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Chapter Text

Arya felt her whole body erupt with fear. Her captors, on some island west of Westeros held her down onto the abnormally large tree stump. They were tall, maybe about the same height as the Mountain, but were thin, almost like a twig. Their limbs were insect-like, and their eyes were entirely black. Their hands had long fingers that were claw-like, and their teeth were sharp. Several of her men learned that the hard way. 

She’d lost track of them a while ago. They were probably dead, but who wasn’t?

One of the...humanoids used their claws to draw blood from her palm. “Fuck you!” 

Arya tried squirming out of their grasp, but their nails just dug in further. 

Another humanoid said something in their language, but of course she hadn’t learned the creepy island monster language. 

A humanoid, slightly bigger than the rest rose above her, holding a knife. Her face scrunched up at the realization that the knife was hers , the one that killed the Night King. “You thieving–”

A humanoid punched her face. She grunted, but tried not to move so much. Stupid fucks.

Humanoids began gathering in a circle around her, chanting in their language. It was the same, monotone saying that reeked of unnerving tension. Arya glanced wildly around her, hoping for some sort of end to the madness. 

Wisps of black and white energy danced around the tree trunk, phasing in and out of her vision. 

The humanoid with her knife rose it above his head.

Am I about to be sacrificed?  Arya thought that was just her luck, because why wouldn't the strange human monster things want to kill her crew, kidnap her, and now sacrifice her to whatever god or gods they worshipped?

Her mind flashed back to King’s Landing, and her lessons with Syrio. 

What do we say to the god of Death? His voice echoed in her mind, as they had a million times before.

“Not today,” Arya whispered as the knife came down. At the last moment, she jerked herself from her captor’s grasp and moved upward, to the humanoid with the knife. She twisted it around and pushed it into his throat. He began gurgling, as cool blue liquid seeped out of his neck and onto her hands. 

The other humanoids roared in their language, but she didn't pay attention. The wisps of energy were circling her, until they stopped. The wisps hurled themselves at Arya. She doubled down in pain. It was like every bone in her body was breaking and fixing itself all at once. 

Was this what death felt like? When her father was beheaded, did he feel this pain? Did her mother and Robb, when the Red Wedding happened? Did Rickon feel this pain as Ramsay shot him with an arrow? Gods, did the Freys feel like this as they drank their poisoned wine?

Other memories of her family raced in her mind. Growing up in Winterfell, King’s Landing, and it unfairly focused on all the death. She thought of Robb and Rickon. And Jon, who had been banished to the Night’s Watch after what he did to the Mad Queen. She thought of Sansa, who hadn't been taught not to trust everyone, but learned it the hard way. 

Did the Hound feel the overwhelming sense of dread as he killed his own brother while the Red Keep crumpled around them? Once Daenerys realized she would die, did she feel regret for her actions, or betrayal from her lover?

Perhaps not. Arya was a murderer, too, and she didn't feel the least bit guilty. But did the people she kill deserve it? The people Daenerys killed didn't-did that make them different? Or perhaps two sides of the same coin. But that didn't feel right, either, because Arya chose her path; she could've chosen to not kill people. A path to the Iron Throne would only ever end in bloodshed, as the people of King's Landing realized the day Daenerys arrived with her dragon. 

Maybe neither of their murders were justifiable. Daenerys killed innocents, and really, Arya had too. How many of the Freys actually had anything to do with the Red Wedding?

She decided not to think about it. 

The Hound-he was also a murderer. Though, he killed people because they pissed him off. Was there a difference between that and what Arya had done? Everyone they had killed offended them in some way or another. The difference was pettiness levels, Arya decided. He saved your life. He stopped you from becoming just like him.

Yet here she was, in unbearable amounts of pain, wondering what kind of murder she was.

She'd learned a lot from the Hound, but they were not the same kind of murderer. 

There was Robert Baratheon, who had ended the Targaryens. He'd swept through Westeros, killing any Targaryen-supporter he saw, all because Rhaegar and Lyanna fell in love and didn't tell anyone. He'd destroyed an entire family for one woman who didn't even love him back. 

A tragic story, but Arya didn't kill for love. Well, not the romantic kind, anyway. Robert let army after army, taking what he wanted. 

Did that count as murder? When you lead men into battle, are you responsible for your enemies deaths? Does it include your own men who die on the field? And what happens if the cause is unjust?

It was obvious Robert and Arya were two different kinds of murders, but the thoughts still flowed through her mind. 

Jaime Lannister himself killed the Mad King, who murdered for fun. There was no doubt he was a psychopath, and she was not the same kind of murderer as him. She did not celebrate every life she took, as if that life was another lemon cake. 

Aerys was killed by a man bound by a code, who had to choose between the people he was sworn to protect, and the king he was also sworn to protect. Kingslayer. If Arya was bound to a code, would she kill like Jaime had, and ultimately break her vow? Perhaps she did, when she defected from the Faceless Men. 

Something was still off. 

Daenerys Targaryen, the Hound, Robert Baratheon, Aerys Targaryen, and Jaime Lannister were all murderers, she decided. All of them killed for selfish reasons, though they had been reasons all the same. 

All of them were different kinds of murders. Usually, murderers were killed, or sent to the Night's Watch. 

Every other murderer she'd compared herself to died, so why should she be any different? She'd killed countless people, just like the rest of them. 

Arya's thoughts drifted back to Sansa, Bran, and Jon. Sansa, Queen in the North. She had been doing well, last Arya knew, which had been a while ago, but that wasn't the point. Bran, who was King in King's Landing. And Jon, who was banished to the Wall. 

She thought of seeing them again, the way things were when they were children, and decided...

...no, not today.

Chapter Text

Brienne of Tarth stood by where the Iron Throne used to sit, and examined the new architecture. They’d decided to keep the burnt parts, only by adding more structure to it with similar red bricks, so it didn’t collapse. The Keep had been lucky; it still had most of its towers and former glory. Only a few sections had truly collapsed. 

After the war, everyone had united to rebuild King’s Landing. It was strange, seeing so many enemies unite for a common cause as friends. It helped cut down the time it took to rebuild. Two years post-Last War, and the Red Keep was almost back to usual. The city was still rebuilding, but it had prospered, especially now that winter was almost over. The maesters did not believe a false spring was coming. 

“Excuse me,” a woman said from behind her. The voice was small, and timid. She sounded scared. 

She turned sharply, and gazed upon the violet gaze of Daenerys Targaryen. She wore a dark tunic that looked oddly like the one described in stories of her attack on the city. There was a little hole where her heart was. That being said, she looked relatively peaceful, with her hands raised to signal peace.

Her mind flashed in warning, and Brienne reached for her sword.

“Wait!” Daenerys cried out. “ What is going on? Why does the Red Keep look…red?”

For all it was worth, the Mad Queen did look confused. 

“You were killed by Jon Snow two years ago,” Brienne said cautiously. “We’ve rebuilt. Bran Stark is king now.”

Daenerys nodded along, though she looked stricken. “So why am I back?”

“Do you mean harm to the realm?”

She held her head in her hands, and her voice cracked. “No, I…I can’t believe…” 

A moment later, several people burst in. The first was Tyrion Lannister, with a man who had a long face and brown hair, like the Starks. Behind him, the woman Daenerys had burnt King’s Landing down for. 

“Daenerys!” Missandei’s face erupted into a smile, and the women ran to each other, embracing each other into an emotional hug. 

Daenerys guilty looked away when they parted. 

“Brienne, you don’t happen to know why I go for a walk and find former Hand of the King and Missandei of Naath wandering around?” Tyrion said quickly. 

“Unfortunately, I do not,” Brienne replied.

“Who are these people?” the man with the long face asked. He looked around warily, particularly at Tyrion. 

“Ned Stark, this is Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of the King’s Guard, Missandei of Naath, and,” Tyrion sighed. “Daenerys Targaryen.”

Ned stiffened. “The one Robert wanted to…”

“Yes, the Usurper did send people to kill my brother and I,” Daenerys said proudly. 

“I heard someone say my blasted name!” an old, rather large man with a dark beard and greying hair came in. “Ned! Nice to see you! Guess I beat that boar after all, eh?”

"Robert, we-" Ned started, but someone interrupted. 

“Robert Baratheon,” Daenerys said. She began walking towards him, intent clear in her gaze. 

Tyrion ran between them. “No need to get violent.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t tell that to Jon Snow,” Daenerys shot at him. 

Ned’s head perked up. 

Tyrion looked up at her with a sombre expression on his face. “You were out of control.”

Daenerys pursed her lips together. 

“Excuse me, what is this?” Missandei questioned. “Daenerys is our queen.”

Robert burst out laughing. “Daenerys Targaryen? Daenerys Targaryen ! I’ll never escape those bloody dragons, will I, Ned?”

“Robert–”

“Daenerys Targaryen is the reason for this castle’s unusual look, Your Grace,” Tyrion interrupted. “I highly suggest we do not tear each other apart before figuring out why the dead are back.”

The doors opened, and several more people entered. It seemed everyone had the same thought to meet up in the throne room. It made sense, the throne room was one of the most important places in the Red Keep. If something was wrong, the nobles would gather information about it in the throne room. 

Of the new people, three of them were Dornish. Brienne was pretty sure they were Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand. She was clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Behind them, was another Martell, who had resemblance to Oberyn and Ellaria, but Brienne’s mind blanked at her name.

There was also Tywin Lannister with them, who was holding back Joffrey Baratheon from lashing out at someone or something. The boy looked wild. Tommen walked behind them, deep in thought; a stark contrast to his brother. 

“Tyrion Lannister, you’ve aged,” Tywin said as he glanced his son up and down. 

“Haven't we all,” Tyrion replied dryly. “Or, not, unless you continue aging even in death." he paused. "Brienne, please go find our king, so he may aid us in addressing this issue.”

“No need,” Bran Stark came in from the side, in his wheelchair and a heavy blanket on his legs. “I have been here the whole time.”

“Ned, this your boy?” Robert asked, recognizing the lack of leg usage. 

Ned looked over to Bran. 

“It is, father,” Bran confirmed. 

Ned’s face broke out into a smile, and he went over to his son and kneeled. “You–you’re so–”

“I’m nineteen,” Bran finished. “Oh, and the Tyrells are almost here.”

“Why the hell is this cripple king?” Joffrey yelled. 

“Silence, boy,” Tywin said harshly. “We will figure things out when everyone is here.”

Not a moment later, did Margaery and Loras Tyrell, along with the Mountain and the Hound enter. The brothers were as far as possible from each other.

“Margaery!” Tommen’s face lit up. 

Margaery looked at him guiltily. “Tommen, you look…”

“Cut the feelings,” the Hound grumbled. “Why the hell am I not dead?”

“We’re back,” Missandei explained somewhat happily. “Someone or something brought us back.”

The Hound huffed in annoyance. 

“Where’s mother?” Joffrey asked. 

Bran sighed. “She’s here.”

Like the king said, the doors opened once more and Cersei, Euron, and Jaime entered. 

Jaime. 

Sudden butterflies made themselves at home in the pit of her stomach, and her heart began to race. 

He shared a look with her, and she quickly glanced away. 

“Are we all here?” Tyrion said. Bran nodded in confirmation. 

“Let’s begin.”

***

“You say my children are alive?” Ned said, hope in his voice once Bran and Tyrion’s story of the wars that ravaged their continent was complete. “My daughters?”

“It’s complicated,” Tyrion sighed. “Robb was killed in the Red Wedding, and Rickon in the Battle of the Bastards.”

“But Sansa and Arya are alive,” Ned said. 

Brienne looked down at the ground, and thought of her most recent failure. They never should’ve let her go alone. It was suicide, yet they allowed it anyway. 

“No,” Tyrion said. He looked to Brienne for help. 

She took a deep breath, calming the anxiety in her stomach. “Arya Stark went west of Westeros a year and a half ago, and has not been seen since.”

Ned’s brow furrowed. “So I come back to life, you tell me all is well, my eldest daughter rules the north, and my second son is king,” his voice raised slightly with every word. “But my eldest and youngest sons are dead, the nephew I raised as my bastard was sent back to the Wall, after killing the Mad Queen , and my youngest daughter is lost at sea? ”

Brienne could see Tyrion struggling for words, so Bran stepped in. 

“The dead are rising all over Westeros,” he simply stated. 

“If I may, King Bran,” Oberyn Martell cut in. “I believe I’ve heard enough of this history. I must visit Dorne, after hearing what has happened to it,” he gave a bitter look to Ellaria. “I would like a ship to see my family, and recollect the Martell House. Do I have that?”

“There is already one waiting for you,” Bran said in his usual unnerving tone of voice. 

Oberyn hesitated for a moment before gathering Ellaria and the other Martell girl. Perhaps her name started with a T?

Cersei took a sip of a glass of wine. “Thank the gods they're gone."

Tywin sighed loudly, and stared at Cersei. 

Brienne wondered what the former queen was thinking, and also where she got the wine already. 

Daenerys stepped forward. “Excuse me,”

Out of the corner of her eye, Brienne noticed Robert calling her a whore under his breath. Her gaze narrowed onto him, and she shot him a warning by reaching for her sword. He grimaced and turned away. 

“I am sorry,” Daenerys started. “I am sorry for what I did to this castle, and I am sorry for what Drogon and I did to the people of King’s Landing. I do not expect any sympathy for my actions, nor do I want it. I was not in the right state of mind, and I took it out on the people I swore to protect. And for that, I revoke the Targaryen’s right to rule, officially, and forever. We should have had it taken from us a long time ago, long before the Mad King.”

Tyrion smiled at her, though if his smile was diplomatic or genuine, she couldn’t tell. “Thank you.”

Robert let out a long, full laugh. “As if the whore has feelings! Please, you’re just trying to get on our good side, so you can set fire to us all again!”

Daenerys’ expression crumbled. “And you want the throne? So you can drink all day and sleep with women who aren’t your wife? I think not. Brandon Stark seems to be the right king, and it is not your place to undo the progress he has completed after everyone here made a mess of things.”

“I agree with Daenerys,” Tommen said, making Cersei choke on her wine. “Our purpose here is first to figure out why we are here, and then you can fight over the Iron Throne.”

“Not like there is one anymore,” Tyrion joked. 

Daenerys shot him a look. 

“I would like to spend time in Casterly Rock, please,” Tommen said next. “I need time away from these politics. The Iron Throne was not for me.”

Joffrey laughed from his side of the room. 

“Loras and I as well,” Margaery spoke up. “We would like to go back to Highgarden.”

“Highgarden is ruled by Bronn,” Brienne pointed out before anyone forgot. "Your h=House was wiped out, and Bronn was promised a castle."

“Bronn will not like his castle taken away,” Tyrion muttered under his breath. “We could arrange a marriage, though Margaery’s marriage to Tommen will prove an issue.”

"If my marriage to Joffrey was over because he died, could we not argue my marriage to Tommen is also over, because I died?" Margaery suggested. "I do not mean to impose, but both of us married for duty, and now that neither of us have it, it would be nice to be able to go our separate ways."

Tommen looked slightly disappointed, but he understood. He was just a boy, and her third husband. Her House had far more pressing issues, as well, such as its return.

"We will allow the annulment," Bran decided. "As for Hightower, is it possible to share, until we deal with our current situation?"

“Yes, thank you,” Loras said. “We will share, for now. Thank you.”

The two of them left, whispering in the other’s ear. Margery seemed a bit unpleased, but they were smart enough to know there were bigger issues. 

“We will set up our guests in rooms in the castle,” Bran announced. “We will send ravens to the major cities and ports, so they know what is happening. We must keep peace, understand?”

Before anyone could react, a booming gust of wind blew against the outside walls of the castle. 

Daenerys and Tyrion shared a look, which meant one thing: dragon. 

The dragon queen was the first one out the doors, to the outer courtyard, but everyone else was quick to follow.

When Brienne made her way out, her view was obstructed by a massive shadow. 

“Rhaegal!” Daenerys smiled from ear to ear. She lifted her hand up to touch his scaled green face. The dragon was just as Brienne remembered seeing it last. 

“That whore has a dragon!” Robert cried out. 

Cersei looked up at it enviously and placed a protective hand on Joffrey’s shoulder. He had a scowl on his face that matched the one on Robert’s.  

Brienne had forgotten how much dragons amazed her, dangerous as they were. They were huge, with scales and elegance that no other creatures could even match. They could certainly destroy, but they knew their own strength, and were loyal. Not even a Lannister could deny that. 

Rhaegal dipped his head down, and allowed Daenerys to hug him like she used to. She smiled and laughed as he nudged her for more. 

Missandei walked over to Tyrion. 

“She’s back,” Tyrion said with a sentimental smile. 

“To me, she never left,” Missandei said. “Or at least, not completely.”

“The benefits of dying,” Tyrion joked. “Can’t say I like the cost of those benefits.”

Missandei laughed. “You don’t really see anything once you die.”

“That’s what Jon said as well,” Tyrion commented. 

Brienne smiled, but it fell once she looked at Ned. He was sitting on a bench, head in his hands. He wasn’t even paying attention to the dragon like everyone else. 

“I’ve had enough of this,” Cersei hissed, and stormed away. Joffrey, Qyburn, and the Mountain followed. 

Brienne went and sat down next to Ned. His face was red and slightly puffy. 

“I swore loyalty to Lady Catelyn Stark. She was a great woman.”

Ned smiled a little bit. “I’m glad she made friends after my…”

“She made me promise to take care of your girls, to bring them home,” Brienne continued. “I am sorry I only kept half of the promise. I think of that failure every day.”

“It is not your fault,” Ned spoke softly. “I do not blame you. You kept them alive for how long?”

“Eight years,” Brienne replied. 

“And Sansa lives,” Ned said aloud, as if he had to hear it to believe it.

Brienne nodded. “The Queen in the North. She took up Robb’s title. She managed to get the North its own sovereignty.”

“She is a good queen?” Ned asked. “An honorable one?”

She nodded again. “Yes, I have visited her a few times. She upholds your values.”

“What was Arya like?” Ned said. 

“She was brave, and loyal,” Brienne remembered fondly. “She was an amazing swordsman. Her sword was small, I believe she told me once Jon gave it to her. It was named…Needle, if I remember correctly.”

“I remember seeing her with the sword for the first time,” Ned said. “I thought she would poke her own eye out.”

Before Brienne could respond, Jaime Lannister walked up to the two of them. “Brienne, could we talk?”

Her face hardened. “About what?”

He nervously glanced at Ned, who gave him a cold stare. 

Brienne frowned, but followed him away. As soon as they were out of view, she slapped him. “You left me for your sister!”

“I’m sorry, okay,” Jaime said. “I messed up.”

“She was your sister !” Brienne argued. 

“You knew I had kids with her going in, right?” Jaime said with a raised eyebrow. “And she was pregnant with my baby!”

Brienne scoffed. “She’s your sister!”

“All good points, all good points,” Jaime said almost jokingly. “But can we just start over?”

“You left me for your sister. What do you think?” Brienne retorted angrily. 

Jaime at least had the decency to look ashamed. She pushed past him to get back inside the Red Keep.

Chapter Text

Sansa remembered seeing her father’s execution. She remembered Janos Slynt holding his head up to the crowd, showing it off like some sort of trophy. She remembered finding out her family was murdered at the Red Wedding. She remembered marrying Ramsay Bolton, and his wandering hands. She remembered reuniting with Jon. They got so close to rescuing Rickon, but Ramsay killed him, too. She remembered seeing Bran and Arya again. Then the Night King came, and she remembered Theon dying. She remembered becoming Queen in the North. 

Sansa Stark remembered a lot of things, but she always thought she’d only ever see the dead in her memory, especially now that the Night King was dead. That’s why when she entered the Great Hall and met the gaze of Theon Greyjoy, her heart dropped.

“Theon?” Sansa choked out. Her eyes looked him over, searching for any clue that it wasn’t him. That this was fake, or some sort of sick joke. 

“Sansa?” Theon said. “I was in the godswood, and then…”

She couldn’t hold the joy any longer. She ran to Theon, and squeezed him into a hug. He squeaked in surprise, but wrapped his arms around her anyway. 

“How is this possible?” she wondered aloud. 

“I don’t know,” Theon said. “But there was someone–"

“Excuse me,” a child-like voice spoke from behind Sansa. A trail of snow followed him from the door. “What is going on?”

Sansa let go of her friend and looked at the boy. It’d been so long, she almost didn’t recognize him. He had curly red hair and blue eyes, like the Tullys.

“If I’m here, did I survive?” Rickon asked. 

Sansa slowly made her way to her brother, and took his face in her hands. She smiled comfortingly at him. “No, but–”

“Then why am I here?” Rickon interrupted. His eyes watered, and he trembled slightly. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa admitted. “But I intend to find out.”

“How?” Rickon said. “What if we’re not the only ones back?”

“Yes, there was another–” Theon started. He didn’t get the chance to finish. 

“You’re not, boy ,” 

Sansa’s blood froze, and she prayed to the gods, old and new, that it wasn’t who it sounded like. 

From the side of the room, near a window, stood Ramsay Bolton. He was exactly as Sansa remembered in her nightmares. He had the same smug smirk that she saw when she closed her eyes. 

Sansa stepped in front of Theon and Rickon, using her body as a shield. The Greyjoy stood, frozen in fear. 

“You know, it wasn’t very fun getting eaten alive,” Ramsay said, putting emphasis on all the wrong words. “A shame we couldn’t experience it together, as husband and wife.”

“I am not your wife,” Sansa spat. She quickly breathed in to yell for guards, but Ramsay interrupted. 

“If you do that, I will kill your brother. Again .”

Sansa tried swallowing her fear. She felt like a little girl in King’s Landing again, surrounded by Lannisters whose only thought about her was how many ways they could use her for their war. “You’d have to go through me, first.”

Ramsay laughed. 

Sansa remembered how that little girl got out. She took her chance. She summoned all the air she could, and yelled. “ Guards !”

“You bitch!” Ramsay hissed at her, and moved to lunge at her. Before he could, the doors to the Great Hall burst open. Five Winterfell soldiers quickly ran in, swords drawn. They went past Theon and Rickon, and they filled the gap between her and Ramsay. 

It seemed their presence interrupted whatever trance Theon was in, because he shook his head back into focus and drew his sword. He moved slightly in front of Sansa protectively. 

“Ramsay Bolton, you are under arrest for treason against the North,” Sansa ordered. 

Ramsay glared at the two of them bitterly, then at the guards. They surrounded him hastily, never lowering their guard. 

Sansa locked eyes with him, almost daring him to run.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Ramsay lifted his arms in surrender. Two guards sheathed their swords to tie his hands behind his back. 

Afterward, they led him away. 

“Make sure his cell is cold and dark,” Sansa ordered. “Thank you.”

“Remember what I said,” Ramsay taunted, with his same stupid smirk. 

Sansa pursed her lips and looked away. As the soldiers and Ramsay left, Winterfell’s new Maester, Maester Adrew entered. 

“I heard the commotion,” the maester explained. "Is everything alright?"

“Dead people are coming back,” Sansa told him hastily, still not over the recent events. “Maester Adrew, this is Theon Greyjoy, and Rickon Stark. The man heading to our dungeon is Ramsay Bolton.”

The Maester nervously glanced between them. “This is most unusual, Your Grace.”

“I need you to send ravens to the other noble houses in the North,” Sansa decided. “We need to tell them what is happening here, and we need to know if the same problem is happening elsewhere.” she paused. “And send one to my brother in King’s Landing.”

Maester Adrew nodded along. “It will be done.”

“Sansa,” Theon said with urgency in his voice. 

“What?”

“There was someone else, before you got here,” Theon said.

For the second time in one day, Sansa’s blood ran cold. It couldn’t be him. “Ramsay?”

But she knew she was wrong. Ramsay had wandered in, otherwise Theon would’ve been doing something other than standing around when she arrived. 

“He was older,” he explained. “He had some grey hair, but not entirely. He wore some sort of long coat.”

“Did he say his name?” she asked. If it was who she thought it was…

“Petyr Baelish,” Theon revealed. “I was trying to tell you, but Ramsay…”

Sansa clenched her fists. “Baelish left here?”

Theon nodded. 

“Who’s Petyr Baelish?” Rickon spoke up. Sansa forgot he was so young when the war broke out, and he died before Littlefinger became an “ally.”

“He’s not a friend,” Sansa answered solemnly. “He’s hurt our family.” 

She thought back to his plan to separate her and her sister. For such a smart man, he forgot Arya didn’t care to be queen. He wouldn’t forget something like that again. 

“Where is our master-at-arms?” Sansa demanded. “Where is Colren Snow?”

“I believe he is out today. Shall I fetch him?” Maester Adrew suggested. 

Sansa shook her head. “No, but do send him a message. Tell him to send out patrols in the area. Many people died here, they could be back. And they must be on the lookout for Petyr Baelish. Make sure Robin Arryn knows this.”

She thought about Stannis Baratheon, and his failed attack. She then thought of the rumors he burnt his daughter to death as some sacrifice. Him and his army were likely in the area. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gust of wind from the outside. She glanced at Theon, who must’ve had the same thought as her. Wind didn’t pick up like that in two minutes. 

The four of them ran outside, only to see a dragon with white and cream scales circling Winterfell. 

Viserion. 

Fear surrounded her until the dragon roared. It sounded more like a cry than a roar. Viserion missed his siblings. And his mother. The realization that he was looking for his family rather than hunting for a meal hit her like an arrow to the chest. The fear suddenly disappeared. He just wanted his family. 

There were archers on the wall, aiming at the dragon. 

“Lower your weapons,” she ordered. “You’ll never pierce its skin with those.”

“If it attacks, Your Grace?” Maester Adrew wondered, visibly shocked that she would give such an order. 

“It won’t,” Sansa said confidently. She may not have liked the dragons, but they listened to their mother, who wasn’t here to order them around. She looked over at Rickon, who was looking up in amazement. 

“I’ve never seen a dragon before,” he said, still looking up. “I thought they were dead…”

“You can thank Daenerys Targaryen for that one,” Theon said, happy. 

Sansa’s mood dropped. She’d liked Daenerys Targaryen only slightly more than her dragons, and she hadn’t approved of her relationship with Jon, either. Hearing about what she did to King’s Landing, then what Jon did to her was not a fun conversation. 

“What?” Theon asked, noticing her discomfort. 

“It’s nothing,” Sansa said quickly. “You just missed a lot.”

He looked at her and the dragon uneasily, but dropped the subject. 

As Sansa predicted, Viserion began flying away from the city, meaning he hadn’t found his family. Upon not seeing them, the only reasonable solution was to go elsewhere. 

At least he didn’t come back as part of the Night King’s army. 

“Sansa Stark?” a young girl’s voice broke the silence. 

Lyanna Mormont. Behind her, was her cousin, Jorah Mormont. 

“Did we win?” the girl said. “Is the North safe?”

Sansa hesitated.

Chapter Text

“Fucking hell!” someone unfamiliar shouted. 

Ygritte found she was laying on the ground. She took a moment to steady herself before looking around. It looked familiar, did she fight here once?

The memory shot her like an arrow. This was Castle Black. She died, or at least she thought she did, otherwise, how was she alive?

“Wildling!” someone shouted. 

Ygritte jumped up, preparing to fight, and noticed more free folk around her. Did we win?

That’s when she saw the Night’s Watch men. Surprisingly, everyone looked just as confused as she felt. Usually, they looked stuck-up. There was a little boy standing next to a man who she believed to be Alliser Thorne. The two of them were glaring daggers at the free folk. 

No, this will not be good.

A Night’s Watch soldier ran past her, shouting about the dead coming back. 

Oh, oh no. Did that mean I died? In Jon Snow’s arms? She scoffed to herself. That’s lame, but where is he, anyway?

“SILENCE!” a man dressed in black shouted. He was in the center of the clearing. He had a youthful look, though the white streaks in his blonde hair said otherwise. “I am Paxton Brask, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We do not know why or how, but the dead are coming back, and not as white walkers. I know tensions are high, with Wildlings, and Night’s Watch men alike together, but I will not tolerate any violence towards each other, understand? I have sent word to Winterfell requesting aid. If any of you know something, do not hesitate to share. We are in this together, do not forget that.”

The Lord Commander turned to leave, but someone shouted, asking about Jon Snow. Ygritte realized it was her. 

“Jon Snow has gone with the remaining Wildlings to find them a new home,” Paxton Brask replied coldly.

“What d’ya mean ‘new home,’” Ygritte challenged. “And what d’ya mean by ‘remaining Wildlings?’”

“The Night King returned, bringing an army,” Paxton Brask answered calmly. “Many of the Wildlings joined Jon Snow to fight with him, though many did not return. On the Night King’s quest to take over Westeros, he destroyed Hardhome, taking many Wildlings into his army. Jon Snow did all he could to rescue them.”

“Liar!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Jon Snow’s nothing but a bastard and disgrace to the Watch!”

More voices joined in on both sides of the argument. 

“ Silence !” Paxton repeated. “The Watch does not tolerate this petty behavior. After the Night King was defeated, Jon killed the Mad Queen, and was banished back to the Wall.”

“Jon Snow was as loyal as any to the Wall!” Ygritte shouted. Her brows furrowed at the thought of him leaving. Besides, wasn’t leaving the Watch punishable by death?

“After Alliser Thorne and his friends here tried to assassinate him, Jon came back to finish his duties,” Paxton said. 

Ygritte made eye contact with Alliser Thorne. He looked a little guilty, but behind his eyes she could see the justification for his actions. What an ass. 

“After that, he decided his watch was over,” Paxton finished. “Enough about Jon Snow. We must take care of ourselves. We have food and water, sent by Queen Sansa earlier this month.”

***

The next few days were rough. Winterfell told them dead people were appearing everywhere, and Alliser Thorne kept collecting allies all over the castle, and using them against free folk. The Lord Commander didn’t seem to notice, he was so cooped up indoors. 

Thorne seemed especially happy Jon wasn’t there, and the hate for him and the free folk was spreading.

Ygritte stomped her way to where the food was. She sat down with a cup of beer and started drinking. Three men plopped down beside her. 

“You’re Jon Snow’s girlfriend, right?” one of the men asked.

“What’s it to you?” Ygritte said bitterly, ignoring the ridiculous title. 

“Name’s Grenn,” another man said. “That’s Pyp and Edd.”

Ygritte raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“We wanna find Jon,” Edd with the enthusiasm of a child receiving their first weapon.

Ygritte took one look at him and laughed. “Jon’s up North. You won’t survive a day up there.”

“That’s why we need your help,” Pyp said confidently. “We’re gonna find Jon and bring him back. He’ll stop Alliser Thorne from spreading his little ideas of hate, and we’ll have our friend back.”

“What about the free folk?”

“What about them?”

“We can’t leave them with no protection.”

“They’ll come with us.”

Ygritte laughed again. These men were delusional. “Taking all the free folk to find Jon Snow? All the free folk in this camp? Do you know how big it is above the Wall? Do you know how dangerous it is? You’d need a whole expedition, and I doubt our Lord Commander would like to let go of all these people so willing to help.”

“They made it south, didn’t they?” Edd said. 

“Lord Commander said they had boats,” Ygritte shot back.

“Do you have a better plan?” Grenn challenged. 

“No,” she admitted. “But we can’t leave the free folk without protection.”

“I’ll stay behind,” Pyp offered. “I’ll keep them safe.”

“You’re one person,” Edd pointed out.

“I can do it,” Pyp promised. He had one of those looks that people got when they thought they could do anything. Disgusting. Still, it was their only option. 

“Fine,” Ygritte agreed. “We leave tonight. Edd, grab food and prepare supplies. Grenn, get us weapons. I’ll make sure no one suspects a thing.”

***

They got lucky, Ygritte decided. No one even bothered to ask what they were doing. She’d seen some confused faces when Edd walked by with three fully packed bags, but that was the end of it. 

When Grenn took multiple trips to grab weapons; no one even stopped him. 

Those should have been red flags that something was up. 

When the door to go past the wall opened, Alliser Thorne and some allies were waiting for them, including the kid from before. 

“Deserting the watch, are we?” Alliser Thorne said to Edd and Grenn. The man had a vibe about him that rubbed Ygritte the wrong way. Every decision had some sort of justification in his mind that didn’t make sense to her. 

“We’re going North,” Grenn said through grit teeth. 

“What’s more Night Watchy than that?” Ygritte made some hand gestures to go with Grenn’s reply.

Alliser studied her face carefully, looking for every eye twitch and slight shift in movement. Ygritte refused to give him anything. 

“You’re going for Jon Snow,” Alliser Thorne concluded. 

“And if we are?” Grenn challenged. “He’s part of the watch. We’re just bringing him back.”

“What is the meaning of this?” She recognized the voice of the Lord Commander. 

Alliser Thorne backed away from her and raised his arms. “Suspected deserter.”

“Really?” Paxton Brask said suspiciously. “Why desert to the North? Why not South, where it’s warm? Or to Essos? No one would even know to behead a deserter there.”

“Less likely to be found North,” Alliser Thorne defended. “And the ginger’s a wildling.”

“We’re looking for Jon Snow,” Edd said quickly.

Ygritte turned around with her arms up. “Seriously? You Night’s Watch give up information real fast.”

She and Paxton Brask stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Neither refused to back down. It reminded her of stupid staring contests she used to have as a child. 

“You may leave, effective immediately,” Paxton finally said. “Alliser Thorne, a word.”

As she passed Thorne, she felt his friend's allies' eyes on her back. They would be a problem once they returned with Jon.

Still, it didn’t matter, because they were going to find Jon Snow, and he would help the wildlings. 

***

She woke up shrieking about her eldest son. She soon realized she wasn’t the only one yelling. There were Freys everywhere, seemingly almost every notable male member of their dishonorable house. They were in the Great Hall, where–

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be in the ground, either with Ned or in Riverrun with her ancestors. 

Her eyes searched the shouting crowd for Robb. Even the slightest hint at his Tully-red hair caught her eye, until she found him. Several Freys had pinned against a nearby wall; one had his arm up and bracing it to punch. By the bruising on his cheek, they’d already dealt some damage. 

Catelyn ran as fast as she could to her son, and pushed the man about to punch Robb away. Her stomach churned with every step. 

“Mother!” Robb cried out. Catelyn grabbed his hand and jerked them both away from as many Freys as possible. They could run North, to Greywater Watch and beg for help from the Reeds, or go West for help from the Mallisters. 

She held his face in her hands. “We must leave here and find our allies, you understand me?”

Robb nodded, though his face grew red and his eyes watered. “Talisa…”

“There is no time for that,” Catelyn said, though the words pained her. 

“Catelyn and Robb Stark,” Walder Frey said loudly. He tapped his goblet onto the dining table three times. 

The Freys around them parted, leaving an empty circle. 

There went their escape.

Some more Freys grabbed Catelyn and Robb by the shoulders and pushed them in front of Walder Frey. Catelyn tried her best to hold onto Robb, but they were forced to let go of each other. She would not allow Walder Frey to take her son, not again. 

“Last I saw you was the Red Wedding,” Walder Frey sneered. “It seems the dead are back! Good for us House Frey.” he chuckled. “You know, I died too. That’s how I know the dead are back! My stupid granddaughter was in charge, but I’m back. There’s no reason to keep a woman in charge. Much too long, too. Four years, almost! Not good for us, House Frey.”

Walder Frey and his family laughed. 

Every alarm inside Catelyn was going off. She had to get Robb out before it was too late. If only these Freys stayed dead. 

“Everything comes to an end eventually,” Catelyn replied. “You’ve had your fun murdering the Northern force under guest right, please, let us return home.”

Walder Frey laughed. “Not after what your bitchy daughter did to us!”

“Sansa?” Robb questioned. It didn’t seem like Sansa to cause this much trouble. 

“No, the other one,” Walder Frey said. 

Catelyn’s anxieties faded away for one short but fantastic moment. Arya survived. 

“Arya’s alive?” Robb said with a smile on his face Catelyn hadn’t seen since before Ned died. 

“Last I checked, yes!” Walder Frey continued. “You know what she did? She came in here, and baked Black Walder and Lothar into a pie.”

Around them, Freys gasped and shouted angrily, calling for vengeance. It seems they didn’t know that yet. 

Catelyn and Robb looked at each other for a moment. This didn’t sound like Arya. Maybe the Freys were making it up, to get under their skin. That being said, they hadn’t been back on this earth for long, either, so maybe they hadn’t had enough to plan an evil trick like this one. 

“So you’re going to what, kill us again because my sister fed your sons to you?” Robb challenged. “After you killed us while we were under the guest right? I’d say we’re even.”

“She killed my House!” Walder Frey yelled, slamming his fist on the table. He turned to one of the serving girls next to him. “That’s right, right?”

The girl nodded. “She gathered every male Frey here to celebrate our accomplishments, but she poisoned the wine. Everyone drank it, but her, and the women and children. Afterward, she took off her face, like the Faceless Men in those stories…”

Her voice trailed off. 

Catelyn’s throat dried. These monsters of people were lying . “You’re sure this was Arya? She’s just a girl of thirteen.”

Or at least she should’ve been, when she and Robb died. 

“Course I am! She told me her name,” Walder Frey said. “Ask my sons, there.”

Black Walder and Lothar Frey stood next to each other, with angry expressions on their faces. 

The girl spoke again. “She had gray eyes, like the Starks, and their dark hair. She was a Stark.”

“You see, it was your wolf daughter who destroyed my House, and for that, you will pay,” Walder Frey decided. “Send them to the dungeons! We’re not done with them just yet.”

He let out a satisfied laugh, and took another sip of wine. 

***

“You don’t actually believe the–the nonsense he said about Arya, do you, mother?” Robb asked while pacing. “She’d only be thirteen, by now, right?”

Catelyn sat on a stone bench, which was connected to the wall. “I do not know, but I hold onto hope that she is alive.”

“If Walder Frey is right, she’s some sort of mass murder!” Robb exclaimed. 

“And if he’s right or wrong, she’s still your sister,” Catelyn said calmly. “She has always found her way eventually, though I did not always agree.”

Robb sat down on the other side of the bench. “What if he’s just playing with us?”

“Then we will face it,” Catelyn decided. “We must be strong. The gods have brought us back for a reason.”

“I couldn’t find Talisa,” Robb admitted. “In the crowd. She wasn’t there.”

“She will turn up eventually,” Catelyn said, and placed a soothing hand on his back. She began rubbing back and forth to comfort him. 

“Starks and Tullys both are strong,” she told him. “You have the advantage of being both. The Freys are greedy liars. We will find a way through this.”

Chapter Text

He found Bran in some sort of study.

“Bran,” he said. 

“Father,” Bran said, and turned his wheelchair to look at him. “You’re surprised.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Bran was not the boy he knew. He was older, wiser, and calmer. He had an energy about him that commanded people to listen to what he had to say. He no longer wanted to be a knight. Bran was just the shell of the boy Ned left in Winterfell. 

Bran let out a small chuckle. “No. Many call me the three-eyed-raven.”

Ned furrowed his brows. An unusual name. 

“Do not worry, most do not understand,” Bran told him, but Ned only relaxed a little. 

His son didn’t seem to want to elaborate, so Ned decided to shift the subject. “How are your siblings?” He did not believe the lies told from the Imp’s tongue. 

“Sansa is Queen in the North,” Bran said. “We covered that in the throne room.”

“I mean how are they doing?”

Bran nodded in understanding. “Sansa is well. The people in Winterfell love her, as does the rest of the North. The Night’s Watch has recovered well, after the Night King. Their numbers are plenty replenished, and they have enough food and water for once. This summer has been a kind one.”

Ned thought of Lyanna dying in his arms, and the son she brought into the world.

“And Jon?”

“He’s at the Wall,” Bran said, his voice suddenly turning cold. “We do not get updates about him.”

“What happened to you after my death?” Ned said worriedly. The question had been gnawing at him since he came back. His second son was so old, and distant, most of all. It was like he was always in his own little world that no one else understood.

“I journeyed North, and trained and became the three-eyed-raven,” Bran said simply. “Or are you asking about Sansa and Arya again?”

“I meant all of you,” Ned decided. The last he saw all of his children, they were children . But now, they're grown up. Without him, and Catelyn. Bran was no longer a boy who climbed on the walls, but now King of the Six Kingdoms. Sansa no longer sat, dreaming of her future husband, but instead ruled the North as its own kingdom. 

He’d missed all of it. He never should have gone South. 

“You should talk to Sansa yourself,” Bran advised. 

“She is too far,” Ned said, disappointed. As much as his chest ached to see his eldest daughter, he knew she was well protected in Winterfell. Bran was not. “You need my protection from the Lannisters. I cannot allow you to stay here alone.”

Bran hummed, but whether he agreed or disagreed was unclear. 

***

As Ned exited the study, he noticed someone stomping down the steps. He followed slowly behind him, careful not to make any noise. 

When he reached the bottom, he looked over and recognized the person from the back of their head. It was the Hound, with a full bag slung over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving,” Ned said suddenly, startling the man. 

“What’s it to you?” the Hound said when he got his bearings together and turned. 

“I thought you served the Lannisters,” Ned said. 

“Change of heart a while ago,” the Hound said dully. “Fuck them. Fuck this whole place.”

“Where will you go?” Ned wondered aloud. He thought for a moment the Hound wouldn’t respond, but the man had a real answer.

“Probably Braavos. What’s it to you?”

Ned hesitated, but reached into his pocket for a message he’d written that morning, to Sansa. He remembered hearing of the trust Sansa put in him from Brienne, who had sworn herself to his wife. If Catelyn trusted her, Ned would too. And if Brienne was truthful, then Sansa trusted the Hound, meaning Ned could try as well. 

“Will you deliver a message to Winterfell for me? To Sansa,” Ned explained cautiously. “I can’t trust that a raven would make it. I know it’s a lot, and out of your way, but she’s my–”

“I’ll do it,” the Hound said far faster than Ned thought he would. 

Ned passed him the scroll with the stamp of House Stark on it. 

The Hound frowned, and shifted his head so Ned got a better look at his scar. “Why are you trusting me?”

Ned thought that question would come sooner. 

“I heard what you did for my daughters after my death. I cannot say I fully trust you, though I know those who do. You kept my daughters alive, though you had no obligation to Catelyn or I to do so. The North owes you a great deal of gratitude.”

The Hound looked down, and his lips pressed together as if to say something. 

“I know we had our differences, but thank you,” Ned smiled at the man he once considered an enemy. Well, he still didn’t trust the man, but he trusted that he cared for Sansa, and that would be enough for now. 

The Hound stared at his smile. He quickly turned with the letter and left. 

Ned relaxed, knowing that his message would reach the right person.

***

For the past few days, Jaime had been bothering her, trying to talk. She’d given him the cold shoulder, of course, because what kind of man left a woman for his sister?

In the Red Keep, tensions had been high, especially between Daenerys and Robert. Also the Lannisters and, well, everyone. They seemed to have secluded themselves in the Tower of the Hand, which would be fine, if Tyrion hadn’t been living there. 

Not to mention the strange disappearance of the Hound, which seemed to bother Joffrey to no end. Not like he wasn’t always bothered by something. 

A week after Rhaegal returned, so had Myrcella, from Dorne. She had a special letter from Oberyn, who explained that he had been put on the throne there, as his brother had not returned from the dead. There was no mention of any punishment to the Sand Snakes, after their violent takeover, but Brienne was sure there was one. Oberyn would have been disgusted by what his family did after he died. 

Myrcella spent most of her time with Jaime. After hearing what Cersei had done after her death, she refused to talk to her mother. Tyrion said Myrcella was always the most kind-hearted out of the Lannisters. Brienne expected her to go back to Casterly Rock, like Tommen, but she refused. Maybe she wanted to spend time with her uncle-father. 

“Brienne,” an annoyingly familiar voice said. 

She turned, and sure enough, it was Jaime Lannister. 

“I’ve already told you, I don’t want to talk,” Brienne huffed. 

“Please, listen,” Jaime pleaded.

“The way you listened when I told you not to go?” she raised an eyebrow. 

Jaime didn’t seem to have an explanation, so he sighed. “I’m sorry, alright? Can we please start over?”

“So we can meet again, fight some more, get separated, reunite, fight, have sex, and you can abandon me again?” Brienne laughed bitterly. “I don’t think so.”

She turned to leave, but Jaime grabbed her arm, she looked back towards him. 

“I saw what you wrote about me,” he said. 

Brienne studied his face for what felt like years. He still had his Lannister golden-blonde hair, and green eyes. They were soft, which was unusual. Most people were on edge from recent events. Her eyes drifted to his perfect jawline. 

Unconsciously, she looked up to his lips. She gently blinked her eyes and snapped herself out of it.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” Brienne told him. “But if I had, I’d have written truly awful things.”

“Then change the book,” Jaime shrugged. “Cross out what you wrote and replace it with these ‘truly awful things’ I’ve done.”

Brienne’s heart skipped a beat, and she sighed exasperatedly. She stormed off. What was it with that man?

***

So far, he’d managed to avoid everyone in his family. Except Jaime, and Myrcella, who he visited most days. He would’ve liked to talk to Tommen some, but the boy was quick in leaving the city. He was probably the smartest of them all. 

Of everyone, Tyrion tried to stay away from Tywin most of all. It was difficult, though. The man spent most of his time watching and wandering. Tyrion was sure his father was planning something, maybe to get Joffrey or someone else easily manipulatable on the throne, but anyone with a brain knew the people of Westeros wouldn’t accept yet another tyrant on the throne, especially not a second time, which pretty much took every Lannister out of the running. 

King Bran had given a speech to King’s Landing, informing them about the situation with the dead people just the day prior. To no one’s surprise, the townspeople did not like the idea of dead people coming back, especially so soon after the Night King’s army was defeated. And, the people coming were mostly…nobles who made the life of the lower-class miserable. 

Out of the corner of his eye, was Daenerys in the library pondering over a book. They hadn’t officially talked since she came back. He wasn’t sure how to start the conversation, and she was always gone, with Rhaegal, or busy with other matters. 

He glanced around the library quickly, and established that it was empty except for Daenerys. Now was as best a time as any. 

He put his back to the wall and raised clenched fists. Why was this so hard?

“Struggling to talk to your dragon queen?” someone said nearby. 

Tyrion turned his head to see his father. He swore under his breath and tried to walk away, but his father’s words stopped him. 

“You killed me,”

Tyrion turned slightly. “You didn’t think I would.”

“You were my son,” Tywin’s voice got louder with every word, until he was yelling. “You were a Lannister !”

“Didn’t stop Jaime and Cersei,” Tyrion muttered. 

“I’ve talked to them already,” Tywin said. “They know their place. You don’t.”

“And now you’ll tell me I don’t have a place,” Tyrion snapped. “Just like you always have.”

“You do not get to wallow in pity, Tyrion Lannister,” Tywin warned. “You brought all this onto yourself, and shame on the Lannister name.”

No. 

“I brought honor to it!” Tyrion roared. His father didn’t have the right to destroy him like this, not when Tywin didn’t even know what his dwarf of a son had done. “I escaped to Essos, and allied myself with the Mother of Dragons . I advised her best I could for years. Perhaps not my best advice at times, but we were not in the best of situations. When she went mad, I convinced Jon Snow to kill her and save who was left. Not my best decision either, and one I ponder a lot, but it was the right one , because now Westeros is free of another power-hungry ruler who only ever works their personal agenda. I put Bran Stark in charge, and helped fix up our political system. I managed to get every single major house to work together and we increased Westerosi trade and profits. Enough so, that two years after King’s Landing was burnt down, it’s almost back together. We have a growing and prospering economy because I, not anyone else , went all over the world seeking business and built new trade lines and agreements as far as the Dothraki Sea!”

He paused to breathe. He glared up at his father. “As I fixed the mess House Lannister made, you laid in Casterly Rock, dead by your own son’s hand.”

Tywin stayed silent, choosing only to stare at Tyrion for what felt like years. Finally, he spoke. 

“I’m going back to Casterly Rock,” Tywin revealed. “I will keep everyone there in line if our Lord of Casterly Rock allows me and guide Tommen on how to be a good leader and uphold the family legacy, as I should’ve done had I not died.”

His voice was bitter and unkind, but it was not as hateful as it used to be. There had to be an angle somewhere. 

Tyrion’s face morphed into one of confusion as it twisted and untwisted. “Why?”

“You have everything here under control,” Tywin said coldly. “Watch your sister and nephew. They are planning something. Should anything go wrong, send a raven.”

Tyrion pursed his lips together for a few moments, contemplating what to do. Tywin wasn’t wrong, and it would be easier to focus on Cersei and Joffrey’s plans if Tywin took away some of his workload. “You may rule Casterly Rock in my place, as I did when you were Hand of the King.”

Tyrion hoped he wouldn’t regret that. 

The old man turned and left, leaving Tyrion once again alone, trying to figure out how to approach the Dragon Queen. 

Eventually, he decided to just walk in and say hello. When he did finally walk in, Daenerys looked up. 

“I heard you and your father arguing,” she said. Her face held no outward distaste or anger. She looked strangely calm. Both in her mannerisms, but also physically. Her hair was well kept, and her face no longer unnaturally pale. The bags that haunted her eyes in her final days were gone, though her eyes held unimaginable guilt. 

“I take it you heard everything I said?” Tyrion asked, feeling there was no use denying any of it.

She nodded. “Yes, you were right, too.”

“You’ve been awfully calm lately,” Tyrion said after a second of thought. “You’re not…”

“...mad?” Daenerys finished. She laughed bitterly. “Yes, I’m quite glad, too.”

“Why?” 

Daenerys shrugged. “When I died, I saw something. Jon always told me there was nothing after death, but I was in a field of flowers. Above me were dragons .” She said the word ‘dragon’ as if it was new and exciting, like a new toy for a child. 

“They were huge, larger than Drogon,” she said with a smile. “And there were so many . I reached up to touch them, but they were too high. And they were beautiful. Some of them came down to rest in the field. They looked like the dragons in the stories Viserys would tell me.”

“But?” Tyrion pressed.

“It made me think of King’s Landing,” she finally said. “King’s Landing was beautiful, too. In a different way, but beautiful all the same. I destroyed it. I killed innocents, because I didn’t know how to process death, or–or stress, or pain.”

Tyrion grew sombre. “It has always been my greatest regret that I did not guide you properly as Hand.”

“I was not easy to guide,” Daenerys admitted. 

“Still,” Tyrion said. “I am sorry.”

“I am as well,” Daenerys said.

Chapter Text

In the time it took to finally send all the letters around the North, they’d found Stannis, Melissandre (who really hadn’t been that hard to find; she’d been just outside the gates), and Shireen. They’d also found part of Stannis’ army, as well as the army against the Night King, and several people who had become wights. 

Shireen had been more than adamant not to see her father, and Sansa had been more than happy to listen. She sent a letter to Davos requesting his presence, knowing he and Shireen had been close once. 

Stannis hadn’t been happy to be kept from his daughter despite the reasons. Melisandre was once again infatuated with him, but her mind often seemed elsewhere. Sansa didn’t think she’d stick around for much longer; the dead coming back was just the sort of thing that the witch would explore. 

As for Lord Baelish, there was no word. He’d just disappeared. It made Sansa’s skin prickle, knowing that he was out there tricking others with his manipulations. She sent out ravens all over the North and the Veil, warning them of his trickery. The thought of another poor girl falling victim to his manipulations–

She’d given up visiting Ramsay, because every time she did, he talked about her body. He talked about her like she was some object he’d lost but found again. After the fourth visit like this, she ordered her guards to not interact with him, except to give him food and a bucket. 

“Has anyone responded yet?” Lyanna Mormont asked from the seat next to Sansa. 

Sansa tried to convince the Mormont to go back to her family home, but the girl refused. The two of them did send a raven to Bear Island explaining what was happening, and Lyanna’s old advisors were in charge. Seeing as Lyanna and Jorah were the only Mormonts left, the advisors wanted to put Lyanna back in charge, but she wanted to deal with the dead people problem first. 

Sansa decided she’d need to come up with a better name for their predicament later. 

“Yes, King’s Landing has given us another update,” Sansa reported. “It arrived last night. Tywin Lannister is going back to Casterly Rock, and the Twins finally responded to Bran as well.”

“Did they say anything about anyone from the Red Wedding coming back?” Lyanna asked hopefully. Her older sister, Dacey, died there. 

Sansa shook her head. “No, the Twins haven’t seen anyone.”

An unlikely statement.

“You think they’re lying,” Lyanna said with a scrunched up face. 

“Yes, I do,” Sansa confirmed. “How likely is it that almost every Frey came back, but not a single Northern soldier?”

“Unlikely,” Jorah said.

“Tell me something, Jorah Mormont,” Sansa said, changing the subject. “Why have you not traveled south to serve Daenerys Targaryen? My brother says she has returned, as have her dragons. Though, no one has seen Drogon yet.”

He paused for a moment. “House Mormont was wiped out. I dishonored my house, and left it open to ruin. It can’t happen again. When Lyanna wishes to go back to Bear Island, I will travel south.”

“The North thanks you,” Sansa decided. When he first came back from the dead, she hadn’t expected him to stay. He was loyal to Daenerys Targaryen, after all. But he did, and his help was much appreciated.

“What is our plan with Stannis?” Lyanna asked. “He doesn’t want to stay here much longer. He’s going to take his men and leave.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Sansa sighed. “It’s difficult to care for so many men all of a sudden. And he and I don’t seem to see eye-to-eye on, well, anything. The problem is where he’ll go from here.”

“There’s Dragonstone,” Jorah pointed out. 

“True,” Sansa said, “but he never really wanted Dragonstone.”

“He’ll go to Storm’s End,” Lyanna figured out. 

Sansa nodded. “Exactly. He’ll want his birthright. Only to find his brother’s legitimized bastard ruling it. And, Gendry wrote telling me Renley is back as well, though he seems to have gone to Highgarden. Bran says Robert is alive in King’s Landing.”

“You think there will be some tension for the seat in Storm’s End if Stannis leaves?” Jorah put it together. “With four Baratheons alive with somewhat equal claims, it could be a bloodbath.”

Sansa thought back to her lessons about Targaryen history, and the Dance of the Dragons, when the Targaryens were almost wiped out by a civil war for the Iron Throne. “Yes. Stannis will not like Robert’s bastard as Lord of Storm’s End. And after his defeat trying to take Winterfell, Stannis will want to prove he’s still powerful. If Robert is smart, he’ll abandon the Iron Throne, but he was king. He’ll still want power, purely for looks, but it will be power all the same. Both Stannis and Robert will want Storm’s End. Gendry is unlikely to give it up, and the people love him. They won’t want Robert or Stannis.”

Lyanna nodded along as Sansa spoke. “There’ll be war.”

“I don’t see how it could end well,” Sasna admitted. “Though, Stannis barely has an army, and Robert has none at all.”

“You should send a raven to Storm’s End,” Jorah said. “Warn Gendry about your suspicions, even though they don’t have the means for war just yet.”

“I already have,” she told them. 

***

Everyday, Daenerys went to the ruined dragonpit, where Rhaegal was living. She didn’t like keeping him hidden away, but after what she did to the city on dragonback, she figured it was best to keep him out of the spotlight.

Rhaegal seemed happy. He didn’t seem to care at all what happened to him or his brothers. Maybe he thought this was some sort of temporary thing, like when your siblings go stay with someone else for a night or two, and you get to be an only-child. 

Not that Daenerys knew about that. Viserys hated leaving her alone. He would talk about some slaver discovering her, and taking her from him for his own profit. He described to her what this slaver would do to her and her body until she would cry and beg him to stop talking. 

Daenerys wondered if he came back to life, like everyone else. She worried he would appear behind her, begging for an army or Rhaegal. She worried he’d beat her for letting Khal Drogo kill him. 

Still, he’d have to cross the Narrow Sea, and he likely wouldn’t realize what had happened since his death. If he was alive, she was safe until he put the puzzle together. 

After visiting Rhaegal, she went to an orphanage at the edge of town. Missandei was already there. 

She knocked on the flimsy door. 

An older woman with a round face and bright smile opened the door. There were two kids clinging to her leg. They both had bright ginger hair and freckles. They were probably twins. 

Most of the orphans in the city were bastards, so no one would come to adopt them. Daenerys did her best to visit and bring different snacks and goodies. None of it would make up for what she did, but it was worth it to help.

“Mansey,” Daenerys said with a grin. “Is now a bad time?”

The woman, Mansey Fenn shook her head. “Never! Come on in. Missandei came in just a minute or two ago!”

Daenerys followed the woman into the orphanage. It was really a house, but it served its purpose. 

The first thing she saw was Missandei in the living space, reading to a group of four or five kids. There were others playing, not paying attention. To the left were the stairs to the bedrooms, but there were no kids playing there. There was also a dining table pushed against the wall by the stairs. 

“Did you receive the donation I sent two days ago?” Daenerys inquired. She placed her bag on the dining table. 

“Yes!” Mansey said with a large grin. “You’re too generous.”

Daenerys chuckled and decided to change the subject. “I brought sweets.”

She started opening up her bag. When the kids heard the s-word, many of them got up from the ground, shouting about who would get what and when.

“Hold on, now,” Daenerys said playfully. “Did Mansey say you could have dessert at this hour?”

Some of the kids scrunched up their faces in disappointment, while others crossed their arms and stood their ground. 

“But you came all the way here!” one kid cried out melodramatically.

She looked hopefully at Mansey and raised an eyebrow. 

Mansey sighed exasperatedly. “Fine, but only one this time!” 

The children cheered, and Missandei walked over to help serve the food. 

“I have lemon cakes, apple tart, and cream cakes that you will all share ,” Daenerys tried to make eye contact with the children when telling them to share, to get the point across. 

As she and Missandei handed out the sweets, she forgot. She forgot about the struggles in the Red Keep, where she had almost no friends, where everyone was trying to kill her. She forgot about the damage she caused the city. She forgot about the fear that her brother would return, she forgot it all. 

It felt so good to be away from it. 

“You seem well, today,” Missandei commented as she handed a kid a lemon cake. 

“Today was not awful, so far,” Daenerys said. The quality of the days she’d had lately had varied. Sometimes, it took all of her energy to get out of bed, while others she wanted to explore and learn until she passed out. 

“I understand,” Missandei said. “I finally heard back from Gray Worm.”

Daenerys’ head perked up. “He responded?”

“He and the rest of the Unsullied are in Naath,” Missandei explained. “He didn’t believe it was me at first, so I had Bran and Tyrion help me write letters. Some of their dead have been rising, too.”

“Is he coming back?” Daenerys asked. It had to be too good to be true. 

Missandei nodded. “Just him. The Unsullied have been helping protect the people of Naath. He does not want to leave them too exposed.”

“Who’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?” a kid asked. She was one of the gingers from before. 

Daenerys glanced at Missandei to see if she would respond. 

“A friend,” Missandei said. 

“That’s cool,” the ginger kid said. “I have friends too.” 

The child held up a stuffed bear. 

“And who might this be?” Daenerys asked playfully, the way you talk to kids. 

The child giggled. “It’s Dog!”

Missandei and Daenerys laughed with the child. 

“Is that not a bear?” Missandei said with a raised eyebrow. 

The child shrugged and smiled mischievously. 

***

The two of them stayed in the orphanage for a while, playing with the children and keeping them entertained, so Mansey could do some of the chores around the house. 

By the time they left, it was starting to get dark. 

“Thank you for letting us help,” Daenerys waved goodbye. 

“No, thank you for helping,” Mansey said. “Okay kids, what do we say to guests?”

“ Thank you, ” the children said at different and awkward times. 

Daenerys smiled. “It was a pleasure .”

She and Missandei turned and left. 

“Do you mind coming with me to visit the Dragonpit?” Daenerys asked. 

Missandei shook her head. 

A couple minutes into their walk, Missandei broke the comfortable silence. “How do you know that woman?”

Daenerys sighed. “A couple weeks ago, I came down here to see the damage I did. I got lost, and asked her for directions. She recognized me. I tried to leave, but she didn’t let me. She asked what happened, and I told her everything, though I don’t know why. She gave me a second chance.”

“She saw you needed one,” Missandei said. 

“What, it was that obvious?” Daenerys joked before becoming more sombre. “When I came back, did you see my dress?”

“It had a hole in it,” Missandei said, realizing that was what she was getting at. 

“That’s where I was stabbed,” Daenerys said. “I could feel the bloodstains in my clothes. Brienne of Tarth was ready to kill me when she saw me. I can’t imagine becoming that awful person again.”

“You made mistakes,” Missandei touched Daenerys’ shoulder comfortingly. 

“We’re here,” Daenerys said, changing the subject.

“Rhaegal lives here?” Missandei questioned as they entered the area. 

Daenerys nodded. “I don’t know where else to put him, and most people don’t come this way. If they do, he’ll eat them anyway.”

“Who’s that?” Missandei pointed. Beside Rhaegal was a giant beast. It was white and cream, with flecks of gold. 

She studied him for a moment, before her eyes widened and her heart soared. 

“Viserion?” Daenerys’ voice cracked. He wasn’t–

At the sound of her voice, Viserion’s head perked up and his eyes narrowed in on her. He jumped from his spot on the ground and raced to his mom. He squawked and opened his wings in joy the entire way. 

Old gods and new he was going to tackle her out of pure excitement–

“Viserion, sit ,” Daenerys commanded when he started getting close. He could easily stomp on her to death, though it would be entirely by accident. 

The dragon quickly put on the brakes and sat, just three meters from his mother. He tilted his head at her, and whined to get closer. 

“You almost trampled me,” Daenerys said, wagging her finger at him. 

He roared quietly in response. 

Her heart melted and her arms opened. “Fine, bring it in.”

Viserion jumped forward into the arms of his mother. Daenerys scratched his chin the way she used to and stroked his massive head. “I missed you.”

Behind Viserion, Rhaegal stood, almost looking annoyed that his brother was back. 

“Get over it,” Daenerys told him.

Rhaegal huffed at her, but turned and laid away from them. 

“May I?” Missandei asked. 

Daenerys nodded. She guided the woman’s hand up to Viserion, showing her how to approach him. The dragon eyed her with curiosity, but he knew who she was. He lowered his head into her outstretched hand. 

Missandei’s face erupted into a smile. Viserion moved his head around, demanding more from her. 

The former handmaiden giggled. “I can’t believe I’d never done this before.”

Daenerys laughed with her. 

For the first time in a while, things were better. Things were good . 

***

He crumpled up the letter in his hand. The Freys were lying. They had to be, because there was no way none of the Northern troops were back from the dead. The likelihood of not even a single Northern soldier not coming back was low. 

He wondered how far into the journey the Hound was. The decision to send him of all people was a rash one–he had no reason to trust the Clegane, other than the stories he heard. But if his daughters trusted him, then he could try to as well. 

Ned thought of the last time he saw Catelyn, and her warning. She was right. He wished she was with him now, to give him comfort and advice. 

He gently touched his neck, where–

That moment haunted his dreams, lately. The anxieties of not knowing if Yoren would get to Arya, as Sansa screamed for mercy, and the people shouted for his head. He felt the cold of his own blade on the back of his neck before it all went dark. 

He wished he could leave the city, but the Lannisters were up to something, and Bran needed his protection. He was no longer the child who was pushed out of that tower. 

Robert was surprisingly content. He’d been glad Cersei didn’t want to re-ignite their “passionate” marriage, but he was furious upon hearing about what Cersei and Jaime had been up to. Tyrion and Ned managed to calm him down, but now he no longer wanted to see the children he raised as his own. Not like he was the most present father, though. 

With Tommen in Casterly Rock with Tywin, that left Myrcella and Joffrey in King’s Landing. Myrcella spent a lot of her time with Jaime, or in the library, and Joffrey mostly hung around Cersei or the throne room. The boy craved power and attention. And vengeance. He screamed for war when it was revealed that Olenna Tyrell poisoned him, as did Cersei. Bran refused it. His son didn’t want to destroy the realm like his predecessors had. 

A knock sounded from his door, pulling him out of his thoughts. “It’s me, Robert.”

Ned sighed. He knew this confrontation would happen eventually. “Come in, the door’s unlocked.”

Robert entered the bedroom with usual commanding presence and closed the door behind him. 

Ned stood to greet him. “Robert.”

“Ned.”

“Is there any reason for your visit?” He had a feeling he knew what this was about.

Robert nodded. “We should talk about what’s happened between us.”

The warm, friendly feeling that Ned felt before either of them died was long gone. “I was thinking the same.”

“You knew my children were bastards, yet kept quiet,” Robert started. 

Right to the point, then. “I believed if you found out, they would be hurt. I meant only to keep them alive. I could not stand to see the deaths of more innocent children.”

“It was not a secret to keep from me!” Robert’s voice raised slightly. 

“I only wanted to give Cersei time to get herself and the children to safety,” Ned defended. “It is no one’s fault that you were attacked by the boar, and I was not given the chance.”

Robert scoffed. “Nothing but excuses . You betrayed me and my trust.”

“Something you told me when I refused to kill the child, Daenerys Targaryen,” Ned pointed out. “A decision you regretted.”

“And do you feel differently about your decision knowing how many people she killed?” Robert argued. 

“She was a child,” Ned stood firmly. He took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. “Did you come here only to start a fight, or is there something I must know?”

Robert stared at him for a couple seconds. “I am returning to Storm’s End. Fuck this castle, fuck the people in this castle. I hear Stannis is back. I’m taking my birthright before my brother takes it himself.”

“I wish you safe travels, then,” Ned said.

Chapter Text

He arrived in Winterfell a month after Ned sent him, and two months after he came back to life. What a funny thought, coming back to life. Most people stayed dead. It seemed life had other plans for him, otherwise he never would have survived to meet his brother in the Red Keep. 

Sandor stared at the massive doors, remembering the Night King’s battle. Afterward, everyone had been a mess. There were corpses everywhere, and a little girl with a haunted look in her eye while survivors crowded around her, asking for details of her glorious win.

***

“How’d you know to do it?”

“Did it feel good?”

“Where’d you learn to fight?”

“Girls can’t kill.”

The crowd around the Stark girl only seemed to grow. Sandor sighed to himself. No one else was going to do it, so he’d have to. 

Sandor pushed through the crowd to the girl, and grabbed her arm, hoisting her from the bench. He tucked her underneath his arm and used himself as a shield against the overly curious common folk. Most of them were those who hid in the crypts. Made sense they were antsy. 

He led her to the Great Hall, which was littered with bodies of his own making. When Arya left to kill the Night King, he was left with the hoard to kill himself. 

He picked up a fallen bench and sat her down on it. He placed himself next to her. 

Arya snuggled in closer to the crook of his arm.

“First battle?” Sandor asked, unease eating his insides. He’d never been a comforting figure. He tried with Sansa in the Red Keep, but his mean demeanor didn’t do any favors. 

He tried again after the Red Wedding, but Arya seemed to want vengeance more than comfort. 

Arya nodded. 

“You did good,” he told her with a goofy grin.

“I killed the Night King,” Arya laughed bitterly. 

Flashbacks of the incident in the Veil shot through Sandor’s mind. Hearing about Lysa’s death, followed by Arya’s laughter. Because when would anything work out for any of the Starks?

“Aye, ya did,” Sandor said. 

Arya giggled again. “The ancient iceman was killed by a girl who’s barely five feet tall!”

At least the girl had some amusement in her life. When her soft giggles finally died down, Arya looked up at him. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For getting me away from those people.”

“You should’ve shown them that Night King treatment of yours,” Sandor joked. “I've heard it’s deadly.”

Arya laughed again. 

Eventually, she fell asleep. Her head rested on Sandor’s shoulder, with his arm wrapped around her. Blood coated the side of her face, but he knew she’d be fine. She always was, somehow. 

Sandor wasn’t sure how much time passed when the doors opened, and he met eyes with Jon Snow. 

The bastard of Winterfell glanced Sandor and Arya over for a moment before closing the door. He looked suspicious of the former Lannister soldier, but didn’t say anything of it. 

“The lines to see medics are short,” Jon said. “I wanted to make sure Arya saw one.”

Sandor nodded. He gently nudged Arya with his free hand until her eyes opened the slightest bit. 

“Time to get that shitty little head looked at, wolf girl,” Sandor told her.

Arya scoffed and pushed herself up, out of his arms. “Fuck you too.”

She looked at Jon, and stood up. “How is everyone?”

They all knew she was talking about Sansa. 

“She’s fine, just busy,” Jon said. “There’s a lot of dead. It’s a lot of work for the Lady of Winterfell.”

From Little Bird to Lady of Winterfell. Quite an accomplishment, Sandor believed. He liked hearing of Sansa and Arya’s achievements. It made his chest burst with a feeling. Was it pride?

Was he proud of his girls?

When he pulled himself out of his thoughts, Arya was following Jon out of the Great Hall. 

He decided to follow as well. He hadn’t seen a medic, either. And it wasn’t totally out of character if Arya played down the extent of her injuries. 

***

Sansa smiled and hugged him when she saw him. She looked well. Her hair was longer than before, and she wore a light blue dress, as opposed to the black she grew attached to during the end of the wars. 

“I take it there’s a reason for your visit?” Sansa said once she and the Hound were in a more comfortable spot. There was a small study, Sansa told him, that was near the Great Hall where they could talk and catch up. 

“Your father’s in King’s Landing,” Sandor started. 

“Bran sent a raven two months ago,” Sansa said. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Sandor nodded. He reached inside his bag and pulled out the letter Ned gave him. “He didn’t trust the Lannisters to not shoot the raven down.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t think you’d open it,” Sansa took the letter and broke the seal. She read the letter quickly, making Sandor wonder how much Ned actually wrote. When she was finished, Sansa crumpled the letter up and threw it into the fireplace. 

“Was that in the letter?” Sandor asked incredulously. 

“No, but I felt it was necessary,” Sansa told him. She went over to the desk and rummaged through the drawer until she found what she needed. She pulled out a piece of parchment paper, quill, and ink. 

She scribbled furiously for what felt like hours, but was more likely just a minute or two. 

When Sansa finished, she looked over her handiwork quickly before blowing on the ink so it would dry faster, rolling it up, and sealing it with wax and the House Stark sigil. 

“If you don’t mind, make sure my father sees this,” Sansa ordered him. “It’s important.”

“I figured when you burnt the first letter,” Sandor said. 

Sansa sat at her desk and massaged her temples. 

“Are you okay, little bird?” Sandor asked. These Stark girls were so obvious when they needed help. 

Sansa sighed. “My father believes the Lannisters are plotting to overthrow Bran. It’s not surprising, but he believes another war is brewing. So soon after the last one…”

“He’s staying in King’s Landing,” Sandor put the pieces together. 

“He wants to protect my brother,” Sansa scoffed to herself. “I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen, yet he still spends all his time with Bran.”

Oh, to be a teenage girl jealous of her siblings. 

“You’re doing a good job here,” Sandor reassured her. Fuck, he was out of practice. For a brief moment in Winterfell, before leaving for revenge, he’d been so good at helping Sansa with her issues. But now, nothing. A disappointing development. 

“Did you hear what the Freys said?” Sansa looked up at him with eyebrows bent down and her face contorted in forced back anger. 

He shook his head. “I imagine nothing good.”

“No Northern citizen killed in the Red Wedding has been seen,” Sansa said, clenching and unclenching her fists. Her eyes watered and darted away from him. “I had hoped that–”

“They’re lying,” Sandor realized. A pit opened up in his stomach as he recalled a conversation he overheard passing through the Twins. 

***

“Starks tried anything yet?” a Frey soldier standing guard said rather loudly. 

Sandor was trying to stay out of their way. He planned on following the Greek Fork to its source, which included passing by the Freys. A traveler just a day prior shouted at him excitedly about the return of the Freys. 

The Freys must be worried that Sansa would try something against them. Rumors spread that it was Arya who killed them in the first place, though nothing was ever proved. 

“No, not yet,” a second Frey soldier replied briskly. “They don’t talk to anyone.”

***

“What?” Sansa looked at him expectantly. 

“The Freys have your family,” Sandor told her. “I heard it.”

Sansa didn’t say anything for a moment. Her face scrunched up in thought until she took a breath to steady herself. “You’re sure?”

Sandor nodded. “On my way here I overheard some Frey cunts. They were scared the Starks would try something. Thought they meant you and your sister, maybe the idiots didn’t know what happened.”

…to your sister. He didn’t let himself finish the sentence, instead choosing to push through the hurt in his chest. Bran was a Stark, but he prioritized his role as the three eyed raven and king over his House. 

“They said the Starks don’t talk to anyone. But I heard you’ve been vocal with the Northern houses and King’s Landing.”

“My mother and brother are prisoners of Walder Frey,” Sansa narrowed her eyes and a grim look shot across her face. “The North must–”

“ Do not call your banners , little bird,” Sandor said suddenly, when a burst of panic ran through him. His gaze softened. “Walder Frey will use your family against you. You will play into his trap and meet the same fate as your mother and brother.”

Sandor grabbed Sansa’s shoulders and looked into her conflicted eyes. “Call your banners, and Westeros goes back into war, and you said it yourself: there cannot be another war so soon.”

Sansa looked up at him with watering eyes. “Then how am I supposed to get my family back?”

Her voice shook more with every word. 

A sliver of pity found its way into his heart. “I’ll go.”

“They won’t trust you,” Sansa argued. “The last they knew of you was that you were a Lannister deserter. And what about the message for my father? You need to deliver that as well.”

“They’ll trust a man who gives them freedom,” Sandor promised her. “I’ll go to the Twins. When I return, your mother and brother will be back. And then I’ll set off for King’s Landing once more, to see your father.”

“And the army?” Sansa said. “They are as much Stark as I am.”

Sandor sighed exasperatedly. This girl knew how to get what she wanted. “I’ll do my best.”

***

She offered the Hound a bed for the night, which he accepted. She also offered him some stronger armor and sword, which he declined. It wasn’t surprising. 

She’d been in the Great Hall, drinking and gossiping with one of the common folk–a tradition she learned from her father.

The doors burst open, and Sansa instinctively shot up, alert to any danger. Several soldiers and knights around her reached for their swords, but none were drawn. Yet . 

In the doorway, stood a familiar man. Sansa was surprised he was here so soon, but she supposed desperation and a sense of duty was a good motivator. 

Davos Seaworth had an angry look in his eye. His clothes were soaked with rain, and his cloak was in ruins. 

He scanned the room quickly. His eyes locked on the target. 

Stannis had not yet left Winterfell, instead choosing to wait for a sign of some sort. Melisandre was not as obsessed with the Baratheon as Sansa thought she would be, but the red woman did seem curious about him. 

“Davos Seaworth, Winterfell welcomes you,” Sansa greeted. 

Davos ignored her, and continued making eye contact with Stannis. 

“Where is she?” the Master of Ships asked quietly. 

Stannis did not respond. 

“ Where is she? ” Davos repeated, striking the table with his fist. 

Stannis stood from the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sansa stopped him.

“Shireen Baratheon is sleeping,” Sansa said. 

“Lady Stark,” Stannis said with his fists clenched at his side. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I sent a raven to Davos Seaworth,” Sansa explained. “I requested him in Winterfell. I reasoned Shireen would want to see him.”

“You sent for this man to take my daughter away,” Stannis’ voice was slowly rising. Sansa could see that under his skin, he was writhing with anger. 

“The daughter you burnt as a sacrifice to your Lord of Light!” Davos shouted, side eyeing Melisandre. “And what did it account to, anyway! You fucking died !”

“Success demands sacrifice,” Stannis said, though he didn’t seem to believe his words.

Melisandre looked away guiltily. 

“If the two of you will fight,” Sansa interrupted, channeling her inner confidence. “You will take it outside. There will be no fighting in the Great Hall.”

Both men glared at her, but she met their looks with a hard gaze. 

“I sent for Davos because Shireen Baratheon was burnt alive by her own father,” Sansa said coldly. “In the eyes of the North, Stannis Baratheon is not a fit father, and Shireen’s custody will be given to a man who will care for her.”

“Davos,” Stannis grimaced. “You have betrayed me.”

“You betrayed yourself the moment you chose the red woman over your humanity,” Davos spat out. 

Stannis stormed out and slammed the doors behind him. 

***

The next day, Davos left with Shireen only a few hours after the Hound left for the Twins.  

Stannis sent her a message through one of her handmaidens. He was returning South with whoever wanted to join him and his army. He didn’t say where, but it had to be Storm’s End. 

Her worst fears were being realized. 

***

Black and white wisps danced around her, like unwanted fireflies. The humanoids let her lay on the ground for a while after their ceremony. Maybe they thought she’d die. 

She didn’t. She wasn’t sure how much time passed. Perhaps it was days, perhaps it was years. 

Two humanoids leaned over her, poking and prodding at her face and body. 

She couldn’t move. She struggled against the invisible restraints, to no avail. 

One of the humanoids held her face in its cold hands. She stared at it, refusing to back down from its unnatural gaze. 

After a moment of tension, the humanoid grabbed her waist and picked her up from the ground. It threw the girl over its shoulder, and joined the second humanoid. They were walking for a while, but the wisps of black and white never left. 

The girl closed her eyes and tried reaching out to her wolf. A thick barrier pressed against her mind, and she screamed out in pain. Something was preventing her from seeing her friend. 

The humanoid carrying her shouted something in their language, and the girl braced herself to be hit. When nothing came, she relaxed. 

After what felt like hours of walking, the three of them arrived. It looked like an abandoned city, though not one like you’d see in Westeros. Trees blue in color with white leaves covered the area, like the rest of the forest, only these trees held grey wooden buildings within their branches. Ivy covered the walls, as did unnaturally green ferns and red dirt. 

Humanoids moved all about the town. Was this their home?

The humanoid not carrying her stopped the one who was. It looked at the girl, and everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

That annoying man from Flea Bottom and the unfortunate Baratheon girl somehow caught up to him when he stopped to rest in Moat Cailin. He told them they’d have to separate eventually, but Davos told him it was safer to travel together.

That being said, Sandor was sure Davos would kill him if he had the slightest idea of hurting the Baratheon girl. 

Not that he planned to, anyway. 

“We’re about a day’s north of the Twins,” Davos said as he kneeled by the river. “Best if we stay away.”

“You can stay away,” Sandor said. “I need to go through.”

“The northmen aren’t coming back,” Davos said with pity in his eyes. “Sansa must know that.”

“I overheard something,” Sandor explained for what felt like the millionth time. “I need to investigate.”

He pulled out his sword and started cleaning the blade with a rag.

“Father told me about the Red Wedding,” Shireen said.

“Did he tell you how the Starks were slaughtered at a fucking wedding?” Sandor spat. He saw the fire and the bloodshed when he closed his eyes sometimes. He still remembered the fear that one of the Freys would find Arya and kill her like her brother and mother. 

He’d hoped Arya would stay unconscious until they were far from the Twins, but he knew she saw what they did to her brother. She pretended to have been asleep, but they both knew it was a lie. 

If he failed to rescue Robb and Catelyn Stark, would they brutally murder the Starks again?

“Did Stannis Baratheon tell you how those cunts strung up the Young Wolf’s body onto his horse and sewed his direwolf onto–”

“Hound,” Davos warned. Shireen was pressed into his side, covering her ears.

Sandor scoffed. This was not a world that should be censored from children. They’d always discover the dangers eventually.

“I’m going to the Twins, whether or not you want to,” he said. 

“They’ll be suspicious of you,” Davos pointed out. “They were loyal to the Lannisters, and you defected.”

“They know times have changed,” Sandor said dully.

***

The ride into the Twins was easy enough. The Freys stationed around the castles let them in, thinking they were just commoners. 

There was an inn that the three of them stopped at. The innkeeper seemed to think Shireen was the Hound’s, and Davos was his much older brother. Neither of them stopped to change the story. People could believe whatever they wanted about their little trio. 

Their room was small, like the innkeeper warned, and it was on the second floor. There were two beds, but Sandor didn’t think it would be a problem. 

“Tonight, I’m sneaking into that tower,” he pointed to the tower closer to the inn. 

“How do you know they’re in that one?” Davos asked. 

Sandor grimaced. He knew which tower he had to take Arya from. 

“It was the eastern one.”

Davos glanced at Shireen, who was sitting in one of the beds reading. He leaned in, closer to the Hound. “Were you there?”

The Hound clenched his fists. “What’s it to you?”

Davos looked him up and down, and relaxed. He took a few steps back. “What happens if you find them?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

***

As he said he would, Sandor crept out at night. He wasn’t wearing much armor, so he wouldn’t make much noise. He felt naked without it. Even when he was on the run, he wore armor. Davos promised to protect it, but how much could you trust a smuggler?

Sandor left through the window to avoid the innkeeper who might question him. All the drunkards started drinking hours ago. Davos closed and locked the window behind him and promised to stay up in case something went wrong. 

They hadn’t told Shireen anything, so she was fast asleep in her bed, thinking they would cross the river the next day. 

He tossed his hood over his head and jumped carefully from the roof. There were drunks flirting with whores around some of the buildings, but they were too much in their shady hazes to notice him. 

Sandor walked across the clearing with slight sways and stumbles to mimic being drunk. When he was on the other side of the clearing, by the tower, he dipped into a corner. No one noticed. 

Sandor hid by the tower walls and crept around until he saw an entryway. A window, just by his head. He leaned upwards to see what was inside. It seemed to be a storage closet, so he grabbed the windowsill and heaved himself inside. 

He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the new lighting before checking his surroundings. 

The room was small and square with shelves on every wall but the one with the door. The shelves held mostly food, but there was a hat strewn on one of the shelves. It was one typically worn in wintertime, because it covered much of the face and ears. 

An idea hit Sandor. He took his hood down and put the hat on. It fit. Better yet, it covered most of his scar. He then examined the shelves and found a loaf of bread, likely to be served in breakfast the next day. 

Not anymore. He took a plate and placed the bread on it with a small wheel of cheese. 

Sandor left the pantry quickly and found himself in an empty kitchen.

He quickly found the exit and wandered around the surrounding hallways. Freys he sort-of knew from tourneys and such walked the hallways, but none recognized the Hound.

He figured the prison cells would be down, so that’s where he went. Every stairwell he found, he went down. There weren’t many. 

Every dead end meant he would retrace his steps and try again. 

At the end of the next hallway held a large door with two guards in front. 

“The fuck are you doing?” the soldier on the left asked. 

“Food,” Sandor replied, purposely being vague. 

“The prisoners already ate,” the second guard said, suspicion reeking in his voice. 

“Lord Frey ordered I give them more food,” Sandor lied. “Don’t want them dying on us, do we?”

He faked a hearty laugh.

The guards looked at each other uneasily. 

“Five minutes,” the first guard warned while the second opened the door. 

Sandor sent them a grateful look before entering. The stairway down was long and windy. It was dark, too. It was hard to see the step in front of him at times, so he placed the plate of bread on a larger step so he could focus on getting down safely. 

When he hit the end, two sets of eyes opened in his direction behind metal bars. He stared at them, a pit in his stomach churning. Sansa’s anxieties suddenly swam around his mind. 

These people had no reason to trust him, even if he was rescuing them. They probably wanted to kill him.

A figure stood up. It made its way to the bars until whoever it was had their face in the light. 

Sandor distantly recalled memories of this boy in Winterfell. He had just been a boy then, but he looked more like a man now. 

A second figure stood to join him. 

“What do you want, Frey?” Robb Stark spat. 

Sandor took off his hat. “I’m no Frey.”

“Hound,” the second figure gasped. Catelyn Stark. She looked pale and sickly. Worse than Robb. Her eyes narrowed and she gripped her son’s arm. “Come no closer. Your allies killed my men.”

“I’m not here with the Lannisters,” Sandor reassured her. “Or the Freys, or the Greyjoys, or the Baratheons.”

Was that a lie if Shireen Baratheon and Davos Seaworth were waiting for his return?

“Then who sent you,” Robb squared his shoulders to look larger. 

But he looked weak. He looked like he’d been starving the past two months. Bruises covered his face, as well. 

“Your sister,” Sandor responded. “The Queen in the North.” 

“Why should I believe you?” Robb challenged. 

“Do or don’t, I don’t fucking care,” Sandor said. “But Sansa told me to get your stupid ass out of this hellhole. Your mother, too.”

“And if we refuse?” Catelyn raised an eyebrow. 

“Then I knock you out and carry you away myself,” Sandor said bitterly. Flashes of carrying Arya out of the Twins the very same way he’d just threatened hit the back of his mind. 

“Fine,” Robb agreed. 

Sandor looked around for a key. It was dangling off a hook in the wall. He took it and unlocked the door. 

“What happened to the rest of your men?” he asked. 

“As soon as they came back, the Freys slaughtered them all over again,” Robb said bitterly. “He will pay–”

“Robb, let’s just go back home,” Catelyn interrupted. 

“Your mother’s right, boy,” Sandor agreed. “You can worry about revenge when you’re safe in Winterfell.”

He led Catelyn and Robb up the stairs. When they reached the bread and cheese he put down, the Starks picked it up and shared. 

“The guards said they fed you,” Sandor said. 

“They gave us breakfast,” Robb corrected. “That’s it.”

When they reached the top of the steps, Sandor slammed the guards heads against one another. 

Robb grabbed the guard’s cloaks and handed one to his mother. Both of them put the cloaks on. 

“I know the way out,” he told Robb and Catelyn, who were close behind. He led them through the winding hallways. They were almost to the kitchen when someone saw them. 

“What are you three doing up so late?”

Sandor turned around to see one of the Freys. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was Black Walder. 

“The prisoners!” Black Walder realized. “The prisoners are escaping!” 

“Fuck!” Sandor shouted. He shoved Black Walder away into a wall and ran, hoping Robb and Catelyn were right behind him. He looked back and they were. Robb was barely supporting his mother, who stumbled as she ran. 

Sandor turned back and put his arm under the lady’s shoulders. “Next door on the right.”

Robb nodded. He ran ahead and held the door open for Sandor and Catelyn to get through. The Stark boy slammed the door behind them. 

“Through the window,” Sandor said. “Be warned, it’s a small jump.”

Robb looked out the window. “Are you sure, Hound?”

Sandor nodded. 

Robb heaved himself onto the windowsill and let himself fall. 

Catelyn was next. Sandor guided her into the same spot her son had been just moments prior. 

Shouts echoed from just behind the door. 

Sandor felt himself move faster. “Robb will catch you, Lady Stark.”

She looked at him with mistrust. Not that he could blame her. 

Catelyn jumped from the window into Robb’s arms. 

Sandor was next. As he felt himself fall, the door to the pantry burst open. 

“Where to next?” Robb asked as he held his mother up. 

Sandor guided them across the clearing to the inn. 

“What’s this?” Rob said suspiciously. 

“Got travel companions inside. Wait in the stable.” Sandor ordered. 

He turned away and made his way inside. He went up the stairs, trying to be quiet, but he knew the inn would know of the treachery inside the Twins soon enough. 

He banged on the door and Davos answered. 

“I’ve got them,” Sandor said. “Time to go.”

Davos opened the door more to let Sandor in. He made a beeline to his armor and put it on quickly while Davos woke Shireen. 

Shouts from outside quickly grew louder. 

“Time to go,” Sandor grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He led Davos and Shireen out of the inn and to the stables. 

“Why are we in a rush?” Shireen asked, but upon seeing Robb and Catelyn, she shut up. 

“Who are these people?” Robb demanded. 

“Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King and Shireen Baratheon,” Davos said quickly as he mounted his horse and helped Shireen get up with him. 

Sandor did the same. He glanced around and saw two extra horses. “Take those.”

Robb helped Catelyn upon a smaller black horse before getting on a black and white spotted one. 

Frey soldiers burst in right as Robb was on his horse. Sandor drew his sword and ran at them, slicing two of them in one swing. 

He led the five of them away, through the clearing. Davos had a sword as well, but Robb and Catelyn did not. 

Sandor moved into a better location to keep them safe, but he knew if they were overwhelmed, it was over for them. 

He swung wildly at any soldier who dared get close. A Frey managed to get a hold of Robb until Sandor’s blade dug itself into the soldier's back. 

The gate was so close. 

“Come on,” he said half to his horse. 

The gate was still open, but closing faster than he’d like. 

“Speed up!” Davos shouted. 

When Sandor cleared the gate, a weight lifted off his chest. He looked back and saw everyone else made it through as well. 

“I know a place to hide out,” Sandor told them. “It’s just up there.”

He pointed to a hill just a ways up. 

“How do you know it’s safe?” Robb questioned. 

“It’s where I took your sister after the Red Wedding,” Sandor said, planning not to say anymore. 

Robb and Catelyn glanced at each other. 

“Is it true what they say she did?” Robb asked, voice shaking slightly. He looked so hopeful. He didn’t want it to be true. 

“It’s true,” Sandor told him. “It’s all true. Your sister’s a fucking murderer.”

“Where is she?” Catelyn’s face was desperate. “Is she in Winterfell?”

“She’s dead.”

***

They’d set up camp on the hill. They didn’t make a fire, but it was almost sunrise, anyway. 

Robb sat at the edge of the hill, his back turned. Catelyn’s head turned every few minutes to check on her son, but he hadn’t moved. 

“He’ll be fine,” Davos told her. “It’s hard, at first.”

“He’s lost so much,” Catelyn said. “It is so hard to believe what happened to my family.”

“Aye, I remember hearing about it,” Davos said. “Stannis hardly believed it himself.”

“You were his hand,” Catelyn said. 

Davos nodded. 

“What happened to him?” Catelyn asked. “Why are you traveling with his daughter?”

Davos glanced at Shireen sitting away from them reading a book. “It’s complicated.”

Sandor silently laughed at that. Yes, what was so complicated about burning your daughter to death as a sacrifice to the Lord of Light?

The bushes suddenly rustled, turning Sandor’s head away from Catelyn and Davos. He reached for his sword. 

Catelyn laughed. “Isn’t everything these days?”

The bushes rustled again, this time gaining Davos and Catelyn’s attention. 

Sandor gripped his sword tightly. He jumped up at the same time a massive grey wolf dove out of the bushes to Robb. 

Robb turned quickly, but his face erupted into a happy one, not one of horror. 

“Grey Wind!” he shouted. The direwolf dug its head into Robb’s chest and the King in the North rubbed the wolf’s fur. 

“Mother, look!” Robb said with a grin. He rubbed Grey Wind’s fur lovingly, and the wolf turned onto its back for belly rubs, which Robb promptly gave. 

Catelyn smiled as well. “I almost fainted when Ned came home with five direwolves for the children. Even Rickon–”

Another wolf jumped out of the bushes. This one was slightly smaller. 

“Lady,” Catelyn realized. “Sansa’s direwolf.”

Lady went up to Catelyn and licked her face. 

“You’re to take her home,” Davos said with a chuckle. He looked to Shireen who looked longingly at the wolf. Lady looked at the child as well and made her way over. She dipped her head for Shireen to pet it. 

“She must remind Lady of Sansa,” Catelyn observed. 

Davos laughed. 

Sandor pulled out Sansa’s letter and turned it over a few times in his hands. He passed it to Davos. “Take it to Ned. It's from Sansa.”

Davos stared at Sandor with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I need to make sure Sansa’s family gets back safely,” he explained, though something in his chest ached, and he realized he wanted to be the one to take the letter to Ned, to prove he was reliable. Or was it jealousy for the man who raised Sansa and Arya? Either way, the Hound shoved the feelings down. He wasn’t a father. 

Catelyn stared at the two of them with tight lips. “How bad is it?”

“It’s getting worse.” Davos said gravely. “King’s Landing won’t be safe much longer.”

“You are a fool to believe that,” Catelyn said with a shake of her head. “King’s Landing has never been safe.”

Chapter Text

Rickon saw them first. He shouted for joy, making Sansa spin around wildly.

Right at the gates were three people, two of which she never thought she’d see again. Her chest bled with emotion and her eyes watered. She let out a relieved sigh that morphed into a smile as she looked at Robb and Catelyn.

Rickon ran to his mother, and Catelyn bent down to meet him. The two tackled each other in a hug. Catelyn stroked his head and held him tight as Rickon giggled.

Robb had the same look on his face. He looked so much more different, but he was still her older brother. She remembered looking up to him as a child. He always seemed much older and mature, but now he looked more like a boy. She never realized how young he actually was. His facial hair had grown some. It was bushy and wild, as was the red hair on his head. Dirt and grime covered his face, but he was recognizable.

Underneath all that, he was her older brother, and he was alive. 

Sansa couldn’t hold in her excitement anymore. She ran to Robb giggling and jumped to wrap her arms around his shoulders, much like she had with Jon after they reunited. 

Robb held her face in his hands. “You look…”

“I know,” Sansa pulled away. She looked at Sandor standing awkwardly behind them. “Thank you.”

“You’re so old,” Catelyn said to Sansa with tears brimming in her eyes. She turned to Rickon. “Both of you.”

Like Robb, Catelyn had messy, grown out hair, though Catelyn’s had significantly more grey and white than it had when Sansa was young. She looked weak, too. Both Robb and Catelyn did. It was obvious Walder Frey had been starving them.

“It’s been a long time,” Sansa said to reassure her mother. “Winterfell is still more or less the same. Come, we can get some food for the three of you.”

Something moved from behind Robb. It was large and grey with four legs. The creature sneezed wildly.

“Grey Wind,” Sansa looked up at Robb. He was smiling, almost laughing with happiness, crouching down with his arms wrapped around his direwolf. 

“And Lady,” Catelyn stepped to the side, revealing another direwolf. 

Lady was much smaller than Grey Wind. She’d just been a puppy when she died. Her fur was all messed up and filled with dirt and grime. A younger Sansa would’ve had a fit if she saw it.

Sansa kneeled down and offered her hand out to Lady. The direwolf approached her carefully, sniffing her and the ground with every step. Lady stopped in front of Sansa and dug her nose into Sansa’s hand, then her chest. 

Sansa smiled and scratched Lady behind her ears. “Where was she?”

“Near the Twins,” Catelyn answered. “She found us.”

“Shaggydog’s here, too,” Rickon said. 

As if summoned, Shaggydog bounded over from the stables. Lady left Sansa’s arms and pranced happily to her brother. Grey Wind was right behind her.

The three direwolves embraced with wagging tails, sniffing one another.

Sansa led Robb and Catelyn to the Great Hall. She turned to a nearby servant. “When will the chef have dinner ready?”

“Soon,” the servant said. “I shall tell the cooks to hurry up.”

“No need,” Sansa said. “See if they have any appetizers or starter meals. And then gather others to ready Robb’s old bedroom and mine, and draw two baths as well.”

The servant nodded and hurried off. 

Sansa moved and sat casually at one of the tables in the center of the room. She tapped on the bench next to her to gather the rest of her family. 

Robb sat to her right, while her mother and Rickon took the opposite bench.

“We will need baths,” Robb said. 

Sansa nodded. “Yes, I know. I have people preparing them now.” She looked at Robb. “You’ll still have your old room.” She looked at Catelyn. “You’ll have to take my old bedroom. I’ve taken yours and father’s because…”

Her voice trailed off.

…because you and father died, and I became Queen. 

The Hound loomed in the corner with a dark look on his face. He had something to tell her. Sansa would deal with it later. For now, she would spend time with her family. He turned away and left. 

“You look like your father,” Catelyn finally said with a soft expression on her face. 

Sansa blushed.

“How did you get out of King’s Landing?” Robb asked, cutting the awkward silence. 

“Shortly after the Red Wedding, it was Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell,” Sansa started, ignoring Robb’s vague look of disgust. She would enjoy this. “He was poisoned at his own wedding feast by Olenna Tyrell. In the chaos, a knight, Ser Dontos Hollard, got me out. He’d been paid by Littlefinger, who took me to the Veil.”

Catelyn bristled at Littlefinger’s name, and Robb’s fists clenched at his sides. 

“Lady Lysa accused me of seducing him,” Sansa continued. “But I hadn’t, and Lord Baelish pushed her out the Moon Door. He then arranged a marriage between Roose Bolton’s bastard, Ramsay Snow and I. The Boltons were given Winterfell after the Red Wedding.”

She would skip the next part. “I didn’t like Ramsay, so I ran away with Theon Greyjoy’s help, who had become his captive.”

“You trusted him?” Robb asked bewilderedly. 

“Not at first,” Sansa admitted. “But he got me in the care of Brienne of Tarth, who continued holding her vow to you.” She looked at her mother with a small smile, which Catelyn returned. “Ser Brienne took me to the Wall to see Jon, and we took back Winterfell with the Veil’s help. That’s when Ramsay killed Rickon.”

“Ramsay killed Shaggydog, too,” Rickon added. He sat angrily, with a red face and grim expression. 

“Is Lord Baelish dead?” Catlyn asked immediately. 

“He was, but he came back,” Sansa replied. “Theon saw him. We don’t know where he went. Ramsay came back too, but he’s locked up in a cell.”

“You need to be careful,” Catelyn said with worried eyes. 

Sansa nodded. “I have been. Where’s the rest of the Northern army?”

Robb scowled. “Walder Frey ordered their deaths as soon as they came back. They’re dead.”

Something stirred in Sansa’s stomach. Her lips pressed together and her brows furrowed. “He lied to us about you. He said you didn’t return.”

“I’m not surprised,” Robb said. “He locked us in that cell and left us there with nothing. Not even a blanket when the rains from above made everything in our cell wet and cold. And it rained often.”

“He won’t be happy that we escaped,” Catelyn said. “We’ve shown him as a bigger liar than before.”

“You should’ve seen him after the Red Wedding,” Sansa snorted. “No one but Joffrey liked him.”

She thought about her former almost-husband. He was alive again, probably tormenting more young girls. 

“Where is Theon?” Robb asked. 

“He’s gone to Pyke to see his sister,” Sansa told him, careful to pick her words. “He died in the Battle of Winterfell protecting Bran.”

Robb shifted uncomfortably. 

“What happened to Talisa?” she asked, remembering Robb had a wife. As soon as she asked, Robb’s already tense expression collapsed. 

“She didn’t return,” Catelyn replied quickly.

Sansa pressed her lips together guiltily. Before anything could get more awkward, servants came out with food. They laid it in front of everyone with silverware and drinks. 

One of them stood by Sansa’s shoulder, who she recognized as Alys Stone. Alys had no food in her arms. The servant leaned down and cupped her hands by Sansa’s ear. 

“Ramsay Bolton has escaped with the help of one of our guards,” Alys whispered. 

Sansa’s blood froze. Her entire body was perfectly still except for her shaking hands. There was no way. She had guards watching him every moment of every day. She had guards protecting the guards watching Ramsay. 

“We lost six men,” Alys continued. 

“Do we have the traitor who helped him?” she asked quietly. Her voice shook more with every word.

Alys nodded. 

“Lead me to him.” Sansa stood up from the table. “Continue eating, I have to deal with something.”

Robb and Catelyn looked at her suspiciously. 

Fuck, they know something’s not right. Sansa groaned to herself. 

“Do you need our help?” Robb asked with a hopeful gaze. 

“No, you need to eat,” Sansa said quickly. “I’ll be back.”

Her chest ached as she followed Alys. “Do we know where Ramsay is?”

Alys shook her head. “Jeyne’s already sent out some soldiers to look.”

After Sansa was made Queen, Jeyne Poole showed up at Winterfell. She’d been hiding with House Reed since her father’s death, and became good friends with Meera Reed until the girl left with her brother. When Jeyne returned, Sansa made her one of her advisors, and her childhood friend had not disappointed. 

“Good,” Sansa said bitterly. Alys led her outside to a clearing where two guards held the traitor on his knees with his arms behind him. His face was bloody and bruised, and his body removed of all northern armor. 

Sansa stood in front of him, frowning. This man released Ramsay. 

“Sansa S-Stark,” the traitor said, squirming around wildly. “Ramsay talked-talked about you. H-He said things.”

She took a deep breath. 

“I’m sure he did,” Sansa said calmly. “And you helped him.”

“Y-y-yes, I did,” the traitor laughed to himself. He was almost as crazy as Ramsay. 

“So you admit your guilt,” Sansa told him. She looked to a nearby crate, emptied of supplies. The guards knew what she was going to do. One of them carried it in front of the traitor. They kneeled the traitor over it, still holding him firm. 

Sansa grabbed a sword from a nearby guard. She’d done this before, though not much. Still, she knew her way around a sword much more than she had two years ago. 

“I, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North, sentence you to die,” Sansa stood near the traitor, holding the sword with both hands the way she saw her father hold Ice when she was young. 

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.  

She muttered a prayer to the Old Gods as she lifted the sword and swung it over the traitor’s neck. His head fell to the ground after one swing. A little blood splattered onto her dress. 

Sansa passed the sword back to the soldier she took it from. “Thank you.” 

She turned and locked eyes with the Hound. She walked over to him. “When are you leaving for King’s Landing?”

“I’m not,” the Hound said. “This whole fucking continent reeks with danger. Davos has the letter.”

Sansa frowned. Of all the people he could’ve given the letter to, Davos was one of the better options, but she trusted Sandor with the letter. Not Davos . 

“Look, King’s Landing is shit,” Sandor sensed her unhappiness. “That whole place is coming down eventually. It’s my job to protect you. I can’t do that from King’s Landing.”

Sansa sighed in understanding. “Thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome, Little Bird,” Sandor grumbled. 

***

“We’ll never make it,” Edd said melodramatically. 

“Oh, shut up,” Grenn fired back. “It’s just super fucking snowy.”

“It’s almost like we’re above the wall,” Ygritte said like it was obvious. These Night’s Watch-ians. Supposed to be protectors from above the Wall but they can’t even handle a bit of snow. 

“Ok, Wildling ,” Grenn bundled his fur cloak closer to his chest. 

“Free Folk,” Ygritte corrected with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, Grenn, Wildling is offensive,” Edd said. “Because from their perspective they’re just free. To them, their lifestyle isn’t Wild.”

Grenn groaned. 

They’d repeated this exact conversation too many times. 

“What if the two of you just shut up,” Ygritte suggested pointedly. She’d had enough of her own culture get mansplained to her by the exact same man. 

“Y’know, it’s way better up here without worrying ‘bout white walkers and Free Folk,” Edd said as they approached the top of a hill. 

Ygritte rolled her eyes. No wonder the Night’s Watch had hardly any men. 

Grenn ran ahead, to the top of the hill. His head suddenly disappeared beneath the snowwith a shout.

Panic raced in Ygritte’s body. She and Edd bolted to where Grenn last was. Where he stood was a gaping hole in the ground. Snow drifted down in chunks, on top of Grenn who was only a few feet lower in what looked like a cave. 

Ygritte began smiling to herself. 

“Grenn, we’ll get you out of there,” Edd promised and began searching his pack for a rope. 

“We don’t need it,” Ygritte grinned, a realization hitting her. 

Edd gave her a look. “We need to get Grenn out of there!”

Ygritte shook her head. “We don’t, actually.”

“ What? ” Grenn shouted. “I’d like to see the sky again, thank you very much.”

“Hardhome is right here!” Ygritte shouted. “I didn’t see it before, but now I do ! Hardhome has all these caves, right, and we can kinda see the ocean that way.” she pointed away from the direction they came in. 

“I fell into the cave system?” Grenn guessed. 

Ygritte nodded excitedly. “Yeah, ya did. We can go in and follow it to find civilization.”

“What if Jon didn’t take the Wildlings here?” Edd pointed out. “We could get stuck down there.”

“Do ya really think the free folk want to build a whole new town from scratch?” Ygritte said. “No, stupid .”

She went to the ledge of the hole and let herself drop down. A moment later, she heard Edd follow. 

“Let’s find Jon, shall we?” Ygritte said with a mischievous grin. 

Chapter Text

“Do you think Drogon will return?” Missandei asked one day. 

Daenerys pondered this for a moment. No one had seen Drogon since her death. The damage the two of them caused…

…but he was her son. 

“I hope so,” she replied. 

The two sat in the ruined Dragonpit with Rhaegal and Viserion curled up around them. Missandei was making flower crowns as Daenerys stroked Rhaegal’s chin. 

“Grey Worm will be here soon,” Missandei said happily. “Just him, though. The other Unsullied are staying on Naath. Though, the Unsullied and Dothraki who died are still here. They still support you.”

“They haven't left?” Daenerys said, surprised. It’d been almost four months since the dead returned, surely they would have given up on her by now. Wouldn’t the Dothraki want to go back to Essos?

“They want to protect you,” Missandei explained. “I believe Jaime Lannister has been keeping them in line and keeping Cersei from sending them away.”

“Why would he do that?” 

“I don’t know,” Missandei sighed. 

“He probably just wants to anger his sister,” Daenerys said spitefully. 

“What do you think about the Lannisters and Baratheons?” Missandei said. A topic both of them had been avoiding, at least until it was less crowded.

“Robert is exactly who I thought he was,” Daenerys laughed. “I’m glad he’s gone, too. I just wish he took Cersei with him. Technically they’re still married.”

She laughed quietly to herself. It was no secret Cersei hated Robert, and vice versa. Yet the High Septon refused to nullify their wedding, unlike Margaery Tyrell and her three husbands. 

“The Lannisters are still a threat,” Missandei said.

“I know,” Daenerys ran a hand through her unbraided hair. “The Baratheons aren’t an issue, at least for now, thank the gods. But the Lannisters, I always feel like they’re watching me.”

Missandei looked deep in thought.

“Speak your mind,” Daenerys commanded. 

“I overheard something the other day,” Missandei told her. She put the finished flower crown down. “Qyburn and Cersei were whispering in one of the less crowded parts of the castle.”

Daenerys’s heart dropped. “And…?”

“I only got a few words,” Missandei said disappointedly. “They stopped talking once they saw me. I only got the words ‘dragon,’ ‘weapon,’ ‘Targaryen,’ and ‘throne.’”

Of course. It always came back to her dragons and that stupid throne. 

“You think they’re planning to use Rhaegal and Viserion? To do what?” Daenerys said. Both dragons bristled at their names.

Missandei played with a flower in her hands. “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone else.”

“Good,” Daenerys decided. “We’ll have to be more vigilant.”

“Don’t let yourself be cornered by them,” Missandei warned. 

“I know.”

“In a place like this, it’s easy to miss the small details.” 

“I know . I’m aware of the happenings in the castle.”

“You mostly spend your time away from the Keep,” Missandei corrected.

Daenerys frowned. Had she? She thought back to the past few days, and how she spent her days. Perhaps Missandei was right. 

“But I don’t. There are factions forming among everyone inside.” Missandei said. 

“I’ve noticed,” Daenerys said. She’d noticed the groups. It was exactly why she stayed away from the Keep. None of them wanted her. Not that she wanted any of them. 

The Lannisters seemed to be the biggest faction so far, and the most dangerous, with Cersei at its head. Ned Stark, Bran Stark, and the Small Council seemed to be another, and seemingly blind to the Lannister’s plots. Though, saying Ned Stark allied himself with the Small Council was a stretch. He only cared for his son’s safety.

Missandei looked deep into Daenerys’ eyes. “I worry what will happen when the Lannisters make their move.” 

“If they make their move,” Daenerys corrected. 

“They will ,” Missandei said. “When things finally fall apart here, all these factions will go after you and anyone else with the slightest claim to the throne.”

Daenerys sighed. “I know . Why can’t they understand I want to stay out of it?”

“Because you destroyed the city they killed themselves over,” Missandei explained. “Besides, they know what you did to those in Essos, and the blood, sweat, and tears you put into freeing slaves. And now, you sit in the Red Keep, claiming neutrality. Why would you back out now unless you want them to think you weak? They all think you’re planning something. Targaryens never back out unless they die.”

“And I did die,” Daenerys retorted. Her mind filled with flashbacks to Jon’s knife in her chest. “The throne isn’t worth it.”

“Just be careful,” Missandei warned. “Promise it.”

Daenerys locked eyes with her friend. Worry and fear filled Missandei’s gaze. “Fine, I promise I’ll be careful. Anything else I should know about?”

“Nothing new,” Missandei placed a flower crown on Daenerys’ head and smiled. “I need to get back to the castle. Tyrion wants to talk to me.”

“Then go,” Daenerys smiled back. “I’ll be here.”

Missandei left quickly, leaving Daenerys alone. 

“I missed you both,” she said. She laid into Rhaegal’s side and watched the sky. Viserion moved closer to rest his head on her lap, which she stroked gently. 

Her mind drifted endlessly as she looked up. It was always so much more free in the sky, but she refused to ride Rhaegal or Viserion. Rhaegal was Jon’s, or at least it used to be. She never wanted to see his face again, and Rhaegal deserved better. 

Viserion was stolen from her. He deserved better too. 

She’d used Drogon to destroy innocent lives. Maybe he’d already found someone better, and that’s why he hasn't returned. 

Who knows, maybe Viserys came back and Drogon took him as a rider. That would certainly be punishment enough for her mistakes. 

When she finally brought herself to reality, the sun was setting. “It’s time for me to go.”

Viserion grumbled himself awake, but lifted his head anyway. Rhaegal didn’t budge. Daenerys sighed with a small smile listening to his soft snores. She stood up and brushed herself off, waving goodbye to her dragons. 

Viserion laid his head back down disappointedly. 

She turned and left, pleased with the day. Maybe her streak of bad days was finally done. 

Daenerys walked through King’s Landing with spirit. People were closing up their shops and retiring for the day, and most of them ignored her. They knew who she was, but at least they weren’t throwing stones. 

Every now and then someone smiled and waved, but not many. She stopped by a fountain and looked into the water. Countless coins filled the bottom, meaning countless wishes did too. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a man in dark clothing with a hood over his face. 

Daenerys moved on from the fountain to walk back to the Red Keep. The roads and houses grew nicer the closer she got to the castle. These buildings would’ve been crushed by the ruins of the Red Keep. 

She heard footsteps behind her quickly fall in sync with her own. Fuck. She began walking faster. 

The person behind her did too. 

Daenerys could hear him approaching. She scanned the streets, searching for any other person, but it was completely empty. She was alone. 

Someone from behind pulled her hair back. Daenerys shouted and tried squirming her way out of his grasp, but his hands were around her waist, pulling her into an alleyway. Fear had her in a chokehold. She’d forgotten what it was like not having an army of highly skilled warriors protecting her. 

Her attacker pinned her back against a wall and pulled out a knife. He had a cloth around his nose and mouth, and a hood over his head. 

Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes looked wildly to the knife, attacker, and the exit.

“Who are you?” Daenerys demanded, summoning all her courage. “Who sent you?”

The attacker said nothing, but moved to hold the knife to her throat. Before it reached her, a long sword stabbed through the man’s neck. 

Daenerys jolted at the shock as blood sprayed onto her face. Her attacker fell to the ground, lifeless. She looked to her savior, the one holding the sword, and her mouth turned upward into a smile. 

She tackled him in a hug. 

“I am here, Khaleesi,” Jorah Mormont hugged her back, careful about where he put his sword.

“Where were you?” Daenerys pulled away from him. 

“North, helping my cousin, Lyanna,” Jorah replied as he sheathed his sword. “As soon as she took back Bear Island, I came here.”

He kneeled by the attacker’s body and began searching his pockets. 

She looked at him with disbelief. “How did you find me?”

“On accident, I’m afraid,” Jorah said. “I figured you’d still be at the Red Keep, so I began heading there when I saw you and that man following. When he made his move, so did I.”

He pulled out a golden coin with a stag on it from the assassin’s pocket and pulled his disguise down. He was young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one with blonde hair cut close to his head.

“This man has nothing,” Jorah finally decided. “We must get you to safety.”

Jorah placed a hand on Daenerys’ back and led her to the open streets. 

“I hadn’t heard anything, I assumed you were still–” Daenerys started. 

“Dead?” Jorah finished. “Not yet, but I’d happily die again to save you, my Queen.”

“Not anymore,” Daenerys explained “I’m not queen. I’m trying to stay away from the conflict, though it seems someone has other plans.”

“This man did not act alone,” Jorah agreed. “The Lannisters, or Baratheons, perhaps.”

She’d spent her entire life running from assassins and men who wanted to rape and kill her. It seemed she’d spent her second life the same way. 

“We need to tell King Bran,” Daenerys sighed. “He has the resources to investigate this.”

“He is being watched,” Jorah argued. “It is unsafe.”

“It is more unsafe if we keep this from him,” Daenerys said. “The more people who know, the better. If an assassin were to kill Bran, it becomes harder to put my name on the suspect list.”

“Because you’ll have also been a target,” Jorah realized. 

“Exactly,” Daenerys said, satisfied. 

“You think someone will frame you for murder?” Jorah asked. 

Daenerys hummed to herself. “You missed a lot. People don’t like me, and I trust you know why. I have no friends except for Missandei. She believes everyone in this city is out to get me, and she could very well be right.”

“I won’t let them,” Jorah said determinedly. 

“I need to find out who hired that assassin,” Daenerys said. “And you need to protect me. When there’s one assassin, there are always more.”

They walked through the gates without issue. The guards were used to her trips into the city. 

As they walked through the Red Keep, Unsullied and Dothraki bowed their heads. 

“You still have your army,” Jorah commented. 

“They are free to go,” Daenerys said. “Most have stayed.”

“I will watch over them, then,” Jorah decided. 

“You’ll have to talk to Jaime Lannister about that one,” Daenerys said with a roll of her eyes. “I haven’t a clue why he’s suddenly helping, before you ask.”

Jorah pushed open the doors to the throne room and gestured for Daenerys to go in first. 

Bran sat in his wheelchair where the Iron Throne once stood. Tyrion stood nearby, as did Ned Stark. The Lannisters, of course, were also present, but it was just Cersei, Joffrey, and the Mountain. 

In front of the king was Davos Seaworth and a young girl with greyscale all on one side of her face. 

The former smuggler turned at the sound of open doors. His face immediately twisted at the sight of her, and he wrapped an arm around the girl next to him. 

She was suddenly very conscious of the drying blood on her face. 

“Forgive the intrusion,” Daenerys started. “We’ll stand to the side until you are finished.”

“No need,” Bran said. “We are done here.” 

“Welcome back to King’s Landing, Davos Seaworth and Shireen Baratheon,” Tyrion said with a tight smile. 

Daenerys thought back to her lessons with Viserys. He did her best to teach her Targaryen history and news from the present day, mostly regarding the Baratheons. So this was Shireen Baratheon…Stannis Baratheon’s daughter. 

As Davos led the girl out of the room as Daenerys and Jorah stepped forward. 

“Once again, we are sorry for intruding,” she started. She gave a side eye to the Lannisters to her right. “I was just attacked by an unknown assailant. Ser Jorah Mormont saved my life.”

“I’ve just come from Winterfell to protect my Queen,” Jorah explained. 

Daenerys bristled at his words. Had she not told him she wasn’t a queen? She could see looks of warning from those around her. Cersei in particular was sending her daggers with her eyes. She’d been all too gracious in stepping down after returning from the dead. Daenerys didn’t trust it. 

“I ask that–” she looked at Cersei and Joffrey. “I ask for some privacy .”

“Do you not trust us?” Joffrey taunted, seeking a reaction. 

“I do not know you,” Daenerys replied curtly. She would not give the boy what he wanted. 

“Come, Joffrey,” Cersei began leading her son out of the room. “It is not worth the trouble.”

She spat the words out, glaring at Daenerys and Jorah. The Mountain trailed after them, a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“You may speak now,” Bran said. 

Daenerys looked at Ned warily, knowing his connection to Jorah, and she suddenly wished she’d forced the Northern man out too. “I want–”

A forgotten feeling bloomed in her chest. She hadn’t felt like this since she took the cities in Slaver’s Bay, and the confidence that came with her victories. The feeling of power, of confidence in her actions had been lost to her for so long. 

“Ser Jorah Mormont will be leading an investigation on this assassin,” Daenerys commanded. “With help from my Unsullied troops.”

“ Your Unsullied troops?” Tyrion questioned. 

“Only if they still choose to serve me,” Daenerys said. 

“We never said you could command them,” Tyrion said. “The Dothraki, too.”

“Are you their Khaleesi?” Daenerys asked sharply. “Did they ever swear loyalty to you and your king specifically?”

Tyrion grasped for empty words. 

“As I thought.” she smiled to herself. “Any Unsullied or Dothraki who still wish to serve me will do so.”

Daenerys turned to leave and took a few steps toward the door. 

“Then what was the point of coming here if you were just going to make demands without room for argument?” Tyrion said exasperatedly. 

She looked back at her former Hand. “As a warning. Assassins could come for King Bran next.”

The stranger arrived in the night, soaked from the waters of Blackwater Bay. His boat had rocked all across the waves, splashing all over his cloak. He hadn’t been here since he was a child.

He stormed off to the Red Keep, not bothering to hide his loud footsteps or silver-gold hair. Anger fueled his every movement. This was his city. This was his castle. 

He was lucky it was too late at night for any commoners to fill the street, otherwise he would have run into them. His eyes were focused only on the massive red castle. It was his birthright, these fools had no right to it. 

The guards outside the gates were sleeping. Pathetic , he thought to himself. My father’s guards never would have even thought to sleep on the job. 

Puddles of water dripped behind him with every step, but at least it was late at night, so no one was crazy enough to be awake, therefore no one noticed. 

It wasn’t as late as he would’ve expected. As he stormed through the halls, an older man and girl with greyscale on her face passed by. The man looked at the stranger warily, holding the girl closer to him. 

Whoever this older man was, the stranger would be sure to get rid of him. He had no room for traitors in his life. 

He pushed the large doors open, striding through confidently. 

“...warning. Assassins could come for King Bran next.” a familiar girl, no, woman , said confidently. She shared his silver-gold hair and Valyrian features. 

The woman turned around to leave, but she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened and he could hear her breath catch. 

“Hello, sister.” he smiled wide, because who didn’t like a family reunion?

“Viserys?”

Chapter Text

Her first reaction was rage. His cunning smile and taunting eyes–

She wanted to choke the life out of him. Jorah grabbed her arm as she moved forward. 

“Viserys Targryen,” Bran Stark said. “Just as I foresaw.”

Her brother’s smug expression dropped slightly. 

“You knew he would show up?” Daenerys asked, enraged. 

Bran nodded. “I saw it.”

“Oh, come on,” Viserys chuckled. “My arrival isn’t the worst thing to happen to this place. I’m surprised it’s not still in many pieces.”

He looked at her knowingly, aware of her past actions.

Daenerys swallowed her angry retort. “What are you here for?”

“My birthright,” Viserys’ taunting facade dropped. 

She laughed bitterly, ignoring those around her. Was she the only one not looking for the throne?

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Tyrion said, “but we already have a king.”

“And you can have a new one,” Viserys suggested with misplaced confidence. 

“They don’t want a new one,” Daenerys said. 

“They will,” Viserys took a few steps closer to her and examined her face. “What happened to you?”

“An assassin,” Daenerys said without breaking eye contact. “What happened to you?”

“Your loving husband poured melted gold onto my head,” Viserys replied. “But now I have a second chance to be king. Your little army you got, it’s mine now. As the eldest male Targaryen, of course.”

Something deep and violent rose within Daenerys. She hadn’t felt this feeling in so long, but Viserys knew how to bring out the worst in her. She wanted him to pay for what he did. 

“Leave him me,” Jorah said suddenly, pulling her out of her rage. 

Daenerys looked at him, knowing he was right. She pushed past Viserys without a word and exited the Throne Room. Jorah was right behind her as she stormed through the castle to her bedroom. 

“Do not let him bother you,” he said. “He is looking for a reaction.”

“I know ,” Daenerys sighed frustratedly. “And he knows how to get one. What if he wants a dragon?”

“He most certainly does,” Jorah said unhelpfully. “It is a good thing you took back your army.”

“Assign some Unsullied to the Dragonpit immediately,” Daenerys decided. “I can handle myself from here.”

“Are you sure?” Jorah asked. 

She nodded, and Jorah left her alone. She walked the rest of her way to her bedroom alone, or at least, almost the full way. She was almost there when footsteps ran up to her from behind. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” the man said. She turned and saw Ned Stark. 

“Yes?” she said. 

“I wanted to speak to you,” Ned told her. 

“Then speak,” Daenerys said simply. 

“I offer my help to you and Jorah Mormont in the investigation,” Ned said. 

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you cared. Unless you believe assassins are coming for your son.”

“My son is King of the Six Kingdoms,” Ned said. “There are always assassins.”

“There it is,” Daenerys said with a coy smile. “You’re a very family oriented person.” 

“He is my son,” Ned said. “It is my duty to protect him.”

“Your friend wanted to kill my son,” Daenerys said, suddenly feeling bitter. 

“Robert regretted it,” Ned said. 

“My son died anyway,” Daenerys moved to take one more step before hesitation. “I thank you for your help regardless.”

She walked away with her head held high. 

There were three more assassination attempts in the following week. Every assassin had the same golden lion coin. 

Yet there weren’t any attempts on Bran’s life. 

Viserys also desperately wanted one of her dragons. 

“Someone does not like you,” Tyrion told her. 

“Trust me, I know,” Daenerys said. “But the Unsullied are doing their jobs well.” 

It had been surprisingly easy to put the Unsullied back to work. Most of them were bored of just training after spending so much time in a warzone, and Grey Worm was supposed to arrive in King’s Landing any day now. 

“Have they found anything?” Tyrion asked her.

Daenerys shook her head. “Not one lead, except for the golden lion coins.”

“So my beloved family, then,” Tyrion said. 

“Eddard Stark thinks that’s too obvious,” Daenerys said. “Jorah Mormont believes your family wants to be discovered. I don’t know what to think.”

“I do,” Tyrion took a long drink out of his wine glass. “Get out of the city.”

“What?” Daenerys questioned. Where was she to go? Her stomach twisted into knots thinking about it. It’s not like she had any friends offering her residence in their homes. 

“You’d get yourself and your dragons far away from that brother of yours,” Tyrion explained. “And it’d probably be a lot harder to find you and therefore kill you.”

He had a point. 

“I will…consider it,” she said carefully. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Tyrion gave her a comforting smile before drinking more wine. “Be careful of my sister, will you? My father, too. Only the Gods know what he’s doing in Casterly Rock.”

“I’ll do my best,” Daenerys stood up to leave. “You should be careful too.”

“I’m always careful,” Tyrion joked. 

Daenerys left quickly to her room where sleep eluded her. She laid on her bed, tossing and turning. 

Missandei was just in the other room so she could be there for Daenerys at the drop of a sword. Not that she needed Missandei that quickly. Her friend deserved some sleep too. 

Daenerys’ dreams, once they came, did not seem to want her to sleep. 

Viserys was in the Dragonpit, a knife in hand. She stood, watching. Her brother leaped and ran around gleefully, twisting the knife around his fingers and pretending to throw it at her. 

He suddenly stopped in front of her and pointed the knife to her chest. He twisted it without letting it pierce the skin. 

All of a sudden, his face was Jon’s, and they were in the Red Keep. The screams of innocents filled the hot, fiery air. 

Viserys’ gaze drifted to something behind her, and hers followed. Drogon lay in a crumpled heap with a spear through his neck and blood pooling all around him. Scales were missing from his body, strewn across the ground as if they were a commodity. 

Standing near him was Cersei, glass of wine in hand and a smug look on her face. Robert was nearby, a bloody warhammer in hand. He looked at her with a predatory smile, then to his left, where Tyrion stood. 

The dwarf took his Hand of the Queen pin from his jacket and threw it into Drogon’s pile of blood. He took a knife out and pointed it at her, too. 

Daenerys spun all around, realizing the screams of the innocent were actually laughter from those she knew. Sansa stood near the Iron Throne covering her mouth as she giggled. Her father had a hand on Sansa’s shoulder, laughing too. 

Even Missandei, front and center in the crowd, was laughing. Grey Worm appeared from behind her and pointed and laughed too. 

Daeneys tried to move, but her legs refused to move. She tried again, to no avail. 

She looked back at the Iron Throne and saw a version of herself sitting there. She wore an elaborate white dress and a complicated braided updo only Missandei could have thought of. 

Daenerys blinked and the dress was stained red with blood coming from a wound by her heart. Her eyes caught movement behind the throne. The younger Stark girl, Arya, peeked out from behind with a perfectly blank expression. She disappeared into black and white dust. 

Her counterpart on the throne stood up and all of a sudden, the throne and her burst into flames. The fire danced towards her, taunting and teasing her. 

As it surrounded Daenerys, a figure appeared through the flames and smoke. Jon. 

She looked at her former lover with such scorn she never knew she had inside her. And then there was such a sharp sensation in her ribcage, but it was familiar. He’d done this before. 

Daenerys looked up at him the same way she had the first time, but his eyes held pleasure instead of guilt. As he lowered her to the ground, he too began laughing. 

Then, everything was consumed by the fire. 

Ned had reread Sansa’s letter over and over again, but his mind couldn’t wrap itself around it. He held the letter in his hand, looking it over for anything he missed, just like he’d done the past twenty times reading it. 

Father, 

Things are dangerous in Winterfell. I can feel the unrest. Petyr Baelish is on the loose, but my guards can’t find him. My cousin, Robert Arryn of the Veil won’t respond to my letters, and House Frey refuses to give me a straight answer about Mother and Robb. Stannis Baratheon continues to be a thorn in my side as well. He always talks about how wants his old army back, and mutters about Gendry being Lord of Storm’s End. I fear House Baratheon will collapse in on itself if Stannis continues like this. Melisandre has disappeared as well. I’m sure you’ve heard of her by now. I can only imagine it has to do with the dead returning. If I am being perfectly honest, I do not believe staying in King’s Landing is the best choice, but I know you won’t leave so I’ll instead pray to the Old Gods for yours and Bran’s safety. As you said, watch out for the Lannisters. My soldiers are preparing themselves for war. On a positive note, Rickon would like to say hello. We both miss you.

Your daughter,

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell

Some of her information was a little outdated. House Frey finally sent word about his family, saying Catelyn and Robb finally showed up, so they graciously returned them to Winterfell. It was an obvious lie, but no one wanted to bring it up. When handing the letter to him, Davos did say he helped rescue Robb and Catelyn from the Twins.

His relief in that moment was immeasurable. 

Stannis had already moved to Storm’s End if he wasn’t there already. Ned wished he was there to see the reunion of Stannis and Robert. 

Still, with all the Baratheons but Renly in Storm’s End, Sansa was right to be worried. Baratheons were nothing if not ambitious. 

Ned’s heart ached thinking of Sansa in Winterfell alone after the wars. A Stark alone anywhere was a lonely thought. At least she now had Rickon, Robb, and Catelyn. And hopefully they would help guide Sansa through the next few weeks. 

It felt like the last few years of Robert’s reign all over again. Hopefully there wouldn’t be such a disastrous ending. 

Every day, she woke at the crack of dawn to embroider the way she had as a child. She sat in that room, the one where Septa Mordane taught her how to read and write and be a lady. 

Winterfell was so empty, and those who were here were angry. At what, it varied. But they were angry and unsettled. 

“You’re so much better at embroidery than I ever was,” Catelyn said from the doorway. 

Sansa looked up and smiled. “I’ve been practicing. I didn’t think you’d be awake this early.”

“It is difficult to sleep,” Catelyn admitted. She sat next to Sansa. 

“Is it the new room?” Sansa asked, anxiety churning in her gut. Her mother had to take her own room, seeing as Sansa took her mother’s. 

“No,” Catelyn said. For some reason, Sansa didn’t believe her. “My old bones don’t like the cold.”

“Winter is almost over,” Sansa said. “Either that or it’s a false spring.”

“We’ll pray for the first one,” Catelyn said. She looked at Sansa’s embroidery and reached her hand out. Sansa passed the canvas over. 

She’d been embroidering wolves. Five of them. There was a big one on the left, with slight dark red coloring and blue eyes. Next was a smaller one, more red than the last, still with blue eyes. The next one was grey with black and white highlights and grey eyes. The fourth wolf was the messiest. Her hand had cramped, but she was so close to the end. The last wolf was a grey-red, but she hadn’t gotten to finish that one yet. She still had to stitch the legs. 

“The wolves are beautiful,” Catelyn said. “What will you do once you finish the legs?”

“I have one more wolf to sew,” Sansa said. “A white one, I’m thinking. Then I’ll hang it up somewhere.”

Catelyn frowned at the thought of another wolf on the embroidery, but Sansa ignored it. 

“Hang it in the Great Hall.” Catelyn suggested. 

“It’s too small for that,” Sansa said sheepishly. Her simple embroidery was not good enough for that. Everyone would see it and that was…

“Nonsense!” another voice said. Robb was leaning against the doorframe with a goofy grin on his face. “My sister’s craftsmanship must be shown off to every minor lord and lady around!” 

She laughed for the first time in a while. “Then you can craft the frame and we’ll both have something to show off.”

Robb’s face grew bright red.

“Sansa!” Catelyn scolded. “Be nice.”

Sansa’s face grew into a smile. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a family. 

She’d sent a raven to Theon telling him about Robb’s return. She waited only a week after his return, so Robb wouldn’t be overwhelmed. She did not expect him to arrive five days later.

“Where is he?” Theon demanded as he dismounted his horse. 

Sansa stormed up to him. “What are you doing?”

“Where’s Robb?” Theon repeated. 

“It’s late,” Sansa replied. “He’s probably sleeping.”

“I need to speak with him,” Theon said. 

“It can wait till the morning,” Sansa replied. Lady got up from her resting spot and bared her teeth at Theon. 

“He can speak now,” someone said from the shadows. 

Sansa’s heart dropped. 

Robb began making his way to Theon with an intensity Sansa hadn’t seen often. She hastily ran in between the two with her arms out. 

“Robb, you don’t understand ,” she cried out. “He’s–”

“I know what he is,” Robb stopped in front of her without breaking his gaze from Theon. “He’s a traitor. He betrayed me.” 

“And he’s made up for it a hundred times over,” Sansa pleaded. 

“Sansa, you don’t have to defend me,” Theon said with a defeated tone. 

“But you’ve also saved my family,” Robb said. “And for that, I am grateful.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat and hope rose in her chest. 

“I cannot forgive you completely,” Robb continued. “But we have bigger issues to worry about.”

Sansa smiled at the two of them. Neither of them looked pleased to see the other. Theon looked fearful and Robb looked like a statue, but at least they weren't fighting. 

“I thought you had a wife,” Theon said. Sansa cleared her throat. The one thing she’d forgotten to tell Theon about.

“She didn’t come back,” Robb said dully. 

Neither Robb nor Theon had taken their eyes off the other the entire conversation. Sansa stepped out of the way, suddenly feeling self conscious about her presence in the conversation. 

“We should talk,” Theon said. He’d stopped shaking for the most part. 

Robb nodded and gestured for Theon to follow him, which he did, leaving Sansa alone. 

She sighed to herself and looked at Lady. “That went better than expected.”

Lady huffed at her.

Before she could go back inside, a raven cawed from a nearby fence. Attached to its foot was a letter. 

Her heart dropped. This could either be really good or really bad. She approached it carefully with her hand reached out. When she got clone enough, the raven flew into her hand. She gently untied the letter and opened it up. 

With every word, her chest grew tighter. 

Bran was calling her to King’s Landing for a meeting. All the great houses and several minor houses were to meet– in one month? It took one month to get from Winterfell to King’s Landing.

She really should feel lucky that the North was even invited. Now that they were free, they really had no business in Westerosi politics. 

But their secession was more of a formality than anything else.  

Sansa closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose then out through her mouth to stifle the fear growing. 

She was going back to King’s Landing. 

“I won’t let you go,” Robb objected. 

“We don’t have a choice,” Sansa said. “Bran asked for me specifically.”

Catelyn sighed from where she sat. “Do you have to go? Your father can sit on our behalf.”

“Our father hasn’t been here in years,” Sansa replied. “He doesn’t know what it’s like now.”

“Every time one of us goes South, bad things happen,” Catelyn said with tight fists. 

“We can’t just ignore Bran,” Sansa said. “I’m going, and I’m going without either of you.” 

Robb scoffed. “And if it’s the Lannisters luring you into a trap?”

“I’m bringing guards, obviously,” Sansa said with a raised voice. 

“Not good enough,” Robb shook his head. “You need a trusted fighter at your side at all times. Not just men here for a couple coins.”

Theon looked up from the corner where he stood. “I’ll go.”

Robb and Theon shared another look. 

“I can handle it,” Theon argued. 

Since when were Theon and Robb so close? Sansa wondered. They’d only reunited last night and the sun was barely risen. Perhaps their conversation was a good one. 

“I don’t trust Theon,” Catelyn’s voice cut through the fighting. “But I know he will protect Sansa.”

Robb looked at his mother, mouth agape. “You’re taking her side?”

Catelyn nodded. “There’s no more time to argue. Robb and I can continue the searches for Ramsay here. And we’ll do our best to keep the peace.” she walked over and took Sansa’s hands in her own. “You stay safe.”

Sansa pressed her lips together, struggling to find words. Her mother’s eyes were filled with sorrow, but she let go anyway. 

“I’ll have to leave now if we want to arrive on time,” Sansa choked out. “But I’ll be back once the meeting is over.”

Suddenly, she felt arms around her. They were big, but comforting. Robb always gave the best hugs. She did her best to return the favor. 

“Tell Rickon goodbye for me,” she squealed out under Robb’s embrace. Rickon seemed to always wake up late and stay up well past midnight. 

“We will,” Robb finally let go. He turned to Theon. “You protect her, alright?”

“I–yes, I will,” Theon sputtered out. 

Sansa looked at Catelyn and Robb one last time. Gods, she hoped traveling South wouldn’t be as disastrous as the last time. She smiled and turned away with Theon. 

To King’s Landing she would go. 

Missandei jolted awake the moment she heard screaming. She scrambled to Daenerys’ side of the suite. Her Queen was thrashing against her blankets, screaming.

“You’ll die, you’ll all die,” Daenerys said. “Get away, you’ll die.”

Missandei gripped Daenerys’ shoulders tightly and shook them until her eyes opened. After a few moments, Danerys finally stopped shaking. 

“I had another nightmare,” she said bitterly and curled in on herself. 

“We all have nightmares, sometimes,” Missandei sat at the edge of Daenerys’ bed, and she placed a comforting hand on her knee. 

“Jon was there again,” Daenerys said. She turned to an empty spot in the corner, by the window. “Shut up. No one asked you.” 

“Look at me,” Missandei said, circling her finger around Daenerys’ knee in a familiar pattern. “Whoever you see, they’re not real.”

“He wants me to burn them all,” Daenerys spat out. 

“His opinion doesn’t matter,” Missandei said, keeping her voice level. It’d been so long since Daenerys hallucinated people, she was almost starting to hope they were past that.

“You don’t–” Daenerys dipped her head into her hands and messed up her hair. “Sorry. Rhaegar doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“Rhaegar’s dead,” Missandei said. “Just look at me.”

She looked at her friend, through her deranged and baggy eyes, and her pale skin and knotted hair. She reached a hand and touched Daenerys’ face. 

“You’re not that person.” 

“He wants me to ring the bells,” Daenerys cowered away. “I don’t want to ring the bells.” 

Tears streamed down her face. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” Missandei took Daenerys’ hand in her own and began drawing circles in her palm. “The bells can’t hurt you.” 

“But I hear them,” Daenerys argued. “They’re behind you, behind me, in the walls and the ceiling.”

Missandei sighed. “There are no bells.”

“Then why do I hear them?”

“You’re having another bad day,” Missandei explained. “It’s not your fault, none of it is. Just breathe.”

Daenerys stared at her with teary eyes. “I can’t ignore them.”

Her voice cracked and sobs escaped her throat. “I can’t escape, I’m stuck.”

A knock on the door. 

Not now, Missandei hoped it wasn’t anyone important. “I’ll be right back.”

Daenerys clutched her arm as if it was a lifeline. “Don’t leave me again.” 

“I won’t,” Missandei promised. She pulled away, ignoring the pains in her heart and the silent sobs from her friend. She opened the door only enough for herself adn herself only to be visible.

Ned Stark stood at the door. 

Of course it was him. He was always trying to check in with her, and he usually sent invitations to Missandei and Daenerys, to invite them to eat with him and King Bran. They always ignored them. 

Ned Stark supported the Usurper, who ruined Daenerys’ childhood, therefore he couldn't be trusted. Besides, Tyrion told her to protect her. 

“Missandei, hello. Is Daenerys awake?” Ned Stark said. 

Missandei shook her head. “No, she’s spending the day in King’s Landing today, helping others.” 

Daenerys usually did that, so it wasn’t exactly surprising. No one would even try to fact check her lie. 

“Ah,” Ned said. “Tell her to stay inside, today. We’ve picked up a lead on the assassins.”

Finally. 

“Of course,” Missandei said. “Anything else for us to worry about?”

“Nothing you do not already know,” Ned said. 

“Thank you, then,” Missandei replied and shut the door rather quickly. When she turned and looked at Daenerys, she was laying on her side with the blankets pulled up to her shoulders, muttering about bells again. 

At least she had Grey Worm to help out, now. A blush grew over her cheeks thinking about him. It’d been so long, and he hadn’t changed one bit. 

Missandei sat next to the bed and pulled out a book. Sometimes, Daenerys could pull her mind out of it herself. She hoped today would be one of those days, but it’d been so long since Daenerys had one of these episodes. 

Still, Daenerys was her chosen Queen, so it was Missandei’s job to help her.

Chapter Text

“We’ve been searching forever. We’ll never find Jon,” Grenn complained. 

They’d been exploring the caves for a little while. To be honest, Ygritte had no idea how long it’d been. What they found was mostly just abandoned homes, stuff left behind, and corpses long dead.

“Shouldn’t the Free Folk be here?” Edd pointed out.

“Well maybe all yer fightin’ killed a whole lot of us,” Ygritte said. “We just have to keep moving.”

“Keep moving?” Grenn laughed bitterly. “I’m freezing my butt off for a guy who could very well be dead.”

“This was your idea,” Ygritte pointed out.

“And your lover,” Grenn said. 

“Oh, boo hoo,” Ygritte mocked. “Just because I can get lovers and you can, doesn't mean everything is my fault. Besides, he was your friend before he was my lover.”

“Shut up, guys,” Edd half whispered. 

“Right, because nothing could ever be your fault!” Grenn shouted, arms waving in the air. “This is your fucking city!”

Ygritte scoffed and rolled her eyes. “It’s been a while.”

“Guys, shut up!” Edd said louder. 

“No, you be quiet,” Ygritte said. “Your friend here has a problem with me. I’d like to work it out.”

Edd pointed to something in the distance of the cave. “Just look .” 

Ygritte’s eyes widened at the sight. She hadn’t seen that wolf in ages, but he was unmistakable. His white fur, his red eyes. There was no way that wasn’t Ghost. 

“We’ve got to follow it,” Grenn decided and pulled himself together, leading them to the direwolf. 

“No shit, stupid,” Ygritte muttered as she followed. 

The wolf waited for them to get closer before leaving. The direwolf walked them through the tunnels slowly at his own pace. Through every twist, turn, and drop. 

Every now and then, Edd or Grenn tried speaking with the wolf, but Ghost just growled. 

They turned another corner and suddenly Ygritte was blinded. She reached a hand to cover her eyes. All of a sudden, everything came into view. Houses, pathways, people , all of it. 

They were here. 

She smiled in childlike amazement, running to the city. Out here, in the sun, too. 

“Look at it!” Ygritte giggled. “It’s all here! You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Jon made it,” Edd said. 

“A haven for Free Folk!” Ygritte said excitedly. “Finally.”

To be fair, with the end of the Night King and the truce between Night’s Watch and Free Folk, there wasn’t as much of a need for a haven, but she’d take one all the same. Her people needed a safe home, and this could finally be it. 

Ghost huffed at her amazement and turned to walk through the city. Ygritte followed, as did Grenna and Edd. 

There were less people than she imagined, but there were children, real children. It was so hard for people to have kids while fighting in a war, but here they were. They played in the street, building piles of snow, making jokes and playing as children do. 

It wasn’t always like that here. 

The Free Folk looked happy, so Ygritte couldn’t be happier, either. 

Ghost stopped just outside a house. It was a little smaller than the ones around it, but it seemed sturdy enough, and really, that was all that mattered. 

He barked once. 

Ygritte glanced nervously at Grenn and Edd, who shared an expression of anxiety. Who lived here?

She shook out her hands, hoping to get rid of her sweaty palms. 

The door opened faster than she would’ve liked, but the person greeting her made up for it.

He had black hair and scars on his face, wearing heavy black clothes of the Night’s Watch. 

“What–what are you doing here?” Jon Snow stuttered out. 

When Catelyn looked at Robb, she still saw the boy who grew up playing war with his bastard brother, climbing trees, and standing up for his siblings. Even when he led war meetings and men into battles, he was just a boy in her eyes. 

When the first arrows struck his chest, she sobbed, because he was her little boy and all of a sudden he was six and he’d fallen out of a tree and broken his arm. He was running to her, sobbing, holding his arm out at its unnatural angle. 

Even now, as he sat at the throne in the Great Hall, he was just a small child in a role too big for him. 

Sansa left him in charge when she left, a decision they all knew was coming. It was all happening so quickly. 

Catelyn barely had time to process that her dead husband was alive. His name brought a smile to her face. She prayed to the Old Gods every day to bring him and Bran and Sansa and Arya home. 

Arya. Or No One, as some people called her. But she was dead, now, and Catelyn felt like her throat had been slit once again. It wasn’t fair. 

She was finally alive again, and all of her children too except for Arya?

The Gods knew how to play cruel jokes.

Catelyn sat next to Robb as he talked gently to common folk, fixing their petty squabbles and problems. This is where he was always meant to sit. He sat as if he was born to be King in the North. 

She’d seen Sansa sit, too, like she was made for it. But in Catelyn’s eyes, Sansa was just a child like her brother. 

She used to chase after Arya and her brothers when they stole something of hers, usually a cross stitch she was almost done with. 

Winterfell was so bright when they were young. Part of Catelyn thought that ended when Robert showed up, but the signs that things would end were clear, she just didn’t want to see them. 

Theon wasn’t surprised when Sansa brought as little guards as possible. It was more than he thought it would be, and less than he wanted. 

With Ramsay still on the loose, it felt unsafe to carry only a hundred men, but the last time the North took an entire army south…

Perhaps this was for the best. 

His goodbye with Robb had been short and awkward. The night they spent together was not . Theon had no idea he could feel such intensity from a man, not a woman. Don't get him wrong, the conversation beforehand was great too, but feeling Robb’s lips against his own. He wondered why he betrayed his friend in the first place. 

At least he was leaving so they wouldn’t have to talk about that in depth. 

“Are you sure you want to pass so close to the Veil?” the Hound asked. As soon as he learned of the voyage south, he volunteered to come along. It was as if he had some sort of vow to protect the Stark girls. 

Sansa nodded. “The rumors of Littlefinger controlling the Veil shouldn’t scare us. He’s too smart to meet us head-on like this, especially seeing as we’re supposed to be in King’s Landing within the month. It's a far too obvious move for him.”

Theon saw something in her eyes. Was it regret, or was it guilt? He knew Lord Baelish taught Sansa quite a lot about manipulation, but why would she be guilty about it. 

“Better to pass by the Veil to cross at the Crossroads than cross in the Twins,” Theon piped up. 

The Hound grumbled in acquiesce. 

“How much longer until we’re in the Crownlands?” Sansa asked. 

Theon examined the map he laid out in the middle of the tent, on a travel table. “Just a week and a half. We’ve made up for some time after that storm and flooding of the forks.”

Sansa hummed in thought. “We’ll leave tomorrow at dawn. Get some rest, both of you. We only have one week to get to King’s Landing, and I won’t be late.”

Theon nodded hastily and began packing up the map. He glanced over at the Hound, who sat sharpening his sword. Sansa already left with Jeyne Poole, leaving only him and the Hound together. 

“What?” the Hound said without lifting his head. 

“Nothing–nothing, sir,” Theon stuttered. Way to look like a fucking idiot. 

The Hound sighed. “Then stop staring.”

Theon quickly looked down again. What would Yara do? She’d been overjoyed to see him. All she talked about was how successful the Iron Islands were after years of war and death. And all of it during winter no less. 

Still, it was shaping up to be an even better spring. 

Yara wouldn’t have been such a coward in the first place, Theon decided. 

Myrcella stuck to his side like a leech to a person. Not that Jaime was complaining–he loved spending time with his niece-daughter, but it allowed for significantly less time attempting to apologize to Brienne. 

Or maybe that was for the best. Perhaps time spent away would warm her heart to the idea of Jaime Lannister in her life. 

Maybe Brienne would never want to see him, and he deserved it. But some part of him wondered, what if she would forgive him? And that part needed an answer. 

Myrcella sat in front of him, deep in thought as she looked at the checkers board. She moved a piece and smirked at him. 

He looked at the board with a frown, realizing that whatever move he made would be a loss. Before Jaime could decide what would be the best strategy, the door opened and Tyrion walked in. 

“Hello, my dear brother and niece,” Tyrion said. “What have we here?”

“Just a game Uncle Jaime seems to be losing at,” Myrcella said with a smile. 

Jaime always wondered how someone as awful as him or Cersei could make someone so bright and happy. 

“Well, that’s not surprising,” Tyrion replied quickly. 

“You wound me,” Jaime faked being hurt.

“Well, I’m about to hurt you a great deal more,” Tyrion said. “The Baratheons have just arrived, and I need you to keep an eye on our dear sister.”

For once, the Baratheons were early. They probably couldn’t stand each other. 

“ All the Baratheons?” Jaime asked. 

“Not Renly,” Tyrion clarified. “He much prefers Highgarden.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Jaime said. “Now, I must get back to winning a game of checkers.”

Tyrion smiled warmly at the two of them before leaving. 

“Don’t you mean losing?” Myrcella asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Jaime laughed and moved one of his pieces. Myrcella promptly took it with one of her own, then managed to grab two more.

“Have you talked to Cersei?” Jaime asked her. 

Myrcella immediately drew herself back in and her smile faded. “She’s my mother. Of course I have.”

“No, have you talked to her,” Jaime said. “Other than disowning her.”

He knew Myrcella was avoiding Cersei. After she heard about the awful things her mother did after her death, Myrcella seemed determined to never speak to Cersei again. 

“Avoiding your mother does no one any good,” Jaime said. He’d know. All his mistakes with Brienne…if only he’d had the wisdom he had now.

“She’s a terrible person,” Myrcella said. 

“So am I, yet here you are beating me at checkers,” Jaime said. 

“You admit I’m winning, then,” Myrcella said with a sly smile. 

“For now,” Jaime laughed. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I just don’t understand how she could’ve been such a loving mother, yet so evil,” Myrcella admitted. 

“People are complex, Myrcella,” Jaime told her, putting down a checkers piece. “Nothing is straightforward about them. Especially regarding your mother.”

“You’re avoiding her, too,” Myrcella pointed out. “You spend more time staring at that female Kingsguard than you do anything else.”

Jaime moved another one of his chess pieces, knowing the game was lost for him. “And that, my dear Myrcella, is why it is so important to understand the complexities of man.”

Myrcella raised an eyebrow and her mouth grew into a wide grin. “Did you and her–”

“This is no way to treat your father,” Jaime said with a roll of his eyes. 

“But can I treat my uncle like this, then?” Myrcella asked with a laugh that would’ve made Jaime faint with love if he’d gotten the chance to actually raise her as his own. 

“Tyrion would’ve loved that one,” Jaime said. He sighed. “Don’t tell your grandfather.”

Myrcella giggled again. Jaime did too, thinking about Tywin’s reaction if he heard Myrcella just now. His face would get slightly red and scrunch up before coming up with some witty response to save face.

Myrcella moved her another checkers piece, finally taking Jaime’s last one. 

“I win,” she said with a smug smirk. 

“That you do,” Jaime said. “I admit defeat. Next time, though. I’ll win next time.”

She didn’t wake up much in the humanoid camp. Only a few times, and she never got a good look at where she was. There were usually humanoids all around her, prodding her body with sticks or staring at her while she couldn’t move. 

She never could move. 

Arya usually had visions while she slept. Mostly it was just foolish sailors. They always ran away screaming. She never saw what happened to them after. 

Her favorites were the same two people. There was a man. His clothing was always blurry, and the men he brought with him, too. 

But he had Stark-like features, and that’s what intrigued her. He was always looking at the sky, deep in thought. Perhaps he had someone at home waiting for him. 

Her other favorite was a woman. She didn’t look familiar at all, but she had such confidence. Arya envied it. 

This woman was always writing letters. Piles and piles of letters, yet she never sent any of them. Whoever was supposed to see them, their name was blurry, too, but Arya could sometimes make out the starting letter, R. 

Would someone one day become stuck, like her, and receive visions of her time on this island?

Arya hoped not. There was nothing but danger West of Westeros.

Chapter Text

Sunlight flickered over her eyes from the window. Daenerys groaned. It was too early. Just moments ago it felt like she’d fallen asleep. 

Her entire body ached and her mind already hurt. She slowly blinked her eyes open. Missandei sat on a nearby chair reading a book. 

“My Queen,” Missandei put the book down with a smile. 

Daenerys closed her eyes and rolled onto her other side. She would not get up today. Her body would not allow it. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

“King Bran’s meeting is today,” Missandei said. 

Daenerys pulled the blankets over her tightly. The sunlight shone throughout the room, yet everything felt so dark. Her mind was a bottomless pit of… fear .

“They’ll expect you there,” Missandei walked to her bedside. 

“How bad was it yesterday?” Daenerys shot out, referencing her last episode. 

Silence, then, “It was not very coherent.”

Of course. She was lucky only Missandei saw her…episodes. She was just like her father in that sense. Of all the qualities to inherit…

Daenerys scoffed. She knew it was time to get ready for the day, but her whole body rejected the idea, like it was some disease. “I can’t get up.”

“You can,” Missandei said.

“I can’t ,” 

“You will,” Missandei kneeled by the bed and reached her arm up to hold Daenerys’ shoulder. “I believe in you.” 

Danerys felt something creep into her throat, and her voice shook. “But what if you leave again? What if all of you leave all over again?”

“We won’t ,” Missandei’s voice was calm; it was level. “I promise. Turn over, and we’ll take it together step by step.”

Daenerys’s body protested as she rolled over to meet Missandei’s eyes. “And you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure,” Missandei smiled. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. 

Daenerys hesitated, but sat up as Missandei stood to reach out a hand. After a couple moments, she took it and found her footing on the ground. 

“I have a dress already ready for you,” Missandei led her to the corner of the room. A dress was hanging on the wall. It was black with a rectangular neckline that had red and gold accents. The same fabric wrapped around the skirt going down to what would be her calves if she was wearing it. A material that looked like dragon scales reached up from the bottom of the skirt like fire. Two long slits cut up the front of the dress, like the one she wore arriving in Dragonstone. Beneath was dark red pants, like the Targaryen colors. At the waistline were three embroidered dragon heads. 

“They say Rhaenyra Targaryen once wore a dress like this one,” Missandei explained. “I had some tailors make it.”

“The same Rhaenyra Targaryen who was eaten by her brother’s dragon?” Daenerys asked with a raised eyebrow, referencing the awful timing. 

“I ordered it before he showed up,” Missandei said. “Still, you deserve to make an impact. You’ll do just that wearing this. Besides, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a true dragon.”

“And she fell to the same madness as other ‘true dragons.’” Daenerys said with a solemn frown. She reached over and touched the fabric. It was slightly rough under her fingertips.

“You’re a Targaryen,” Missandei said. “Your enemies know this. The only one who doesn’t know it is you.”

Daenerys looked at the dress, then thought about how she’d look in it. “Alright.”

When she was done getting ready, Missandei wove two braids into Daenerys’ hair. 

The throne room was awfully crowded when Daenerys arrived. Give it a few more minutes and she’d probably be late. Mixes of sigils and colors filled the room, each person representing their House proudly. They left room for an aisle down the center of the room, leading to King Bran sitting at the top of the steps in his wheelchair. Tyrion and Ned Stark were talking with him.

Daenerys scanned the room with Missandei and the two Unsullied warriors she’d negotiated into the meeting. 

“Over there, My Queen,” Missandei pointed up towards the front, on the right side. Grey Worm stood there talking with Jorah Mormont. Viserys was lurking nearby too, but it didn’t look like he’d be a bother. 

Daenerys took a deep breath of confidence and went down the aisle. She ignored the stares from those already present and stopped close to the steps. She smiled and bowed at Bran, then turned away to meet Grey Worm and Jorah. 

“Am I late?”

Jorah shook his head. “Right on time.”

Viserys scoffed from the background. 

“Anything interesting happen?” Missandei asked as she wrapped an arm around Grey Worm’s midsection.

“Not particularly,” Jorah said. “The North hasn’t arrived yet. Lannisters tried making a big deal about starting without you and them a few minutes ago.” he pointed at them across the room. 

Cersei stood with Joffrey, whispering something in his ear. The Mountain hovered over their shoulders, as did Qyburn. Strangely, Euron Greyjoy was nowhere to be seen. 

Daenerys’ eyes shifted to Yara Greyjoy making small talk with one of the Sand Snakes, and then saw Euron standing somewhat nearby. She wanted to roll her eyes at him. There was no need to be so obvious about a throne he obviously wanted. 

Someone cleared their throat, calling heads to attention. 

“Hello there,” Tyrion clasped his hands together nervously. 

Ned Stark moved closer to the back of the room, next to the rest of the Small Council. 

“Been a while since we’ve all been here together,” Tyrion said. “But as King Bran and I see it, we’re in this situation together. As all of us should know by now, almost six months ago, the dead rose up not as white walkers, but as real people. We’ve sent out ravens discussing the issue, but realize it is our duty to confront it directly.”

A bold move, Daenerys thought to herself. So many conflicting sides in one room? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

“We understand several Houses have been able to solve issues with succession without much help, but several pressing issues require everyone’s attention,” Tyrion continued. 

Daenerys looked at House Martell, who probably dealt with their whole undead situation the most efficiently. She heard Oberyn Martell just marched in there, shouting orders, removing those he didn’t like from office, and putting himself in charge instead of the distant cousin who rose up when everyone died. And everyone knew the Sand Snakes didn’t get out of that unscathed, though no one seemed to know what punishment Oberyn had in store for them and the mess they made. 

“First order of business–” Tyrion was cut off by the sudden opening of the doors. 

A woman with long ginger hair in a Northern style and grey and white dress burst through with two men behind her. One of them looked like his sister, and the other had a scar on one side of his face. 

“Sorry about our late arrival,” Sansa Stark said as she scanned the room. “Our raven was late and we had some minor difficulties on the way here. We didn’t miss anything important, did we?”

Confidence surrounded her like a veil. She, Theon, and the Hound made room in the front, across from Daenerys. 

“Just some opening remarks,” Tyrion said with a tight smile.

Sansa returned it. “Splendid.”

Tyrion sighed and shared a look with Ned before turning back to the crowd of Westerosi nobles. “I believe our most pressing concern is that we don’t know why the dead have returned. I know all of us are confused and searching for answers. Bran has been trying to find some, to no avail. If anyone has any leads or suspicions, this is the place to speak them.”

“Could it be a coincidence that the dead returned on almost the same date Daenerys Targaryen burnt down King’s Landing? Perhaps there’s some sort of Valyrian…magic at play. We all know Targaryens have a history of doing…strange things.” Sansa spoke up rather coldly. Typical for a Northerner. 

“If so, it would be some sort of magic at play, not me,” Daenerys retorted. “If you’ll recall, I also died. There is no possibility I was part of this. Besides, if I was, I would not have brought everyone back.”

“Not everyone is back,” Tyrion corrected. “Most soldiers who fell in battle are still dead. Mace Tyrell, Roose Bolton, Doran Martell, and Tristain Martell are still dead.”

“Selyse Baratheon, too,” Stannis added bitterly. He cast a side-eye at Davos Seaworth standing with the rest of the Small Council. 

“That does not change the fact I barely know half the dead who’ve returned,” Daenerys pointed out. “I am not the cause of all trouble in Westeros.”

“Another cause, then,” Tyrion said. “Anyone else?”

A woman in red pushed out of the crowd. Her name was Melisandre, if Daenerys wasn’t mistaken. 

“I have traveled far,” the red woman said. “The dead have returned in Essos, too. The Lord of Light offers me no guidance, but I have a theory regardless.”

Melisandre looked around the room, almost wildly. “The answers lie West, or East, it does not matter. It will take many faces to fix this.”

“How do you know?” Bran questioned. “If the Lord of Light does not speak to you, how do you know?”

First thing he’s said all meeting. Daenerys frowned. 

“R’hlorr ignores my pleas, but the God of Death does not,” Melisandre said ominously. She began to walk back into the crowd. “Do not forget my words, or our land will pay.”

Daenerys shared a look with Missandei. A hole opened in her stomach. What did Melisandre want, and why couldn’t she just say it outright?

Tyrion cleared his throat. “A good warning for us all.”

The rest of the meeting was dull. Tyrion really only discussed how winter seemed to be ending, an idea Oberyn Martell did not seem to agree with, sparking much needed entertainment for Daenerys, but once it was over, it was only talk about Highgarden this and Highgarden that. 

With no solution, still. 

She almost wanted to bet on which side would give up first. 

Sansa then spoke up about Ramsay’s escape, promising an even greater reward than before for anyone who captured or killed him. Not particularly interesting. Of course, then she mentioned how Littlefinger also escaped, though this was six months ago, so he could be anywhere. She raised the reward for his head, too. 

“Is there anything else we need to discuss?” Tyrion asked the group. 

Daenerys looked back at Viserys, who still looked like an angry, disheveled mess. Tyrion’s words flashed in her mind. Get out of the city.

“I want Dragonstone,” someone said. After a moment, Daenerys realized it was herself who spoke. 

Tyrion’s head nearly spun off the way he looked at her. 

Well, no going back now. Daenerys decided. “Dragonstone is my birthright as a Targaryen. I could’ve asked for King’s Landing, but didn’t. I want Dragonstone instead.”

“The Great Council of 101 declared that succession favors elder born males,” Viserys piped up. “Dragonstone is mine .”

“If you’ll use your thinking skills,” Daenerys eased into a more comfortable stance. “I am older than you. And let’s not forget that you died much sooner than I did. That makes me the eldest.”

“But you’re still a woman ,” Viserys spat out the word ‘woman’ as if it was a vile thing to be. His face turned red as he fumed with anger. 

“And I still accomplished more than you ever could,” Daenerys narrowed her eyes. 

“King Aegon II was crowned before his elder sister, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Viserys pointed out, seemingly focusing on male inheritance. 

“Yet it was her line that continued to sit on the iron throne,” Daenerys shot back. “A line we are descended from.”

“Dragonstone belongs to Daenerys Targaryen,” Bran’s soft, unnerving voice cut through the room, like a sword to someone’s neck. “Viserys Targaryen may stay as heir to Dragonstone. From this day onward, Dragonstone belongs to House Targaryen.”

Shocked voices rippled throughout the throne room, but pride shot through Daenerys’ chest. Viserys stood sputtering for words. She couldn’t stop the smile from erupting across her face. Missandei placed a comforting hand on her shoulder until a deep, stubborn voice cut through the air. 

“What about me?” Stannis Baratheon pushed his way into the aisle to be seen. “Dragonstone was mine.”

“You’re right,” Daenerys said coyly. “Dragonstone was yours. You left it abandoned when you died, and I took it. When I died, it was left abandoned once more.”

“Dragonstone was to belong to my daughter,” Stannis fought back. 

“ Who you killed! ” Davos shouted, suddenly stumbling forward. He took deep breaths to control himself and his face was turning red. “How do you stand here to defend your daughter after you’re the one who took her from this earth?”

“I did what I thought was best,” Stannis said, though his eyes gave way to doubt in his mind. 

“So you killed her ?” Davos questioned. “And now you say you’re best to rule Dragonstone. After you’ve admitted to thinking burnin’ your own daughter is the best course of action? The gods are not fit to ask for such a high sacrifice.”

“I’m afraid Ser Davos is correct,” Tyrion said. “You will not be ruling Dragonstone. You can stay in Storm’s End and help Lord Gendry Baratheon as much as possible.”

Daenerys looked at the young Lord who she’d legitimized. He’d grown out his stubble some, looking even more like his father. His arms were tense against his side, and his hands in tight fists. 

Stannis stood in a similar position. It was like smoke was coming out of his ears, but he said nothing and instead retreated back into the crowd of people without a word. 

“Thank you, King Bran,” Daenerys said with a small bow. 

“If that’s all, our King invites all of you to a celebratory feast,” Tyrion said. “We have some activities outside while our servants set up.”

As guests began to file out, Daenerys hardly had the strength to turn to Missandei, Grey Worm, and Jorah. Her whole body was alight with energy, as it had been when she took back the Dothraki and Unsullied. 

“Dragonstone,” Jorah said, scratching his chin. 

“Yes?” Daenerys raised an eyebrow. 

“Were you going to tell us?” Jorah said. 

“Perhaps,” Daenerys giggled to herself. 

“You think this is funny ?” Viserys stormed up to her. 

Jorah stepped in front of her and drew his sword. He pointed it at Viserys. “Any closer and I’ll skewer you with this sword.”

Viserys cackled to himself. “You’ve always favored her .”

And suddenly Daenerys was Khal Drogo’s wife and pregnant with his son and Viserys was threatening her as Khal Drogo stroked the small of her back even though her mind had been shouting in alarm since day one. 

“Are you drunk?” Daenerys spat at him. 

“Haven’t a drop of alcohol since I came back,” Viserys said. “But I should be asking you if you’re drunk. Only a drunken fool would embarrass me like that. I am a dragon, you know.”

“I am not drunk, but this conversation makes me wish I was,” Daenerys reached an arm out to Missandei. “Missandei?”Missandei took it and the two turned to leave, leaving Jorah and Grey Worm to deal with Viserys. 

“Quite the day so far,” Missandei said in Daenerys’ ear. 

“Yes,” Daenerys said, staring at Cersei, who had yet to leave the throne room. “Let’s hope it calms down.”

As if Cersei could hear her, she began making her way to Missandei and Daenerys, a glass of wine in hand and narrowed eyes plastered to her face. 

“Quick, walk faster,” Daenerys muttered as she side-eyed Cersei. 

Just moments after they got out of the throne room, a snarky voice cut through the air. 

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Cersei said. 

Daenerys turned around slowly, as did Missandei. 

“Cersei Lannister,” Daenerys forced a fake smile onto her face. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure,” Cersei looked her up and down. “Congradulations.” 

“On what?” Daenerys asked. There was no way Cersei Lannister was wishing her congratulations . 

“On Dragonstone,” Cersei said sweetly. “It’s always a joy when you find victory over your brother.”

“Oh,” Daenerys frowned. “Well thank you.”

Cersei hummed to herself before sauntering off. 

“What an interesting woman,” Missandei said thoughtfully. 

“Yes, if interesting means a conniving bitch,” Daenerys crossed her arms.

Missandei said nothing, but indicated with her head that she agreed. 

“Gods, I can’t wait to never see her again,” Daenerys began to wander off with the remaining nobles leaving. 

“I’m sure she feels the same,” Missandei agreed. 

“Probably why she’s sending those assassins,” Daenerys sighed to herself. There hadn’t been one in the past few days, which was either a very good or very bad sign. She hoped it was the former. 

“They’ve figured it out?” Missandei asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“No, but the assassins always have coins with a lion’s head on them,” Daenerys explained. “Who else could it be?”

“Maybe it’s a trick,” Missandei suggested. 

“It could be,” Daenersy admitted. “And I’m sure Jorah is considering that, but who else could want me dead this much?”

“Probably more people than you realize,” Missandei said. “It’s for the best that you’re moving to Dragonstone.”

Daenerys’ eyes drifted to Tyrion, who stood with a glass of wine staring at her. From the outside he looked somewhat calm. He was leaning against a pillar with a drink everyone knew he loved probably too much, yet his stare . Those without grudges don’t look at people like that. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to someone,” Daenerys said. Missandei nodded and wandered off.

“Are you angry with me?” Daenerys asked when she reached Tyrion. 

“Now why would you think that?” Tyrion said, acting offended. 

“We both know you have something to say,” Daenerys said, dropping the polite tone from her voice. “So just say it.”

Tyrion sighed and took a large swig of his drink. “I don’t like the stunt you pulled today.”

Of all the things it could be, this was probably the least surprising. 

“And I didn’t like what you did earlier with the Dothraki and Unsullied,” Tyrion continued. 

“They are my troops,” Daenerys’ tone suddenly hardened. “They were waiting for me .”

“An idea no one but yourself likes,” Tyrion countered. “And you asking for them looks like you are building an army. And now you want to leave King’s Landing to do who knows what.”

“You told me to leave the city,” Daenerys defended. 

“Yes, but not like this,” Tyrion rubbed his temple. “Besides, it makes Bran look weak and people already don’t like him.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Daenerys huffed. 

“People find him ominous and unnerving, but at least he didn’t burn the entire fucking city to the ground,” Tyrion said more hushed than before. 

“And we both know I wouldn’t do it again,” Daenerys crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Going back to the leaving King’s Landing part, it would be stupid of me to leave the city if I wanted to take it back. An inside job would be far easier.”

“Unless you realized you didn’t have enough soldiers, so you take Dragonstone and use its sworn Houses and their allies to take the city,” Tyrion said. “But it’s not like we could’ve said no . In fact, Bran seemed happy to give it to you.”

“Perhaps a gesture of goodwill,” Daenerys suggested, though they both knew it was a lie. “Maybe he’s hoping I support him when this all crashes down upon us.”

“I’m currently trying to avoid that scenario,” Tyrion sighed. 

“Well you’re doing a shit job at that,” Daenerys snapped. She took a deep breath then stormed off before Tyrion could say anything else. Conversations while in a bad mood never did anyone good. 

She quickly found her way outside to the courtyard, where servants trays with wine and beer. She took the one that looked to be filled the highest, then went to find a quiet spot in the garden. There was a nice pavilion with flowers sewn across the roof and vines cascading around the pillars. 

Daenerys sat down and held her head in her hands. Was I stupid to ask for Dragonstone? Was now the wrong time?

But it was her family home. It should’ve been hers by birthright. 

“Do you remember when I told you to be a dragon?” an older voice said. 

Daenerys looked up and met the gaze of Olenna Tyrell. “I do.” 

“You listened to my advice,” Olenna sat down across from Daenerys. “Eventually. Do you regret it?”

“Regret what?” Daenerys had a sinking feeling she knew what Olenna was referring to.

“Do you regret burning down King’s Landing?” Olenna asked. “I mean, it’s recovered faster than anyone could’ve expected. Thanks to that clever man, of course.”

“I’m regretful,” Daenerys pushed the words out of her mouth. 

“Liar,” Olenna snapped out immediately. “Do not lie to me, girl.”

“So just because you think I’m lying that means I am?” Daenerys asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, because I am old and wise and the rest of that crap means I can spot a liar,” Olenna said. “So tell me the truth.”

Daenerys hesitated. “You want me to admit that I wanted to kill innocents?”

“Yes, I do,” Olenna confirmed. “If you’d done it sooner, half the people in that room wouldn’t have died so soon, too.”

“I didn’t want to burn them all,” Daenerys treaded carefully through her words, half in disbelief that she was saying anything at all. “But I wanted Cersei to pay. She took everything from me so she could rule the Seven Kingdoms, and what’s more important to a queen than her people? But I don’t think she cared one bit.”

“That’s it,” Olenna said with a sly smile. “That’s the truth. I knew you were more than your trips to the commoners, giving them hope or whatever they cling to these days.”

Olenna tossed a glance at Margaery, who was deep in conversation with Sansa Stark. “Margaery was the voice of the commonfolk when she was queen. They loved her.”

“What are you saying?” Daenerys’ voice shook at the slight implications of Olenna’s words. 

Olenna reached out and clasped Daenerys’ hands in her own. “You know what I mean. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been in contact with an old friend of mine, Barristan Selmy. He’s waiting on Dragonstone with Varys.”

Daenerys’ stomach dropped. Varys?

She was not ready for that conversation.

Olenna Tyrell chuckled to herself as she stood up. “Dragons do not fear people.”

The Queen of Thorns walked away, leaving Daenerys alone with her thoughts. 

Chapter Text

Sansa had been told many times that her best quality was her hair. People told her the color was so red, and that they wished they had hair like hers. 

She was starting to resent that quality about herself. All these nobles could talk about was usually one of three things: her hair, her late entrance, or how old she looked now. Only Oberyn Martell managed to not talk about those things. Instead, he decided to talk about how sorry he was that he was unable to do more about the monstrosities the Lannisters committed, and how he wished Dorne could have done more in the war against them. 

A fun pre-dinner topic, Sansa decided. Probably not one she’d revisit. 

Still, there was one person she had yet to talk to. Her heart thumped against her ribcage thinking about it. That stupid meeting went by so slowly when she thought of the last time she saw him, when he was forced to kneel and the blade came down upon his neck. 

She’d searched the crowds of people outside, yet hadn’t seen his face yet. She would, though, that she was sure of. 

Sansa followed Daenerys out away from the crowd to see if maybe her father had the same idea, but he wasn’t there, either. She frowned some more and sat on a nearby bench where she could watch people pass by. 

A piece of her heart broke. Does he not want to see me?  

“Sansa Stark!” a voice came from her right. She couldn’t stifle the eyeroll and immediate look of disgust on her face.  

“Joffrey…Lannister? Or is it Hill, I can’t remember if you’ve been legitimized yet,” Sansa side-eyed the boy. 

“That’s no way to treat your ex-betrothed,” Joffrey sat down next to her. He laid a hand on her knee, which she promptly shoved off. 

“Well, I’m certain I’m your ex-betrothed for a reason,” Sansa stood up. “I have places to be.”

Joffrey pretended to laugh. “I was king once, you know. That kind of behavior is not appropriate.”

“If only the North was part of the Six Kingdoms,” Sansa sighed. “I guess we’ll just have to move on with our delightfully boring lives. Besides, you’re not king anymore .”

She wished she had a painting of the way Joffrey’s face lit up bright red and scrunched into something only a gullible teenager could find attractive. 

“I could have your head–” Joffrey started, but Sansa cut him off. 

“Like I said, you’re not king anymore. You don’t have that power.”

Joffrey raised a pointed finger and opened his mouth to talk, but Sansa said something first. 

“I have other things to do,” Sansa waved him off. “Go cry about it to Cersei or something.”

A tall figure caught her attention from the corner of her eye. She turned her head slightly to get a better view. 

The man smiled at her and her breath caught in her throat. He was here; he was alive . 

Her heart soared at the sight of him, as if she was flying above the clouds. Sansa couldn’t resist a smile from plastering itself onto her face. Her legs seemed to act on their own, as she was suddenly running to him. 

Ned Stark opened his arms wide for her, and she nearly tackled him when she finally reached him. 

Sansa wrapped her arms around his entire body and held him close and tight. “Father!”

It was like she was a child again. She could still remember when Ned, Robb, and Jon would go out hunting together and the pure joy when they returned. 

“I was half convinced Bran was lying,” Sansa admitted, still hugging her father. “Sandor too. I thought I was writing a letter to some ghost.”

“I promise you, I’m here,” Ned held her head in one hand. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Mother and Robb and Rickon are waiting for you to come home,” Sansa pulled Ned over to a nearby bench so they could sit and talk. 

“We both know I must stay here,” Ned said. 

Sansa pursed her lips together. “How are you so certain that Bran needs you? Won’t he be safer now that Daenerys is leaving?”

“Daenerys Targaryen was never Bran’s biggest threat,” Ned said. “The Lannisters refuse to leave. That’s what I worry about.”

“I know,” Sansa sighed. He was right, though it churned more worry in her gut. She just wanted them all to just go back to Winterfell, even Bran. Fuck King’s Landing and fuck the Lannisters and fuck the throne. Her family was more important.

Tyrion’s heart almost jumped out of his chest when he came into the Great Hall to check up on the feast preparations. 

The massive room was empty, except for large tables strategically placed around the room, with intricate tablecloths and chairs to match, much like at his own wedding feast. Most of the tables had food already on them, meaning he could call people in soon. 

But there was a throne, now. A real one, not a wheelchair. The throne was made out of swords, even the seat that didn’t even have a cushion. The points pushed up the back of the throne ominously, as more blades rolled over the armrests. 

It struck Tyrion with the same fear he felt when he saw this throne as a child. His throat was suddenly dry, and he swallowed an uncomfortable lump. 

“Ser Davos!” Tyrion shouted. He hastily made his way to the exit and opened the door. “ Ser Davos Seaworth! ”

Davos was slow to greet Tyrion at the door, but as soon as he entered the room, Tyrion slammed the door shut. 

It seemed that the first thing Davos saw was the iron throne in all its glory. 

“Is this some sort of prank?” Tyrion seethed. “Who had the means to do this? It looks like the real thing.”

“Aye, it does,” Davos agreed. “A cruel jest, perhaps.”

“A cruel jest?” Tyrion scoffed. “This entire palace is a cruel jest to our king, and this throne is the icing on the cake.”

“I’ll send for some guards to remove it,” Davos suggested. 

“We can try,” Tyrion sighed. “Send some to interrogate the staff setting up for our feast as well.”

A few very strenuous minutes later for a few guards, it was deemed that the iron throne would not move. There was still no perpetrator, either. 

“We could leave it,” Davos suggested.

“Yes, and then we can tell everyone how the iron throne suddenly returned, therefore all is well,” Tyrion snapped sarcastically. He pointed to a guard. “You there, get King Bran in here, now, please.”

The guard nodded and ran off.

“Our guests are probably hungry,” Davos said. “We can’t delay much more.”

“This is what we get for allowing all of Westeros into the Red Keep,” Tyrion rubbed his temples, feeling a headache come on. “The amount of guards I had to hire for this one event…I even had to ask Daenerys for some of her Unsullied.”

“We did try convincing Bran out of it,” Davos sat down. “But our king knows what he wants.”

“And apparently he wants the biggest security issue in King’s Landing since Cersei was queen,” Tyrion said under his breath. 

The guard returned, wheeling Bran into the throne room. Bran’s eyes rested on the iron throne, and his face stayed entirely blank. He almost seemed like he’d been expecting this. 

“We already tried moving it,” Tyrion told him. 

“Why?” Bran asked and tilted his head.

Tyrion was at a loss for words, not wanting to say the obvious. It was hard enough moving Bran around the Red Keep, though in their rebuilding it had become significantly more wheelchair friendly. He didn’t want to think about moving Bran onto a throne made out of swords, with not much floorspace to do it safely and quickly.

“I do not need to sit on the iron throne,” Bran said finally. “We can tell guests we were in the process of making a new one.”

“One that the king is not sitting in?” Davos asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Is there a table filled with food in front of the throne?” Bran said. “Bring our guests in for dinner. It will be a celebration for the ages.”

If anyone knew about great celebrations, it would be Bran . Tyrion mused to himself, remembering Bran was a collector of stories. 

The dinner had been wonderful, Ned decided. He had a feeling Bran had something to do with the courses, seeing as most of them were Bran’s favorite foods. 

Sansa seemed to enjoy it too. The entire time she talked to him about Winterfell, her travels, Catelyn, Robb, everyone. 

Neither of them talked about the obvious issue right behind Bran, who quickly unveiled it to the nobles, explaining how they’d been remaking the throne again. Several people seemed more excited about this than others. 

Ned wished he could’ve sat by his son, but the small council instead took those seats, seeing as politically they were closest to the king. 

“Look, dessert’s almost here,” Ned pointed out servants holding trays of pie and lemon cakes. 

Sansa smiled. “Finally.” 

One of the servants placed a lemon cake in front of Sansa, then another one on Ned’s plate. 

“Thank you,” he said before turning back to Sansa. “When will you be returning to Winterfell?”

“Tomorrow morning, at dawn,” Sansa said. “It’s a long journey, and I’d like to be back as soon as possible.”

“Will you tell Catelyn, Robb, and Rickon I wish them well?” Ned asked. 

“I’ll tell Grey Wind, Shaggydog, and Lady, too,” Sansa took a bite of the lemon cake. 

“Right,” Ned’s eyes drifted to Bran. He sat slightly limp, with the whites of his eyes on full display. Panic gripped his chest. Had someone poisoned his son?

Ned stood up abruptly. Sansa followed his gaze and pulled his arm. He shot her a look of confusion. 

“He is fine,” Sansa half whispered. “He’s the Three-Eyed-Raven, remember?”

Ned nodded slowly, but didn’t sit down. “I must speak with him.”

Sansa sighed. “You won’t mind if I join? I’ve nothing else to do.”

“Of course, you may join,” Ned said, and the two of them made their way to Bran. 

Ned placed a hand on Bran’s shoulder comfortingly, hoping whatever vision he was having was slightly better now. 

Bran suddenly exhaled deeply adn turned his head. “We must talk.”

Ned took the wheelchair and led it to the council chamber. “What did you see?”

“Bran stared at the center of the table, where a crowned raven was engraved in the wood. “I saw Arya Stark.” 

“Liar,” Sansa said immediately. “Arya’s dead, we know this.”

Ned’s heart caught in his throat. 

“She was in my vision,” Bran continued, ignoring Sansa’s denial. “She was on an island. There were three of them, but she was on the largest one. There were trees with blue bark and white leaves. The ground was red, but not with blood, and the ferns were such an unnatural shade of green, you’d think they were fake.”

“Stop lying,” Sansa crossed her arms. “It’s not funny .”

“There were grey houses in the trees, and humanoid… things in them,” Bran said. “And Arya was in one of them, too. She wore a crown of black and white.”

No one spoke for several moments. 

“You think Arya is alive?” Ned asked, almost scared for the answer. 

Bran nodded. “Yes, I believe she is alive.”

Ned let his chest fill with hope, and a smile forced itself on his face. His daughter was alive. He could finally bring his family together, all seven of them. It was almost too good to be true. 

“If this is some sort of joke ,” Sansa’s voice cracked. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s no joke,” Bran said. “Our sister is alive on an island West of Westeros.”

“Then what are we going to do about it?” Sansa asked with tears threatening to fall out of her eyes. 

“We’ll go West of Westeros,” Ned decided.

Chapter Text

“My Queen?” he said. 

She raised her head to look at him and took a long sip of wine. “Yes?”

“I’ve found something,” he said and pulled out parchment from his thick robes. 

She stood and took the parchment from him lazily. “It better not be about that dragon bitch.”

“No, I overheard something during the feast,” he said. “I wrote it for you so no one could overhear us. As if most everyone hasn’t left already, though.”

She hummed in approval and read the parchment. After a minute, she crumpled up the paper and threw it into the fire. She didn’t say a word. 

“If we got to the wolf girl first, we could use her as ransom,” he suggested. 

“Too much effort when there’s a simpler plan,” she scoffed. “We’ll wait for them to leave, when they leave this castle without any sort of defense, then we’ll strike. There won’t be any noble fathers or dragons to stop us then. We’ll make sure the Mountain deals with our king.”

“I’ll let the Mountain know,” he said. “Your son, too. And I’ll start preparing our soldiers."

“Keep my son out of this,” she interrupted. “His wandering mouth will ruin the surprise. But when you prepare our soldiers, make sure they know not to kill my twin brother or daughter.”

“Anything else I should tell them?” he asked. 

She paused to think. “Target that tall ugly one. You know who I’m talking about. And my shorter brother, too. Anyone else is fair game.”

“It will be done,” he scoured off into the night. 

Daenerys chose to travel by ship to Dragonstone. With the entire Dothraki and Unsullied, they left King’s Landing. 

Missandei and Grey Worm were at her side, and Rhaegal and Viserion were in the sky. 

It was an odd sense of deja vu, and the same feeling she felt when she left the Bay of Dragons filled her chest. She was sailing for Dragonstone for the second time. 

When the castle came into view, all the breath in her chest suddenly left her with a gust of wind. 

Daenerys gripped the ship’s railing with one hand and held Missandei’s hand in her other. The two women locked eyes with each other and Missandei gave her a comforting smile. 

“We’re home,” Missandei said. 

Daenerys turned her head to look at Viserys. He was holding the railing so tightly that his knuckles were white. He stared at Dragonstone, almost hypnotized by it. 

She let go of Missandei and the railing to hold one of Viserys’ hands in her own. She smiled at him like Missandei had with her. 

Viserys suddenly turned his head, staring at her with a disorganized gaze. His brows furrowed. He looked at their intertwined hands, then up at her face. He quickly ripped his hand away. 

But his face gave away something that almost looked like guilt. 

The ships docked soon after. Like the first time, Daenerys was the first one off the boat. She didn’t stop to touch the sand, or marvel at the castle. 

Barristan Selmy and Varys, along with some soldiers, were waiting on the beach. Barristan Selmy kneeled at her presence and dipped his head. Varys didn’t, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t earned his respect. 

“You may rise, Ser Barristan Selmy,” Daenerys said once she got close. When he stood, she held back a wide grin. Even in her darkest moments, Barristan Selmy always knew how to ground her. Probably from his experience with her father. Still, his return filled her chest with joy. 

As for Varys…

The man stared at her coldly. She probably deserved it. 

“We’ve prepared the castle for your arrival,” Varys said. 

“Thank you,” Daenerys said. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Viserys interrupted. 

“Varys!” Viserys opened his arms wide in greeting. “A welcome sight.”

“Yes, I imagine,” Varys didn’t seem as impressed by Viserys. “Follow.”

“And my men?” Daenerys asked. 

“We have representatives boarding soon who will lead the Dothraki and Unsullied to their new homes,” Barristan Selmy replied.

Varys and Barristan Selmy led Daenerys, Viserys, Missandei, and Jorah Mormont up the stairs, through the massive main gates. 

Flashes of her first walk up the stairs haunted the back of Daenerys’ mind. Everything was so different back then. If only it could’ve stayed like that. 

Varys pushed open the doors to the throne room and stepped aside. 

It was exactly as Daenerys remembered it. Targaryen banners flew from the triangular walls, leading up to the rock throne. 

She moved slowly through the room, taking in every detail. It truly hadn’t changed. 

“It’s magnificent,” Viserys said suddenly. “I used to sit on that throne, pretending to be the king of Westeros. My birthright. Mother used to watch, too.”

Daenerys looked at the throne. A strange, bitter taste filled her mouth. She never got that relationship with her mother. This could’ve been hers. This was supposed to be hers. Robert Baratheon was never supposed to wage war. Rhaegar was supposed to become king once Aerys died; Westeros just had to wait out just a few more years. 

Why couldn’t they have just waited? Daenerys went to the throne and placed a hand on the arm rest, as she had with the iron throne. The throne was so big. 

“Is there another room?” Daenerys asked.

“What do you mean, your grace?” Missandei said. 

“I must speak with my people when they have problems,” Daenerys replied. “This room is too big. The throne is too intimidating. There’s somewhere else we can conduct meetings with the smallfolk, yes?”

“Why would you not do that here?” Viserys scrunched up his nose judgementally. He laughed. “This is the throne room, Dany, not some decoration.”

“I know,” Daenerys said. “I do not want it.”

“Then I’ll gladly take it,” Viserys said. 

Daenerys frowned at the underlying threat. “You will do no such thing. You will accompany Missandei to prepare some sort of meeting room, not the painted table, either, thank you.”

Missandei looked at Viserys expectantly, and the two of them left. Viserys trailed slightly behind her. 

“You wanted to show me more of the castle?” Daenerys walked back to Viserys and Barristan Selmy. 

“Yes, follow us,” Varys said. 

They were led through several hallways, where several things were explained. Varys had a weak spy network, but it was growing well. Some of his sparrows reported that the people in island ports and villages didn’t like her new presence. 

Daenerys swore to change that. 

They were led to her bedroom, which had fresh sheets and several new and old clothes from her last stay in the castle. 

Everything looked so similar. 

Barristan Selmy explained the guard schedule he’d made, to ensure her safety and the safety of the castle workers. 

Varys also knew a lot about Dragonstone’s new role as a trade hub, so he promised to brief her on some of the systems once the castle had settled down. 

At least he wasn’t super outwardly upset about their last interaction. She’d talk to him later. 

One step at a time, Daenerys told herself. Just one. 

“What–what are you doing here?” Jon Snow stuttered out. 

“What am I doing here?” Ygritte asked. “What are you doing here, Lord Commander?”

“We’ve come to rescue you,” Grenn butted in. “Shit’s going down in Castle Black.”

“Let him think,” Edd scolded. “He needs some space.”

Jon stumbled backwards, into the house. He leaned against the wall with one hand over his chest. 

“Do we follow him inside?”

“Shut up, crow.”

“Just give me a moment,” Jon heaved out. His eyes looked around wildly. “The dead came back here as well. I didn’t think–”

“Congrats, you’ve got friends now,” Grenn said. 

Jon walked further inside his house and gestured for the rest of them to join. 

His house was cozy. There was a nice looking fireplace, and a small table to eat meals at. There was a leather and fur couch as well as a matching chair, and a door that likely led to the bedroom. 

Ygritte sat at the table, while Grenn and Edd took the couch. Jon sat on the matching chair. 

“You said something about Castle Black,” Jon said. 

Ygritte nodded. “Lots of Free Folk came back, but there’s not much space down South. And lots of the returned Night’s Watch don’t agree on the threat level of my people.”

“Alliser Thorne’s being a real thorn in our side about it, too,” Edd said, proud of his joke. “Almost wouldn’t let us leave to find you.”

“And why would you look for me?” Jon asked. 

“You fixed the wildling issue the first time,” Grenn said. “We need a strong leader.”

“Isn’t there a new Lord Commander?” Jon said. Ghost suddenly jumped onto his lap, licking at Jon’s face and snuggling deep into his chest. “Ghost–I’m busy. That’s my face. Ghost.”

Ghost sat his head across Jon’s shoulder. Half his body was hanging off the sides of the chair, yet he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Lord Commander what’s-his-name isn’t doing anything,” Ygritte said bitterly. “He refuses to take a side. We came here for you.”

“How’d you find me?” Jon said. 

“Figured if you’re rebuilding the Free Folk civilization, you’d wanna rebuild something, not start entirely from scratch,” Edd explained. “Seemed more likely you took them to an existing structure.”

Jon tilted his head in understanding. “We’ve finally gotten back on our feet. I can’t leave now.”

“The Night’s Watch will tear itself apart without you,” Grenn said. His voice was tense and aggravated. “You’re all the way out here, but you’re still one of them. You’ve got a say.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have the say,” Jon pointed out. 

“They respect you there,” Ygritte argued. “You could sway some people.”

“Fine,” Jon sighed. “We can leave in one week. But I have to talk to Tormund first.”

Ygritte smiled at Jon. “See, was that so hard, Jon Snow?”

Tormund tackled her to the ground with his entire body weight when he saw her. Ygritte stumbled back and tried returning the hug with as much force. 

“We missed you!” Tormund finally broke away. “All of us.”

“Aye, as you should’ve,” Ygritte said. She looked around at all the houses and people. “You’ve got us a home.”

“Turns out the North isn’t really that bad without white walkers,” Tormund joked. “Jon told me he’s leaving.”

“He might be back,” Ygritte said. “There’s some issues with the placement of Free Folk down in Castle Black.”

“I understand,” Tormund sighed. “I’ll hold the fort down.”

“Yeah, and I’ll beat your ass if you don’t,” Ygritte said with a laugh. 

“I’d expect nothing less,” Tormund said. “Have you talked to Jon yet?”

Ygritte gave him a side-eye. “Not really.”

“You should,” Tormund said. “Maybe you could rekindle some–”

She punched his arm. “Oh, shut up, you.”

Tormund feigned insult. “What would Jon say?”

“He’d say, ‘oh Tormund, please I need you!’” Ygritte said in her best impression of Jon. “‘You’re all I have left, Tormund! Ygritte’s being so mean, I need you, Tormund.’”

Something dark caught her eye. Jon was standing nearby, standing awkwardly. 

And you’ve done it again, Ygritte. She silently cringed. This would be difficult to explain. 

“We were just joking,” Tormund said quickly. 

“I figured,” Jon said. “Ygritte, may I speak with you?”

She nodded and followed him to a quiet area by some trees. 

“I really don’t care about that impression of me,” Jon said. “Don’t think too much about it.”

“I wasn’t,” Ygritte lied. A blush spread across her face. 

“Good,” Jon cleared his throat. “I wanted to talk about us.”

Well that was soon. Ygritte thought to herself. “What about it?”

“We left things…weirdly,” Jon said. “I just need to know: do you still have feelings for me?”

Ygritte’s heart skipped a beat. “Do you?”

“No,” Jon barely hesitated. 

Something inside her wilted. “I don’t either. We’re just friends.”

He nodded. “I need you to be honest about something else.”

Ygritte searched his dark gaze for any hint about what he wanted. Upon finding nothing, she replied, “About what?”

“How bad is it at Castle Black,” Jon said. 

“I know we’ve spent far too much time searching for you,” Ygritte said. “I worry about what’s left there. It’s possible that Thorne man will have killed my people, like he killed you.”

“So they told you that,” Jon said. 

“They told me everything,” Ygritte paused and a sly smirk drew across her face. “So a dragon queen, huh?”

Jon frowned. “Yes.”

“And your aunt,” Ygritte’s eyebrow raised. 

He nodded. 

Ygritte shook her head and made a noise of disapproval. “Who was better, me or her?”

Jon groaned and began walking away. 

“If you don’t answer, it means I’m better!” Ygritte called after him. 

He said nothing, except he quickened his pace away. 

“Guess that means I won,” Ygritte said to herself. 

They left a few days later. Ygritte and Jon hadn’t talked much since their last conversation, which she was fine with. 

An awful snowstorm blew through, delaying all plans. At least they weren’t already on the move when it came through. 

“My feet hurt,” Grenn complained once they reached the third night. Their group was gathered around a fire, sitting on woolen and leather sleeping bags. 

“Get ready,” Edd said. “We’ve got a lot more walking ahead of us. 

Grenn groaned. 

“You made it here,” Ygritte said. “You can make it back.”

“We could put you on Ghost,” Jon suggested playfully. “We’ll see how long you hold on before he throws you off.”

“I’d bet on that,” Edd said. 

Ygritte nodded in agreement. 

Grenn huffed to himself. “Not kind.”

“Aw, grow a pair,” Ygritte said. Perhaps that was too snarky. She looked around, searching for a sign that she went too far. But everyone seemed to enjoy it. Southerners were so weird. 

The next month was rough. There was snowstorm after snowstorm, which was a little weird considering winter was lightening up into spring. Food was scarce, too. They managed, but had to ration more than Ygritte was comfortable with. 

At least they were close to Castle Black. 

Unfortunately, it was obnoxiously cold. Ygritte huddled in on herself as they trekked through the snow. 

Cold air blasted onto her partially covered face. Her hair blew all around her, getting into her face and eyes. 

“What the hell is this weather?” Edd shouted, trying to lighten the mood. If only the weather could lighten as well. 

“Shut up, you,” Grenn snapped. 

“Quiet, all of you,” Jon said. “Conserve your energy.”

He was right, Ygritte decided. As much as she wanted to talk forever about how much this snowstorm was kicking her ass, she needed the energy.

Her foot hit something hard and suddenly Ygritte felt herself falling. Cold, wet flakes surrounded her body, and white covered her vision. Panic gripped her chest. Was she falling through the snow?

Ygritte tried pushing against the snow, looking for any exit before her lungs were devoid of air. 

Suddenly, two, strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled. Her chest loosened. It was like a push of air entered her lungs, forcing air in and out of them. Her whole body shook from the sudden, wet cold, but other than that, she was fine. 

Ygritte had fallen backwards onto her savior. Her face turned an obnoxious shade of red when she realized it was Jon. She scrambled back onto her feet and reached an arm out to pull him up as well. 

“Thank you,” Jon said as she pulled him up. 

She hoped he wouldn’t notice how hot her insides felt staring at him. 

“The hell was that?” she wondered aloud. 

“Probably some weak dirt, or a hole,” Jon replied. “Let’s catch up to Grenn and Edd.”

Ygritte nodded, following behind quickly. When they were back in her sight, she relaxed. The group was together again. 

“You’re all good?” Edd asked. 

“Yes,” Jon replied. “Just a weird hole or something covered by the snow.”

They walked for what felt like ages more. Ygritte wished she didn’t have legs, so she wouldn’t have to walk. Then again, staying out in the cold like this would eventually remove her legs. 

“Look!” Grenn shouted, pointing at something in the distance. 

Ygritte looked up from the ground. “I don’t see…”

“...the Wall,” Jon finished. “We made it. Look, you can see Castle Black.”

A grin spread across her face, and a sudden burst of energy filled her muscles. “Let’s go, then!”

The four of them ran through the cold, snowy night. Refusing to stop. They were almost done and no one could take that from them. 

When they reached the wall, out of breath with heaving chests, the gate raised. 

Ygritte leaned against the inside wall. “That was the worst experience of my life.”

“It could always get worse,” an annoyingly familiar voice said. 

All heads turned to see Alliser Thorne.