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It must be some absurd nostalgia that Jon felt.
In front of the iron throne stood his silver-haired lover, fingers tracing along the blades of the throne swords that reminded Westeros of Aegon’s conquering, a glorious feat and the very reason why Targaryens were loved and equally hated. What would she look like sitting atop the throne? He couldn’t help but wonder, still recalling vividly the fateful day when he walked into the throne room of Dragonstone. Lifting his eyes, he didn’t expect to see a woman so young and regal and... breathtakingly beautiful.
What felt like a lifetime had lapsed since. In the quiet of the room he found himself staring at her a bit too long. “Your grace.”
“Jon?”
A small smile graced her lips. She turned around swiftly and took a breathe before walking towards him with the air of a real queen-- the queen of seven kingdoms.
“Did you see how they swear their allegiance to me?”
Daenerys’ voice was triumphant, yet the faint tiredness on her face didn’t escape his keen eyes. She hadn’t had any real rest since they arrived the North.
“Lannisters have all surrendered," said she with a sense of satisfaction. “Kingslanding is now ours. Soon we will march further south after regrouping-- ”
“Dany.” It caught her off guard. He had been avoiding calling her Dany since his parentage was revealed.
“The war has ended.” Jon signed. He looked over the burnt walls surrounding them. Amid the ruins and rubbles of this once grand keep was an imposing Targaryen flag. Black and Crimson. Fire and Blood.
Daenerys shook her head. “This is only the beginning, Jon. My mission is to break the wheel and build a world of new order.” For a few minutes she seemed to have lost in her envisioned future. “To liberate every piece of land, from Essos to Westeros, to liberate every oppressed woman and child.”
“But not with the armies you have left.”
She frowned, as if his blunt disruption awakened her from a dream too sweet. “We have at least thirty thousands of soldiers.”
“No, we don’t.” Jon paused briefly. “Lannisters resent us. Their reluctance to fight will render them useless in the battlefield.”
The smile vanished from her pale face, replaced by a sneer. “Half of my Dothraki armies died fighting the Others, but those who survived are the best warriors. Besides, ” she hesitated a bit, “ I have you and your Northern force.”
Jon made no comment on it. Instead, he took her hand in his before she had a chance to resist. So cold. “Maybe the Others wouldn’t have headed South had we stayed south of the wall.”
“What do you mean?” Daenerys furrowed her eyebrows. There was something about Jon Snow that unsettled her. Maybe she had been too occupied by the war and too hurt by his rejection in Winterfell to pay attention to him these days, and to what’s left between them. “The Night King was going after your brother Bran. He wanted to erase our people’s collective memory.”
Jon pressed his thin lips together. He didn’t like what the destiny had bestowed upon him. Destiny, or an invisible hand that pulled all the strings? If only he could answer it now.
“I’m sorry that you lost your dragons and best friend.”
Daenerys looked away, avoiding his eyes. The haunting scenes of her children falling from the sky howling and Missandei beheaded in front of her still stung.
“Why are you here, Jon Snow. Did you get any news for me?”
Aside from the war.
Aside from white walkers.
Anything else you wanted to tell me?
“Dany.” This time her name flew from his mouth in a harsher, almost authoritative tone. “Release Tyrion and civilians that Dothraki captured.”
She glared at him in disbelief. “Who did you swear your oath to?”
“You.” There wasn’t any mockery in his voice. Jon signed. “ You know that I have willingly given up my crown.”
For the North and for you.
“....Jon Snow...”
If you will have me, my queen, pledged the raven-haired man as he looked at her with longing in his eyes. In that warm cabin lit up by the flickering candlelight, his heated kisses and caresses burnt her skin. Daenerys closed her eyes to drive away the memory that hurt more than anything now. When she reset her eyes on him, she became cold and distant again. “I don’t want to talk about that traitor.”
But Jon didn’t budge as if he had expected the reaction from her. He was waiting for something, contemplating. Then he breathed.
“Daenerys.”
Anger started to simmer inside of her.
He made sure she heard every word clearly. “Rhaegar Targaryen is my father.”
“So?” They hadn’t had any real discussion about his parentage. She had no idea of his thoughts on it. Now it frightened her more than it excited her. But what struck her next was the suggestion and possibility behind his words. “You are threatening me?”
With your claim to the throne?
Burning amethyst was met with stern grey, his stubbornness mirroring her indignation. They looked so different yet so similar, as if they were true family, aunt and nephew, jostling for the same thing following the cruel tradition of Targaryens. And he was a man, the best swordsman in Westeros. “... Grey worm.” Fear gripped her as Daenerys looked for her guards. “Grey worm!”
Not a sound. Not a soul in the battered throne room except two of them.
“I trusted you--” I trusted you wouldn’t take away what was mine. In a state of panic she thought of finding Drogon. Drogon would know she was in danger. Yet a strange heat rushed up towards her temples. Head swimming, she glared at him, quivering lips forcing out words of shock and disappointment.
“You poisoned me...”
Varys tried to. You finished his job.
But before she could complete her accusation her whole body was lifted from the ground. His arms trapped her like shackles. Was he whispering something to her ears? Was he finally admitting his betrayal? In a dizzy she failed to comprehend anything. She floundered, kicked and trashed, then something stifled her... the kiss of death... soothing her and consuming her like fire. She desperately teared at the front of his armor.
She gave in to that fire.
***
Nobody could tell the actual season. Kingslanding was covered in heavy snow. The blanket of ashes blotted out the sun, the odor of chars and sulphur filling the air. Daenerys could only see the bleak walls of a murky room isolated from the outside world. In this secret cellar she had been imprisoned for two days. In front of her lied a piece of parchment and a quill.
Her captor didn’t threaten her with his long claw. It was a horn-- the dragon-slaying horn Euron Greyjoy flaunted to him when they were negotiating with Cercei in Dragons’ Pit-- that bent her will.
“Some soldiers found the horn beside his corpse and handed it to me,” said him matter-of-factly.
Daenerys sank her teeth deeper into her bottom lip until she tasted the metallic flavor of her own blood.
-- Stop the execution of surrendered Lannisters.
-- Release Tyrion from the death row.
It took all her strength to put the pen on the paper. Then she chucked the quill away, the snapping sound echoing in the small room. Jon circumvented the broken quill, and without a word, knelt down beside her.
“You have always wanted the iron throne.”
Jon didn’t deny it.
Her hysteria upon regaining consciousness two days ago was now replaced by a profound sadness.
“I grew up in exile believing all my family had died. ” He lowered his head. “My brother was all I had. Then he sold me. Drogo... tought me how to be a Khaleesi. After his death I survived several assassinations. I freed Mireen and sailed across the narrow sea. I thought everything was within reach... until I met you.”
Something flickered in Jon’s eyes, his expression unreadable, voice hoarse:
“Do you think our dynasty could be restored on fear and resentment?”
“It’s my responsibility!”
“That’s your brother’s obsession!”
She scowled at him. And he had the audacity to hold her angry glare. But deep down she knew he was right... Why did she tell him her past without reservation? Now he was using them against her.
“My people chose me to be their queen.”
“I have come a long way,” she bit her bottom lip, eyes reddened. “I can’t call it quit.”
“Dany...”
She hated the tenderness in his voice as if he still cared.
“You have no right to call me that!”
Jon tensed almost imperceptibly. If she looked at him, she would see the sadness in his eyes. But she was too aggravated. After a long silence, he opened his mouth quietly. “I heard their queen would give them food and water. I heard she used to cry for little children hurt by her dragons. I heard she would stop soldiers from abusing women. She is not her father.”
“....”
Daenerys changed the topic.
“When did you request other Houses to come to Kingslanding? ”
Jon signed. “It was Varys.”
Varys, the insidious traitor whom she kindly took in when he’d got nowhere to go and swore to serve her till his death? She had no one to trust, after all. Daenerys refused to look at Jon again. She had made her decision. “Bring Grey Worm to me.”
Within one month Jorah died protecting her, Missandei was beheaded in front of her eyes, and her army was almost decimated. Jon Snow, the man who claimed her heart... set her up.
“Soon. ” He stood up. “I promise you will see him.”
One day, you will.
Jon rolled up the parchment with the dragon queen’s seal on it. Unsullied and Dothrakis were ferocious warriors loyal only to her, but this was the first time that they landed on foreign soil. Despite some showing suspicions and demanding to see their queen, they hadn’t caused any real riot.
From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of her silver hair cascading down her shoulders. Many nights his hands had run through them. Tearing his gaze away, he headed for the door.
“Aegon.”
Jon stopped in his track.
“What are you going to do with me?”
***
The moonlight sifted through the windows of Winterfell’s castle. The world was serene, except for the wolves’ howls from afar and the crackles of fire in the warm chamber.
Bran set the parchment aside on the table, emotionless eyes giving no hints of his thoughts. The fire crackled in the fireplace behind him, its light casting shadows on his face, blurring the distinction between the young heir of Winterfell and the mysterious three-eyed raven that for hundreds of years many believed only existed in folk tales.
He heard footsteps approaching, then a tentative knock on the door. “Come in.” Samwell Tarly poked his head into the chamber. “Bran.”
The scholar’s awkward smile was met with a small nod.
“Is that news from Kingslanding? ” Sam recognized the seal on the parchment.
“Kingslanding is destroyed.”
Sam froze in place. Bran reached for the parchment calmly.
“We should leave for Kingslanding now. The ultimate trial is coming.”
But Sam failed to follow Bran’s words. The Stark boy seemed to have changed fundamentally during his journey to the north of the wall. “Were Lannisters defeated?”
“They were. But the victor, I’m afraid, is not a queen.”
Sam struggled to let that sink in, his expression shifting from perplexity to agitation to astonishment, and finally, “you mean,” Sam blurted out hopefully, “you mean... Aegon Targaryen won the throne?”
But by no means would Daenerys willingly relinquish her power. Her armies and her dragon, the colossal beast that Daenerys referred to as her child would guard her against any harm. Without addressing Sam’s question, Bran turned to face the fireplace, and to Sam’s bewilderment, fed the parchment to the fire. He watched the flame licking at the parchment until what’s left were ashes.
“What do you think of Jon?”
“What do-- I-- ?” Sam faltered. He didn’t expect this question from Jon’s half brother-- or was he still? Sam dismissed the disturbing thought in his mind. This was an easy one. “Jon is my best friend. He is the most honest, brave and selfless person I’ve ever known.”
Bran nodded in agreement.
Sam couldn’t help but size the young lord up. A sudden realization of who “Bran” actually was sent chills down his spine.
“But...but it was her dragons that saved all of us from the White Walkers.”
“Then it torched Kingslanding.”
Bran continued despite the petrified look on Sam’s face. “Daenerys herself is a dragon. ”
And dragon didn’t grow trees.
Sam swallowed hard, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. “You are not going to... you are not... ”
“Jon offered me a deal. ” As if amused by Sam’s face that was paler than the moonlight, Bran allowed an ambiguous smile on his lips.
“To which I agreed.”
***
Coming out of the squalid dungeon, Tyrion rubbed his sore wrist and blinked at the blinding sunlight that had thawed the heavy snow in Kingslanding. It felt so good to be alive, he mused, congratulating himself on his narrow escape. Daenerys’ guards set him free without any explanation. Not that he would mind though. Worn and parched, Tyrion wished there were a mug of ale, a cozy bed, and some tavern girls to message his limbs, but all he’s got was an annoying figure towering above him, blocking the lovely sunlight.
Tyrion gave Brron a shove.
He could not stand the mercenary’s cursing and rambling.
“... Stormend’s bastard lord arrived at the Dragons’ Pit first, followed by lords from the North and Vale. You know Dorne’s new king, right? I want to punch his smug face. I love that short-tempered Ironborn woman though... Don’t give me that look, Tyrion, I didn’t come here to save your pitiful ass, but I heard former kings buried their treasures under the red keep, which is said to withstand earthquake and even fire--”
Tyrion cut him off with a glint in his eyes, “What did you say?”
“I said... the Red Keep?”
The Red Keep wasn’t completely destroyed. Tyrion thought to himself as he hastily descended the winding, maze-like stairs with a torch in his hand.
He knew what was awaiting him at the end of the secret passage that came out intact: a dragon. Or to be more specific, the skull of Balerion, the legendary dragon that charred the lands of Westeros hundreds of years ago. Targaryens consecrated it after Balerion’s death. Then Lannisters came along. Qyburn, under the order of his sister, built a colossal bow with a giant arrow mounted on it, ready to mercilessly shoot down any living dragon. Once over a conversation with him, Cersei hinted that even the “real dragon”, if hit, would screech in pain and fall into the inferno.
Tyrion could almost see that beautiful woman screaming with her silver hair flying in the wind.
Except, the lethal weapon now lied in shatters.
Holding the torch higher, Tyrion trembled involuntarily. Only the best swordsman and the sharpest Valyrian steel could slash it into pieces.
Slowly, Tyrion walked back and forth between the destroyed weapon and the intimidating dragon skull, pondering, mumbling, and eventually burst into laughter:
“Well done, Aegon.”
***
-- What would happen if we came here a few days earlier?
-- Isn’t that obvious? Seven hells, half of Kingslanding is gone.
-- Are we supposed to have a new king?
-- I heard the dwarf is in charge.
...
The cacophony in the Dragons’ Pit grew as more lords, alone with their entourage, entered the pit for the upcoming trial.
Since Varys smuggled the subversive letters out of Kingslanding plotting against Daenerys, his “birds” sent them to every major house of Westeros. Some were committed to their alignment with House Targaryen, others wavered. After fruitless discussions they decided to come to Kingslanding first.
“If you ask me, Highgarden still commands most resources.” Someone raised his voice.
The queen of Iron Islands sneered. “I serve only the legitimate queen, and that’s Daenerys. ” Yara glared at Stark sisters. “Speaking of this... where is that usurper?”
Arya drew out needle.
Sansa motioned her sister back. She tried to be courteous with Yara for the Theon’s sake, even though both knew courtesy was the furthest thing from sincerity.
Greyworm was talking to his soldiers in Valyrian language, occasionally glowering at Westeros’ lords. Unsullied and Dothrakis reluctantly accepted the peace treaty under the condition that they were informed of the whereabouts of their queen and the man who kidnapped her.
Let them wait.
Tyrion thought pleasantly. This was the closest he had come to maneuvering these powerful yet clueless lords. A moment ago he emerged from entrance of Dragon’s Pit, with a golden cup in one hand and a skin of fine wine in the other. It turned out there were some treasures under the red keep. But instead of addressing the lords who grew more and more impatient, Tyrion waltzed towards the youngest one sitting in the corner.
Bran lifted his eyes: “They have all arrived.”
Tyrion nodded. “Have you met them?”
Them. The man and woman who were supposed to be the center of this trial.
But was it still a trail if the sinner and the accomplice would never show up?
Bran shook his head. “Yet I made a deal with Jon.”
Tyrion corrected him. “You accepted his deal.”
Tyrion continued as if he didn’t really expect a reply from Bran. “When do you think Jon Snow accepted his true parentage as well as his complicated relationship with Daenerys? And when did he figure all this out?”
But Tyrion knew better. A wise man once said a smart person understood when to articulate, and most importantly, when to zip up his mouth. Tyrion pulled himself another cup of wine, the enticing aroma lingering in his nostril. “Power, is the most attractive thing in the world. Only a fool like Jon Snow would give that up.” Tyrion trailed off, eyes darted at Bran. The young lord who a short time ago declined the offer to succeed Winterfell remained unperturbed, his eyes a maze of mysteries, alluring and frightening whoever attempted to prob into the secret of a puppet master.
Tyrion furrowed his eyebrows, apparently lost in a flurry of thoughts.
“What are you thinking, Tyrion?”
“I was wondering ... is there anything in the world that Bran doesn’t know?”
Bran looked amused. “I’m not omniscient.”
“Then at least tell me how to convince those lords--” said Tyrion as he eyed the crowds, “-- that their new king is neither the beautiful dragon queen, nor her nephew who dared to bargain with the almighty three-eyed raven?”
Bran teased back:
“Is there really any problem that the smartest man, with his silver tongue, cannot solve?”
“Right.”
Tyrion took a step back and bowed to him: “More than honored to oblige.” He steered Bran’s wheelchair towards the center of Dragons’ Pit under curious eyes, while humming to himself: “How does history define a hero and a villain? Only time will make the final judgement...” Following his rousing speech, the chanting of “long live the king!” erupted in Dragons’ Pit -- after years of bloodshed, divides, and the horrifying long night, Westeros eventually rung in a new era with a prescient king to rule for the next millennia.
Somewhere, far, far away from Westeros on the other end of the world, in the clouds high above the sky, a roar from a dragon rattled the mountains below, and the silhouette soon disappeared among the endless mountain ranges.
***
(Epilogue)
“... I dreamed of the throne room... and how you lied to me!”
The curly-haired man beside her agilely caught her fist in his hand. “ Don’t fight me, Dany. ”
Daenerys pushed the sheet up to her shoulders. “ Since when did you become so shameless?”
Jon scratched the back of his head, the other hand gently guiding hers to his bare chest where a jagged scar ran through. “Since I was resurrected.”
Daenerys sulked, despite a pang in her heart at the thought of him being stabbed to death by his Nights Watch brothers. Betrayal was the deadliest poison, and she knew its taste too well.
“What about the restoration... my dynasty...”
The only thing that I had been taught to seek all my life?
Yet she already knew the answer.
Fire was created to melt ice, in the same vein Targaryens co-existed with White Walkers. They emerged together, and were fated to vanish together.
-- Targaryens alone in this world is a horrible thing.
The last two Targaryens had found each other.
What else mattered?
Jon rubbed his thumb against her cold fingertips. Daenerys was still, understandably, mad at him, and probably would never forgive him for taking matters into his own hands without consulting her. “If I’m not mistaken,” Jon leaned closer, his whisper sparking a heat inside of her, “When we were at the waterfall beyond the wall, you promised to stay with me for a thousand years.”
Daenerys decided his good memory was hateful.
“Will you keep your word?”
She half-heartedly pulled her hand out of his grasp.
“Where is Drogon?”
“... foraging somewhere.”
The day they left Kingslanding, Drogon burnt the iron throne to ashes so nobody would ever sit atop it. The dragon had since hidden in the deep mountains of Dragon Stone, fearing his mother’s rage. Her wrath was hence directed at the man who brought her here, back to their home.
... Home.
A house with a red door and lemon trees in the yard.
Daenerys felt something wet at the corner of her eye.
“What happened after I crossed the narrow sea... feels like a dream.”
A daydream or a nightmare, she wasn’t able to tell.
Nor was he.
In a sense they were both pieces on the chess board with an ancient power pulling the strings.
“It’s over, Dany.” Jon pulled her into his arms.
Daenerys nodded. She could feel the heat emanating from his body behind her back. “I just didn't expect I'd come back where I started.”
She had come full circle. And balance is a cycle. Three-eyed raven’s words when agreeing to spare her life suddenly came across his mind.
“Do you remember the prophecy about your pregnancy?”
Daenery slowly recalled. “Unless... When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east; when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves...”
Jon felt his heart picking up speed.
“You are not thinking--”
He pressed his forehead against hers, wet hair tickling her eyes.
“How do you know we can’t have a baby?”
Daenerys' eyes were incredulous despite a faint blush on her face. But Jon kissed that sadness away. "We will have a child of our own." "…We will?"
Against her lips he's smile widened.
"We will."