Chapter Text
King's Landing was destroyed. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms was now just a pile of smoldering ruins and the city streets were littered with the corpses of women, men, old men and children. A slaughter of innocents.
Jon Snow – or to be more precise, Daemon Targaryen – walked the streets of the city. It was wonderful how little time it had taken to raze King's Landing to the ground. There was a foul smell of blood and burnt flesh in the air. Drogon with his deadly fire had wreaked havoc, but it was his 'mother' who had ordered him to do so. He still could not believe what she had done, even though he had seen it with his own eyes. She had gone mad just like her father, but he trusted that she would change now, that she would become the woman he had known again. Not a mad, bloodthirsty queen. But had Daenerys ever actually been sane? He was convinced that everything that had happened had made her that way, but he trusted that things would change: now that she had what she wanted, she would turn out to be a good queen.
Daenerys was standing before the Iron Throne when Jon and Tyrion joined her in what had once been the throne room. It was as if the fire had spared the coveted Mother of Dragons chair made of swords.
"There is one more thing to do." Daenerys noted. Jon stared at her confused, unable to understand what she was referring to. "Now that King's Landing and the throne are mine, it is time to liberate the North. "She added seriously. The brunette remained silent. It was Tyrion who broke the silence. He had taken a step forward towards Daenerys.
''Queen Daenerys, the North does not need to even be freed." He said. It was then that Jon realized what he wanted to do: she wanted to kill his siblings, indeed cousins. Perhaps it would have been easier to think that they were not his cousins, especially thinking back to what had happened a few weeks earlier, when Sansa had kissed him after he had revealed the truth to her. She had been the first person he had told before the battle against the White Walkers. That in itself had been a betrayal of Daenerys. Of course, he had not told Daenerys this. He had made a mistake in letting himself go into Sansa's arms, but it would never happen again. He would never betray Daenerys again.
He knew that fearing for his – for their – lives was no justification for what he had done. It wasn't until the next morning, when he had woken up in his bed and seen his bare back full of the scars that testified to what she had experienced at the hands of Ramsay and Joffrey, that he had realized what a big mistake he had made. He suspected he had broken her heart and would never forget Sansa's hurt expression when he had told her that what they had done was a mistake and that he loved Daenerys. He didn't care that she was his aunt.
"Spare them. Spare my sisters and the lords and ladies of the North." He pleaded. Tyrion turned towards him, but Jon's gray eyes were fixed on Daenerys who was staring straight into his face. "Please do not kill my siblings." Do not kill Sansa. That was what he meant. He had a feeling he could still smell her scent at that moment, the softness of her hair and skin. He quickly put that thought out of his mind. He did not dare even imagine what Dany would have done if she had known.
"Your cousin betrayed me!" Daenerys retorted angrily. ''But I think I might be magnanimous to her and grant her my forgiveness." She added. Partly Jon was surprised that she agreed immediately because he thought they would argue. " But I will only do it for your sake, and you must acknowledge me as the sole claimant to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. " She continued. Jon did not hesitate to advance. He knelt on the ground as he had done not long before when he had yielded the North to her. Daenerys stared at him for a long time in silence with her hands intertwined at belly height.
"You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne." He exclaimed. He did not care about the throne, never had. Daenerys' lips curved into a satisfied smile, then she turned to Tyrion.
"I have decided to forgive you too, Lord Tyrion, but you will no longer be my Hand. Jon will be, as well as being my husband." She affirmed. She turned her back to him and sat down on the throne. That chair of swords she had coveted for years. "We have a wedding and a coronation to plan." She continued. Jon rose from the ground.
"I will be happy to marry you." He said and loved her, yet he was not happy. He should have been happy marrying the woman he was a lover of, yet he was not, and he did not understand the reason. His thoughts went to Sansa, Arya and Bran: they were safe, like all the other men and women of the North. Daenerys would no longer harm them. He walked out of the throne room together with Tyrion, if one could call it that, since there was no longer an actual throne room.
''Do you really think you made the right choice" Tyrion asked in a stern tone. The wolf stared at him in astonishment.
"I love her and I will marry her!" He exclaimed without hesitation. "The North will not be independent, but at least they will all be alive." He added. The dwarf looked him straight in the eyes, gray against emerald green.
"Tell me Jon Snow, did you do this for you, for the love you feel for her, for the North, or for your cousins?" He said, staring at him intently. There was insinuation in his voice. Was it possible that he knew? No, it was not possible, although as Sansa had revealed the truth about his parents to him, she might also have told him about the night they had spent together.
"I did it because I love her." It was the truth, though only partially, but this Tyrion knew. They both knew it. The dwarf lingered looking at him for what seemed an eternity, then took off the brooch and gave it to him.
"I wish you a long life together." He said, then turned away. Jon lowered his eyes to the symbol of the Hand's power and tightened his fingers on it.
Days later at Winterfell
Days passed and at Winterfell Sansa Stark received the news that Daenerys Targaryen had forgiven her for her betrayal. The lords and ladies who had crowned her brother Robb and then Jon king would have wanted her to do something, to rebel, but Sansa had no intention of fighting back, much to everyone's disappointment. She claimed it was for the good of all that Daenerys had already razed King's Landing to the ground, so who was going to stop her from doing the same to Winterfell?
Arya Stark walked down a corridor of Winterfell, her faithful Needle sword strapped to her belt. Brienne was in her place, standing at the door of the Lady of Winterfell's bedroom. Ever since Sansa had said she was giving up, that she would not fight Daenerys, she had practically locked herself in that room. There were few who could enter, and the younger sister was seriously worried about her older sister's health. Several times Sansa had told her that she would die in a few months and that she should do the right thing. There was no need to tell her what it was, but Arya did not intend to lose hope that her sister would live on.
"Is Sansa in her room?" She asked the female knight who rarely left her post, only to rest or eat.
"She refuses to leave." Replied the woman. She had imagined this, but hoped for a different answer. She opened the door without knocking. Sansa was sitting at the table with her hands entwined in her lap. Arya closed the door and approached the table.
"How are you?" She asked. Sansa lowered her eyes to her hands.
"Good, I am well." She replied, lifting her blue eyes to her sister. Arya sat down in the chair beside her. "Have you eaten?" The tone of her voice was stern now. She did not answer, and the younger sister let out a sigh. "Sansa you must eat." She scolded her. "I will have food brought to you from the kitchens. I warn you, I will know if you don't eat it!" She warned her, pointing her finger at her.
"I will eat." Sansa replied, laying a hand on the table.
"Remember, I will know if you don't eat." She repeated seriously, placing a hand on her right shoulder and squeezing it gently. Sansa entwined her hands on her stomach.
"I will not do it for you." She specified. She knew he would not do it for her. She removed her hand from her shoulder and without a word left the room, closing the door behind her.
"Brienne, I will send a servant with food. If Sansa does not eat, please let me know." She exclaimed without looking at her. The blonde nodded her head in assent.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of her." She promised. She never thought they would have to protect her from herself.
Her brother Bran was in his room, staring at the flames burning in the fireplace when Arya entered the chamber. His back was to her, sitting in his chair, a blanket covering his legs. She closed the door, and he turned to face her.
"Is Sansa all right?" He asked.
"She is no better, but she is no worse either." she answered. "Her is not an illness that can be cured." If it could really be called one. She was angry with Jon, it was all his fault that Sansa was in that state. She had told her what had happened, that Jon to her first had confided the truth about his origins, that they had spent the night together…. But the next morning he had practically thrown her away as one would a toy one no longer liked. Her sister had been deeply hurt and as time had passed, the situation had worsened. For days, she had been living as a recluse in her room and she did not know what to do.
"She is convinced she will die, and perhaps she is right." Bran said, looking at the flames crackling in the fireplace and for a brief moment that was all that was heard in the room. Those words provoked the brunette's anger.
"Don't say that! You're already saying it and I don't need you to say it too!" She ranted. "And then how can you say it? What are you predicting the future now?" She continued. Another silence followed, during which Ned and Catelyn Stark's second daughter tried to calm herself. She began to pace back and forth in the room.
"No, I don't predict the future, but I know," he retorted, then gave her a piercing look. ''You must prepare for the worst Arya." He advised. No, she would not, for they were both wrong. Sansa would rule over Winterfell. She would survive and become the Lady of Winterfell they needed.
"I'm going to see if Sansa has eaten. I had her bring some food." She said. She returned to Brienne and when she arrived she had the impression that she hadn't moved an inch.
"Sansa?" She only needed to say the redhead's name to make herself understood.
"She ate all the food they brought her." She was amazed, she counted on the fact that she would eat, but she did not expect that she would consume all the food they brought her. However, she had no illusions that this meant she was better off. She remembered what she had told her: I will not do this for you. She did not care if she did not do it for herself, the important thing was that she ate. She needed to eat; otherwise she really would have died. She was determined to take care of her.
"Well, I hope you will also have this great appetite in the coming days." She said. "I must go, they are waiting for me for a meeting." She said, and then left. She was determined that when her sister recovered she would find Winterfell in good condition and well administered.
Several months later
Things had not turned out as Arya Stark had hoped. Her sister and Bran had been right. Sansa had died a few days earlier. The news of her passing reached Dragonstone on a stormy morning. It was pouring, it was as if the sky was mourning the death of the Lady of Winterfell. Meanwhile, Daenerys had become the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she and Jon had married and ruled together. The subjects did not love them, they feared them: the people were terrified that at the first misstep their queen would have them incinerated by her dragon.
The prince consort of the Seven Kingdoms clutched in his hand one of the letters Arya had sent him. He had read it over and over again, but that had not changed its contents: Sansa was dead. His cousin had not written how, only that she was no longer there. Jon rested his elbow on the table and his head on his palm. He could not believe she was dead. He had heard rumors: that the new Lady of Winterfell was living like a recluse in her castle; she had not left her room in months. The nobles of the North held him responsible; it did not transpire from the letter, but he imagined Arya thought so too.
"Jon." Daenerys had a habit of entering her room without knocking. That day she wore a light blue dress and on the top of the bodice was embroidered the three-headed dragon symbol of House Targaryen. "I'm sorry, I heard that your cousin Sansa has died." She wasn't truly sorry and didn't even bother to pretend to grieve. "But I also heard that your cousin Arya gave birth to a bastard child… Sansa, was it?" She asked, taking a step towards him. He did not know which was more absurd, that Sansa had died or that Arya had become a mother? In the second letter she had sent him she announced that she had given birth to a daughter, whom he suspected to be Gendry Baratheon's.
"I wish to go to Sansa's funeral and to meet Arya's daughter." He stated, rising from his chair.
"Alright, you may take Drogon." She said. He sat back down and reread for the umpteenth time the letter where Arya informed him that Sansa was dead. A tear slid down his right cheek. It was not his fault that she had died, but how then did he feel responsible?
In an attempt to distract himself he went to the training ground. The rebuilding of King's Landing was proceeding at an impressive pace, but while they waited for the Red Keep and the city to be… habitable again, he and his wife had momentarily settled at Dragonstone. The sound of waves crashing against the island's rocks could be heard along with the sound of swords clashing against each other during the knights' fights.
Jon trained for what seemed to him an eternity. Finally, exhausted and sweating, he let himself fall into a chair. A servant quickly brought him a mug full of water, and he was sipping its contents when Lord Tyrion arrived.
"Lord Tyrion." He said, and then took a sip from the mug. His wife had made him come to Dragonstone as rebuilding the city and the Red Keep had proved costly. Jon dared not even imagine the debt they would eventually owe Tyrion.
"I am sorry for your loss. I hear that your cousin has passed away." He said seriously. "But I also heard that Arya had a daughter. Sansa, such a beautiful name.... " He continued. He sensed an accusing tone in his voice, but it could not be true, it was not his fault that Sansa had died.
"Sansa dies, and the child comes into the world. I wonder if the gods did not send her to him in an attempt to ease his pain. " He observed as he finished drinking his water.
"I was thinking of asking Sansa to marry me. I had already discussed it with Daenerys, and she agreed, but I was waiting for her to be healed. I hoped our second marriage would prove happy and not be forced upon her this time." He confessed, looking away from him and focusing on the knights who were facing each other in front of them.
"They blame me. Relations with the North are strained, they do not accept being ruled by Daenerys. Now that Sansa is dead I hope they understand it wasn't my fault." He commented. He feared that relations with the Northerners would never be good and, as if that were not enough, relations with the other Houses were no better either. Daenerys was feared by her people. The people were too afraid of Drogon to try to rebel, but care had to be taken, and an attempt made to keep relations as good as possible.
"Northerners do not like being ruled by a southern king or queen." Agreed Tyrion, turning to face him. He hid his hands behind his back. He wore red robes, the color of House Lannister. He had heard that Tyrion was a good lord and that everyone respected him. A sigh escaped Jon's lips.
"I am going to visit Arya. Soon she will be named Lady of Winterfell and I wish to be present. " He said, rising from his chair. The title of Lord of Winterfell should have been Bran's, but Eddard Stark's only surviving male son had long since clarified it that he was not interested in ruling and that the title would one day pass to his sisters' sons anyway. He would convince his wife to come with him, indeed it was important that she be there to prove their good intentions. Perhaps in time the waters would calm down.
"That sounds like a good idea, though I do not know if Queen Daenerys will be welcome." Affirmed Tyrion. He did not reply, merely looking at him, and the lion returned the gaze.
"They will welcome their queen." He retorted. They had to do it because she ruled them and if they cared for their lives. He only hoped that Arya would prove wise and that like Sansa she would not cause trouble.
He thought back to the last time he had seen her. She had not looked well even then and had told him she wanted to tell him something significant, but then they had been interrupted by Dany, and he had gone away, leaving her alone. He would never know what she wanted to confide in him, and he would never forget the hurt expression on her face that still haunted him.