when we were at Storm’s End? When the Ironborn attacked the shores? I was scared and alone and I wanted my mother! I remember that and that is all we have here! Fear!” She pointed to him, her voice rising, coming from somewhere deep inside of her. “You sent my brother…my twin brother and the only friend in the world I have to fight a war when he was a child!”

Brienne’s voice was cold. “We do these things not because we want to, but because they are necessary.” She pointed between the two of them. “Both of you are talking about treason, but because you are children it can be forgiven.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, scowling. “So much for choosing a king. She wanted to break the wheel. She wanted to make this world something different for everyone.”

“Where did you hear that?” Brienne demanded.

Hear what? He shrugged, unsure of what she was talking about. He glanced at Joanna for some guidance, but she was just as lost as he. He blinked. “What?”

“The wheel thing. Break the wheel, who told you that?” Brienne whispered. Her face was white, as if she had seen a ghost. A ghost of a dragon queen, Jamie realized. She stepped closer to him. “You met with her.” Her eyes widened. “Tyrion did not tell me that in his letters.”

Tyrion does not tell anyone a lot of things. Jamie smirked. “Tyrion became a prisoner once we got to Valyria. We were her guests. The King’s guests.”

“King?”

“King Jon,” Joanna supplied. She laughed hard. “Guess you didn’t hear about that from your all-seeing king here. I told you about it in my ravens.”

Brienne turned away from them, leaning against the stone wall overlooking the bay below. There was fatigue and sadness in her shoulders, sagging as she leaned forward. Jamie didn’t know what she was thinking about, or what she thought had happened over there. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. Brienne helped him out there, finally speaking. “Tyrion is a prisoner there, I know this. You sent me ravens, but not once did you say that you had actually met with her.”

“She was kind,” Joanna whispered.

Jamie nodded. “And so was he.”

They all stood in the room, silent. Maybe we finally got into her head, he thought, waiting for Brienne to say something. She turned around and looked at both of them. To their shock, she was crying, tears falling down her face. She gestured to them both. “I love you both so much. You may not think I do, but I do. I sent you over to Essos with your uncle so you could see something other than this place.”

And we did. He approached her and carefully wrapped his arms around her; she seemed surprised and slowly folded her arms around him. This was so wrong that it felt so foreign to give his mother a hug and provide her comfort. He closed his eyes, whispering. “Mother, I will not fight to defend the North against her. No matter how much you want.”

He felt his mother tense, but she finally pulled away, reaching her finger to brush at a lock of blond hair that had fallen over his forehead. A long breath escaped her. He waited, anticipating a negative reaction. Something. Some kind of yell, shout, or argumentative statement. A challenge even or seven hells maybe she’d even arrest him. This was the Lady Commander of the Ravensguard. There were times where he wondered if his resemblance to his father was either a blessing, because she would always love and believe him, or if it was a curse, because she would always be reminded of the one she lost.

Beside him his sister reached for them, interjecting herself into the hug. Brienne sobbed, stroking their hair, shaking her head. “I love you both so much,” she cried. She broke away, one hand going to each of their cheeks. She blinked back tears and lifted her chin slightly, still smiling. “And as much as I love you, I cannot let you be here when this city falls to war. You were not here like I was, not long after the first attack. This place was…it was all the seven hells in one. I would not be doing my duty as your mother to allow you be here.”

And yet I went to the North. I fought in battles. Joanna got caught in a siege. He said nothing, knowing that maybe this was his mother’s attempt at apologizing for before. Joanna wrinkled her nose, a laugh escaping. “Mother…we’ve been at war our entire lives. Whatever will happen here…”

“No,” she said, firm. She shook her head. “Your father died, not from fighting anyone, but from a building collapse.”

The great Jamie Lannister, brought down by rocks, his son wondered, glancing at his sister, who seemed equally confused. “I thought he died in battle,” Joanna said.

Brienne sighed, closing her eyes. “That was a lie that Tyrion spread…he did not want people to know the truth. To continue to keep the Lannister name…good.”

Probably need more lies to do that, Jamie thought with a scowl. “He may have been a good uncle to us, but he is a prisoner now because he was stupid,” he spat. They had last seen Tyrion when they reached New Valyria and he had not really thought about him beyond that. Tyrion was going to have to one day pay for all that he had done, whether it was before the twins were born or after. He hoped his sister felt the same.

Joanna scoffed. “What a family we were born into.”

“I loved your father,” Brienne said. She swallowed hard again. “Please just know that.”

Of course we do. Jamie nodded. “Yes Mother.”

“Please finish packing what you can, I am going to see Ser Davos. There is a ship leaving for Evenfall and you will be on it, I will not hear of it. You may want to fight for the Dragon Queen, but you are my children and I will ensure your safety…” Brienne trailed off and her voice choked. “It is the least I can do now.”

They waited for her to leave, hurrying out of the room, before Joanna pushed by him as well. “Hey!” he exclaimed, chasing after her. “I think that was fair of her!”

“I know what she is thinking and why, but I do not want to leave. Does she really think that Queen Daenerys will burn down this city? She is different, she is kind, and if anything, if we fight back then we deserve to be burned down,” Joanna rambled, hurrying through the halls of the holdfast.

A moment later they found themselves in what used to be the hall of the Red Keep, where the Iron Throne sat. They only saw photos of it. What remained of it still stood, a molten pile of iron, collecting dust and the occasional snow. It was left as a reminder of what they refused to fall back into, Tyrion told them.

So funny because they hadn’t learned a damn thing.

Joanna knelt at the base of the former throne, reaching her finger and drew in the dust and the dirt. He peered over her shoulder, watching as she dragged the dust to create a dragon and a wolf beneath it. She stood, dusting her hands and glancing over her shoulder at his curious and questioning look. “If we can’t be here for the invasion, at least I’ll feel better knowing I left my support here.”

Such as it is, he thought, kneeling down and dragging his finger into the dirt as well. It was silly, but it was something they used to carve into tree trunks or onto the stone tables wherever they went, so someone knew they were there. Their way of making their own history, he supposed. J.Hillx2

His sister giggled. He smiled, looking up at her and stood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back upstairs…”

The request trailed off, staring out at the open sky of the ruined holdfast, the moon disappearing at the top of the sky. Gods, he thought, jaw falling. Joanna reached for him, gripping his arm, her gaze transfixed as well. Somewhere he thought he heard their mother screaming for them, but they did nothing, following the giant shadow move away from the moon and turn, growing small in the distance over the sea.

We have to be there, he thought, pushing away and running off, Joanna not far behind him. They raced through the halls, like they used to do as small children, heading straight for the godswood, occasionally stealing glances up at the sky to follow the trek of the black dragon from over the sea, where ships were moving closer to the shore.

They emerged into the godswood, staring in excitement and fascination as the black dragon screeched and began to spiral down, closer and closer to the ground. Jamie looked ahead and before the weirwood tree sat the King and Queen Sansa behind him, both of them watching the dragon descend.

The King had an amused smile on his lips.

The Queen of the North appeared to be horrified.

He heard people running behind him and Davos and Sam hurried by to join him.

“Jamie! Joanna!” Brienne exclaimed, arriving last. She grabbed them both and tried to push them out. “Get out of here, now! Get to the ship!”

“No!” Joanna exclaimed, wrestling away from her mother and running over, crashing into the back of a tree, eyes bright and a smile on her face, watching. He joined her, standing behind her and staring. We should get out of here, he thought. He swallowed nervously. He wanted to see what happened.

This was their future more than it was anyone else’s. They deserved to be here to watch it unfold.

Queen Sansa spoke, her voice shaky. “Arya is at Storm’s End. I must ride for Winterfell as soon as possible to protect the North.”

“You won’t get there in time,” Bran said, his voice oddly calm. He smiled. “The time of the Raven is coming to an end.”

Sam pulled at the chains wrapped over his shoulder. “Your Grace? What…what happens then?”

It seemed the dragonrider was taking their time in descending, purposefully eliciting the fear. She’s good, Jamie thought, grinning. Until he realized the dragon was white and black, not red and black. “Oh,” he whispered. He blinked. Did they know what that meant?

No, they hadn’t seen the dragons. Joanna understood too, whispering. “They don’t know it isn’t her.”

“Let’s see what happens.”

“Yes, the Raven is ending.”

Sam let out a small sound. “What age begins then?”

The dragon came to land on the edge of the godswood wall. It shook the wall and the leaves rustled like a gust of wind had just blown in. The dragon’s wings extended out and he drew up, screaming at the sky, and breathing deep enough to reveal the fire burning in the back of its open mouth. It fell forward, his wings gripping the ground and hot breath wafting over everyone, silver eyes sliding slow over everyone as he moved closer to allow the rider to descend.

Bran smiled again. “The age of the Dragon.”

The rider sat up from where they were leaning over the dragon’s head, pushing back a heavy black cloak to reveal their identity.

Sansa let out a scream of surprise, covering her mouth with her hand. “Jon!” she exclaimed, stepping forward towards him. She turned to look at everyone and then back to her brother. “Thank gods its you!”

Joanna and Jamie held their breath, watching and waiting for the King’s response.

The former Bastard of Winterfell drew himself back and did not betray emotion on his face. Dark eyes flashed in the moonlight and he scanned the small group huddling around their king, Brienne with her hand on her sword and Sam cowering slightly, while Davos just stood behind and stared straight at him.

And then very slowly he smiled. “Brother,” he said, nodding to Bran. He turned to Sansa and nodding to her. “Sister.”

Jon Snow lifted his black leather gloved hand and pointed to the weirwood crown on Bran’s head and the silver wolf circlet on Sansa’s.

“I’ll take those crowns now.”

Chapter Text

Things could have been worse, Sansa supposed, trying to find something good of the situation. Her hands still shook from the silver eyes and the fiery throat of the dragon, staring her down. Would he kill her without Jon’s approval? Did the dragon listen to only the Dragon Queen? She stood before the hearttree, trying to find a prayer sufficient for this moment.

After her brother had demanded their crowns, Bran had suggested they all adjourn inside. Jon had descended from the great beast, saying something to it in a language she recognized as Valyrian. Jon spoke Valyrian now? It flew away, to join the ships in the bay. She had remained behind, Jon telling her that he would see her there momentarily.

It was an order, but she was a queen in her own right. No one ordered her. Least of all her bastard brother who had abandoned them and lied to them for the last fifteen years. She went over all the letters he had sent in her mind, all the words the wildlings told her. Nothing personal about him, nothing addressing anything current…as she thought longer about it the more absurd it had seemed. Of course Jon was not in the true North. Or the Wall.

Ranging behind the Wall, that’s all the Nights Watch men would say. Were they lying to her do or just repeating the lie the wildings told them?

She would not give up her crown, she thought, looking up at the tree. She turned around at the sound of leaves crunching beneath heavy boots. Approaching her was her brother. Cousin. Whatever he was these days. “You have been lying to me,” she stated. She scowled. “I thought you were at The Wall. You have been lying this entire time to your queen.”

“I have not been lying to my queen, for my queen is Daenerys of House Targaryen,” Jon said.

“She’s corrupted you.”

“As Cersei Lannister corrupted you.” Jon stepped closer to her. The moonlight cast shadows over him; he was different now. Colder eyes and wearing black leather. A dragon wearing wolf’s clothing she thought. He stopped in front of her, almost boot to boot. She tried to draw herself even taller; she already was taller than him, any power she could get now she needed.

Sansa glared at him. “What are you going to do now? Are you going to kill your sister?”

“You killed me.”

She squinted. “I did not kill you Jon. I saved you! I saved us all from her and if you had listened to me before you left Winterfell, I would have saved the Seven Kingdoms!”

“You have destroyed the Seven Kingdoms!” Jon exploded.

The younger girl from Winterfell cowered back, suddenly a child, daydreaming about marrying a prince and having her mother check her embroidery. Feeling her mother’s fingers braid her hair and smiling at a queen, but her eyes fixated on the queen’s son. Telling Father she would not leave because she was meant to marry and have babies and become a queen.

And the quiet boy who she always knew was her brother, but whom she was not allowed to socialize with. Who her mother told her was an abomination, the son of a whore begot on her father. The father who would never have strayed if not seduced by the foreign witch, her mother told her. Jon Snow is not your brother, despite what your father tells you, her mother always said.

That sentiment faded when she lost her father, her mother, and her brothers. Her sister disappeared. She became a captive, abused, tortured, and finding something inside of her to focus on, to get through. The idea that somewhere out there she had a family and they would find her. When she saw Jon again she knew it was him. The brother she was not supposed to acknowledge, a piece of her father, there to save her.

The man standing before her was not her brother.

This was a dragon with wolf eyes. The one she wanted to be King in the North, a true Stark on the Northern throne. The one who could overthrow the foreign wench with her dragons and her horse lords and her silent army. She did not trust the Dragon Queen and he did, he must have been bewitched somehow, because he was a man and he was weak.

She saved him. She saved them all when she told Tyrion. He even said so himself, when they said goodbye. At least the North is free, he told her on the dock, before he left with the Night Watch guards. The last time she ever saw him. Wearing black furs, still a shell of something, and…and mourning.

Gods, she thought, eyes widening on him. He was in mourning for the woman he killed. How could he though? He killed her for them! To protect them! Now he stood before her, wearing the dragon sigil and looking at her as if he had enver seen her before. “You’re under a spell,” she whispered. She heard of things they did in the East. Shadowmagic. Sorcery. “That’s what this is. She has you under a spell.”

Jon drew his shoulders back, his voice soft. “You basically killed me, you know. You did nothing but scheme and abuse our relationship. You swore before the heart tree in the godswood and you broke that oath.” He glared at her; his eyes were as black as night. “To a Lannister.”

A muscle pulled at her jaw and she drew her chin up, sneering down her nose. “I did what I had to do to protect our home. The North.”

“She begged me,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. Unblinking. “She begged me not to tell you or Arya. She said that it would get out. That it would undermine her rule, because then people would want to see me on the throne and not her. It was all she wanted and she never begged. Had never begged for anything in her life and she begged me not to tell.” His eyes widened and she realized they were shining with unshed tears. “And I did not listen to her. I said I trusted you and Arya. I wanted you to know the truth about me. I was not Ned’s bastard. I was your cousin and his honor was intact. The Stark name was not tainted in any way.” His words began to break. “And you broke that sacred oath and it took on a life of its own. She was right. Of course she was right. I trusted you all and you betrayed me. You did not trust me. For no reason you ignored my faith in her.”

She ignored her tears. “I did what I had to do,” she repeated. She balled her hands into fists, her nails digging through her leather gloves into her skin. “I did what I had to do for our family. She was not one of us. She could not be trusted.”

“She lost her child for the North, she lost her armies, the one who protected her from the beginning! For someone who was so determined to only get the Seven Kingdoms, she gave that up to come save the North!” he shouted. He took another step towards her and she flinched. He laughed. “You think I will hurt you Sansa? I am not the one you should fear. You should fear Father.”

Father? What did he have to do with any of this? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered.

“Father would be ashamed. Breaking a sacred oath! To a Lannister! Not trusting in your family. So much for the pack,” he spat.

The pack survived because of me! She steeled herself again, crying out. “I told the only one who had sense! You could have been King! You instead of her!”

“And when I killed her, because I feared for your and Arya’s lives, because I knew she would kill you. I knew she would murder you both, burn you alive, because you refused to bend the knee for no reason other than your own selfish pride!” Jon fired back. He turned away, the black cloak whipping around him like smoke.

The Citadel had not sent out a raven, but regardless, it seemed winter had finally come again. Snow fell, one flake after another, almost lazily, down onto them. The moonlight dimmed, a cloud crossing over. She stared at his back; this was not her brother. Not the one she was trying to save. “I got to be Queen. The North was saved.”

“I killed my child.”

Question flickered over her face. She narrowed her eyes, mouth falling open slightly. “Excuse me?”

He turned and she saw that now the tears had fallen. He nodded, confirming what he had just said. “Yes. When I killed her to protect you. To protect Arya…I killed my child. She was with child. When the red priestess of Volantis returned her to life…for what reason, we still don’t know, but when she did, a life had to pay. The life of our babe.”

Oh gods. Oh gods! She pressed her palm against her mouth, horrified. There was a baby? Jon… She shook her head quickly, taking a step back. “I…I didn’t know…I never would have…” She barked out a nervous laugh. “Jon, when I told Tyrion, I only wanted them to have the option! They could have chosen you!”

“And I told you that I did not want to be King!” he exclaimed. He slammed his fist into his chest, roaring again; gone was the silent wolf. What was before her was a dragon in rage. “I murdered the woman I love and I murdered our unborn child! For you! For Arya! Because you refused to listen to me, you refused to trust me, for whatever reason is yours, but you did and your decision to do that…you set forth things you did not realize!”

“I did not do it!” she screamed back at him, sobbing. First Bran. Now him. She remembered the scene that Bran had shown her. Him in the snow, screaming for death. She looked over at him; he seemed to barely be breathing, despite his outbursts. “Did you really want to end your life?”

Jon finally blinked. “Yes,” he said.

She closed her eyes, crying. Her shoulders shook. “I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t think. Only of yourself.”

They stood in silence again for another long while. He reached to touch his hand to the pommel of his sword, the white wolf standing out against the black leather. Sansa closed her eyes. “Jon…I cannot take back what happened, but you have to understand. Even though you were in love with her, we were supposed to just trust her? She was a foreigner…she didn’t understand, she’s not one of us! A conqueror, a Targaryen, and her father…”

“Murdered Brandon and Rickard Stark, yes.” He smirked. “You watched her sit there and pardon her father’s murderer. Jamie Lannister came to Winterfell and she forgave him. The sins of the father are not the sins of the son. Do not judge her based on her father, she said.” He shook his head, whispering. “And as for love? Have you lost the capability to love anything beyond power?” He smiled sadly. “I cannot take back what happened to you and gods would I. If you had taken a moment to speak to her…to trust her for just a moment, you would find that she was also sold, raped, and defiled.” He smiled sadly. “And she survived because she trusted in herself. As did you.” He shook his head. “And she loves, not power, but people.”

And she murdered those people she claimed she wanted to love. Sansa smirked at him. “She did not understand. She would never have given us the North.”

“We never had a chance to find out, now did we? Your ungratefulness pushed her into a corner.”

“You were in love with a mass murderer!” Sansa shouted.

“The woman who burned King’s Landing was not the Dany that I love!” he shouted back. He laughed. “And I killed her. I killed the woman I loved, the girl who only wanted a family! She had nothing, she had lost everything she had and then the one person, the only person left…I killed her. For you. I have repeated that over and over again in my mind. When I thought I would die of the regret and shame…I did it for you.” He pointed at her, his eyes narrowed. “And then…then you did nothing. You sat there on that Council and threatened the Northmen to go after Yara Greyjoy and Grey Worm for their desire to kill me for what I’d done. I gladly would have taken death, but no. No you had me sent to the Wall.”

He laughed again. She didn’t understand what he found so funny. “I saved your life with The Wall,” she whispered.

“No, you made sure that the last heir to the throne was in a position to never take it.” He pointed towards the ruins of the Red Keep. “You wanted me to have that not her. So you told Tyrion. Then when she was gone…what? You made sure I could not have it. Funny how that worked out. I don’t think you planned it all from the beginning, not even you are that clever, but you sure took advantage of it, didn’t you?” He scowled. “You wanted to be a queen since you were a little girl and you finally are, but for what cost? The queen of a ruined kingdom, with no family and no love.”

“And you have love?” Sansa asked. She shook her head, whispering. “You have a dragon who came back from the dead and has bewitched you.”

“Bewitched me? You have been remembering too many of Old Nan’s stories.” Jon turn around and looked up at the crying weirwood tree. He shook his head, whispering. “I was in love with her. I love her still, for all her flaws, because that is what love is.”

“And she loves you? The man who killed her?” Sansa demanded.

Jon smiled and glanced sideways. “I’m not saying it is easy, but we work on it.”

“How did you even find her? How did you even get to leave the North?”

He lightly touched the white trunk. “I never stopped loving her. Maybe that had something to do with it.” He glanced at her again. “It does not matter, but I did. I did not want to be a King. I did not want to rule. I wanted her. I wanted my Dany back. To make up for what I had done. After I realized what I had done…the mistakes I had made and the trust I had placed in the wrong places.”

“You’re supposed to be a wolf,” she said.

“I am both a dragon and a wolf.”

They had spoken of Father’s shame. She scowled. “Father would be ashamed of you, not me.”

“He was not my father, not really.” Jon moved towards her again, his voice dropping again. She tried not to step back, but did again. He simply took another step closer. “Ned Stark was my father in all but name and he died protecting my secret. Even from me. His honor to keep that secret is what killed him. In the end, it killed me too.” He gripped thes word again. “Love is the death of duty and duty is the death of love. I realized too late that I would rather lose duty. I should have followed what Rhaegar Targaryen did and thrown my duty away for the woman I love.”

“Then what are you doing here?” she whispered. She looked up as the moon’s shadow disappeared. The dragon had flown in front of it, taking lazy circles around the keep’s ruins. “Why are you here instead of her? You finally want to be a king? You’re too late.”

“I’m just in time it seems, before you all die of starvation and war,” Jon said.

“The North will always be independent.”

“I do not care about which kingdoms are independent and which aren’t. I am here doing my duty.” He smiled. “For it seems that finally love and duty are one and the same.”

“And your queen?” she echoed.

“My queen remains in Essos, her true home. It sadly took her too long to realize some things as well. Westeros is my home and I am here to make sure that someone cares for the people,” he said. He shook his head. “I do not want to rule and I have no interest in being a King, but I will do what I have to do, because the people here do not deserve what is happening to them.”

If he was going to be King, to take over Westeros and the North would lose its independence again…there could not be multiple kings and queens. She closed off her memories of Jon Snow and of her brother, choosing the cold and winter of being a queen. I am here as a Queen, she thought, speaking with an invader King.

Not little Sansa talking to older brother Jon.

“The North will not fall to another Targaryen again.” She felt her voice crack a little, betraying her fear. “Are you going to kill me?”

Jon smiled and shook his head. “No. I will not kill you. I am going to do something I have discovered for you would be far worse.”

What could be worse than death, she wondered, narrowing her eyes. Her heart beat against her ribcage, rattling her bones. Her chin quivered as she fought back tears. “And?”

He nodded to her crown and reached over, removing the silver circlet from atop her head. Sansa gasped, staring as he took it into his hands. He did not break his cold gaze from hers as he bent at the metal, giving a grunt and bending the crown into a twist. He threw it aside; she stared in horror at the crown in the dirt. The crown she had wanted since she was a girl. The crown she was promised. The crown she all but died for. She let out a soft cry, unconsciously stepping towards it, her hand outstretched.

He cut in front of her. He spoke, passing her sentence, montone. “You will no longer be the Queen in the North, because there will be no more Queen in the North. You will hold no lands. You will hold no titles. You will have no children,” he began to recite. She closed her eyes, beginning to sob silently. It was just like the Night’s Watch oath. “You will take no husband. You will depart Winterfell and I will install you in a comfortable home in Hardhome.”

She gasped. “The True North? With wildlings?”

“The free folk,” he corrected. He continued. “Have no interest in what goes on beneath the Wall. They do not care about your fineries and your titles and your lands. They are not interested in power. You want the North and I will give you the North. There is no one there you will be able to convince to assist you because you will have to take care of yourself. I will know all that you do because if there is one person the free folk do listen to, it is me.”

The true North was a desolate wasteland and the people who lived there were feral creatures. Thenns, wargs, and she had even heard tell of cannibals. The ones she had met at Winterfell during the battle were nice, but they were different and she did not trust them. They did not recognize anything she knew to be right. They did not even worship the old gods. They worshipped other things entirely. “And if I refuse?” she whispered.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “Well you do have a choice. I give you two options. You go to the free folk, where I will ensure you live a comfortable existence,” Jon said. He held out his other hand to signify option two. “Or you come with me to Essos and I will also find you a comfortable position in a home. Perhaps in Pentos, I think you may like it there.”

I would become the foreigner. She shook her head. “No,” she breathed. She lifted her gaze to him. “And how do I even know this will happen? Your dragon will kill me!”

“She will not.”

“And you believe her?” Sansa cried. The first thing she thought when she had heard the dragon was still alive and that Jon was with her…the queen was going to come one day for Westeros. For the people who ensured her downfall and would not kneel. She trembled. “She is going to come what she thinks is hers. Look at what she did to this city!”

“I have already been over this. When she comes to Westeros it will be for me and for herself only.” Jon smiled sadly. “I wish you had given her a chance. I wish you had gotten to know her. I told her when I pledged myself to her that the people would come to love her as I did. She was scared, she hoped she would deserve it, and I told her that she did. In the end I was wrong and she had every reason to refuse me.” His brow furrowed and he suddenly appeared to her like the Jon she knew from long ago. Brooding and melancholy. “I loved her so much. You did not think she would rule with me? The last thing she said before I killed her was that she wanted me with her. At her side. Building the new world.”

And then you killed her to protect us, she thought, not breaking her wavering sight from him. “Well now you are,” she said.

He nodded. “And now I am.”

Sansa sobbed out again. This was it. The end. “You’re not a wolf at all. Not a Stark. Not even my brother.”

“No.” He drew the cloak around him, as if he was truly disappearing away from her. He nodded towards the tree. “I will leave you here to your prayers. Do not fail me Sansa, do not test me, because I have defended you more times than I should have. I have given up my life and my love and my future, for you.” He smiled again, his voice thick. “I only wish you had appreciated it. Maybe we would not be here and maybe you could have your crown.”

In one whip of the cloak, he was gone, striding out of the godswood to the ruins of the Red Keep. Sansa gasped, unaware she had been holding her breath. She pressed her palms into her mouth and began to sob, her entire body shaking. She could not think. There was nothing. Everything she had worked for, sacrificed for, and experienced…it was for nothing.

The pack was gone.

She fell to her knees before the godswood, sobbing into the weirwood’s roots, praying to the gods for help. For forgiveness. For anything at this point.

Chapter Text

Eddarion was silent as he flew around the city, occasionally beating his wings to gain more speed. He rose higher and higher, as if he was trying to touch the sun, gazing down at the city beneath him. Was this what she saw when she was atop Drogon that horrible day? Was that why she did not think as she flew overhead, swooping down to spit dragonfire on the unsuspecting?

He could understand it; you were free up here, you did not fear anything, and in a way it was as close to the gods as he thought he could get. Dany did not believe in gods and sometimes he did not think he did either. Until he looked into the eyes of his children and thought that there had to be something bigger than he to create something so pure and magical.

The confrontation with Sansa drained him. He had planned to see to Ser Davos and Sam, to speak with Brienne, and of course address Bran, but the first thing he had to do was deal with his sister. He had lost his temper with her; he hadn’t meant to do that. The emotion got the best of him, the way she stood there and acted like he was the one inconveniencing her. The way she had twisted the history in her mind.

He had called for Eddarion the moment he departed the godswood, forcing back the part of him that wanted to comfort the crying woman before the tree. He knew she had gone through horrors he could not imagine. That she had learned at the knee of Cersei Lannister on how to survive, as he had learned at the knee of Jeor Mormont and Aemon Targaryen. He had wished they could remain the family they were, but it was clear that the only thing Sansa truly loved in the world was her crown, her power, and her warped sense of righteousness.

Not once did she ask after about the child; he told her that he had murdered his daughter as well as the love of his life, for her, but she merely brushed by that, angry that he could not understand her point of view on not trusting the “foreign witch.” She sounded like Catelyn, he thought, briefly remembering the fuzzy image of a redheaded imperious woman who spoke to him as though he were horse dung under her shoe.

He closed his eyes briefly, allowing the feel of the cool wind on his face to wipe the old thoughts from his mind. Sansa would live a good life; after all she had been through she did not deserve to be a prisoner, but that was exactly what she was now. It pained him, he wished he could just leave her as Lady of Winterfell, but she would continue to scheme and plot. He could not trust her.

As he flew, he felt Eddarion seize a bit beneath him. His eyes sprang open instantly and saw the raven flying towards him. Down, he thought in Valyrian, guiding Eddarion towards the ground. The dragon instantly responded, circling around and approaching the godswood. As they descended, he could see the ships in Blackwater Bay. A raven sent to him that morning informed him that the ships were already offloading supplies along the coast and the Iron Fleet had reached Deepwood Motte, Oldtown, and what little bit of Dornish fleet existed was meeting the other Essosi ships to bring food to their people.

He knew Sansa would depart soon for Winterfell. He hoped she would not betray what little trust he was providing her to freely make her way back North. If so, he was afraid of what he might have to do. Eddarion’s claws clasped the wall and he leaned forward on his wings, turning his head to watch as Jon descended.

“Stay,” he whispered to the beast, stroking his maw. The dragon signaled his understanding with a slow blink of his silver eye. Jon approached the hearttree, where the previous evening he had deposed his sister as queen and where he would now depose his brother as king.

Bran was seated beneath the tree, his eyes rolled back and white, somewhere above. He no longer wore the crown of weirwood as he had the previous evening. The sun was dim, hardly reaching through the heavy clouds. Winter is coming, Jon thought. He stopped before his brother and spoke loudly. “Whoever is in my brother, come back now, I need to speak to you.”

There was no movement or change in his brother.

He sighed. “Bran, please, I need to speak…” He hardly had a chance to finish when Bran’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist. Suddenly he was no longer in the godswood but standing before a stone tower. The heat seeped into his bones and he gasped at the feeling of sand in his throat. He looked up, the sun burning his skin. Where am I, he wondered, turning and seeing Bran standing behind him.

This was the Three-Eyed Raven though.

Not Bran.

“What are we doing here?” Jon demanded. He felt his feet sink a bit in the sand as he approached the tower. He felt some sort of familiarity here. “Where are we?” Although he already knew.

All he heard of his life before arriving at Winterfell in Ned Stark’s arms was that he was born in the South. That was it. He turned and glared at the Three Eyed Raven. “You are not my brother.”

“No I am not.”

“Three-Eyed Raven, that is what you call yourself.”

“It is what I am.”

“And yet the Three Eyed Raven wanted to be king as well,” Jon stated. He looked back up at the tower. “Or were you as surprised as I when they appointed you the King.”

“No, I sensed it.”

“You see the future?”

“I am the past,” the being spoke. He stepped towards Jon, both of them looking at the tower. “I am the present. The future is…it is like looking into a pond after you dropped a stone. The images are there but I cannot read them. I knew I had to go south. I saw myself in a position of great authority, but did not understand until the council.” He smiled. “They elected their king. After my death they would have elected someone else.”

“And you die?” Jon asked, looking sideways. He squinted. “Or do you live forever?”

“No one lives forever.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“I do, but I continue on in someone else. Bran Stark’s body will die one day, yes, but the Three Eyed Raven will live on in someone else,” the being explained. His voice was even and never wavered. “You will take Westeros back to what it was before. The old world, with a king and seven kingdoms with no authority.”

That was a lie. He scowled. “No. You allowed all those people to die.”

“I do not get involved. I see but I do not interfere. I am a watcher of history.”

“And watching history, you could have stopped it!” Jon exclaimed. He felt the overwhelming guilt and anguish start to rise up within him again. “You could have stopped them. Stopped her…” he trailed off, whispering. “Stopped me.”

The raven shook his head. “No. I could not. Things happen this way for a reason. I ensured they got to this point so the new world could rise up.”

“What do you care of the new world? This one is dying!”

“I do not expect you to understand,” the raven continued, still staring at the tower. “But maybe one day you will. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen could not rule together when she wanted. Jon Snow still believed he was a wolf. He rejected his heritage. The wheel would not break. Now it can.”

Where are we, he wondered again, not wanting to listen to whatever was in his brother’s body speak. He understood, but…he didn’t want to understand. Things happen for a reason that was basically all he was saying. History existed but was told by those who lived it. Twisted it as a result. Maybe they could stop it. He shook his head. “You still killed all those people. Fifteen years of all the wars and famine and disease…and you let it happen.”

“You killed people.”

“I killed in battle!” he exclaimed.

Bran continued. “The Night King wanted to end mankind. Wanted to end history. Make everything the night. That did not happen, but people do not get to choose.”

They don’t get to choose.

Jon closed his eyes at the memory. “That was what she said. What Daenerys said when I killed her. It was why I killed her…I thought she had gone mad. I did it to save more and all it did was kill them. Kill me. Kill her.” He looked over at Bran. A thought alighted in his mind. “She was not mad. Not a tyrant. She was just someone else then, a hurt and angry woman who had lost everything and detached from the world to save herself. You can be brought back. My brother can be brought back from you.”

“Bran is gone.”

“I will find a way,” Jon said, resolute. The Three Eyed Raven could find someone else. Bran Stark could return. He shook his head. “Why are we here? Where are we?”

“This is Dorne. The Tower of Joy.”

“And?”

Bran smiled. “You do not want to be a king. As convincing as you are in the role, you do not want it.”

“Well neither did you and yet you became king.”

“I saw it in my visions and now I see something else.” Bran looked at the tower. There was movement in the windows. “You will rule now. You will become the King of Westeros.”

“I don’t,” Jon said. He swallowed hard. “I am going to be with my family. It is all I want. They can take care of themselves, all we want to do is help them. I will help them because I can, because I am able to do so, but I want to break the wheel. Having a king will just keep it going.”

“No,” Bran said. “No they cannot do that yet. One day, maybe, but until then you will oversee the kingdoms. Ensure they can rule themselves before you can unite them as you did with Essos. Now…why I have brought you here.”

The door at the base of the tower opened and Jon gasped, staring as a woman with long dark hair, twisted at the base of her neck and wearing a long gauzy white gown emerged. Her belly was swollen, threatening to topple her over, despite her height. There was a power about her, a serene beauty that seemed as though it could stop anyone in their tracks. She wore a blue shawl draped loosely over her shoulders. As she stepped out, Jon saw someone else behind her.

Father, he thought, his mouth falling open.

Rhaegar looked like him. Or rather he looked like Rhaegar. His curls came from him, the man’s silver hair, like Dany’s, hanging to his shoulders and the top portion tied back from his face into a knot. He had the same build, but was slightly taller, and even from the distance Jon could see his eyes flashed indigo instead of Dany’s lovely lavender.

“Please do not leave,” Lyanna begged, gripping his hands. Another, a servant of some sort, exited the tower and went to get a horse, a great war beast from a small shed. She sobbed and shook her head. “Please Rhaegar, I have never begged and I am begging you. Do not leave.”

Rhaegar shook his head and took her face into his palms. His hands were strong and callused. The contrast against Lyanna’s soft skin was startling. “I have to go my love.”

“Robert cannot be reasoned. He is using this as a reason to rebel and there will be no stopping him.”

The Prince of Dragonstone dropped a kiss to her forehead and reached around to hold her close. He closed his eyes. “After the war I will return. To you and our child. I will stop my father. I will kill him if necessary.”

Lyanna shook his head, still silently crying. “And then what?”

“And then I will come find you.” He dropped his palm to her belly, smiling wide, and his eyes crinkling. “I want to be with you and the babe. Our child. Our family.”

She laughed. “That is a nice thought, but I fear it may never come to pass.”

“You can fear it, but I will return. Our child will be king one day.” He pulled her close again. “Our little dragon.”

“Or a wolf,” Lyanna countered, still grinning through her tears.

“The blood of both is powerful.” The prince dropped his head back down against hers and closed his eyes, releasing a soft gasp. “I want to be with you. I just want to stay here forever, but I know I must leave. We could just stay and…and never leave the tower. Grow old here with our child.”

“We could stay a thousand years,” Lyanna said. She brushed her fingertips over his cheeks and tangled into his silver hair at the base of his neck. “But you must go, I know this. Love is the death of duty and you must go do your duty. To us…to save our child.”

Rhaegar nodded. He moved and stood behind her, his arms going around her waist and his hands resting on either side of her belly. Her hands covered his and they began to sway from side to side, a comfortable rhythm suggesting this was not the first time. “My uncle says I should name the babe after him. Aemon Targaryen.”

“No,” Lyanna murmured. She turned in his arms and pressed her palm against the three-headed dragon sigil over his heart. Her voice firm and determined. “We will name him Aegon, after the Conqueror. Our son will be that, but he will also be good and pure. He is uniting our houses, the oldest in the kingdoms. The blood of the wolf and the dragon, of the First Men and of Valyria.”

The melancholy prince nodded and captured her lips in a kiss, holding her for another moment before he broke away, squeezing her hands again and kissing them, as the servant approached with his horse. “I will be back my love,” Rhaegar called, climbing atop the horse. He nodded to her. “And I will be here for the birth of our son.”

Lyanna sobbed, holding her belly. “Please Rhaegar, please come back to me.”

“I will, I promise.” He turned the horse and moved to leave.

Something called within Jon. He had been watching the exchange, completely transfixed, seeing his parents and the love their shared. Hearing what they wanted for their future and their child. Wanted for him. He wanted more time. He wanted to see his father one more time. He stepped towards him, calling out. “Father!”

“No!” Bran exclaimed, grabbing at his arm.

Rhaegar stopped and looked over, meeting his gaze. The dragon frowned slightly and then shook his head, nudging the horse and galloping off, leaving Lyanna standing and watching him depart, the last time she would ever see him again.

No, Jon thought, moving towards his mother.

And with one step he was back in the godswood, his mother gone. Naught but a memory. He blinked. The sun was out now. He whipped around and pushed at Bran, who was seated in his chair. “What was that?” he demanded. “Take me back there!”

Bran smiled. “That was your future.”

“What are you talking about? I was not even born! That was my past!” There would be no getting a straight answer out of the creature. He glared at him. “Not my past.”

“You are the blood of the dragon and the wolf. The blood of the First Men and Valyria. You were meant to be a king and you will be one. You will be Aegon Targaryen and you will unite Westeros once more,” Bran recited. He blinked and cocked his head. “And then you can be with your family.”

Jon closed his eyes. He would do what he could. He came here to help the people, not to conquer. One day they may stop referring to him as the King. Dany was the one who ruled, she was the one who knew what to do and was good at doing it. All he could do was listen and provide her with some advice and occasionally rule in her stead when she was busy with other matters. Like casting a sentence or listening to the people. Westeros was so broken he could not do that yet. He released a sigh. He would do what he could. Whether they thought him a king or not, he was here to help.

Then he would return to his island. With his children and his Dany.

“If that is my future,” he said, moving to what he considered the most important matter at hand. “Then what is yours? You said you do not die. You are my brother, whether you claim he is gone or not.” He closed his eyes. “Queen Daenerys of Essos wants to kill you. She has not told me, because you are my brother, but I know it is what she wants.” He frowned. “Should I kill you then?”

“No, you should let me return to the Lands of Always Winter, where the original Three-Eyed Raven was from.” Bran smiled again. “And there I will stay until such time exists where another comes along.”

“The Lands of Always Winter?”

“It was where I was born.”

Jon stared at the creature. There was a way he could save his brother. He nodded. In the meantime, he could at least save his body. “Very well. I will have an escort take you there.”

“Thank you.”

“You cannot return.”

“I have no interest in returning.” Bran looked at the tree and sighed. “Now if you could leave me.” His eyes rolled back and went white. A raven took off and flew away.

I suppose that is my cue, Jon thought, leaving the creature beneath the tree. He walked through the keep, hearing Eddarion flying above, watching him. He stopped before a series of steps, looking up at the ruins of the keep. They had not fixed much in the last fifteen years. He stopped and closed his eyes. After a moment, pushing away the bad memories, he began to ascend.

When he reached the top, he looked out over the grand hall. He had never seen it in its prime. Had only seen the throne when it was facing an open backdrop, snow and ash and burning embers around it. Then it had been gone. Blown away in a rage of dragonfire.

He looked out over the space, at where the pile of melted swords still sat, frozen in time. He walked towards it and stopped; even when he had seen it in person, it had not meant anything to him. It was just a chair, something people had killed millions for. He closed his eyes and remembered the elation on her face when she saw him.

She had been going to sit in it, but stopped when he entered. She had left it and walked towards him. The only chance she would ever have to sit in the throne her ancestor had wrought and take back the kingdoms stolen from her, take back all she had lost and slaved and fought for. He closed his eyes, tears trickling down. Gods I am so sorry, he thought again. He looked up at the sky, watching as Eddarion flew down to land with a rumble and shake behind him.

The dragon made a sound of distress, looking around in what he could only call anxiety. This place housed so many bad memories, he thought, looking up at the sky. He dropped his gaze back down to the melted chair.

And he frowned, seeing the drawn out sigil of a wolf and a dragon.

Then he smiled. “J.Hillx2,” he spoke aloud. He nodded. They deserved a new future. All the children did. Everyone did. He blew out a breath and turned, climbing back up onto Eddarion. As he ascended, the dragon flapping his wings to lift up, Jon paused, looking down at the ruins. He took a deep breath. “Burn it all,” he whispered. “Burn it down.”

Eddarion let out a screech and drew his head back, releasing a stream of fire onto what remained of the great hall. Jon watched as what remained of the throne continued to melt and the bricks and the braziers fall into it as well. It seemed to all melt into each other, destroying any remnant of the place where thousands had once gathered and where both tyrants and gentle rulers once sat. It all needed to go.

He nudged the dragon and turned away from the Red Keep, taking off towards the west. There was a lot to do and he had to begin now.

He wanted to get back to his family.

Chapter Text

I really should have upgraded these cells, Tyrion thought, hitting his head back against the rotting stone behind him. It wasn’t like he thought he would be back down here again. Alas, here he was, sitting in the same cell he’d been in when Jon Snow had come to visit him, when he’d successfully convinced the bastard to remove their joint problem.

He dug his fingers through his knot of hair, groaning as he came to his feet, hearing a door open from the stairs above. Maybe today would be the day. They just kept him waiting. The month on the ship from Essos. Then the last couple of months here. When were they just going to do it already? Although he did have to slightly commend the dragon queen for making him suffer.

Still, just do it.

“Let go of me you cockless fucks!”

Oh boy, he thought, closing his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. It was about time he had company from the old guard. He opened them again, smiling as the former Lord of Highgarden, the knight of the Blackwater himself, was thrown by two Unsullied into the cell across from him. Bronn continued to shout obscenities at the unflappable warriors, kicking his boot into the iron bars.

It took a moment for Bronn to recognize him from across the dimly lit dirt hall. “Well look here,” he said, smirking and draping his arms through the bars. “They haven’t killed you yet?”

“They didn’t kill you either.” Tyrion nodded towards the stairs leading up to the exit. He was not sure which one did it, but letting Bronn suffer down here was a nice bit of punishment too. For him, not for Bronn. “How did you come to be here?”

“Those fucking Hightowers.”

Should have removed them from their seat, Tyrion thought. Lord Leyton Hightower never preferred war, simply nodding in acceptance at whatever had occurred in The Reach. He scowled. He’d been plotting all along. He should have seen it. They were committed to the Faith of the Seven; having the old gods thrust on them by the new King was oddly accepted there. Same for the Maester of Raven’s Landing having only one link in his chain and a wife to his side; they were also the advocates for The Citadel.

He closed his eyes. “Did they pledge?”

“That fucker got down on his knee in front of that fucking beast and said that House Targaryen was the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. That the Hightowers have always been pledged to the Targaryens and it was about fucking time they came back.”

“And what did she do?”

“She?” Bronn scoffed. Tyrion frowned. “Not she. That bastard of the North. The one who you said would kill her? The one who did? That was the one there. Hightower said that he would follow the dragons to the death. Then the fucker made him Lord of the Reach, gave them Highgarden! My Highgarden!”

The dwarf closed his eyes. He should have seen it coming. The White Bull himself laid down his life to protect the unborn Jon Snow at the Tower of Joy. The blood of the king. The Hightowers, decades later, had not forgotten that either. He shook his head again, looking at the dirt. “So how come you did not get roasted like a pig on a spit?”

“Fucker gave me two options.”

There was the Ned Stark within him. Always trying to save the person, whether they deserved it or not. Fuck, Tyrion thought. “And what are they?”

“Trial or immediate execution.”

He rolled his eyes; fucking sellsword thought he was going to be able to talk his way out of this at a trial. “You fool, you will be found guilty immediately.”

“Nah.” Bronn pushed away from the bars and sank down against the wall, picking up a small rock and tossing it against the stone. “He’s a Stark. Won’t kill me.” He grinned. “Besides, you gave me Highgarden for not killing you. Maybe I can convince him to give me one of those Lyseni whorehouses or some such place out east.”

I do not know about that. Tyrion did not say anything to Bronn; lest he ruin the eternal opportunistic man’s thoughts on his future. They were dealing with dragons and wolves, not lions. He fell down to the ground again and closed his eyes. Just as he was going to fall into a bit of a sleep, the man across from him spoke. “You know it is funny.”

“Hm?”

“I saw that thing out in the Reach before. Well, one of them I think. This one was a bit different. The one I saw…it burned everyone. She burned this entire fucking city with that thing and I didn’t once see the thing breathe a wisp of smoke when he was there. What kind of weapon is that?” he wondered out loud.

A deterrent, Tyrion thought. People knew what they were capable of with just one word. Whether Jon Snow knew how to get the dragon to respond to it was a different matter. Starks beheaded their enemies and Targaryens burned them. It would be interesting to see how Jon did his executions nowadays. He cleared his throat. “At least they aren’t burning people with it right now.”

“Like those Tarlys. You were there.”

“Did not even give them a chance.”

“You gave her a chance and look what happened,” Bronn reminded him. He laughed. “You killed her.”

Yes and I’m alive because of it. Not for too much longer. “No wonder she is going to kill me now,” he murmured.

The sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance and movement of people above dislodging dirt and rocks to fall on them filled the silence. He said nothing and stared ahead. Maybe he could die here. Just pass away in his sleep like an old man. Too bad he didn’t have a drink in his hand and his cock in a woman’s mouth. Like he always wanted.

“What is going to happen now?”

He opened one eye. “What?”

“Well if we’re just going to be dinner for the dragon. Why are we alive right now? Why are you still alive?” He shrugged. “Just to let us suffer? Fucks.”

The point is to show us just what kind of queen she will be now. Or king, he supposed. Jon Snow did not want to be a king, he had been adamant about that, despite what Varys thought. It had been Davos’s idea to marry them together, but that had fallen into nothing at the idea of their relation. Jon Snow is of the North, Varys had advocated. It was not done there. Seemed it did not matter to them now. Took death to see it, he guessed. Then again, who was he to question their relationship? His brother and sister had been fucking since they knew what fucking was.

He picked up a rock, began to emulate Bronn who had been clanging away over there since he’d sat down. He thumbed it; watching as the edge cut into his thumb, blood staining the edge of the stone. “He’s going to show us what kind of…of rulers they are. The ones we wanted them to be and before my poor advice turned her away…to show me that this is the king I wanted…the queen I wanted…and I cannot reap the rewards of it.”

“Who the fuck cares?”

I do, he thought. He’d done nothing but survive since the day he was born. Only within these last decades of his life had he actually tried to do something to make a decent world. “It is more punishment than simply killing me,” he concluded. Let him see the world he wanted but could never live in.

“Well no one is going to stand with her. They’ll remember what she did to King’s Landing. To anyone who stood against her, it won’t work, mark my words,” Bronn said, knocking his knuckles into the rusting bars.

I don’t know about that. He thought maybe some would stand against her. The ones who suffered because of what she’d done. He was about to say so when the door at the top of the stairs opened. An Unsullied came down, said nothing, and opened his door, grabbing him up. Bronn peered out as best he could. “Hey where you taking him? Tyrion!”

At least someone will mourn me when I’m dead, he thought, taking a deep breath and going with the soldier up and around. He stared in horror at the smoldering remains of the holdfast as they descended a staircase. She did it, he thought, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide. She burned King’s Landing again. Where was the King? Brienne?

Oh gods the twins?

He tried not to fight when the Unsullied pushed him forward. He stumbled and fell to his knee, looking up as a shadow crossed over. He blinked, focusing on the image in front of him. The dragon was not Drogon but the other one, the Ned Stark dragon. He watched as Jon approached him, in black leather and a black cloak, with red lining around his neck and wrists. Silver wolf and dragons on his chest. The wolf sword on his hip.

He blinked again, trying to focus. “You burned the city,” he accused. He roared. “Where are my niece and nephew?!”

Jon shook his head, quiet. “They’re safe. As are all the rest. I only burned the past. Why you kept that room is beyond me…only the worst things in our history occurred there.” He rested his hand on the pommel of Longclaw.

Where was she? Making him suffer more, he imagined. He looked around, but neither she nor that monster of hers was around. Maybe she was planning on making an entrance. She always did like to do that, he thought, remembering the Dragonpit, the loot train attack, and when she’d landed before her troops, to announce her vision of changing the world.

To become a tyrant.

“Looking for someone?”

He fixated on Jon Snow’s cool gray eyes. “Where is she?”

The wolf’s smile twitched on his lips. “Not here.”

“Attacking the Reach? The Westerlands? Is she going to destroy Casterly Rock too?” Not that he would mind seeing the stronghold fall into the sea. He scowled and looked around again, still not putting it past the dragon to come flying down. Burn him before he even had a chance to speak.

“She’s in Essos.”

Essos!? He whipped around. “What?” he blurted. He frowned. The woman who had spoken to him in the gardens…she was…his thoughts trailed off. Of course. Of course she was in Essos. She did not need to be here in Westeros. We mean nothing to her. The continent where she died. The continent where her family died. He set his jaw. The little girl, running out to greet her. The fear in her eyes at seeing the child not long after he had departed. She did not want me to know.

He looked over at Jon Snow. “She’s not interested in the country.”

“No.”

He smirked. “She’s with the children.” It was a stab in the dark, just to see what reaction he could garner. It was subtle; Jon Snow had always kept his emotions hidden away. Just a spark in the eyes and a twitch in the muscle of his jaw. The clench of his fingers on the pommel of the sword. Even the dragon above rumbled slightly, no doubt through an unseen connection he shared with the man.

The man before him took a step towards him and very softly, spoke. “You can try to manipulate me again Lord Tyrion, but it will not work. You can mention my children again, but I promise you, it will be the last thing you say.”

Very well then. He looked up at the sky and then down to Jon. “So if she is with the children then what are you doing here? Other than allowing me to fester down in the cells. You have The Reach now it seems. Then what? Then what will she have you do?”

“Have me do? I thought you were supposed to be the smartest in the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon smirked. “You underestimated me Lord Tyrion. She is not having me do anything. This is my choice.”

His choice? He squinted at the man. “But you…you did not want to be king.”

“And I still don’t, but sometimes we have to do what we do not want to do.” He gripped the pommel of the sword again, his voice soft. “You will come with us and watch as I attempt to mend what you have wrought on the people of this continent.”

He stared at the man. “You really are a dragon,” he murmured, finally seeing him for what he really was. He had underestimated him, after all this time.

“Yes.”

A thought slammed into him. He whipped his head up from looking at his bound hands, his heart pounding. “What are you going to do about Sansa?” This all could have been avoided had she kept the promise. There was no way that Daenerys would allow her to live and threaten to upend her rule again.

Jon stepped towards him again. “She will not be able to hold lands or titles. She has been stripped of any power she thought she might have had and I am going to ensure she cannot manipulate anyone again in the future.”

The girl who learned at my sister’s feet. At Lord Baelish’s feet. Tyrion was not sure of that. He sighed and eyed the dragon watching him. Silver eyes unblinking. It was smaller than Drogon, but not by much. “Where are you going to kill me?” It was not a matter of if, but when.

“You’ll find out soon.” Jon shrugged, whispering. “Call it suffering. As you did to me.”

“You were the one who made the choice to kill her. You clearly thought it was the right thing at the time.” I will not allow you to continue to blame me for her murder, Tyrion thought. Not when you were the one who wielded the sword.

Jon gripped Longclaw again. “Well it wasn’t and I’ve told you that.” He drew himself back again. “I am not going to burn anything in Westeros unless that is my only choice. This is a new world and maybe the people here can finally live in peace. The Iron Islands are bringing ships of food to Westeros. Medicines and healers from the far east are coming to put a stop to the disease that runs rampant in your cities. It will take some time, but perhaps one day Westeros may be as it used to be.” He shrugged a shoulder and a tiny smile pulled at his lips. “Just with less killing.”

That was a fool’s dream. Tyrion glanced back up at the dragon, who was rumbling deep in its throat, still eyeing him. I will not make a good meal, so do not even think of it, he thought, wondering if the thing could understand him. It dropped its head a bit, moving closer to Jon. “And what will the dragons do?” The ones across the sea, however many there were now.

Jon reached up and lightly touched his fingertips to the dragon’s maw. It made a sound akin to a kitten’s purr. “They’ll live in peace of course.”

“Peace?”

The dragon peered at him, only instead of silver eyes, the grey ones blinked and then it smiled. “Well yes of course. Isn’t that all anyone wants?” He looked back up at the beast, his voice reflective and faraway. “Even a dragon.”

--

Bronn had fallen to sleep, who knew how long later. Tyrion couldn’t sleep. Too busy wondering if it would be his last. He thought back on the conversation with Jon Snow. Jon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen.

He had underestimated Jon Snow.

And forgotten Aegon.

The dragon had allowed him to return to the cells, not saying anything after announcing his intentions for him. To parade him around and watch as the kingdoms would fall to their knees. To the new Aegon the Conqueror. Essos had independent cities and they united them, they removed the slavery and the wars between them. If they intended to do that here it would take some time.

Of course all the dragons had was time.

He looked up when a door opened above. Bronn was still asleep. He snored. It irked Tyrion more than it should have. He watched as a Dothraki appeared. He recognized this one from the castle in New Valyria. Must have been pretty trusted. The Dothraki was accompanied by someone in a dark fur cloak. He climbed to his feet, staring as Sansa Stark appeared from behind the Dothraki guard.

She looked around the filth of the cells and then nodded to him, smirking. “I suppose I should be glad that I am not down here.”

“Queen Sansa.”

She shook her head; tears streaming down her pale face. “I am no longer a queen.” She sighed. “I hate how this is happening. You were oddly the only one I could end up trusting. A Lannister. Not even my brother. Either of them.”

You should never trust a Lannister, he thought, sighing in slight pity for the girl before him. The product of his sister, he thought. Cersei would probably be proud of her, for all he knew. He scowled up at her. “If you had not said anything to me about your brother, we would not be here.”

“She would never have allowed the North to be free. In the end, I was right.”

“In the end, you lost that crown you so desperately wanted.” Just like my sister. He laughed. It was funny. He looked back up at her questioning look. “It is quite ironic you know.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Jon Snow will keep the North free.” He smiled slightly; that was never a question, even after they sent the dragon to freeze at the Wall. What was stolen from mine thrice over, she had told him in that initial letter, announcing her rebirth from death.

“No he will not, she will not let him.”

“You know your brother.”

“He is not my brother.”

“Fine your cousin,” he stressed. He draped his arms through the bars, staring up at the woman before him. They had all underestimated her and they were all dead. Save for Jon Snow. He smirked again. “I was over there…I spoke with them both. There’s something there we just did not see. We never anticipated.”

“Anticipated what?”

He smiled again, sad. “That they would love each other.”

Sansa continued to stare at him and then glanced away. She pulled her cloak tighter around her. “How do you know it isn’t just her manipulating him?”

You poor woman, he thought, shaking his head. “Because,” he whispered. He looked back up at her. “He told you about how it was not just her who died.”

“Yes.” Was it just him or did he see a flicker of regret cross her stone face? She closed her eyes. “That was unfortunate. I had no idea.” She paused, curling and uncurling her fingers. There was something else she wanted.

He narrowed his gaze on her. “What else can I do for you Sansa? As you see, I am in no position to assist with anything.”

She lifted her cool gaze up to his. “You did it last time.”

“Did what?” His heart began to thud faster. Do not do this Sansa, he thought. Do not make this mistake. You have your life. Do not risk it.

“You convinced Jon last time.”

“I cannot do that now.”

“Why not? He loved her last time! He still was able to do it!” she exclaimed.

He glared at her; was she serious? Of course she was. Sansa Stark was grasping at anything she could at this moment to keep her crown, her power, and her kingdom. This was his sister. She had tried and failed. He pointed up towards the entrance to the Black Cells. “Did you ask him in the last fifteen years, after he traveled from the Wall to Essos and found her again…did you ask him what happened since?” Tyrion laughed. Of course she didn’t. He dropped his forehead to the bars. You do not get to ask that, Daenerys had told him, when he’d asked about their children. Jon had said nothing either. It was smart of them, to keep them secret. He lifted his eyes back up to Sansa. “They have children, Sansa. A little girl, maybe more, who knows.”

She squinted and her face fell, the coldness thawing. “He has a child?”

“It seems so. They have something to live for, Sansa. Something to build.” He also thought of the dagger she kept with her. What she had said to him if Jon Snow ever thought to betray her again. “And if you still love your brother or your cousin or whatever you want to call him, she will kill him immediately. The instant she thinks he will betray her again.” He shook his head. “Even I cannot convince him this time.”

“Well maybe I can.”

“You cannot. For all your abilities in this area, even you cannot break what is between them Sansa. She died.” He lifted his eyebrows. Did she not understand that? “She was dead. She came back to life. There is something bigger going on there that even we cannot fathom or understand.”

The former queen snorted, un-queenlike, and scowled at him. “Do you believe in that? The red woman nonsense? It is all a lie. I’m sure she just wasn’t dead enough.”

“Did you ever ask your brother what happened to him at the Wall?” When she said nothing, still staring at him, he smiled, ironically. He laughed. “Davos told me. Your brother took a knife in the heart for his people. He died. He was dead, Davos said, cold and blue. The red woman, the one who lit up the night when we fought the Night King? She brought him back. For some reason.”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe it was to kill her.”

“If that as his purpose then why did she come back too?”

“So we could defeat her again. I don’t know, what does it matter? We can do it. We can find a way to get rid of her once and for all.”

Tyrion waved his fingers around in the air like circles, spinning slowly. “And on and on it goes,” he said, sarcastic. He smirked again. “Like a wheel. A wheel she wanted to break and now she gets to do it. Only took her dying to get her wish.”

She shook her head, tears dripping down her face again. “I just do not understand,” she cried. She wiped at her eyes, peering over at him again, dejected. “Jon is letting me go North. To the True North. Beyond the wall, with the wildlings.”

Well that was quite a punishment. He thought perhaps they would send her to Essos. She should be thankful she actually got to stay on her continent. To something close to where she grew up. Cold and snowy. “Well the wildlings won’t like you,” he said.

“I can work on it,” she said, mumbling. “I have survived everything that has happened to me. I can survive this.”

“Because everywhere you have been has had people who are interested in something you can offer them or take from them,” Tyrion explained. Call this her last lesson in power, he thought. “The wildlings have no interest in the south. No interest in power or titles. Their only loyalty is to Jon.”

They both ceased speaking for a few moments more. He could see she was still trying to find a solution to her problem. A violent one. He sighed, wondering what she might say next. Sansa looked up again, as if she had just thought of something. He quirked his lip up. Yes, he wondered. “When you were in Essos you wanted to kill her. You basically said so in your letter to me, when you told me Jon was over there. How come you couldn’t?”

That had been a fool’s errand. His own panic and last attempts to try to rid the world of her. To save himself. “I did not understand the hold she had on the people there,” he murmured. They loved her, they truly loved her. “And I could find no one who would be willing to do it. Not even the Faceless Men.”

“Arya could have done it. She was there.”

“She will not, she knows they have children, I’m sure of it.” Arya Stark was not as heartless as her sister; he had discovered in the short time he had known her. It was also clear that her bond with Jon Snow was greater than the one Sansa had with him.

Sansa shook her head, still in denial. “Maybe I can talk to her about it.”

“She has Dark Sister, Sansa. Visenya Targaryen’s lost sword. This is not the same Daenerys Targaryen that we both knew.” Jon Snow had trained her too.

“Arya killed the Night King.”

“Well the Night King did not anticipate what Arya might do now did he? Daenerys anticipates threats at every turn and she is ready for them. She will attack before anyone has a chance to get close to her.” He shook his head again as Sansa opened her mouth again. “Stop it Sansa. You lost your crown. I’m going to lose my head.” He fell back against the wall again. “It’s over.”

She shook her head and shouted. “It is not over! What happened to the Tyrion Lannister I used to know?”

“He’s tired and old and is just ready to die. You’re turning into a stupid little girl again.” He glared at her. “Cersei tried. She killed the second dragon and she cut off the advisor’s head in front of her. What did she get out of it? She helped create a tyrant who burned a city to the ground. It’s over.”

The other woman began to cry again, spent and exhausted. He stood and reached through the bars, taking her hand into his. A poor attempt at comfort. “You are a good woman,” he said. “You did what you thought was right at the time. You saved yourself. I of all people can understand that.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. She smiled again, sad. “You were the best of them you know. I did not understand it at the time…but you were.”

Well that was just sad now wasn’t it, he thought, but smiled instead. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“I suppose this is goodbye.”

“I suppose it is.” He gazed up at the crack in the wall of his cell, just wide enough to glimpse the sky. In the small window he could see the dragon fly by. The screech of the beast filled the cells, echoing through the city.

She shook her head, whispering. “He has as dragon. I cannot believe that.”

“We should have realized something when he could ride Rhaegal.” The dragons had not murdered him when he had removed their chains in Meereen. Never had he thought he could actually attempt to ride one. They should have realized, if Daenerys was allowing him to take one of her children as his own and the beast was allowing it as well, there was something else more. The signs were all there, they just ignored them. “He named the beast after your father.”

The thick red braid whipped so hard it smacked her face. “What?” she exploded.

Across from them Bronn threw something against the bars, rattling them. “Shut up! Some of us want to sleep before we die.”

He sighed, knowing that she was not going to like what he said next. “It seems Ned stark was not as honorable as we all believed.”

“Father was the most honorable man.”

“He took the shame of having a bastard, brought him to his home and to his wife, and raised him as if he were legitimate. Lied to his King and his best friend, all of it to protect Jon. Regardless of what it would do to those around him,” Tyrion mused. He glanced at Sansa, who was silently fuming. “The true heir.”

Sansa released a long sigh. “Do you believe he would have told anyone? Father?”

“Maybe only after Jon had taken the black.” Maybe that was Ned’s plan all along. Jon would not be able to actually become the king. “Or maybe not, Robert would still have tried to kill him.”

“Jon is defying what Father would have wanted for him. By doing this. Father died keeping his secret and now what is he doing?” Sansa scoffed. “He’s throwing that sacrifice in his face by becoming a king.”

Tyrion smiled sadly at her again; their time was limited, he saw the Dothraki guard move towards Sansa, to take her back up to the surface. Probably to lead her to wherever she would live out the rest of her days. “Or Jon is doing exactly what Ned would have wanted.”

Sansa cocked her head. “And that would be?”

He looked back up at the sky. Jon had said it himself. “Bringing some form of peace to this forsaken continent.”

As if on cue, the dragon roared and they both looked out, seeing as another flew across the sky, blocking out the sun. “Gods,” Sansa murmured.

The black and white dragon flew off, joined by the massive black and red.

So this is it, he thought. I will die soon.

It seemed the Dragon Queen had returned to Westeros.

Chapter Text

A Song of Ice and Fire I should probably make an updated version, Sam thought, setting the book down into a crate beside him. He straightened up and took a few others, putting them into the crate as well.

“Where are you going?”

He stood up so straight he bumped into the desk, knocking more books aside. “Oh,” he exclaimed, seeing Jon standing in the doorway of the Small Council chambers. He looked at his hands and then back up to his friend. Former friend. Still friend? He did not know. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly quite dry. “Your…your Grace,” he stammered, dropping his head. He glanced up and Jon had not moved. He made an attempt to kneel, but finally the king spoke.

“You do not need to kneel, I have told you that before.”

Yes of course, when he had flown into the godswood on the back of the black and white dragon. They had gone into the keep and that was where Bran had calmly removed his crown and handed it to his brother, renouncing any hold he had on the Six Kingdoms. He assumed it was back to Seven now. He had been in the keep, told to remain there by Jon before he left for the Reach. He wanted to talk to him, to see what had happened to his friend in all these years.

To find out what his fate would be.

I will stand tall, he had hoped, but now that it was finally happening, all he could do was keep his head down and look at the floor. “What will you do to me?” he whispered. He glanced up. “I…I deserted the Night’s Watch.”

“You did,” Jon said. He walked over to the crate and picked up the book, looking at it. He held it up, smiling. “I read this. It’s good…a bit misleading.”

“I…I…I did what I thought I could do. I thought this whole thing would work,” he stammered. The council. Choosing a king. He gulped. “I am so sorry Jon.”

“Sorry?” Jon did not look up, he was flicking through the book. At the drawings. He pointed to one and turned it. Sam closed his eyes. The drawing of Jon holding Daenerys in his arms after he had killed her. He tapped his finger to it. “This is inaccurate. I was not smiling. She was not bleeding that much.” He looked back down at it, whispering. “And it certainly was not the moment that everyone became free.”

“I am sorry Jon. For whatever I did to lead her to her path.” They all had a role in it, he had to imagine. It did not happen overnight. The woman who had greeted him in the library at Winterfell had been kind and smiling. The woman who had burned King’s Landing had been a monster. Unless she always was one, hiding behind the smile. Sam looked back to Jon, who was unblinking. Where was his friend? Where was the friend who had said goodbye to him with a sad smile, in the yard at Winterfell, and who he had named his son after. The one who saved him at the Wall and who encouraged him to stand up for himself. His hands shook, reaching for the few links he had on his Maester chain. “What are you going to do me?”

Jon set the book down on the table, walking around to stand at the head of it, where the King usually sat. He looked over and shook his head, whispering. “Sam, you came down to the crypts and you told me about my heritage. That was the first thing you did.”

“She burned my father and brother,” he cried. He still mourned for Dickon. Dickon did not deserve that. His father…well he was not kind and probably deserved the death, but Dickon did not. But he still loved his father. Even though his father was horrible to him. It was so complicated. He sniffed.

“They refused to bend the knee.”

“So she burned them? Really Jon?” he exclaimed. “They were my family. She did not have to do that.”

“It was war,” Jon said. He was sounding like her, Sam thought. He scowled. “She gave them a choice. They could join her or they could die. That is what war is Sam. It is choices between life and death, it is ugly and dark and violent. Your father made his choice. Your brother did too and you cannot blame her for that. You told me and you knew I had to tell her. You did not have to do that. You could have waited.”

“You were the true heir!” Sam cried, sniffing. He felt ashamed that he could not stand up to this man, but he could not reconcile the unfeeling person in black leather before him to the kind one at the Wall all those years ago, keeping him from being bullied and teaching him to fight. “You gave up your crown for her and she would not do the same. You needed to know that.”

The emotion finally started to show. Jon shook his head, laughing. “She wanted to rule with me Sam.” He picked up the book, shaking it. “You missed that part in here. Where she wanted me to help build the new world with her. Where we could rule together.” He set the book down. “I killed her, yes. I regret that. To the day I die I will regret it, but things have changed. She was reborn. She is ashamed of what happened here and lives with that pain every day of her new life. We fight every single day for what we have together.” He looked back over to Sam. His voice dropped again, a breath. “I still cannot forgive you for that…for telling me.”

I’m sorry, he thought. He furrowed his brow, peering back at Jon. “But…how did you get beyond…beyond the relation?” He had to think that would keep them from each other. Keep them from whatever it was they were doing in Essos. He had tried to keep up with it, the Maesters in the Citadel were angry with him and often kept news from him.

Jon quirked a lip. “That is what you care about?”

“It is a question, yes.”

He looked at his hands, quiet. “You cannot help who you love, and well…” he trailed off, looking up and smiling. “I am a Targaryen.” He walked around the table. “My father was going to wed Sansa to her cousin. Robb was probably going to married off to a Tully relative too. This entire kingdom is built upon everything.” He scowled. “Tyrion Lannister saved his brother so he could run off and be with his sister. In the end, does it really matter at this point?”

No, he supposed not. He could not get over what would become of him. Of Gilly and Little Sam and Little Jon. The children that he might continue to have with Gilly. She did not deserve to be punished for what he had done. He looked up and pleaded. “Do not harm my family. Whatever you have to do with me…killing me or putting me in prison…”

“I’m not going to hurt you Sam.” Jon walked over and stood before him, concerned. He shook his head. “You’re my oldest friend. You did what you believed was right at the time…we all have made those same mistakes.” He took a deep breath. “But you do need to account for your desertion from the Night’s Watch.”

He closed his eyes, trying not to cry. “I understand.”

“You left to be a Maester and you will still remain one.” Jon’s voice dropped and it seemed as if even he did not want to pass the sentence. “But at Castle Black.”

Castle Black.

He shook his head. “My father…he sent me there. He’s gone…”

“You broke an oath Sam.”

“You killed your queen,” he whispered, trying to reconcile the man before him with his old friend. He swallowed hard and nodded. “But Gilly and the children…”

“You can bring them with you.” Jon lifted his shoulder. “The times are changing. The world is different. I will speak with the Citadel.”

Even so…he still could not believe he was still being spared his life. But…but I was…he shook his head, still unable to fathom it. “I was on the council. I helped build this and I could not stop what happened…I mean…” he cried. “I’m a coward Jon. I just wanted to survive and I am sorry…I did not try to help you…”

“No one did, do not blame yourself for that.”

“But she should kill me too. Like she did with my family…”

“She values your input, Sam.” Jon smiled. “She won’t kill the people who disagree with her.”

“She did before Jon.”

“She is not the same.” Jon looked away. Sam frowned; it appeared as though he had gone somewhere else in that moment. Sam was used to that look; he saw it on the King all the time. Well, the former King. He looked back at Sam and smiled again, softer this time, as if he were thinking of something that filled him with joy. “She took a knife in the heart, Sam. From the man she loved. She lost her child. Did you know that? I killed my child when I killed her.”

Oh gods. He shook his head quickly, stammering and taking a step back. “No…no I did not…I am so sorry Jon…I…” His chin quivered. “But…how could she forgive you for that? I mean…” He still struggled to understand the woman who had killed his family. Still thought of what pain their last moments were.

Jon’s face softened and Sam saw the wolf behind the dragon. “Sometimes I do not think she has. That is why we work on what we have together.” He fiddled with the pommel on Longclaw. “We have…” he paused and thought for a moment. Sam frowned; what was he going to say? He clearly wasn’t sure if he should say it. The king wrestled internally for a moment and then nodded to himself. “We have two children.”

Oh! Sam’s mouth fell open slightly. His lips broadened into a smile. “Oh…well…that is wonderful! You’re a father!”

“I am,” Jon said, still grinning. He shrugged. “Not bad for a couple of lads from the Night’s Watch. You a father, husband, and Maester and me…”

“A king,” Sam whispered. Jon said nothing. He fiddled again with the chain. The Maester at Castle Black….at least he could have Gilly. The children…“You…you have children then…will they be the heirs?” The heirs to whatever throne they decided to install.

A steel curtain dropped before Jon’s face, the emotion suddenly gone. Sam recognized that look. He saw it often in their days in the Watch. He was too emotional; it was something his father said to him for most of his life. Shamed him for. Jon’s emotion ran deep, but he never showed it. Sam supposed that was because he was raised in the North, a bastard, and unable to do anything about what he felt. He stepped back; maybe he should not have mentioned the children.

“No,” he announced. He stared hard at Sam. “No one knows of them. Not even Tyrion Lannister. I told you as a test of trust, Sam. You are my oldest friend. My only friend at one point in my life. I want you to understand just why I am here. Why we are doing this.” He laughed. “We did not have to come to Westeros. There was no plan in place to do this, not now. Essos is prosperous and peaceful. Not until Tyrion Lannister sailed across the sea and wanted loan forgiveness and tried to plot to kill her!”

Stupid lion, Sam thought. Sometimes the lion could not stop his own plans. “I had nothing to do…nothing to do with that.”

“Of course you didn’t. She asked him to leave and he did not. He stayed and he thought he could reason with her and came to Valyria. His mistake, there would be no reasoning.” Jon smiled again. “And then we met the Hill twins.”

Joanna and Jamie, that’s right they had gone over there with him. “And they convinced you?” he asked. That would be strange. They were just children. “They’re just kids.”

“And they have lived in this world as a result of what happened fifteen years ago. All the people’s decisions and steps and plans and lies…they are innocent in this and she did not want them to continue to live in this world.”

“She?”

“Me,” Jon whispered.

Sam squeezed his hands together, trying to figure it out. It was so complicated. “I don’t understand…she sent you here? To save us?”

“Dany does not want anything to do with Westeros,” Jon announced. “She has no interest in the place that did not want her rule, that was only the death of her family and of her. I am here for my people.”

He never wanted to be the King, Sam thought. Yet here he is. Doing his duty. “You will rule instead.”

“The idea of an elected king is not bad, Sam. In fact, that is somewhat similar to Essos. A council, with the cities operating under their own authority. Major decisions made as a council of representatives. The Queen meets with them on a regular basis, she listens to the concerns of the people.”

“That is what we have here,” Sam said. He did not understand.

Jon laughed again. “No it isn’t Sam. Not when you have a King of Six Kingdoms and one independent. One independent kingdom with a Queen who cannot rule for them, does not understand what they need. The kingdoms need their independence.”

“Then why would you be a King of them?” Sam asked.

“Everyone will contribute,” Jon explained. “No more hoarding grain and supplies. No more wards, kept as hostages to ensure the behavior of other regions. Everyone will be a part of the world. Everyone can have their religion, no more high septons trying to convert those of the North or the Iron Islands. The Ironborn will stop their raiding. There will finally be tolerance here. The wheel will break.”

And how will they do that, he wondered. It seemed to be like a dream. “And the Small Council?”

“We do not need one. No more Master of Whisperers because we will listen to the people. No more Master of War because there will be no more war. The dragons will keep the peace if we need them.” He paused. “Sam, she is leaving Westeros to me. I do not want to be a King. I want to have my family and I will, because I know that it will take some time, but this world will continue to work because the people want it now.”

He continued. “The smallfolk have already been talking, I go out and hear them. It has been a couple of months, but the word from the Reach and the Westerlands has made it back here. Some may remember when she burned them, but now they speak of how the dragons have saved them. Are bringing them food and safety and shelter.”

It was all they had wanted; it just took so long. Sam sighed. “But…but why now? Why are you okay with being a King now?”

Jon tapped his knuckles on the table. He cocked his head and peered over at him. “I don’t know. I guess I just figured out who I am now.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m a dragon…and a wolf,” Jon whispered. He smiled. “I’m both.” He cleared his throat and nodded towards the door. “Tonight they are installing me as King. I would like you to be there.”

Sam smiled. “I would not miss it,” he whispered.

Later that evening, Sam appeared outside of the door of the chambers where Jon was staying. He had wondered, since Jon did not believe in the Faith of the Seven and there was no such thing as a septon or a priest of the old gods, who would be installing him as the King? He knocked lightly and waited a moment.

The door opened and Jon stepped out. Sam took a step back, shocked. Standing before him was not the black leather clad brother of the Night’s Watch. Or the dirty and tired fighter of the North. Jon’s dark hair was combed from his face and his beard trimmed. He wore black velvet and gleaming silver. Save for the black cloak with red silk on its underside. It was pinned to his shoulders, one wolf and one three-headed dragon.

Sam smiled, gesturing. “You look different.”

Jon returned the smile, but it was tight. “I am different.”

“Maester Tarly.”

Oh! Sam’s eyes widened and he stared in shock at the woman who appeared at Jon’s side. The Queen of Essos, he thought, and the reborn Daenerys Targaryen. She looked no different than she had the last time he saw her fifteen years before. Perhaps her hair was a little shorter and she had that glow about her that he recognized from Gilly; the glow of motherhood, knowing there was something else out there that mattered more. His eyes dropped to the bulge on her waist. She saw him looking and touched it lightly, her smile serene.

He bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

“No bowing Sam,” Jon reminded him.

Daenerys smiled. “Come,” she whispered, lightly touching Jon’s arm. “They’re waiting.”

“Do we have to do this?”

“Yes, the smallfolk will want to see it. This is not about us.”

Jon rolled his eyes, which Sam found amusing, but stifled his smile. He went back into the room and returned, carefully affixing a cloak to Daenerys. Sam realized that for all the black and red that Jon wore, the Dragon Queen wore a dove gray long velvet coat over black breeches and boots. The cloak Jon had draped over her was black and red, same as his, and he did the same, affixing the wolf sigil and the dragon one to her shoulders.

He frowned. “You wear the wolf sigil of the Starks.”

“I thought it was custom for wives in Westeros to wear sigils of both their houses?” Daenerys asked, a soft smile pulling on her lips.

“But what of your children?” he asked, looking at Jon. “What is their House then?”

Jon and the queen exchanged a look. Jon smiled. “It’s Targaryen,” he answered.

“Targaryen?” Sam echoed.

The king nodded. “Yes. I was never really a Stark in name. I was Snow.”

I suppose you weren’t, Sam thought, watching them walk ahead of him and out to the front of the ruins. What remained before was long gone, just a clearing with crumbling steps, destroyed by Jon upon his return. There was a dais set up before the crowd of smallfolk. There were Lords and Ladies from over Westeros; Sam recognized Lord Hightower, Yara Greyjoy, and the Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell. The Yronwoods were there too, as were the Merbrands of Ashemark. He wondered if they would take over the Westerlands, now that House Lannister was no more. He did not see anyone from the North, beyond a Manderly or two. No one from the Vale either.

Almost all the houses of the Stormlands were there. No Tullys, he thought, again thinking of their allegiance to Sansa Stark. He looked at the stone floor, knowing that they would likely have to account for their refusal to be here. He peered back up, the sun shining today; it rarely did, there was always a pall.

A new day, he hoped. He looked over at the clearing of burned rock where the Iron Throne used to be, serving as a perch for Drogon, who reared back, beating his wings and roaring. The other dragon, Eddarion, was circling above and came to land on a turret, screeching his greetings.

Atop the dais, with the banners waving the three-headed dragon and the howling wolf, he saw Ghost sitting atop the steps, watching out silently. He moved to the dais and stood to the side, simply watching. Brienne stood atop, wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. The Hill twins were also there, unable to stop smiling. He saw that Joanna Hill was wearing a dragon pin on her red dress. Jamie Hill had shed his Northern armor and was wearing light leathers and pelts, if Sam was not mistaken it appeared almost Dothraki.

He heard steps behind him and turned, seeing Ser Davos approach. “Ser Davos,” he said, smiling slightly. He looked back at the people. “They seem…happy.”

“Foreign concept here,” Davos said.

Next to them stood the future king and queen, and Sam watched as the Lord of Storm’s End, resplendent in the gold and black of House Baratheon, approached the queen. He was holding something in his hands. He held it to the queen, who looked at it, pleased with what she saw. “I tried to make it as close to your instruction,” he said. “I hope I did right.”

“It’s perfect,” the queen whispered.

Sam watched, the crowd shushing as she went to the center of the dais. He looked at Davos. “There is no septon to crown him,” he whispered.

Davos chuckled. “They do not need a septon. Or a Maester.”

To his surprise, Sam realized that it was the queen who would be knighting Jon. He walked out onto the dais to join her. After a moment, she spoke loudly, so all could hear. “Kneel, Jon Snow,” she ordered.

Jon knelt before her and she held out the crown over his head. It was silver, with no jewels, simply a dragon twisted with a wolf, the top with spikes alternating in icicles and flames. Ice and fire, he thought, as she lowered it down onto his head. She removed the sword from her hip; everyone let out a small gasp, even Sam.

He had not noticed it before, and how could he not? It was a shimmering Valyrian steel blade that looked as though it were alive. Rubies and onyx shined on the hilt, a dragon pommel that almost looked as though it were blinking. There was no denying the mythical sword of Visenya, he thought, wondering how she came to have it in her hand. Are we here to see an execution, he worried, pulling on his hands. It seemed the crowd thought so as well, everyone suddenly stiff and exchanging frightened looks.

The queen touched the tip of the sword to Jon’s shoulders. She spoke in Valyrian; he recognized the accent, and a translator at the corner of the dais spoke the words into Common Tongue. “Before the people of Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms of old, the North…the Vale…the Riverlands…the Stormlands…the Crownlands…Dorne…and the Westerlands…” With each kingdom, she alternated tapping from his right to his left shoulder. “And before the old gods and the new, I Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Undead, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, and Breaker of Chains, and the Queen of the United Cities of Essos, crown you here.” She took a deep breath, switching back to Common Tongue. “This country is fractured and broken, but you will unite it in your name and provide the people the freedom and choice in their future rule.”

“Rise,” she ordered, turning to the crowd. “I announce to you all the King of Westeros, Descendent of the First Men and the Blood of Old Valyria, the White Wolf…” She turned and grinned at Jon. “Jon Stark, the Sixth Aegon Targaryen!”

From afar, Sam watched the crowd cheer. The dragons screamed and Ghost jumped up and danced around the newly crowned king. The new king embraced his queen and kissed her, prompting more cheers from the people. It was a new era, he thought. Jon was not smiling, but serious, taking on the role that he knew his friend did not want, but would take on all the same, and bring peace back to the land.

He sighed, whispering. “I should rewrite my book.”

Beside him, Davos clapped him on the back. “A just woman and an honorable man. Shame it took this long.”

Chapter Text

This place really is a shithole, Dany thought, leaning back against Drogon’s wing. She folded her hands over her belly, which had grown large in the last few months. She lightly dragged her knuckles underneath the swell, attempting to calm the little bear, as she called her son, who was kicking her lightly. “Shh,” she murmured. “Shh my little bear.”

The former keep was gone now. Burned to nothing and cleared away. She hoped one day they could place something there. Something good. The sun was beginning to set, casting everything in an orange glow. She could still see the ships on the shore, still ferrying supplies back and forth from Essos.

It seemed Jon had done well in a short time here. He had taken back the Reach with ease. Installed a new Warden of the West in the Merbrands of Ashemark. At the request of the families of the West, he had burned Casterly Rock to the ground. Destroying any more influence the Lannisters could have from there. The Hill twins agreed, as did Brienne; they did not want it. They were not Lannisters after all, they explained.

From there he had gone to the Riverlands, with the troops from the Stormlands and the Reach, demanding Edmure Tully surrender. When Tully said he stood with his niece of the North and not the bastard son that embarrassed his sister, Jon had burned The Twins to the ground, the remaining Frey wives and children forced to live at Riverrun. Tully had conceded. Then he’d been thrilled when Jon said that he would be the Lord of the Riverlands, representing them at the Great Council. The Vale was still problematic, but Jon had had to commit his first execution of uniting the kingdoms again; Yohn Royce refused to bend the knee and Robert Arryn had only agreed after Royce’s death. It would still take a lot of time for the Lords to understand just what they were going to be part of; the concept of taking care of their people and advocating for them at a council was foreign.

One day it will be like Essos, she thought, still staring off to the east. She looked up as Eddarion flew overhead, coming to land beside her. She smiled as Jon immediately hopped off and untied Ghost from his harness. The wolf shook himself and then ran as fast as he could from the dragon, going to sit beside her, his head immediately dropping to her belly. The kicking ceased, the little bear comforted by the direwolf’s presence.

She looked up as Jon approached, sitting beside her. “How are the children?” he asked. She had flown in purely to crown him and would conduct a couple of things before she returned to the island. “They are fine, they were so excited to see Tormund,” she said, leaning against him as he rested his hand on her belly next to hers. “Oh!” She moved, getting to her feet. “I cannot believe I almost forgot.”

“You get forgetful when you are with child.”

“I do not!” she exclaimed with a laugh. Although he was right, she did tend to forget things from time to time with each of her children. This one was no exception. She reached into one of the bags that she had brought with her and removed the crown, approaching him and handing it over, smiling. “Lya made this for you.”

The crown was woven of twigs and vines. He immediately removed the silver one she had placed on his head earlier and topped his head with the crown of twigs. He smiled. “How do I look?”

“Jon Snow, the King of the Forest,” she teased, stepping into his arms and kissing him, her arms going around his neck. My king, she thought again, eyes fluttering shut as he returned the sweet kiss. Seeing him kneeling there, accepting the crown Gendry had made for her, she had thought she was living in a dream. She had not want to come back, but as she received word from Grey Worm of the acceptance of the people to Jon Snow the Targaryen King, she knew she had to go to be there for him in his moment.

It was not about her; it was not about what she wanted, it was what her husband needed. What her love needed. He would want her there. And he did. She did not plan to be there too long. Just being here brought back bad memories. She pressed harder against him, gazing out at the city. “I cannot believe I am back here,” she murmured.

“You did not have to return.”

“I did,” she whispered. She tilted her head back and peered up into his gray eyes, so full of concern for her. She pressed her palm to his cheek, reassuring him. “I needed to see it for myself.” She smiled, eyes crinkling up. “I have what I always wanted. I just…” she looked at where he had burned the remaining part of the throne room. The image of that chair before her, remembering all of what Viserys had told her of what it resembled. “The first time I was elated. I felt like a child and I never had a chance to sit on the throne I so desperately wanted.”

He stiffened slightly beneath her and she fingered the dagger at her waist. He said nothing, allowing her to continue her musings. “I had a vison once…when I was in Qarth. The Iron Throne, covered in snow…or ash…I approached it and when I went to touch…” she trailed off, eyes fluttering shut at the memory. Then she heard her children cry. She followed the sound, exiting through the Wall. “I went through the gate at the Wall…I was in the snow and I could feel it on my face. Cold and wet. Maybe it was my tears. I saw a tent…I went in and it was warm and soft and my khal was there with our child. Drogo and Rhaego.” She remembered what Rhaego looked like, dark hair dusting his forehead and his skin as dusky gold as her sun and stars. “My sun and stars,” she murmured.

“I would have liked to have met your Khal Drogo,” he whispered.

She laughed, shaking her head and looking up at him, still keeping her arms around his waist. He frowned slightly, questioning her sudden laugh. “He would have killed you on the spot, Jon Snow.”

“Really?” He shook his head. “He made you happy.”

In a way, yes he did. It was not as though she had a lot there at the time. She did not realize. “He bought me,” she murmured. She closed her eyes at the horrific memories. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat. Her grip tightened on his cloak and he tightened his grip on her, sensing her distress. “He raped me,” she breathed, tears trickling down her face. “Over and over again…I thought that was what sex was. Rape. Viserys told me that was what our father did to our mother all the time. I never imagined that I could actually feel love.”

She closed her eyes tight again. “I started to fight back. I would not take it. I began to realize that he could protect me from Viserys. I became a khaleesi. He killed my brother, who abused me and threatened me. He would have taken the kingdoms for me.” She looked back to Jon, at the concern and the love pouring from his soft gray eyes. My wolf, she thought, stroking his cheek. “I thought when I died that I would see them in the Nightlands. The afterlife the Dothraki believed…and when I returned to life…I cried because there was nothing there. There was just darkness and black. I thought the vision meant you would stop me…you stopped me form the throne and I had to go through you to see my family but…it wasn’t true.”

Jon’s fingers trembled, stroking over her forehead and gripping the back of her head, pulling her closer to him. They could barely separate, not even a breath between them, they were so close. “Did I love him as I love you?” she murmured against his lips, feeling his tears on her cheeks, mingling with hers. She shook her head, sobbing. “No…because when he died I cried and I wanted to die too because I had no one there and no chance at a family again, but with you Jon…I just wanted to disappear into nothing. To burn as he did. He was my sun and stars, but you are the true love of my life. My wolf. My dragon.”

He cried against her, shaking and burying his face into her neck. “I cannot say I am sorry enough,” he cried. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, she thought, hardly able to stand as she kept him upright. She clenched her eyes shut, holding onto his cloak so tight her knuckles went white.

I wish we did not have to go through all that horror to be together, she thought, moving her face so she could see him again, her hands on his face, shaking her head as he sobbed. “We can keep wishing we did not have to go through that, but we did,” she murmured, kissing him again and again, brushing at his tears as he brushed at hers. “We can put it behind us for good.”

His hand brushed over the dagger on her hip. “I hope we can,” he said.

“The longer I hold onto it the worse it will get,” she said. She knew it. She was just so scared to let go.

“You have to trust me Dany. I killed you because I feared what you had become. I feared what you would do to me and to my sisters…I was trying to give you every reason to convince me not to do it, but you were just…” he cried, closing his eyes again. “I did not realize…I am so stupid…the plans and the lies and the betrayals…”

“I know,” she murmured. She kissed at his tears again. My Jon, she thought, her forehead touching his again. They gripped each other, enveloping each other in warmth and comfort, their faces turned to the west. The sun was setting, almost gone behind the horizon.

He pressed his hand into her side. “The babe?” he murmured.

She covered his hand with hers. The babe was kicking, an active little thing. “Fine,” she said with a smile. “Looking forward to going home.”

“I need to return to the Vale. It is the only one that still concerns me.”

“That is your decision.” She looked to the east. “After we do what we must do…I am returning home.” She glanced up at him. He was still staring off. “You are delaying what must be done.”

“I know,” he sighed in resignation. He shook his head. “I don’t like killing.”

Neither of us does. She looked at the ground and then up to him once more. “We have to do it. We cannot keep holding on to our memories of a time when we thought he was good. When he wanted to build a world with me and he saw beyond the bastard name.”

They turned away from the edge of the cliff, returning to the dragons. She paused, glancing at Jon. He looked over his shoulder and out to the city. “I thought…sometimes I wondered if he really was just bad at giving you counsel. If it was all a trick.”

That was what she had asked him, the last time she saw him, in Essos. “I should have stopped listening to him when we lost Highgarden,” she murmured. She glanced at him again. “Or when he wanted to believe Cersei. Or all those other times.” Tears pricked at her eyes and she peered through them to him. His brow wrinkled in concern. The emotions coursed through her, perhaps it was because of the babe or being back here or all the things that had changed in the last year. “How did I know he wasn’t lying?” she cried. She shook, remembering the feeling at the top of the wall, with Drogon beneath her and the Red Keep in sight. The pain, anguish, betrayal, and all of it just falling onto her. The bells ringing in her ears. Filling her head with pain. “How come when I heard the bells I thought he was lying again? I could see it! Jon, it was right there in front of me! Everything I had fought for, everything everyone I loved had died for! My family, gone! Where those lions were sitting and where they plotted and murdered and schemed and took everything from us! She killed my family, the North didn’t want me, all those people in there…”

She continued to sob, shaking as she fell to her knees. It was being back here. It was this horrible place, this awful kingdom. Jon fell beside her, mumbling comforting words, but she couldn’t hear them for the pain in her head. She screamed, beating at his chest. “Children!” she screamed. “Little children! Burned! I did it!”

“Shh,” he tried, stroking her hair, kissing her face, and reaching for the baby. “Dany…Dany please do not do this…I cannot lose you again, please!”

She howled in rage and pain and regret. Hot tears on her face. “I was born to be a dragon and I should have been one from the beginning,” she said, her words cracking as she sniffed and tried to fight back the tears that washed over her like molten lava.

Jon whispered, the Northern accent she had come to love thick in his words, as it often was when he was upset. In all these years she had only seen him like this a handful of times. The one she could most remember was when he had fallen before her after seeing her alive again, pledging himself and begging for her forgiveness. “They didn’t know you,” he said, trying to comfort her. “They didn’t know you like I did.”

“Did it matter?” she spat out. It was years ago and it was nothing they could change, but she had to say it so he did not continue to think there was another way. “Did it matter to your sisters?” He said nothing. She nodded, knowing she was right. “I was so angry. I had lost everyone. My children!”

“Dany please, I know! Believe me I know! I killed you!” he exclaimed, pressing his hand against her breast, where the scar burned beneath it, filling her with a stabbing pain in her stomach, numbness in her heart. “I wanted to die Dany! You know this! I was betrayed by family, my people…and I realized too late that I had made a mistake for the greater good. What good was it? I was exiled. Tyrion got to survive. That’s all he ever wanted. Everything he has ever done has been for his survival.” He shook his head again, whispering. “It was never about us.”

Her hand fisted the dagger, removing it from her hip. She stared at it. It was just a dagger, nothing fancy. It had been with her every day for the last fifteen years, since she woke on that slab in the pyramid in Volantis. “I have been holding onto this…to remind me not to trust, because trusting people only ended in my death.” Trusting you, she silently said. He dropped his head in acknowledgment. “But it also tells me of what I was before. I don’t want to be like that again.”

“You’re not,” he repeated. He kept saying it. Maybe she would believe it, she thought. He looked at the dragons, at Drogon, eyeing them with his red eyes. “You are a conqueror Dany. You’ve learned though.”

She nodded. “I have children with you. I love you Jon, I love you so much, but I can’t let go of this.”

Jon stood there, wearing the twig crown their daughter made, black and red and silver and gray of his houses. His bloodline. He nodded and bowed to her. “I know you will kill me if you feel it necessary. I will relish it Dany, if I ever did anything to make you think I betrayed you.”

She nods, understanding. He won’t do it, she thought. He will never betray you. You have given birth to his children. You have given him time. Over and over again you gave him time. More than once he could have done it. When he saw you again at Vaes Dothrak. When he gave you Visenya’s sword. All those times. As he followed you from camp to camp in the desert, to the former slave cities on Dragon’s Bay, and from one city to the next. Always at her side, never asking for anything, but pledging himself to her over and over again.

The first night she kissed him, after all that time, she had been trembling and terrified, the dagger in her hand. Taking back Pentos and getting the ring made from a piece of her mother’s crown. Sobbing into his arms as he held her that night. When Tormund departed and left him for the North and she did not want to be alone. She had kissed him then. Terrified to do anything else, she left not long after.

And the first time they made love. She remembered it like it was yesterday, under the open skies at Vaes Dothrak, where she returned time and time again after each city she united, after venturing to the Shadowlands and returning with eggs and an understanding of herself. After seeing him with Eddarion, the dragon about the size of a carriage, unnamed and sweet and kind, waiting for his rider and connecting instantly.

They had gone there, the two of them, on horseback while Drogon and Eddarion took to the skies with some of the hatchlings she had birthed from the fires of slave masters in Myr and Lys. He had built a fire and she had adjourned to the tent the Dothraki kept for her, a wide space open at the top to allow the stars to cast down on them. He joined her and they laid together; he pointed out the stars the free folk had named. Some were similar to what the Dothraki called them.

And then she had turned to him and saw him staring at her, the love in his eyes, the wonderment. My queen, he said. She kissed him, scared at what might happen next, her hand on the dagger and then before she knew it she was tearing at his leathers and armor and he had her hair undone, braids falling over her shoulders and her coat torn open. Do not stop, she had begged, please Jon do not stop, not like before.

Never my queen, he had said, returning her earnest and demanding kisses.

They had found out she was with child not long after that night. Built their home on the island. They had sworn to each other before the heart tree on their island soon before she gave birth, after he confessed he did not want to have a child who may one day carry the term ‘bastard.’

In all those years and in all those moments he could have done it and yet she was still scared. Still wary. She approached Drogon, touching his snout and closing her eyes. “We must do it,” she murmured.

“How?”

“No spectacle. Not the way he always did with each of his appearances and announcements,” she said. She looked sideways. “He will be killed by the people he betrayed. No one else will do it for us.” She stroked Drogon with the back of her hand, feeling his contentment under her hand. “If I had never listened to him…if I went here before I went North…” she trailed off.

“It does not good to wonder Dany, you know that.” He looked at Drogon and smiled sadly. “We may not be together.”

“I may not have died.”

He came behind her and covered her stomach with his hands. She closed her eyes, understanding. “We may not have our children,” he breathed. They held her stomach, reveling in the moment. She laughed suddenly. He grinned into her neck. “He is strong.”

“The bear is upset,” she said.

“I saw my mother and father.”

She tilted her head back, eyebrows pushing together in confusion. “Oh?”

“Bran showed me…he took me to where I was born.” He proceeded to tell her what he saw in the vision…past…whatever it was. The love that Lyanna and Rhaegar shared. The hope they had for him. The pain in Lyanna’s eyes when Rhaegar departed and the fear. Rhaegar wanting to name him after Maester Aemon and Lyanna saying he would be a conqueror. “They just wanted to love each other,” he whispered. “They didn’t care what it had done to everyone…maybe that was selfish, but they threw the convention away and followed their love.” He closed his eyes tight. “I should have done that. Gods I should have done that.”

“You did what you were born to do.” She brushed her fingers to his cheek. “What Ned Stark taught you. Honor and duty.”

“He never spoke of her. Never told me about her. I wish he had. I wish I knew what she was like.”

There were times she wished Viserys had stopped talking about their mother and father. He blamed their mother for everything, but he was a scared little boy who only knew violence and fear. He used the same on her. Blamed her for their mother’s death. She closed her eyes. “He was protecting you.”

“Rhaegar was my father, but I only ever wanted to be a Stark.”

That was what made him unique. She turned in his arms. By this point the sun had fallen to the other side of the world, the moon casting a glow on them. “You are a Stark,” she breathed, eyes dancing. “And you are a dragon. You need to embrace them both to be who you are. You have already.”

Jon looked up at the stars, his dark eyes shining in the glow. “He never got to see me again…Rhaegar. He never got his family. That was all Ned wanted too. All I want is to have our family. I cannot die before.”

She touched her index finger to his lips, shushing him. “When we die,” she breathed, her nose brushing his. “We die together. Not apart like Lyanna and Rhaegar. I want to die in your arms Jon Snow, but the next time I do…you will die in mine.”

They embraced each other and she closed her eyes, feeling the kiss he gave her to her toes, rising up and clutching him. Fire and blood, she thought, feeling their babe kicking between them. She broke the kiss first, turning slightly to peer out at the bay, dark in the night. She knew what they had to do.

She spoke, clear and resolute. “It’s time.”

--

The torches flickered around the crumbling walls of the city, casting the beach in an eerie glow. The moonlight on the black water gave it a pearly, iridescent sheen. The air was still. Anticipating. As if it knew what was going to happen that night. Dany descended the steps from the top of the wall, having made her way from the cells behind the group that trekked down to the beach.

This would not be a spectacle. It reminded her of the last time she had conducted a trial on a beach. On Dragonstone. In a way, she would have preferred they were there. Dragonstone gave her a sense of power that this place did not. It was only fitting though that this occurs here, she thought. Where both these men made their stories known. She stopped on the beach and waited for the group to assemble.

Beside her stood Jon, silent and allowing her to take the lead at the moment. The two prisoners stood before her and the Unsullied guards waited to the side in case they made a move to escape. Behind the prisoners stood Sam, Davos, Brienne, and the former king, watching the event and recording it for memory, he had said.

She folded her hands beneath her belly. “We are here today,” she announced, glancing at the two men. “To cast a sentence.”

“So much for a fucking trial.”

Dany dropped her violet gaze to the sellsword who had ruined the Reach. Tyrion kicked at Bronn. “Shut up.”

“For once in your life will you shut up,” Brienne ordered, glaring at Tyrion.

The dwarf turned his head to look back at Brienne, before stepping forward to Dany. The Unsullied angled their spears at him. She held her hand up, pausing them. She was curious to see what Tyrion had to say. He waited and she nodded, allowing him to speak. “I demand to know why the remaining Small Council of King Bran the Broken is allowed to live. They escape death and yet they all had a hand in your downfall.”

Oh did they, she wondered, glancing at the named council members. She spoke, her voice hollow and emotionless. It had to be. “They never betrayed me in the way you did. Death is not on their hands as it is on yours.” She glanced at the sellsword. Bronn of the Blackwater they called him. She had not known him, only by reputation. “You are a criminal, a sellsword.” She smiled. “I have a…place in my heart for sellswords I suppose as they have assisted me in my rule. You, however shot my child out of the sky on the Reach. You have kept women to be your personal bedslaves and hoarded what little food existed for yourself. I do not like that.” She continued at his eyeroll. “You have ignored the death of thousands in the Reach for your selfish gains, spent the coin of the kingdoms on women from Essos who are captured and brought here. Again, I do not like that.” She tilted her chin down, glaring at him. “Sword or Fire?”

The sellsword frowned and glanced down at Tyrion, who refused to look at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“She is asking you how you want to die, you stupid fuck,” Tyrion muttered.

“Oh, well…” Bronn shrugged, as if this was an everyday occurrence. “I wouldn’t mind dueling you Queen Dragon Lady. Never dueled someone with a cunt before.”

She smirked. Jon whipped Longclaw out, the tip a hair’s breath away from Bronn’s neck. “Aegon,” she said, warning him off. He moved towards her and she knew his concern.

Jon stepped towards her, whispering into her ear. “But what about the babe…” he began, but she held her hand up, silencing him. She was prepared for this, on the off chance he chose it, having exchanged her dress for a pair of breeches and one of her coats that was long in the back and cropped at her waist, giving her freedom of movement. She may have been with child, but that would not stop her from her duties. She stepped forward and gestured for the Unsullied to untie the hero of the Blackwater and give him his sword.

“I’ll win this,” Bronn said, winking at Tyrion. He took his sword and laughed as she unsheathed Dark Sister, the rubies glinting in the firelight. “That’s a pretty little sword you got there. Your hands are soft, you’ve never used it before.”

“My hands are soft, but I assure you I have used this before.” She used it to cut the throat of a slaver in Volantis who tried to attack her. She had stabbed it through the heart of a magister in Pentos that dared to steal from her coffers. Dragon fire was not always the only course of action.

Bronn laughed and then lunged, but she dodged the attempt deftly. He stepped back, mouth falling open in surprise. She merely grinned. He grunted and moved to go after her again and she quickly parried. So began the dance, she thought, whipping the blade around as the sellsword attempted to get a hit. Despite being with child, she still moved fast, knowing that Jon was probably panicking in silence beside her, but wisely did not interfere.

They dueled for a bit and she began to let him get a few close calls. When the sword lashed out and she felt the sting in her cheek, the blood dripping to her lips, she smiled. She laughed and spun around, arching her back to avoid an attempt from behind her. Bronn whooped as he got closer. She smiled and then let go of Dark Sister, letting the sword slip from her fingers. His eyes widened and he looked as the sword fell into the sand.

He looked up and she smiled again; just as he went to stab at her, she moved quickly, doing a quick little flip to the side. He turned his head, realizing she was behind him, but it was too late. She grabbed Dark Sister and in one move, her arm was around his neck and she was sliding the Valyrian steel in between his ribs with the other.

Bronn stared at the tip of the sword emerging from his stomach. Blood trickled down his chin from the corner of his mouth. He laughed. “Never been stabbed by someone without a cock,” he said, sputtering.

She narrowed her eyes. “You want your last words to be about cocks?”

He laughed again. “Sure do.” He tried to look over at Tyrion, but the strength left him and he fell sideways into the sand, dead.

Dany removed Dark Sister, blood glistening on the steel, as though it were being absorbed into it. She stood and walked towards the dwarf, who stared in shock at the body of the sellsword in the sand. He stared up at her, stunned. “I trained her,” Jon said, voice breaking the din. Even Brienne and the others were staring at her as if they had never seen her before.

Not every day a queen, six months with child, dueled a criminal in combat and won.

She approached the dwarf, her heart beating hard against her chest. The scar throbbed, as it often did when she overexerted herself, as though reminding her of the life she had again. “We have been over this,” she whispered. “You know your crimes.” With the sword, she pointed it at him, lightly touching the blade to the long scar that slashed over his face. “Do you have any last words, Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, former Hand of the Queen?”

The dwarf smiled, wry and almost to himself. He sighed. “No, no I do not.”

“That’s a first,” she said. She looked over at Drogon, who was watching from the wall, Eddarion beside him. “I am sorry that I must do this, but what choice have you left me?”

“I have not given you a choice,” Tyrion admitted. He offered his bound hands up to her. “I orchestrated your death. I betrayed you, gave you poor council…I still do not believe that I did anything wrong in the end. You burned an entire city to the ground and killed innocent people, but you are the queen now.”

She continued. “You can go be with your sister and your brother, you always did have more allegiance to them than you did to the queen you claimed to serve.” She smiled. Perhaps it was the conversation she had with Jon before they came down here. Memories of the past and all that. Tyrion frowned. “You know…my brother sold me. Abused me. When Khal Drogo killed him I did nothing and I felt nothing. He was not my brother after all he had done. Yet you consistently defended your sister…” she trailed off. Eyebrows lifted. “I will never understand it.”

Tyrion smirked. “That makes two of us. Cersei always did want me dead and well, you have killed for less.”

She nodded. “Yes, well…I will not be the one to kill you.”

That startled him, as well as the others, who all looked at her in surprise. He gaped, mouth open. It was almost as if she could see the wheels turning, the gears moving, and trying to find a way out of the situation. Or a way to manipulate it. Tyrion moved from her, his gaze dropping to the one behind her, who stepped forward, his hand on Longclaw. “You?” he gasped. “You will kill me?”

Jon withdrew Longclaw, holding the bastard sword in his hand. “This is more than you deserve,” he said, voice hushed.

“Well if I had known you would be the one to do it, perhaps I should have gotten you on my side far earlier in this game.” He smiled. “Like when we went to the Wall, when I first saw the strength beneath the quiet. The Lord beneath the Snow name.”

You will not convince him, Dany thought, watching Jon. He held the sword out, lightly touching it to Tyrion’s shoulder. “I would ask you to kneel,” he said. “But I do not think it would matter.”

“Clever,” Tyrion said with a scowl. He nodded. “Well…go on then. Do it.”

Jon nodded. Dany watched and closed her eyes, hearing the light swish of the sword as it made its way through the air. She let out a tiny sound when she heard the single word. Dracarys.

Eddarion let out a stream of fire; at the same time Jon sliced the sword through the air to take off the last Lannister’s head. It was as though the sword was on fire, she thought, watching the flames rise on the beach where Tyrion Lanister, the Dwarf of Casterly Rock, and the last lion once stood.

She closed her eyes. A tear trickled out. It was over.

In the background she could hear Brienne crying. The last relative of her children was gone now. Bran merely stared at the flames. Sam’s eyes were wide, slightly horrified, but trying to look stoic. Davos merely watched, unmoving. She looked at Jon, who just stared at the fire.

I must let this go.

She stepped to the fire, the heat forcing others to step back, but she did not feel anything. If anything it gave her strength. She was almost in the fire when she reached for her side, removing the dagger. It was loose in her hand. She looked at it, one last time, and closed her eyes; her fingers releasing it and it fell into the flame.

After a moment, she stepped out of the flames, with naught but soot on her clothing and face. She stood beside Jon, both of them looking into the flames.

It was done.

He gripped her to his side, saying nothing.

She smiled. Closed her eyes.

And was free.

Chapter Text

The smith was hot, even in the wet and damp winter. Gendry preferred it here to the halls of Storm’s End. It also gave him the opportunity to work with his men and hear their grievances. He lifted the sword he was fashioning from the fire, studying the blade and frowning. He carried it back over to the block and began to hammer it back out.

He was engrossed in the work, barely looking up when one of the men leaned in. “My Lord,” they called. “Someone rides for you, carrying the Stark banner.”

Stark banner? Gendry frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “Odric,” he said, gesturing for one of the smith apprentices to come over and take the sword from him. He pointed out what he wanted done and patted the boy on the back, grabbing a rag and wiping the soot from his hands, not that it did much.

Someone handed him a cloak and he tugged it on over his dirty soot and sweat-stained rags. He felt better in them anyway. He walked from the smith and into the main yard as they opened the gate, the rider entering. He frowned a little, but then cocked his head as Arya Stark slid gracefully from her horse, handing the reins to a groom. “My lady,” he greeted.

“My lord,” she shot back, smirking as she removed her gloves. She looked around the yard. She glanced up at Storm’s End, shaking her head. “We always thought Winterfell could never be taken, but I think this is the only castle in the world that has really never been taken.”

He glanced back at the imposing structure, which had withstood centuries of storms and battles. He smiled at the small woman before him. Once upon a time ago he might have felt flustered, but maybe it only took seeing her again, when she had landed on his shores with a scroll from Queen Daenerys, instructing him to take his troops to the Reach to help return it to the hands of the lord who had kept it prosperous for centuries, did he recognize that he had wasted years of youthful longing.

Arya was truly the first girl he had loved, probably because she was unattainable. Now he stood before her as a lord, having helped bring peace to his kingdom, and he only smiled and nodded towards the single horse and banner. “Is that how all ladies travel now?” he asked, walking up towards the castle.

“It’s how this lady travels.”

“So you are one I take it?”

Arya frowned, stopping in her tracks. “Are what?”

Gendry turned and looked back at her. He quirked his lip up and nodded towards the Stark banner. “A lady. You said you weren’t one. Multiple times, if I remember correctly.”

She sighed, walking up with him into the castle. “Well, my brother sent Sansa to the North. The True North. Bran is not…well he is not Bran any longer, so the Lady of Winterfell fell to me…or else Jon was going to find someone else to become the King of Winter.” She scowled. “Starks have always been the true rulers of the North.”

“He did not take the title for himself?”

“He has not been back save for one visit.” They emerged into the main study, where his father’s warhammer was mounted on the wall. She had only been there once, so he allowed her to get the shock of seeing the storms swirling out on the bay from the great archways. She rapped her knuckles on the wall, turning and smiling over at him. “I heard the news. Congratulations.”

He was wondering when she planned to bring that up or if he would have to be the one. He smiled tightly. “Yes…it’s new.”

“Took you almost fifteen years.”

The lords of the Stormlands had been angry with him when he consistently refused their daughters. Seven hells a couple even sent their sons to him, in case that was how his persuasions went. He had to clear it up on many an occasion that he would not marry for lands or loyalty, he would marry for love. In some cases it seemed to pacify the lords. He was kidding himself, he was still waiting for her. It just took seeing her again to realize that he had been foolish. Arya Stark, even though she was Lady of Winterfell at the moment, would never be tied down. He took off the cloak, throwing it onto a chaise.

“Yes well…Astrid is…” His heart swelled. “She kind of reminds me of you. She’s adventurous and…well she has spent the last decade in Essos.”

“Did the new King make the match? Didn’t know my brother could even spell love let alone fall into it,” Arya said with a smirk.

He chuckled. “No…quite the contrary I think the Queen was trying to match us together again.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “What?”

He let her think on that for a moment as he leaned back against the large desk in front of the hearth. “I grew up in Flea Bottom. Always thought I would marry for love and not for money or lands.”

“And this is love?”

“Yes,” he answered. Astrid was feisty, beautiful, and she was more educated than him, and he loved her. It had been at a visit to Harvest Hall when she’d emerged, fighting back at him as he tried to convince her father to send more squires to the front in the Reach. “She was in Braavos, she was actually at the Iron Bank.”

“Iron Bank?”

“She was studying there. Her mind is more numbers than mine.” And she had promptly grabbed the account books for Storm’s End and proceeded to fix all his mistakes.

The wolf turned to study him and frowned. “I don’t know an Astrid. What House is she?”

“Selmy.” He thought of the statue that had been erected on the former site of the Iron Throne. One of the statues. “Ser Barristan Selmy’s great-great-neice. Her father is Arstan Selmy, Lord of Harvest Hall.”

“Good house.”

It wasn’t the house he was interested in, he thought. Selmy was a good house, yes, they produced the best knights, squires, fighters, and riders in the Stormlands. He cleared his throat, not wanting to talk about his upcoming marriage. He nodded to her again. “So why did you come by?”

Arya reached into the bag slung over her body crosswise, removing a scroll. She handed it to him. “I thought I would deliver this on my way to Dragonstone for the Council of the Realm.”

That was not for a few weeks yet, but he did not say anything. He took the scroll and saw the wolf sigil with the dragon. He opened it, reading the tight handwriting of the king, thanking him for the banners he had sent to the Reach to help take back Highgarden and also warn of a band of pirates from the Summer Isles who were making their way through the Narrow Sea. He set it on the desk, smiling over at her. “Thanks.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, until Arya cleared her throat. “So…Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Lady of Winterfell.”

She smiled again. “Not bad for a few Night’s Watch recruits.”

“Arry,” he teased. He nodded out towards the windows overlooking the sea. “You know your brother was here recently. Let little children ride around on the dragons. He had four with him.”

“Oh?” She seemed disappointed. Sad almost. She glanced at the ground. “I have not seen any beyond the two…what were their names? Do you remember? They give them nice names, I hear.”

He ticked off the four that he knew were there. “Well his dragon, but there was also I think Dreamfyre…Moonstar…” He thought of the one dragon that he thought of as almost a child. “Wildfyre and I think the last was pink.” He thought a little bit. “Vaella.”

“I know that only one of the dragons produced eggs. They don’t have as many aspeople think.”

“One is enough. The smallfolk here have hardly seen peace let alone dragons flying around.” It was still what people spoke about. Children could only speak of how it felt to be above the ground, barely a few feet above but enough nonetheless. The other dragons let them touch their snouts and scales, all shimmering vibrant colors.

It seemed things were almost too good to be true, Gendry imagined. After so many years of problems. He looked over at her expression, faraway and gazing at the approaching storm. “Problem?” he asked.

She released a long breath. “No…I mean…my mother’s home…Riverrun.”

“I heard.”

“My uncle is an idiot,” she spat out, glaring sideways. “He had it, all he had to do was keep his mouth shut, but then he goes and tries to band together with the Vale. In my sister’s name.”

“He’s alive.”

“Yes, I suppose that is good enough, but my mother’s home now belongs to the Blackwoods.”

The people of the council and of the Riverlands always did say that House Blackwood had a bigger army than the Tullys. Gendry had learned quite a bit in his time as a lord. He shrugged. “The Riverlands are happy though.”

“Yes, I just wish that sometimes all I knew before wasn’t so different.” She crossed her arms over her chest, turning to peer at him again. She smiled once more. “A Targaryen giveth and a Targaryen taketh.”

From what he knew of every kingdom in the country, when it came to the Targaryens, they had made it the way it was, the way everyone was comfortable living for so long, and they were vilified for it. To him, the outsider, the kid from Flea Bottom, it just seemed like the new world was just a continuation of that, only this time the people weren’t vilifying the Targaryen King. Maybe it was because he was from the North, a bastard, a Stark, or whatever, but it was working for now. “How is your sister?” he asked.

“As good as she can be. A wildling offered to marry her and I guess she did like him and would not have minded the marriage, but Jon…” Arya closed her eyes and shrugged, her voice quieting. “Well part of her punishment is she cannot marry.”

“Like the Night’s Watch I guess.”

“They’re working on a gap in the wall,” she said.

He frowned. “I hadn’t heard of that. What are they doing now?”

“They’re building a gap in the wall to bridge the wildlings with our world. To let in…magic I guess. I don’t know.” She smirked. “The North has always had a tie to a world beyond ours I suppose. I remember all the stories. The Maesters aren’t happy about it, but…”

“They’ll learn. Live in the new world or die in the old.” He saw her surprised look. He chuckled. “I am a bastard who got an entire region not know for their hospitality to see me as a Lord. It is a new world.” He walked over to the table by the door, picking up a bottle of something and pouring two glasses. He carried them over to her and handed her one.

They silently drank for a moment and she leaned against the stone wall, looking outside. “You know I have not met his children yet,” she whispered.

Gendry glanced at her. He knew that had to hurt her. “I’m sure there’s a reason.”

“It’s her I think.”

“Well she would be scared. Think of all she’s lost because of your family.” It might have been cold of him, but he thought of Sansa Stark, when she first came to him to warn him off of doing anything to support a dragon invasion. He looked down at the drink. “You know…I know you don’t like her, but she did come out to Highgarden. She was there when the Hightowers spoke to the other Lords of the Reach and took on their official title as Lord Paramount.”

“So?”

“So,” he continued, ignoring her rudeness. “So she got on the back of her dragon, razed the fields and helped them plant new crops. Got on her knees in the dirt and laughed with the other women and men. Brought stuff from Essos to help make the crops grow faster. She spoke about Olenna Tyrell. I swear Arya, Lord Leyton Hightower started to fucking cry about the old woman.” He thought it was really nice, although he had no idea who Olenna Tyrell was. Most of the Reach lords were also emotional about it. “She planted roses on the woman’s grave. Then she went to the Iron Islands. They have a queen now, Yara Greyjoy.”

“I heard.”

“It’s now a kingdom in its own right, it isn’t part of the Westerlands.” He smiled. “We’re Eight Kingdoms now. You’re Queen in the North, I’m Lord of the Stormlands…seven hells they want to make me the first Storm King in a thousand years.”

Arya shook her head, whispering. “I’m not a Queen.”

“Well maybe in your name you are, but this seems to be working.”

“It’s only been a few months. Give it time.” Each kingdom wanted its own king or queen, and the King of Westeros was fine with that. Maybe they’d have to come up with another name for him. Emperor or something. Arya glanced at him and grinned. “Jon said that I can come to Essos. There’s cannibals there. I guess they’re tormenting people in the south.”

Only she would be interested about cannibals, Gendry laughed. “Well I’m sure you can take them.”

“Imagine growing up there,” she whispered, gazing to the east. “Their children must be…well they get to see it all.”

“Growing up with dragons and wolves, pretty crazy.”

She shrugged, whispering. “I grew up with a dragon and a wolf. Just didn’t know it.” She took a deep breath and set her empty glass down, smiling at him. Her voice was louder and clearer now. “Thank you for seeing me. I should get going. I will see you at Dragonstone.”

“I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Gendry watched as she walked out and smiled. He went over to the other side of the room and continued to watch as she took her horse again and then took off, the Stark banner flying behind her. He sipped his drink and then made a face. Too fancy for him.

“My Lord?”

He glanced over as the door opened and one of the squires leaned in. “Yes?”

“Lady Astrid has written to the Maester and said she is on her way from Harvest Hall.”

“Good. I’ll be in the smithy.”

The squire frowned. “My Lord we have smiths.”

Gendry picked up his hammer, wanting to fix the edges on it at bit. He smiled again. “Yeah and I’m one of them. I’ll see you down there.” He studied the stag on the back of the hammer, before swinging it around and leaving the tower.

-----------------------------------------

The island no one seemed to be able to find emerged before him, Davos’s gaze remaining steady on the land from the bow of the ship as it made its way around to a dock. He glanced sideways when a shadow fell over him, the wildling guard nodding towards the island. “You’re a lucky one Onion King,” Tormund said with a laugh. He clapped the seafarer on the back. “They don’t like no one on this place.”

So I have learned, he thought, after receiving a cryptic message from the King to meet a ship in White Harbor. What ship, he had no idea, but he’d figured it when he arrived and two Unsullied led him to the docks. He had boarded a ship with gray sails and no sigil, finding the wilding on board, saying maybe he should blind fold him for good measure.

He was not familiar with any sort of island in this part of the sea, judging from the stars at night and the distance they had traveled. They were not far from Braavos but north enough. It was as though one of the gods had plucked a rock from the land and tossed it this far. There had been a lot of mist. Fog. Then it broke to reveal this place. Almost magical.

And dragons.

The massive black and red, Drogon, flew above, almost like a guide in for them. He still could not believe the size of the creature. Fifteen years in Essos and the monster was the size of a city. How the tiny little queen could fly on him, he had no idea, but it only served to show just how formidable she was. We never should have underestimated her, Davos thought, not for the first time in his life. He was lucky to have his head, having see what they had done to Tyrion and to the sellsword.

He wondered what this journey was even about. Despite the king’s insistence that he stay on as Master of Ships, he had resigned his position, wanting nothing more than to return to his family and live out the rest of his days in peace. Now that it finally existed.

The ship anchored a few hours later and Tormund led him off onto the dock. “Just what am I even doing here?” he asked the wildling.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Well what the fuck are you doing here?”

The wildling laughed, patting the back he hefted onto his back. “Got supplies.”

“So that’s all you are to them? A supplier?” Davos chuckled when the redhead glared at him. He followed him up from the dock and onto a trail, which wended its way through a thick forest. He could feel the chill in the air; winter had made its way to this little haven, it seemed. “So if they’ve got you, what do they want with me?”

Tormund shrugged. “Food for the dragons maybe.”

“I can promise the dragons that I would not be much of a meal.”

They walked for a little longer and the wildling let out a happy grunt as they reached a stone gate. “We’re here,” he announced, pushing open the gate. He turend and held out his hand, his bushy eyebrows rising high over his bright blue eyes. “Now I’m warning ya’ Onion King…there be dangers here.”

He frowned; one because he still had no idea why Tormund insisted on calling him ‘Onion King’ when he was not a king and still hardly even a knight, and two, because he could see that there was a little creature in the tree above them, about two feet from the redhead’s neck, and the man speaking of being vigilant and always watching was about to be attacked. He nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

Tormund’s eyes were wide and he nodded, pointing towards him as if to say ‘trust me.’ He turned, just in time for the creature to release a scream and swoop down onto his face. “Ah!” he bellowed, throwing down the pack and whipping from side to side, grabbing at the animal on his face. “Fucking hells!”

“Bad word!” the creature laughed, beating the redhead with tiny fists. “I caught you! You’re mine demon!”

Davos burst into laughter, unable to contain himself as the wildling came down from the sky, where he had no doubt also shit his breeches, breathing heavily when he realized the creature was also laughing and had wrapped her arms around his neck. He clapped him on the back. “I see you were watching for dangers,” he teased.

Tormund merely grunted and lightly set the beast onto the ground, where she simply wrapped her arms around his knees. “Just a test, just a test,” he muttered. He ruffled the dark hair and Davos realized there were silver streaks throughout it and tugged into messy braids. He knelt and lifted the creature, throwing her into the air with a shout of glee. “Where is your fucking crow father?”

“Bad word,” the little girl said, holding out her hand. She wiggled her silver eyebrows and smiled slyly. “Gonna’ cost ya’.”

“Aye,” Tormund acknowledged. He reached into his furs and removed a wooden carving, holding his fingers to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell your mama, little wolf.”

The carving was from weirwood and the perfect replica of a white wolf, with two red pinpricks or eyes. The girl giggled and nodded, hugging him again. “I won’t.” She scrambled down from him and raced off down the trail. “Papa!” she screamed. “Papa look at my wolf! Tormund gave it to me but he said a bad word!”

Children, Davos thought with a happy smile. He shrugged as Tormund groaned. “I’m sure the punishment won’t be that bad.” He walked ahead, following the girl who had not noticed his presence yet, too excited about her new toy. He reached a clearing, eyes widening at the sight before him.

The house was nothing compared to the grand castles of Westeros or the exotic spires of Valyria. It was modest and beautiful, with stone and thatched roofs and walls. There was a paddock with a few horses and he could see another winding trail that led down a hillside to a larger barn. It was like the small settlements he had seen in the North or scattered throughout the land, fit for a farmer, his wife, and few children.

It was all anyone wanted really.

He noticed the door was painted a bright red, but there was no dragon on it. No banners flying or sigils announcing its occupants. There were toys scattered in the grass. A swing hanging from the branch of a tree. He wondered if there were crops somewhere or other livestock. It seemed as if the occupants of this island could sustain themselves for quite some time. Like a thousand years.

He approached, having left his weapons on the ship at the request of the captain, an Unsullied who spoke in broken Common Tongue. He did not think he would need them anyway. There was no reason for violence here. He even felt relaxed, as if all the pain of the last years was being sucked away by an unseen force. He tilted his head back to watch a couple of the dragons flying around, screeching.

“You do not get used to it.”

Dropping his gaze, he met the cool gray eyes of the King of Westeros. Or whatever they were calling themselves today. So many were independent, it wasn’t even like you could call them the Six or Seven or Eight or whatever Kingdoms any longer. Davos merely smiled. “I don’t think you should.”

Jon Snow approached him, looking slightly smaller than he ever had. It took a moment, but Davos realized it was because this was the first time he had ever seen the man without a sword on his hip, dagger at his side, heavy furs or armor or mail. All this man wore was a simple linen shirt, the ties slightly undone around the collar and breeches with boots. His dark curls were pulled back slightly from his face, longer than they were the last time Davos saw him at the coronation.

He accepted the hug the man bestowed on him, patting him lightly on the back and taking a step back. “You are happy Jon Snow,” he deduced. He squinted. “Canna’ say I have ever seen that before.”

Jon merely smiled, vague. “Yes.” He looked around, his hands going to his hips and frowning. “Did I hear Tormund screaming earlier?”

“Aye, seems a little wolf or dragon, not quite sure which yet, fell straight from a tree and onto him. Near pissed his pants.”

“Hmm, that explains the swearing.” Jon was not concerned. He turned and lifted his hand to shield his gaze, waving with his other. “Lya!” he called. “Come here!”

The creature that had violently attacked Tormund broke away from where she had been showing the real Ghost her weirwood replica, and ran towards him. Once she caught sight of a new visitor, she immediately became shy, pressing herself to her father’s legs and peering at him curiously. The girl had her father’s eyes, Davos thought, taking her in for the first time. And her mother’s smile, he thought as her little lips pulled up to grin at him. He knelt to her height and offered his gloved hand. “My name is Davos,” he introduced.

Her father nudged her and she stepped towards him, taking his hand lightly. “Lya,” she mumbled, before immediately pushing back to her papa.

“She is only like this because you are only the second person besides Tormund to come to the island,” Jon explained.

Second? Davos stared at him for a moment and cleared his throat. “Well I am sure you will explain to me why then.”

“Soon.” Jon lifted the girl up onto his hip and nuzzled her curls. “This is Lyanndei. Lya.” He kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you go find Tormund? Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep in the pig pen again.”

“Papa he was drunk.”

“I know, but let’s make sure it does not happen again.” The girl laughed and sprang off once her bare feet hit the ground, running off towards where Davos imagined the pigpen happened to be. The king smiled at him and gestured for him to follow.

As if he had a choice, Davos followed the young man, for he would always be the young man he had met at the Wall to him, towards the front door of the house, shaded by the large forest trees and a great lemon one in front. A lemon tree? There had to be a story there. He entered the house, surprised to see it resembled any other home he had been in.

A small kitchen, with a table for four, and a large open room with pillows, chairs, and a couple of chaise lounges. There were more toys scattered, blankets, and what he recognized were piles of clean nappies and childrens’ clothes. “Ah, sorry about the mess,” Jon said, flushing pink. He closed the door behind him. “It’s been a bit hectic here.”

“I can imagine,” Davos said. He looked over at a large wooden crib, a small child standing up and glaring angrily at his father. He chuckled. “That little lad seems ready to wake up.”

“Yes, well he does not enjoy that he is no longer the baby,” Jon said, reaching into the crib and lifted the toddler, who pushed his chubby hands onto his father’s cheek. Jon removed the hands and then heard a cry from upstairs. He sighed. “Seven hells.”

“And here I thought you weren’t a follower of the Seven,” Davos teased. He pushed by the man and took the small boy from him. “Go see to it. I’ll take this one.” He frowned down at the little boy, who merely peered up at him with violet eyes, from beneath a fringe of silver hair. He narrowed his gaze. “Tormund told me you had dark hair.”

The toddler grinned, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. “Mai,” he said, touching at Davos’s hair. He plucked at the collar of Davos’s cloak, cooing in curiosity.

Davos chuckled, removing the cloak and walked around the space with the boy. “Your mama and papa have quite the place here,” he said, peeking into another room to reveal a study with wide windows looking onto a meadow. The desk was covered in papers and there were books stacked against the wall. He picked up one and read the cover, a pang in his heart. “Aegon’s Conquest,” he murmured. He looked at the boy, with his silver hair and violet eyes. He chuckled. “You know lad, this was the first book this old man ever read. Bout’ your great something or other.”

And here was another Aegon, continuing it all. He set the book down and walked out, back into the main room. The wooden staircase, supported by stone, creaked as Jon came back downstairs. “Sorry about that,” he apologized. He took the boy. “Did you say hello to Ser Davos, Ser Aemon?”

Aemon just smiled. “He’s a silent fellow, I can understand that,” he said with a chuckle. He still was not sure why he was here, why he was meeting the well-protected and secretive children of the king and queen, but he knew he would learn in time. He followed Jon outside, around to where there was a wooden table and chairs, and where he set Aemon into a sort of contraption on the chair to keep him in, supplying the small boy with some wooden blocks. The boy squealed and began to slam the blocks onto each other.

Quite the little conqueror, he thought to himself, joining Jon at the table. He merely waited, as the younger man occupied himself with his son for a moment. He glanced up at the second level of the house, seeing a curtain swish back into place. He cleared his throat. “How is Her Grace?”

“She’s well,” Jon said. He smiled again, this time at nothing in particular, but Davos recognized the smile of a man so far in love he had disappeared completely. “She is still resting…we…” he smiled again, face broadening. “We have another son.”

“Wonderful news, I was hoping to hear it,” he said.

“His name is Joren. After Jorah Mormont.”

Davos had not known the Mormont soldier well, but he had heard stories and he knew of his role in Queen Daenerys’s armies and as her counselor. He bowed his head in remembrance for the man, killed protecting his queen. “I am sure that he would be honored by Her Grace’s decision to name her son after him.”

The king nodded. “He is sleeping now…the birth was…” he trailed off, his voice dropping as though he did not want to think about it. “Was very difficult.”

“I am sorry.”

“Dany is fine.” Davos squinted a little, still not accustomed to hearing the Queen referred to by what was obviously a pet name from her husband. He merely remained silent, as Jon took Aemon from his seat, the little boy’s head starting to loll on his shoulders. It took but a minute, the boy falling asleep almost immediately as he cuddled into his father’s arms.

They remained quiet for a bit, until Davos cleared his throat. “Your Grace…”

“Ser Davos I think you have known me long enough and assisted me more times than I care to admit, that you can call me Jon.”

He stared at him for a moment. Was he serious? He frowned. “Your Grace…”

“Jon.”

“I cannot just…” He sighed. Jon shot him a look. Fine then. Stubborn Northerner. “Jon. I am curious to know why you summoned me here. I told you, I will not be Master of Ships so whatever you want to also ask me will also probably be a no.”

The young man smiled. He wrapped his arms around his son, holding him close. “I wanted to bring you here to introduce you to my children, Ser Davos.”

“If I can call you Jon then you can call me Davos, seems fair.”

“Fine then, Davos,” Jon stressed. He wrapped his knuckles lightly on the wooden table. This was a people’s king, Davos thought, taking in the dirt beneath the knuckles, the scrapes and the calluses from holding a sword. He had climbed off his dragon when he needed to fight in battle with his people, putting his life on the line if need be, as he had done recently in the Vale, when they demanded the restoration of Sansa Stark as Queen in the North.

Davos leaned back in his seat, folding his hands together. “I have all day.”

“As I said, I wanted to introduce you to my children.” Jon waited a moment. “You will not be my Hand of the King, because you said…”

“I will not be Master of Ships, do not even think of making me Hand of the King.” He waved his hand, as if warning him off further. “They drop like flies around you and your queen.”

“Fair enough.” Jon looked at the sleeping child on his chest. He glanced at Davos, his voice soft. “My father is gone. The one who helped create me and the one who raised me as his own. I have no real family left, save for the one here on this island.”

There was another sister though. “Arya…”

“Arya is still…” Jon set his jaw. “I still am working on that.”

Fair enough, was his turn to think. “And you brought me here to tell me this? Jon I know.”

“There are plans in place should we ever need, Tormund will bring the children to the North, the Unsullied as well, and the Dothraki all know they are to be protected at all costs.” Jon looked over at Davos again, his gray eyes earnest. “But beyond that…Dany and I would like you to serve as their guardian, if the need ever arises.”

Guardian? He sat up in his seat and felt his heart swell in his chest. His mouth fell open slightly and he glanced at the king. He chuckled. “I am more likely to die before you. I am an old man, Jon Snow.”

“I know.”

“Well you don’t need to dig the knife in,” he chuckled. He looked at the child sleeping on his father’s chest and glanced off in the distance to see Tormund still running away from the little girl, who now had a giant stick and was waving it at him. The direwolf was chasing them both, but whether it was to help the girl in her attack on the wildling or stop her, Davos could not tell yet. He looked back at the king. “Why are you thinking this Jon?”

He looked at the child again and sighed. “They do not have much in their lives. Dany and I are afraid to let them far from our sight. Only certain people we trust with their care. I know things will have to change as they grow older, but for now we want to keep them protected.”

“The Lannisters are gone, Jon. There is no one that wants to see your children…” The man’s shoulders stiffened, so Davos did not finish the statement. He cleared his throat. “I do know you still worry. I am a father, I understand. The fear never goes away.”

“We just want to make sure there is someone else in their lives who will provide that,” Jon whispered.

“And you do not think Tormund is that person?”

Jon snorted, but smiled nonetheless. “Tormund will lay down his life to protect them. That is why he has been allowed here for as long as we have been. However, Tormund is also distracted by sparkling lights and women and drink. He is a wonderful uncle for them, but we would prefer they not learn the word ‘fuck’ as a regular part of their vocabulary.”

“I feel as though you may be too late on that.”

“Well I know that, but Dany still thinks they can be helped,” Jon said with a smile. He turned serious again. “They need someone else, Davos. We want that person to be you.”

Davos thought of his sons, most of them gone too early. He thought of the few grandchildren he had and rarely saw. Of Shireen, that poor little girl who taught him to read and whose parents betrayed her and failed in their duty to their child. He looked over at the boy still sleeping and smiled. He nodded. “Of course Jon Snow. I will do whatever you ask.”

“Thank you,” the other man whispered. He looked down at Aemon and then back over, smiling awkwardly. “Ah…I’ll take this one inside. I’ll be right back.”

It is not as though I can go anywhere, Davos thought, looking off at the sky as the great black and red dragon flew overhead. He closed his eyes and sighed. It was really peaceful here. The winter winds from the sea were cool, but the sunlight tempered it. He could just fall asleep right there where he sat.

“Ser Davos.”

He opened one eye and then jumped from his seat, almost knocking the chair over. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

“No bowing.” Yes, that was right. He still could not understand that rule from the monarchs. Dany walked over and reached her arms out. He was surprised, as he did not know her near as well as Jon Snow, and lightly embraced the tiny woman. He stepped back. Her silver hair was in a single braid and her pale face tinged pink in the cheeks. She wore a simple light purple shift, with a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

She took a seat where Jon had vacated and smiled warmly at him. “How was your trip? I trust the journey was comfortable?”

“Most comfortable Your Grace.”

“Good to hear.” The beautiful queen looked out at the field where Lya was sitting with Ghost, plucking at wildflowers. She beamed in happiness. “I know Jon spoke with you.”

“Yes.”

“I wanted you to know that it was my idea,” she said, looking over at him. She smiled sadly. “I had no parents Ser Davos. My father was a tyrant and…well I am ashamed at how much I am like him.”

He shook his head, reaching over and lightly touching her hand. “No, do not…”

“It’s true, I have made peace with it,” she murmured, squeezing his fingers. She smiled again. “But Jon had a father. Ned Stark raised him as his bastard, despite the shame it would bring to him and his family. He protected Jon with his life, taking that secret to the grave, and I know Jon knows he can never live up to that. The only father he ever knew is the only example he has and he tries to be like Ned, but even he acknowledges that Ned was distant and while he was not unkind, it was clear to Jon that he was not the heir and as such he was not granted the same affection that his siblings received.” She continued. “And I knew nothing but abuse and fear in my childhood.”

“We are not our blood, Your Grace,” Davos said.

She smiled quickly. “No, we are not, but obviously it is a struggle.” She looked at Lya again, whispering. “My children are my life. The dragons were all I thought I could have as children. I thought I was nothing without them. Jon showed me that was not true, that I was something else.” She looked to him again. “My children with Jon are the only ones I will ever birth from my body and after Joren I know I will be unable to have another. I will gladly lay down my life for them if necessary and should that happen, I want them to have someone else to love as their family. That is why Jon brought you here. Why we are asking you to protect them if necessary and why Ser Davos, we would like you to be part of their family.” She smirked, as Tormund stumbled out of the woods, shouting for Lya, since she forgot to come find him in their “hider and seeker” game. “Such as it is.”

Davos had never felt more humbled in his life. He lowered his head in acknowledgment. “Of course Your Grace.” He cleared his throat. “If I may…why me?”

He was a smuggler. A traitor, by all accounts, from his service to Stannis Baratheon. An old man who still struggled with how to read. He had served the Broken King and had fought on the ground in King’s Landing, only for his life, still watching in horror as innocents went up in flames around him. When he realized it was she, he was not ashamed to say that afterward he wondered if she was really the queen they should have. That was his city and he knew the people lying burned in the streets.

And yet here was the King of Westeros and the Queen of Essos asking him to be a part of the family they had struggled and fought and died to build.

Daenerys smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Because you saw Jon when he was just a bastard and you thought there was something more there. Jon trusts you and if he trusts you, then I do too.”

And he knew that her trust in Jon was not easily granted, not after all they had been through. He lowered his head slightly again. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She smiled and her violet eyes lifted from his and her face broke into a positively beaming look. Davos thought it was as though the entire world was lighting up around her. “My bear,” she cooed, as Jon approached with a tiny bundle of blankets. She accepted it and her fingers lightly stroked the cheek of the child sleeping within. She spoke in a different language, Davos thought might have been Dothraki. It wasn’t as smooth as Valyrian.

Jon nodded to the babe. “Aemon is asleep, but this one woke up.”

“Never stops,” Davos said. “Feed them, sleep them, and change them.”

And, he thought, eyeing the little girl who was barreling towards her father without his notice, exhaust them so they could sleep. He chuckled, Jon letting out an ‘oof’ as his daughter crashed into his knees. “Careful there Jon, it seems you are under attack.”

“Um, what did I say about climbing the trees?” Jon asked, looking down at Lya, who popped up between him and the queen.

“Not to.”

“So can we not then?”

“Okay.”

“Where is Tormund?”

“Hiding.”

“Should you not be seeking him then? Is that not your game?” Lya only shrugged.

Davos pushed up from the chair. “I’ll go see to him.” He strode off to where he last saw the wilding disappearing into the forest, probably to hide in the same spot he always did. He reached the end of the hill, looking at the beautiful meadow before him. It was really peaceful there.

He looked up at the sky and smiled. He turned and gazed up at the house, where the little girl had run off into the forest again and the king and the queen stood with their newborn. They were both laughing at something and the king wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest.

Davos smiled again and nodded. He was glad to be here and glad they wanted him to help with their little family. Hand of the King, The Onion Knight, Davos Shorthand, whatever they wanted to call him, he thought that the title of a guardian of the king and queen’s children was the greatest title he could hold.

A dragon screeched and flew overhead. He shuddered. He could not get used to them.

“Ser Davos!” a small voice called.

He looked over and saw Lya peeking out from behind a large tree stump. He smiled. “Yes Princess Lya?”

She beamed. “Can you help me find Tormund?”

“Of course. Where did he go?”

“Where he always goes, he is not that smart.”

He laughed and let her take his hand, leading him into the forest to search for the wilding. “Oh I would not tell him that.” He followed her off, calling for the giant wildling to come out from his hiding place.

And there was not another place he thought he would rather be.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for letting me visit,” Arya said, not wanting to let go of Lya, who clung to her legs. She smiled at Jon and down at her niece. “I have to get back North, maybe next time you can visit.” Her dark eyes twinkled, alright lighting the fire in the small girl’s mind.

Jon’s smile was tight. He knew Arya was desperate for some company from family up at Winterfell, but unfortunately he was still not ready yet for his children to visit the place where he had never felt welcome and when he had felt at home, he had been betrayed and where he had lost her. He touched his fingertips to Lya’s shoulders, holding her back from running to jump onto the ship with Arya. “Maybe one day,” he said softly. He allowed Lya one more hug and then nudged her towards the land, where Tormund was waiting to take her back up to the house.

The little girl sniffled and hugged her aunt again. “Bye, bye Auntie Arya.”

“Bye little wolf,” Arya called, as Lya ran off to Tormund. She looked at him again and to his surprise, there were tears in her eyes. She sniffed, dropping her gaze in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

He smiled. “Why are you sorry?”

“Because…I just…nevermind.”

I understand. “Don’t cry. I’ll see you soon,” he said, reaching to pull her into a tight hug, kissing her temple. She clutched him and he closed his eyes, once again wishing things had been so different with his favorite sibling. The only one who had ever been kind to him when he was still the Bastard of Winterfell. He pulled back slightly and ran his hand over her hair; it was longer than it had been in the past and tugged into a tight braid. “I’ll tell Dany you said goodbye.”

Arya smirked. “Your wife does not like me.”

Can you blame her, Jon wanted to say, but wisely kept his mouth closed. He knew Dany struggled still with trusting the woman who had refused to trust in her despite all evidence to the contrary. I know a killer when I see one. Well, he knew Dany thought the same, even after all this time. “She is still wary,” he said, instead.

“I was wrong about her.”

“And she knows it.” He shook his head, whispering. “She’ll come around. Don’t worry about it.” Since she was leaving, he didn’t want to start another conversation, but the very fact Dany allowed her on the island was proof enough she was trusting his youngest sister. He gave her one more hug and took a step back, not wanting to linger any further. It would be too hard to say goodbye again.

Arya boarded the ship. She stood at the bow and waved as the Unsullied captain tossed the gangplank aside. The wind caught the sails and it began to slowly move away. He watched for a bit as the ship made its way from the island, Arya still a tiny dot on the bow. A long time ago he had departed for the Night’s Watch and thought that was the last time he would ever see her again. The gods had different plans, it seemed.

The ship moving to the horizon, he backed up from the dock and shoved his hands into the pockets of his breeches, walking slowly up the path to the house. He could not find his daughter or the wildling; no doubt they were off somewhere creating chaos. He made his way down to the wood where they had planted the weirwood tree, pausing to look at the scene before him.

Against the stark white trunk of the tree, his dragon queen leaned, nursing their newborn son and gazing out at Aemon, who was playing with Ghost and three direwolf pups that Arya had brought with her from the North; the only direwolves seen since Ghost and his litter. It seemed like the gods were smiling down on his children, she explained when she offloaded them from the ship to a screaming Lya and Aemon. Three pups for three wolf children.

Ghost on the other hand, was not pleased, as the pups bothered him and occasionally attempted to nurse from him as though he were their mother. A silent bare of the teeth had them running off, but not for too long and they were back at him, tugging on his remaining ear and ripping at his tail.

He walked down to his wife and newborn son, lowering himself beside her onto the blanket. She beamed at him and leaned back, lying on her side as Joren slept on his back next to her. “He finished eating some time ago,” she explained as he lay beside their son. “I just did not have the heart to remove him.”

His finger traced the scar under her breast; it had faded a bit since she dropped the dagger into the dragonfire, but she said it hadn’t. Maybe it was just him. He glanced down to his son, leaning in to brush his lips over the babe’s dark hair. “What would the lords and ladies think of the King of Westeros lying in the grass in naught but his breeches,” she teased, as he kicked off his boots and dug his toes into the grass.

He smiled sideways. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She smiled, serene. Once again he thought she resembled a goddess, with her silver hair and violet eyes. The sheer bliss and peace on her face. His Dany. He lay back down beside her and they both allowed Joren to clutch their fingers in his sleep, his almost translucent eyelids flickering in his sleep. Jon hoped one day his eyes might turn violet, as Aemon’s had changed from dark to purple as he grew. Dany said though that she was sure Joren would resemble his father, a true Northerner.

“He’s so quiet,” he murmured. The babe hardly made a sound, simply looked around at everything and took it in.

Dany smiled, her eyes unwavering from his. “He’s you.”

That was what Ser Davos had said, when they had brought him to the island not too long ago. His heart clenched again, looking at the tiny babe. Smaller than Lyanndei had been, a screaming dragon, whipping her arms and legs around as the Dothraki midwife had placed her in Dany’s arms. There was Aemon, who was also screaming, a wiggling worm. He had not been in the tent for the birth, having been thrown out by the Dothraki women as Dany had passed out, blood everywhere, and his screams distracting them from their attempts to save her and the babe.

He had ripped open the flaps of the tent, rushing in and screaming in horror when he saw them remove Joren, blue and purple, barely breathing. They were crying as they tried to stop the bleeding, Dany’s eyes flickering open and shut. I can’t lose them, I can’t lose them, was all he could think as he took the child and breathed into its nose and mouth, sobbing as the boy began to whimper, skin flushing a bit as color returned to him.

He looked back at her. “I cannot lose you,” he whispered. “I would die.”

“I know.”

“He wasn’t breathing, Dany. No more.”

She licked her lips and nodded, her eyes swimming in tears. “I know Jon, believe me I know, I cannot lose you either.” She swallowed hard, laughing slightly. “I did not think I could ever have a child. The dragons were my children. To have Lya…Aemon…and now this little one…Jon my heart is fuller than I could ever have dreamed.”

Good, he thought, leaning over to brush his lips against her. He broke away and rested his head back down against Joren’s, closing his eyes. He frowned. “You know you never said why you believed you could never have children after that witch told you.”

She shrugged a shoulder, a lock of her silver hair falling into her eyes. It was unbound today, which he loved, perfect for him to rake his fingers through. “Oh I don’t know…I never got with child again after that. Not like I was avoiding it.”

He whipped his head up. “What?”

“Oh you,” she chided, lightly pushing his shoulder and laughing. “Possessive wolf. I told you I had a lover before you, as you did before me.”

“Well…yes, but…” He frowned. They had never spoken of it. “Who?”

“Daario Naharis, the sellsword from Meereen.”

His eyes widened. “Daario!? The one who threatened to cut off my head if I hurt you? Him!?”

She laughed again and dropped a kiss to his lips. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous.” She grinned against his mouth. “How can you be jalous though when I have borne you three children, conquered the world for you, and spend every night as your queen?”

He huffed, but smiled. He shrugged again. “The only thing I ever wanted from you is to be with you.” To die in your arms, he thought. If we must die, we die together this time.

The unspoken connection between them had her nodding. “Our children will live on,” she murmured. She gazed at Aemon, playing with the wolves. Lya emerged form the trees and ran over as well, collecting the only female wolf that she had claimed as hers. Moonlight, she named the pearly sheened wolf. “They will be conquerors or scholars or healers or whatever they want to be.”

He nodded and continued to watch the scene before him. Lya had grown so much, her limbs becoming longer and slimmer; her face was her mother’s and her eyes were his. Aemon’s dark hair had turned to silver and dark eyes to violet. He was his mother through and through, with the temper to prove it. He lifted his gaze to the dragons flying above. He reached into his pocket and removed a parchment the Unsullied had left with him. “From Valyria,” he said.

“Who is it?” she murmured, eyes closed as she dozed in the dappled sunlight.

He unfurled it and began to read, smiling. “It’s from Joanna.”

“Oh?”

“It seems as though Jamie has discovered himself, he has gone to live with the Dothraki. They call him Vorso.”

“Fire,” she murmured.

“And…Brienne sends her best and thanks us again for allowing her to continue her tenure as the Master of Laws and Security for the kingdoms.”

Dany nodded, still half asleep and half listening. “That’s nice.”

He kept reading. Joanna wrote how she loved New Valyria and while she did not want to become a Maester, she was fascinated by the cultures and the experiences that existed in Essos that were unfathomable and unthinkable in Westeros. She wanted to continue her studies and was working with a woman named Qaithe, a shadowbinder from Ass’hai to learn what existed beyond the known world. “She says people have been paying their respects at the Plaza of Peace,” he said, knowing that Dany would like that.

The former location of The Iron Throne was razed and the statue of Ser Barristen the Bold was joined by ones of his mother and Rhaegar Targaryen. Ned Stark and Olenna Tyrell and Missandei of Naath. The people of New Valyria had installed the freshwater ducts and fountains. Arbors of flowers and vines allowed people to journey there to pay their respects. He knew that she particularly loved the large fountain of smallfolk, just women and children who had died in the burning. Her way of trying to give back.

He smiled as Joanna signed off saying she would hopefully see them soon and thanking them again for allowing her to stay in New Valyria. He folded up the paper and set it aside, slumping back down so he could continue to lay against Dany and their son. He rested his arm over Joren and lightly against her hip. She mumbled and moved closer, the babe cushioned between them.

His eyes closed and he thought of Vaes Dothrak. All their children were born there, to the place where she became the leader and queen she was today. Breaking the wheel, he thought with a tiny smile. They did it together. The girl who could not count to twenty and the boy with a bastard’s name. “I am yours and you are mine,” he murmured. From this day until the end of my days.

He was about to fall into a deep sleep when he sense Ghost approach. He opened an eye and looked up to see Tormund walking over, Lya and Aemon on each of his feet as he dragged them along with each step. He chuckled and sat up, getting to his feet. Dany continued to sleep, her mouth slightly open and a soft snore escaping her perfect lips.

“You know Little Crow, I’d still think you were a virgin if it weren’t for all these little wolves running around,” Tormund said, prying Aemon off his ankle as Lya let go.

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“Let go little wolves, I need a drink.” Tormund clapped his hand on Jon’s back. “Please tell me you have some of that ale from the North and not that Dothraki horse piss.”

“What’s horse piss?” Lya wondered.

Jon pushed Tormund towards the house. “Yes. Now get out of here,” he laughed. He watched his friend walk off towards the house before he sank back down onto the blanket. He draped his arms over his knees, watching Lya and Aemon run back to the pups.

Dany stirred slightly and blinked. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes, but you need it.” He brushed his fingers over her hair, pushing it from her face. He smiled down at her. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

“And I can’t believe you’re mine,” she whispered. She smiled again, eyes crinkling. “You said Joanna wrote. What else did she say?”

“Oh just thanking us for letting her stay in New Valyria.”

“Arya got off okay?”

“Fine.” He smiled slightly. “She had Gendry make those crowns for them, thought you might like it.” The silver crowns with wolves on them were for the children, but Dany had only said thank you and left it at that. “Forgiveness is still hard.”

“I know,” she whispered. She smirked. “Look at us.”

I suppose so, he thought, getting up to his feet and carefully lifting up Joren. He braced the babe on his forearm, cupping his head with his hand and lightly bouncing him. She stood up beside him and leaned against his arm, still grinning at the child. She reached and took the babe, cradling him. On a whim, he pulled at her hand and lightly spun her around. “What are you doing,” she laughed, dancing in place beside him.

Her hair spun about her shoulders and the pale purple shift she wore floating between her legs. Her feet were bare, digging into the grass as he pulled her around with him. He tugged her to his chest, Joren fussing a bit at the moment, and dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her soft, sweet, and with as much love as he could muster. She moaned softly against him, melting her body to his. They were made for each other. They cradled their son between them, barely noticing their other two children come to flit between their legs. He broke the kiss reluctantly and glanced down, laughing at their antics.

“What are you doing?” Dany laughed, taking Aemon’s hand, while he took Lya’s.

“Tell us a story,” Lya demanded.

He let the children tug them from the tree and into the clearing. “What kind of story?”

They did not answer, too busy giggling and running in circles around Dany, who was still cradling Joren in her arms. He took in the sight; her hair fluttering around her face, the smile on her lips, and the children pulling on her hand. My Dany, he thought, his heart spilling open at the love he had for her. For them. He reached for her, tugging her against him and kissing her.

“Gross,” Lya giggled while Aemon clapped his hands, demanding a ‘storby.’

Tears trickled down her cheeks and onto his, but he did not brush them away. “A story,” he whispered, still gazing into her. “A story of ice and fire.”

She sobbed against him. “I love you Jon Snow,” she whispered.

“I love you Daenerys Targaryen,” he replied, kissing her again.

The children had grabbed their wolf pups and they were now nipping at their ankles for a story, as Ghost wandered off to sleep in peace, and the dragons screeched above.

He continued to kiss her and relish in the happiness that surrounded them. He was finally just Jon and she was finally just Dany.

And he finally felt at peace.

Chapter Text

Many Years Later…

The ranger of the North walked slowly through the snow, his heavy boots crunching the dried leaves and sticks beneath them. He glanced sideways at the wolf beside him, silently padding along. He had come from far away, from the Wall to the Lands of Always Winter. To the center of where it seemed to all begin. All the magic from the old world to the new.

He brushed a lock of curly dark hair that fell into his eyes, storm gray like the clouds lingering above from a fresh storm. He lifted them up to scan the vast expanse, watching as a series of dragons flew overhead, screeching a sad song.

A massive black and red flew over, tail dusting the treetops. Something clutched in his talons. I’m close, the ranger thought, glancing down at the wolf, who stared up at him with deep black eyes. He ruffled his companion’s head and kept going, finally emerging into a clearing, surrounded by tall, spire-like pine trees. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his dragon, hatched when he was a small child, the blue and silver.

Barristys cried as he sensed the distress of his rider. He flew low, but the ranger shook his head slightly, and the dragon flapped its wings, taking back up to the skies with the others. Their howls and shrieks pained him, the longing and the sadness they felt permeating the din.

He scanned the few people there and approached one of the dragonriders who had just landed, on a gray and purple beast. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an elderly Lord of the Storm Lands and his few children, there to pay their respects. Beyond that, his aunt, the last remaining member of the wolf siblings. He glanced back up at the dragons.

Drogon, Eddarion, Silverwing he thought, knowing them all from his youth. They were his siblings too. Wildfyre, Vaella, Dreamfyre, Vermithor, Moonstar, he continued. He spotted Braavax and Volantarion. The ten that existed before the three clutch eggs that only hatched when their counterparts were ready. Barristys, he thought, and his sister’s, Daenys.

Daenys cried, sensing his sister’s anguish, and took off to join her family above. “Lya,” he breathed, and his sister ran to him, sobbing as she flung herself into his arms. They had been expecting this for a long time. It just seemed as though it had arrived too soon.

He looked over to the massive pyre, his aunt approaching carefully. She was so tiny and frail these days, he thought, pecking a kiss to her cheek. “Auntie Arya,” he greeted.

“Joren,” she whispered. She scanned the dragons above. “Where is your brother?”

As if on cue, the great flame red dragon with black eyes and tipped wings flew around, landing with a shake of the trees and ground, great neck tilting around to watch the rider drop elegantly off. Emperor of Westeros and Essos, Aemon Targaryen, approached them, regal as ever, with his silver hair long and in intricate braids and violet eyes flashing. Aemon the Wise, they called him.

“Aemon,” Lya said, hugging him. Her dark hair was more silver these days, matching his. They both looked over and Joren finally turned. He watched a man approach, older than them by several years, with blond hair gone gray, wearing various pelts and leathers they knew to be Dothraki.

He nodded to the man and spoke in Dothraki. “Vorso, thank you for making the journey.”

Jamie Hill nodded and looked over to the pyre. “I would not be where I am today if it were not for them.”

“It’s time.”

They all turned and Joren smiled slightly, seeing Jamie’s twin approach, wearing black robes and an intricate silver and black collar. Her blonde hair, also gone gray, was braided as well and piled on her head in a coil. She was a scholar of mysticism, he remembered, living in Asshai and still unraveling the mysteries of the world. “It’s time,” she murmured.

As if on cue, Drogon swooped down, gently depositing what he held in his talons onto the pyre. He took off again and then landed, thundering the ground like an earthquake and screaming a pained sound to the world, the other dragons responding in kind.

Lya sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She gazed at the pyre. “You can’t bring them back?” she whispered.

It would not be what they wanted, he thought, furrowing his brow together. He did not need to say anything, as Joanna responded, shaking her head. “No, there is no bringing them back. They have departed this world.”

“They did last time too,” Aemon muttered. “What is the difference?”

“The difference,” he said, thinking to the connection he shared with his parents, a connection that he knew was similar to his siblings, but for him seemed to run deeper. It was like he could feel their thoughts. He gazed at the pyre. “The difference is their watch has ended. It’s time to let them move on.”

“It’s what they would have wanted,” Joanna said. Jamie nodded in agreement.

“They’re in the Nightlands now,” he whispered.

Nightlands were what the Dothraki believed. He wondered if they were there, maybe his mother was, with her first husband and child. Or maybe they were somewhere else. He followed the Old Gods. Perhaps they were just somewhere at peace and not the darkness and blackness that he had heard his father speak of only once before. He closed his eyes. Joanna continued. “Their purpose has been fulfilled. They are at peace now.”

“And what was that purpose?” Lya wondered.

“You,” their aunt said.

Joanna nodded. Us, Joren wondered. We did not do anything. The scholar spoke, voice clear and carrying over. “You, Lyanndei, are a dragonrider and a Southern explorer, ensuring your mother’s will to keep slavery abolished continues. Aemon, the wise and just, who has united the two continents and ensured their continued prosperity and independence of the kingdoms.” She turned to him then. “And Joren, the ranger of the North and member of the Free Folk.”

He walked away from the group, approaching the pyre. Somewhere he heard Lord Gendry ask if someone wanted to speak. He looked over at Drogon, who approached, shielding out the moon that was shining down. He was so old, he had to watch her die twice. He leaned over the pyre and stared at the people lying still and peaceful. As if they were sleeping.

Father was dressed in furs, the Stark sigil prominent on his breastplate. Mai had on her red velvet gown, wearing a silver chain with black silk cape, the three-headed dragon on her shoulder. They were holding hands. He touched the Valyrian sword at his side, with the wolf pommel. Longclaw had been his since the birth of his first child, his father granting it to him to pass on. As it was meant to.

Dark Sister, normally at his mother’s side, belonged to Lya, also gifted when she announced her intentions to go farther south than anyone else had in the world, to attempt to discover Sothyros and Ulthos.

He closed his eyes and leaned down, pressing a kiss to each of their cool foreheads. He stepped back and watched his siblings do the same. Aemon, ever the leader, announced, his voice clear. “They were a king and a queen, a wolf and a dragon, and ice and fire.” He cleared his throat, which constricted with emotion. “That was what theyw ere to the world, but to us…” he glanced at his siblings. His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “To us they were Papa and Mai.” He coughed and blinked rapidly for a moment. “But to them…they were Jon and Dany.”

And that was all that needed to be said, he thought, as Lya leaned against her brother, crying. He felt his aunt approach beside him and dropped his arm to her shoulder. The Hill twins stood at the base of the pyre. Jamie lit a torch and lit the bottom of the pyre. It began to go up slowly, the smoke curling.

He heard a scream and they all turned to Drogon who let out one more mourning sound before he blew onto the pyre, sending it up in a blaze of smoke and then the dragon reared back, held his wings out and was gone in a burst of flame.

Joanna gasped and he heard Lya let out a sound of distress. He smiled though. “He cannot live without her,” he said.

“How can we,” Aemon whispered.

They watched as the fire curled and he closed his eyes. It was exactly what they would have wanted.

Some time later, he dropped off Barristys at the tomb they had built for them on one of the islands in the broken Valyrian peninsula. It was simple, made of black dragonstone and there was a stained glass image of them both, as they had been in their youth. It was of the most ornate Myrish glass and beside him was the white wolf Ghost, who had departed the world not long before. Drogon was on the other wall, beside his mother.

He was sweltering in his furs, but he knew he would not be here long. Following their wishes. Burn in the North and buried in the South. Together to the end. In the ancient lands of the Targaryens. He knew they would be at peace here, no one would be able to find them. Only dragons could reach this tomb and only the Targaryens could fly the dragons.

“What happens when the dragons die out,” Aemon wondered out loud.

Lya took the black dragonglass box from him, containing their ashes. She smoothed her hand over the top, engraved with the combined sigils of a wolf and a dragon. She shrugged. “Then I guess no one will be able to disturb them.” She set the box in the same black dragonglass tomb.

He moved it back over and Aemon held his hand out, fire emerging and fusing it shut. They all stood around where their parents would rest for eternity. He closed his eyes and sent a prayer to wherever they were that they were at peace. It was all they ever wanted.

“They fought for it,” Lya said aloud.

“Stop reading my thoughts.”

She smirked. “I can’t help it.” She ran her hand atop the tomb. “They did as they wished you know. Mai told me. She said that when she died again it would be in his arms, only he would die too.”

Aemon nodded. “Papa died first.”

“And Mai crawled into his arms and went moments later,” he finished. It was just as she had planned. He looked at the image of them in glass as they would forever be remembered. He glanced at his siblings. “Let’s go.”

They departed the tomb and Aemon closed the door behind him. They walked to the three dragons waiting for them. He hopped onto Barristys and waited for his siblings. After a moment, they took off, flying in their various directions. They would be back to visit and all he could hope was that Jon and Dany were together in the afterlife, as they would forever be in this one.

--

Jon walked slowly over a hillside, stopping at the top and gazing down. There was a waterfall and he recognized it from another world. He gazed at the woman standing there, with Ghost beside her, young as he used to be, like a pup. He ran down to her and she embraced him tight, sobbing into his shoulder. “I saw my mother,” she cried.

He nodded, burying his face into her soft neck. “Me too.” For the first time he could see how much he resembled his mother. The beautiful woman who started a war. His father too, tall and regal, with silver hair and indigo eyes. They were proud of him, they said. His other father was there too, telling him that he loved him and was only protecting him.

This was not dark and cold and black, he thought, thinking of the last time. He lifted his face to the warm sun and she sobbed as her children flew above, all screeching in happiness at seeing their mother again. “What of your khal and your son?” he asked, looking back to her.

Tears swam in her wide violet eyes. “I saw them,” she murmured. “And they are in the Nightlands now.” She swallowed hard. “And I’m here with you.”

They embraced and looked to the waterfall. “This is not the dark,” he breathed.

“No,” she agreed. She looked back to him and grinned. “We can stay here forever.”

“We have forever now.”

They both embraced again and then hand in hand they broke apart and walked towards the waterfall, to wait in the new world.